Hands-down, I had the hottest date of anyone at the wedding (aside from the bride and groom, of course.) Code-name being S-M.  This perfect date takes just as long as I do to get ready, has a fashion show of outfits to get my approval of what to wear, is the DD no questions asked and no complaints, listens when I talk, laughs at my weird jokes, and dances the night away. If you haven’t already figured it out, this date was with one of my best girlfriends from college. Why am I still counting it as a blog-worthy date, you ask? Simple: she was my “plus one” for this formal affair and I learned some pretty awesome stuff about myself in her company.

 In classic Joneshaw/S-M fashion, we were running late…and there was a monsoon of rain outside to boot (Italian Grandmas would tell you rain on wedding day means ‘Good Luck’ but then again, so does stepping in dog shit!) Trying not to interrupt the ceremony, we slipped in the back a few minutes before the beautiful couple exchanged vows. The emotions were high and the minister was a character. This was the first time I have witnessed a wedding ceremony and thought: “Wow, these two people are SO in love.” S-M agreed with me, misty-eyed as well (and she didn’t even know them!)  Amidst the joy and spirit-filled reception, the groomsmen making bets who would take home me and my date, and playing with an adorable baby; I had a really strange thought. Leaning over to my well-dressed date over dinner, I made this random confession: “I can never see myself doing this.”

I can see myself being a mom, a professional in my field, a home owner, a friend, but never a bride and especially not a wife. Case and point: no guy even wanted to spend four days with me at a destination wedding, forget the rest of their life. My ever-positive, supportive, best friend assured me “it’s not that you can’t see yourself getting married… you just haven’t met the person you can see that happening with yet.” I can see my commitaphobic/workaholic self as a really hip, single gal, whose either everyone’s favorite aunt or a really hands-on single mom.

Some little girls dream of white dresses, flowers, parties, churches, etc. I was not one of those little girls. As long as I can remember, my first love and dream was my career. That always took a back seat to socializing and dating. I do want to have a family one day but not necessarily in the traditional nuclear sense. Ironically, my parents are happily married after almost 30 years.

It’s not monogamy that scares me. I’m more loyal than Lassie the dog and more dedicated than when she saved little Timmy from the well. The concept of emotional and physical intimacy coming from the same person makes me want to take stock in Depends Diapers. My paranoia is definitely a by-product of past traumatic experiences but supposedly that will all change if I meet “the one.” If so, will that happen instantly or over time? Will they grow on me like a fungus? Or is “still single and living in New York” what’s in the cards for me?

Bottom Line: S-M does a mean Cha-Cha Slide and is one lady I know who’s in a great relationship. Either option (single or attached) doesn’t sound like a death sentence as it maybe for some. On the flip side, after seeing two friends be SO happy, makes me wonder… am I normal not to dream about this?

Your Undercover Lover,

Joneshaw

The first thing a “cool, dark, place” makes me think of is mold, the second is vampires, and the third is dive bar. Luckily, the latter is where Hot-Beard and I had our date last night. After twenty minutes of waiting, the door swings open and in swaggers an average-looking, too cool to be hipster (but still wears the V-neck undershirts with jeans and Chuck Taylors), with sapphire blue eyes, and as advertised, one super-hot scruff ala Justin Timberlake from around the time when he brought sexy back. He’s not Brad Pitt but I’m no Angelina either so let’s just say I wasn’t disappointed. We both knew who one another was and luckily there was no awkward, “Are you…?” And he was confident enough to go in for a hug right out of the gate! He was playing this first impression like a special-teams player in the fourth quarter of the Super Bowl.

Relaxed, confident, and smart… this guy makes transitions between literature, cinematic gems, philosophy, and his EXTREMELY eclectic taste in music seem effortless. Until he gets board with what he’s talking about and pauses until he can find something that interests him more to talk about…. Like the fake window behind me. By the way, he has ADHD or just knows a little bit about a lot of things and changes the subject before I notice that his expertise ended two sentences ago. Having picked up on this and realizing this date could very easily turn into a game of Bull Shit… I decided against calling his bluff after three beers for the sake of entertainment and seeing how long he can keep this up.

Then the smooth-operator jig all made sense: he is an Italian Catholic. Maybe not the fist-pumping kind, but deep down, they’re all the same and frankly, I’m not looking to join the “Pot of sauce for dinner at 2PM on Sunday’s Club” during this lifetime. My Mother would have been so proud, that is, until she found out that her dream of my “bruva del” church wedding is still squashed because he never received Confirmation (the Catholic version of a Bar Mitzvah except only the Bishop can perform the ceremony.) “Well, I’m sure there’s an emergency confirmation ceremony available if that’s the case.” Actually, HB, since you’re not a convert there isn’t. You’d have to wait and receive it with all the thirteen year olds in May. We then both shared a laugh about his “Billy Madison Confirmation.”  

Some people are artsy-flighty types and its part of their charm. He collects playing cards off the street and got mad when the SATC’s Burgher stole his idea. This was not my first tip-off that this guy was not playing with a full deck. He saves the Mormon pamphlets they give out on the train that he “finds organically” and gives them out to drunk people at parties as a joke. As nice as I am, I just can’t take him seriously. He’s more like a cartoon than a person and the novelty of being with someone not very down to earth wears off quicker than deodorant on a 101 degree day. Despite his barrel of quirks, it was very obvious that Mr. Hot-Beard was actually into me.  That last moment before we parted ways on the respective A and C trains, I just knew. He’s either going to kiss me or never talk to me again…

He didn’t kiss me.

Of course it’s important for everyone’s sanity to maintain a sense of play and spontaneity. I dig that. This guy’s sense of play just wasn’t my aesthetic.  Although HB was true to his picture and indeed had a Hot Beard, my date with him made me realize how important an intellectual connection is because conversation and spark is integral to a lasting relationship.  

Bottom Line: HB was good for a few beers on a hot day (alternating rounds of who paid.) He’s into me but if I learned anything from SATC, it’s that guys who collect playing cards from the streets of NYC will eventually dump you via post-it.

Your Undercover Lover,

Joneshaw

Ironically and thankfully, one of my beloved gay BF’s was working behind the counter at this particular coffee shop. This proved extremely useful when Paul Bunyan did not offer to pay for my coffee… and that was only Exhibit B on how this guy did not even pretend to try. Exhibit A being the stained sneakers and tee shirt and the not-on-purpose kind of scruff. This might be a fashion statement for some, but a self-important, high-powered finance type, should not be one of them. You brag about your meeting last night with folks in Bengal, India but then manage to look like the awkward fish waiting outside the empty coffee shop when I arrive. Something tells me there’s an element of continuity missing here with the  red flag being lack of confidence… and lack of resemblance to a profile picture. Some ladies actually looking for love may have freaked out at this point. Which leads me to believe that I seriously need to grow a bitch-bone. Which is like a backbone but it aids in expressing disapproval without regards for other people’s feelings. Maybe it’s because of my painfully awkward phase before/during puberty—the thought of hurting someone’s feelings is something that eats at my soul.

So in the spirit of the Joneshaw Project, I really tried to give this guy a fair shot… But when he tried to joke and ask the barista (my friend) for a needle of adrenaline “this big” (indicated with fingers) and tried to repeat the unfunny joke 2 more times… I knew that this was not going to be my soul mate. Figures, he’s in finance. (And just as I suspected, he is not nearly as witty and charming in person as he is via email and text.) Besides lack of general humor and personality, I probably have more in common to talk about with a toaster. How do you not like the Oscars?! That’s like telling me you don’t like babies! I haven’t wanted to cry this much on a date since I saw My Sister’s Keeper.

Maybe the theory that number-centric folks are less adept in the art of conversation has some validity to it. Nothing makes my panties melt off like knowing that UPS has a $10 million deal with the city to prevent parking tickets on their trucks that also are not allowed/capable of making left hand turns. Which for entertainment purposes, I one up-ed by educating him that 75% of all car accidents happen on left hand turns and a real doozey might make the UPS driver fall out since there is no driver’s side door on those vehicles. (This was at least better than hearing his lack-luster feelings on politics and how he thought Up was more of a masterpiece than Hurtlocker.) Pixar’s great but as an actor, I prefer movies that have actual “real people” in them as opposed to 3D movies that “look so real.”

Don’t think I’m going to gloss over mortal sin #1 of online dating: Photo False Advertisement. If an actor walks into an audition not looking like the picture he/she submitted, they are black listed. The same goes for dating. Looking exactly like my picture and being as quick and funny in person as I am in written word, I’m not coming from a superficial, looks-oriented place on this one. I’ve dated chubby, I’ve dated average looks, I’ve dated socially unaware, I’ve dated socially awkward but I can’t imagine attempting a relationship with someone who has no confidence or capacity to own what they’ve got… I mean of course all men can’t be George Clooney or even George Lucas for that matter but for God sakes! Work with what ya got! Not just to get girls to feel good about you but so you can feel good about yourself. Also, if you’re going to lie about something as trivial as your looks, what else is false on your profile? Overall, he wasn’t a weirdo, a creep-o, or even a jerk… He was just noticeably sad with this moment in his life. And that’s never a vibe that screams “take me home to mom.”

Bottom line: Photo false advertising in the dating game sells everyone short and a little bit of chutzpah can go a very long way. Over all, Paul Bunyan and I were very much a missed connection. I hate money and he hates hummus; it just wasn’t meant to be. 

Next up: Maybe Pepe LaJew will change my already low opinion of online dating.

Your Undercover Lover,

Joneshaw