I had the misfortune, about 2 years ago, of going on not one but TWO terrible dates with a guy that I like to call “The Wet Mop.” An entertainer by trade, I thought for sure that this guy would have plenty of… personality to bring to the table. Let’s just say that the lime light he’s in on stage must absorb it all before he leaves the bar every night. He literally has the personality of a mop… a drunken mop at that.
The night I got… mopped away: A bunch of friends and I polished off a night of debauchery with Howl at the Moon. There is evidence of my dancing/singing on stage and a notable chunk of change missing from my wallet to indicate that I had a great night. Coincidentally, there was also a text or two from a certain piano player that wanted to take me out for dinner sometime.
Date 1: Normally, there is a standard protocol of texting that comes with the lead-in to an actual first date, I believe. The awkward questionnaire that follows any standard meeting was lost on this guy and he went straight from non-existent to “when can I see you?” I should have taken that as my first sign to run… very far and very fast in the opposite direction. I was only recently back in the dating world though, and figured that this guy, as an ENTERTAINER might prefer personal conversation to standard text/voice mediums that consume our generation. In a way, I am glad that he did not bother to “build up” his image via text, because the date would only have been monumentally more of a failure. He sort of set me up for the impending lack of communication that was to come.
We sat across from one another at Baker Street in Rice Village (for what seemed like hours, but was probably more like 45 minutes) with absolutely NOTHING to talk about. I say we… but really, we all know that I can talk to anyone about nothing in particular for an indefinite amount of time. With that said, I asked question after question and got very close-ended answers. I was starting to bore myself and beer was not helping either of us tolerate the situation any better.
At what point does a girl just say enough is enough? Oh, that’s right. When HE finally says, “I’m sorry that I-I-I am kind of quiet tonight. I fell outside of the b-b-bbbar last night, b-blacked out and I think, I t-thu-ink I might have a concussion.”
Should I be sympathetic? Find clumsy drunkenness an endearing quality? Hmmm…
“Oh, so perhaps we should call it a night?” I say, praying that the misery will end. “Yeah, I guessssss” he responds, “…but. I… h-h-ad a really wonderful time with you. C-c-can we do thisss again?”
When I noticed in that exchange that he had a slight stutter, I thought maybe between the concussion and the stutter he was, in fact, shy… unless on stage. Ok, I admit it… the stutter got me.
Why am I so forgiving? UGH!
As the story goes… I’m pretty sure I maybe received one or two texts in between these dates. He really was not a man of many words.
Date 2: We meet at Applebee’s maybe a week later. I go through the same close-ended series of questions…
“How’s that head?”
“Have a good week?”
“Um, yeah” (shifty eyes)
“How was the drive out here to Stafford? Did you find it ok?”
“It’s far.” …
He’s monotone? Check! Date two is already awkward? Check!
*yawn* already regretting this decision? Absolutely
The waitress walks up… “can I get you two anything to drink?”
I start, “Yes ma’am. I’ll ha…”
He interrupts, “W-what do you have on t-t-tap?” (REALLY?!)
Waitress lists the beers, he orders a pint of whatever and a shot of Tequila.
“and for you ma’am?”
“water, thanks.” She leaves.
“My, aren’t you thirsty.”
“So… tell me what else you like to do besides sing and play instruments?”
“Do you play? Go to Astros games?”
“Astros? Hell no! Rangers.” …
“Oh. It looks like they’re rebuilding quite nicely.” (as the waitress brings us our drinks)
*salt, tequila, lime* *gulp gulp gulp beer* “Ye-ahhh”
“oh, ok. cool.” (look of desperation on my face)
We order. We eat. In silence… as he has two more beers.
I’ve still only had water at this point and I am uncomfortable. I excuse myself to the ladies room hoping to find an easy way out of the rest of the night. He’s already polished off the rest of his meal and drinks by the time I return to the table. He’s politely paid the check and asks if I’m ready to go to Sam’s Boat for karaoke. CRAP! I completely forgot about that part of the night. I’d already told friends that I would be there, so I decided to suck it up and go. Guess that I am a glutton for punishment.
My friend Josh is already singing when we walk in, so I round up chairs to add to his table. Mop heads straight for the bar, orders himself a pitcher…
Josh finishes and walks over to the table, introduces me to a few of the people that I don’t know and I politely introduce my “date” to the group. Suddenly, it’s like he’s a new man.
He’s mister Chatty Kathy with Josh and they talk about all kinds of stuff, stuttering only slightly. I thought that he and Josh were going to wind up singing a duet or something, but they hogged the stage as solo acts for about an hour.
Finally, when I felt that I had fulfilled my date duties and I could finally leave, Mop insisted that he was walking me to my car… only after I would give him Josh’s number of course.
Um, why don’t I keep the number… and you hop back up on stage? Thanks.
Well, he proceeded to walk me anyway. When we got to my car all I could say was… “thanks for the, um, time”
“I had a b-blast” and he leaned in to try and kiss me, but I was able to turn my face away. Oh, did I mention that he simultaneously tried to dry humped my leg? Yeah!
He still recognizes AND approaches me any time I go to Howl. FML