The Whole "Searching for a Good Man..." Part

If you are new to the blog, don't read this post first. I don't think it will reflect well on either of us. However, instead of recording the bitter rantings of a serial dater, I seek to lay out an explicit case of why the quality of a meal is indirectly proportionate to the number of date offers one could receive. I write this post a bit boldly, but thankfully at one time in the past I clearly defined my audience: anyone who I haven't dated. This is why I can post a picture of an ex-boyfriend with my father's head on top or criticize the Diet Coke proclivities of another. This is also why I don't feel guilty ratting out a guy who I went on a date with on Monday. If I can declare war on an Arlington restaurant, I can declare war on dating, and at least launch a little volley at a guy whom I told about my food blog ("food blog"not nexus/love/food blog/don't-mess-up-or-I'll-publicly-humiliate-you-blog) but avoided passing the link to.

I write to present two different scenarios, to present a case study of dating, from this Monday to this Thursday evening. Imagine, if you will, an eager young dater, surprised to see that men in this age can be aggressive, without being creepy, can time their dinner invitations well, can accept challenges to "dare to find someplace exotic enough for her" (my words, and he chose a Himalayan place), and can both pick her up and drop her off in front of her door. He even avoided doing anything egregious enough to be made fun of about in the first paragraph. I tried, for a whole two minutes, to at least think of something to at least fib a bit about on any of his criminal dating behavior during our dinner. But, he opened doors, pitied mine and my shoes' forays into muddy sidewalk pits, bought my dinner, and remembered biographical details. I gave him postcards from my travels, complimented his demeanor, suggested another date. It was textbook good. I'm not bitter here; these are all facts.

Imagine an entirely different scenario, of a girl after work, say attending a friend's birthday party at a local restaurant. She stuffs stale chips into her mouth, makes loud jokes, obnoxiously does research to determine whose definition of "pashmina" is more correct, and openly makes fun of the guy across the table who talks about his abusive family, how he quit his job, and how he wants to attend Catholic confession because they have booths. She also sits next to an old friend, to whom she doesn't pay that particular of attention to, but whose company she casually enjoys while she consumes 17 chips/minute.

I ask you: in which situation does the girl secure an invitation to a (an additional) date? In which situation does she receive proposals to go to, say, the best Italian restaurant in Georgetown or a request to go out this week (remember, one of these scenarios takes place on a Thursday, so there's not much this-week left)?

I'll tell you, dear reader. Chip eating, onion-breath-smelling, pony-tail wearing datee gets two date offers in one night. One, openly requested at a table of eight people. Eight. "No, I don't have a card." "Yes, I like Italian food." "Yes, that's the best way to reach me." Then another request, 10 minutes later. With scenario number one, our hapless heroine gets her proposed (yes, her proposed date idea) deferred. A certain protagonist male dater deferred his decision to acquiesce to a date, now about 2.5 days away. There is a stay upon my date proposal; a moratorium, if you will, on providing a response in a timely fashion. I'm being foolish and bold, unsophisticatedly insulting semi-hapless, but mostly well-meaning men who put some element of their soul on the line to betray some emotion. If any of these dates go well, I'll delete this post.

But, did I miss a memo? Is it true that if you eshew decorum and abandon dating rules (following up with a second date proposal yourself, as the girl that you might be), you end up blogging alone on a Thursday night about the date that has evaporated before it became a discussable idea on Sunday? Is it true, in a parallel fashion, that if you openly admit to a table of eight you are unmarried, yes, single, and yes, without a boyfriend (as I may have been asked tonight at the table of eight), with no intention of securing any Sunday dates, that 50% of the men at your dinner table flock to you with dinner invitations? Does Ray run Ray's Dates, too, and is he behind the inexplicable customer service I'm experiencing? Can I speak to a manager?