Dating is for the Birds

You may recall that the last time I posted (a very, very long time ago), I left you, all 9 of my followers, with a p.s. promising you my next story would be the best/worst blind date I've been on. If you've known me longer than a week, I guarantee you know this story, but she deserves a firm place here. Top 5, for sure. I think this story puts me at 5 posts exactly. And it only took me like 2 years to get here.

Since it's 2 days into 2012, I'm guessing you're thinking that writing more consistently on my blog is one of my new year's resolutions. Nope. My resolutions are the exact same ones I had last year: read the news, ride my bike, & discipline myself into some silence for goodness' sake. (Let's be real - these were the same as two years ago too.) I'd like to add "actually use my blog", but my track record, frankly, sucks. I'm gonna try though. It helps (I promise) when people like Courtney and Charlie and Melanie and Aly tell me to get on here. Every time you lovingly get on my case, "write out my stories" gets one more tic mark next to it on the invisible to-do list of my life. That thing stretches back through time, but I'm fiercely devoted to eventually crossing everything off.

I just spent an hour catching up to the most current posts on Melanie and Todd's blogs. Daaaaaaannnng, these friends of mine can write. Click on the links now - so you have fresh little tabs ready for you. Their insight and wit will make you feel more human, I promise.

My bloggy friends inspired me to write on my own. No work tomorrow (yay!) means writing a story at 11:47pm is the perfect way to spend my time. So... on to dating. Specifically blind-dating. Which I think is the very best kind.

Ok, so not really. Dating when you're madly in love with someone is the VERY best kind. But blind dating is the best in its own way. Like anything, we do it for the stories. Does it require every ounce of self-will I can muster to actually walk up to the designated/dreaded meet-up spot? Yes! Do I have awesome stories? Yes! No contest.

Years ago, when I was just a presh 25 year old, a friend asked if she could set me up. I will admit this to the whole wide web: at 25, I had yet to have a boyfriend, much less go on a blind date. I was kind of terrified and intrigued by the idea all at the same time. He was from northern Cal, but would be visiting SD over Christmas. She thought we'd hit it off. Her reasoning was, "you both love the poor". Well, then. Able to check "good and decent person" on the ideal-traits-list, I agreed.

We met in Ocean Beach at Hodad's, which was ridiculously busy (and quite meaty), so we opted instead for my favorite restaurant in all the land: Rancho's. Our initial conversation focused on his loud incredulity that I'd never been to Italy before and admonition to see the value in travel. Ayyyy.

Once seated at Rancho's, he oddly declined a menu when offered to him. That's right, he'd already eaten. Not. Cool. Long ago, I dismissed the notion that the man needs to pay - except when he's being lame. I'll have the enchilada combo with black beans and fried rice, por favor. Yes, I know it costs $2 extra - thank you. Oh, and let's add a lemonade, too.

As we waited for my meal, he started talking about his work in the inner city. And that real Christians live in the inner city. And that I should live in the inner city. He was really bad at eye contact, so that made it hard to get his attention to tell him:

a) I live in the inner city.

b) I disagree with you.

On and on and on with the inner city. Meanwhile, I contemplated how I might fit that third enchilada into my stomach.

Somewhere mid-lecture, it happened. I felt something hit my head, but not hard. It felt like a wad of paper grazed me. I looked over my left shoulder. Then at the ground. Nothing. But when I turned my head back to Blind Date (BD), I realized that the sensation was still with me. With my best I'm-still-listening-face on, I reached up to my head with my left hand. What I discovered there, tangled up in my hair, was a bird. Yes, a little bird.

It was freaking out. I don't know how I didn't get scratched or pecked in the head. Or lose an eye, for that matter. My hair was even curlier and longer back then and it was half-back in a clip, so homeboy was definitely trapped in there. I kept thinking about the frizzy mess I was surely going to have to deal with once he was free. But how to free him? When BD finally clued in to what was going on with my head, he made this classic face I so wish I could replicate. Through his horrified expression, he asked, "Should I help?", which I thought was a dumb question. This is your moment! Be helpful, charming, funny, anything!! God just gave you a get out of jail free card!!!

He sat there. Not helping, charming, or laughing. He just sat there. I managed to remove my clip and shake the bird loose, to its utter delight. It went zipping and circling around the restaurant, with chirps so high-pitched it was kind of scary. Besides the crazed bird, I instantly realized the restaurant was SILENT. I addressed my audience: "I'm good! Not hurt at all!" They clapped. BD went right back to his sermonette.

I had to stop him. "What just happened to me was one of the weirdest things I've ever experienced. And you were here to see it. We have to stop and acknowledge that." Well, at least I did. I think he wanted to go home.

We parted ways, clearly knowing this was not a match for either of us. But I walked to my car smiling to myself. Until I caught my reflection in my car window. Whoa... my hair.

- - - - -

Right now, I find myself, unexpectedly, back out here in the place where dating is an option. It's mind-boggling to think that within this last year, I really thought I was leaving that place for good. It's not that dating is so awful; it's that falling for someone you can't believe is falling for you is so extremely wonderful. I don't miss it, I miss him. But you have to practice it to find another him or her. I can't say my bruised heart is ready to try again quite yet, but when it is, I'll think of my bird date. And that it's only gotten better since then. Tremendously better. Far better than I knew to hope for. And, I have stories.