In compliance with the Ashlley Doctrine, I went on my third date of the week this Thursday. It was with Shantelle, yet another 26-year-old girl I'd met on eHarmony.
Shantelle was a little different. For starters, her profile talked about being ready for someone who is "serious about building a wonderful monogamous relationship." The same is probably true for most of the women on the site, but they usually don't advertise it.
We e-mailed back and forth a few times, and all of her messages had a serious tone to them - even when we were talking about favorite colors. She soon asked for me to call her instead. In over 15 months, she was one of only two or three people who wanted to chat on the phone at length before meeting.
I called her, and was comfortable, confident, and relaxed. It was if I had been put at ease by the fact that she seemed so serious. It didn't seem like she would be a good match for me, so there was nothing to lose or gain. She did, in fact, continue to seem serious when she spoke with her voice instead of the keyboard. There wasn't much in the way of jokes or laughter, compared to most people, but I could tell she enjoyed talking to me.
After a few shorter phone conversations, we met up at Starbucks.
_________________
I wasn't sure if I had parked in a legal spot. My space was directly in front of the building, and it seemed a little too good to be true. I took a cursory look at the signs, but my date had already been waiting for a long time, so I wanted to get inside.
I walked in.
"Made it!"
I didn't even bother saying hello. After the phone conversations, I felt as if we were already so well acquainted that it wasn't necessary. She stood up and hugged me.
And then, we talked. The Starbucks was oddly quiet, with others around us reading, and no music in the background. My date spoke quietly, but I knew it was more than just the surroundings, since she had done the same on the phone. She was attractive, but, as expected, overly serious in demeanor.
I'd gone into the date planning to have fun, regardless of how serious she might be. I'd gained so much confidence in recent days that I looked forward to the evening as if it were a n upcoming performance. I wanted to entertain.
Though I was completely at ease and being myself, my date's choice of conversation topics at first left little room for my humor. She talked about the ethics involved with her job as a mental health clinician, and other heavy topics like that. I genuinely found it to be quite boring after a while, but kept up my end of the conversation. I asked questions and gave a few opinions, only to find that I didn't agree with her about several things. I could have tried to demonstrate why she was incorrect at times, but I consciously decided not to. I was not there to debate - I was there to entertain!
Finally, I had a chance to introduce a new subject. I asked about the music on her iPod, which she had on the table. She mentioned that everyone she'd been in relationships with had had odd, weird tastes in music that were opposite from hers. I joked, "You know what that means...." She said yes, and then added, "Opposite attracts." She wasn't on the same page, so I said, "No, it means you're the one with the odd, weird tastes!" (Duh)
Of course, I was being completely, 100% uninhibited. I was saying and doing whatever I was thinking and feeling. My voice was perfect, and the whole nine yards. I was the best I've ever been.
As we continued talking, when I noticed her boots. They were fantastic-looking black and white designer boots. I interrupted what she was saying to interject, "[Wow] Those are nice boots!" For some reason, I really liked the boots. I'd never understood how there could be anything sexy about footwear until that moment.
By now, Shantelle was starting to warm up. I didn't know if I could really be interested in her, but I was enjoying demonstrating my hard-earned social skills. My humor seemed to be breaking her down, revealing the fun side beneath her overly serious exterior.
I was no longer bored. After I pointed out that she didn't seem to have a Boston accent, she did an impression of the heavy accent characteristic of people in her home town. With completely loose, uninhibited mannerisms and tone of voice, I slouched back in my chair and waved my finger, telling her that her impression was so good that maybe she should come to acting school with me. I saw her capacity for humor once again when she asked, "So what do you do when you're not listening to death metal?" after I mentioned liking mere rock music. She hadn't even had an answer to the question of what she liked to do for fun, but I was starting to feel as if I could help her find the light, fun side of herself that obviously existed.
We'd been together a while, and I was following my new philosophy of letting first dates end naturally. Throughout the conversation, I continued to practice my skill of relating to my partner. I asked questions about things I knew she was interested in, like the upcoming Obama presidency. Her mention that she had just finished her last graduation requirement that day also came in handy. When there was a shot break in the conversation, I said randomly, "I feel like you should be out partying tonight." She happily agreed, sharing with me her feelings about the accomplishment.
I wasn't just good. I was damn good. I sat thinking that I was putting on a dating clinic the last several days. I was the best, and it was no exaggeration.
I'd been periodically glancing at my car parked questionably on the street outside. Shantelle had thought it was fine, but a policeman pulled up behind my Honda. I waited at first, and then exclaimed "Oh no!" the way Jerry Seinfeld would, and immediately ran outside when he started walking towards it.
It was pouring down rain.
I found that there was already a $100 parking ticket in my windshield. I decided that I might as well stay, and headed back to Shantelle until the officer stopped me and said, "That's a ticket, not a permit."
I was impressed by the officer's humorous comment, and wondered whether he came up with it on the spot, or if he had used it before.
Finally, I got back to Shantelle after moving my car.
I was unphased by this, the second parking incident in as many dates. I was completely confident, and the speed with which I vacated Starbucks and ran to my car had been nothing short of impressive.
I'd already known Shantelle liked me. After an hour, she had asked, "So after meeting me, do you think you want to continue talking to me?" When she asked a general question about me, I said, in the most relaxed way possible, "I'm pretty awesome." I exuded so much confidence that her only response was "You look like you're feeling awesome."
I offered to take her home. When we encountered a huge puddle on the way to my car, I offered, half-kidding, to carry her across. My constant barrage of lightheartedness prevented her from returning to any heavy subjects, and we finally reached her doorstep and hugged.
"Well, I definitely had fun. Definitely call me when you get home."
"Sure, I'll send you a text."
"No....you can call me....."
"Alright. Well I'll talk to you later - congrats again!"
I called her when I got home, and she reiterated that she'd had fun, and was updating her Feycebook status to say that she'd just returned from a good night out. She said not to be a stranger, and that if she didn't hear from me by the end of the weekend, she'd probably give me a call.
She'd mentioned during the date that I wouldn't have to guess about the way she felt, and now it couldn't seem more true. It'd be the stark opposite of dating most every other woman.
I thought that maybe that was just what I needed.
Shantelle was a little different. For starters, her profile talked about being ready for someone who is "serious about building a wonderful monogamous relationship." The same is probably true for most of the women on the site, but they usually don't advertise it.
We e-mailed back and forth a few times, and all of her messages had a serious tone to them - even when we were talking about favorite colors. She soon asked for me to call her instead. In over 15 months, she was one of only two or three people who wanted to chat on the phone at length before meeting.
I called her, and was comfortable, confident, and relaxed. It was if I had been put at ease by the fact that she seemed so serious. It didn't seem like she would be a good match for me, so there was nothing to lose or gain. She did, in fact, continue to seem serious when she spoke with her voice instead of the keyboard. There wasn't much in the way of jokes or laughter, compared to most people, but I could tell she enjoyed talking to me.
After a few shorter phone conversations, we met up at Starbucks.
_________________
I wasn't sure if I had parked in a legal spot. My space was directly in front of the building, and it seemed a little too good to be true. I took a cursory look at the signs, but my date had already been waiting for a long time, so I wanted to get inside.
I walked in.
"Made it!"
I didn't even bother saying hello. After the phone conversations, I felt as if we were already so well acquainted that it wasn't necessary. She stood up and hugged me.
And then, we talked. The Starbucks was oddly quiet, with others around us reading, and no music in the background. My date spoke quietly, but I knew it was more than just the surroundings, since she had done the same on the phone. She was attractive, but, as expected, overly serious in demeanor.
I'd gone into the date planning to have fun, regardless of how serious she might be. I'd gained so much confidence in recent days that I looked forward to the evening as if it were a n upcoming performance. I wanted to entertain.
Though I was completely at ease and being myself, my date's choice of conversation topics at first left little room for my humor. She talked about the ethics involved with her job as a mental health clinician, and other heavy topics like that. I genuinely found it to be quite boring after a while, but kept up my end of the conversation. I asked questions and gave a few opinions, only to find that I didn't agree with her about several things. I could have tried to demonstrate why she was incorrect at times, but I consciously decided not to. I was not there to debate - I was there to entertain!
Finally, I had a chance to introduce a new subject. I asked about the music on her iPod, which she had on the table. She mentioned that everyone she'd been in relationships with had had odd, weird tastes in music that were opposite from hers. I joked, "You know what that means...." She said yes, and then added, "Opposite attracts." She wasn't on the same page, so I said, "No, it means you're the one with the odd, weird tastes!" (Duh)
Of course, I was being completely, 100% uninhibited. I was saying and doing whatever I was thinking and feeling. My voice was perfect, and the whole nine yards. I was the best I've ever been.
As we continued talking, when I noticed her boots. They were fantastic-looking black and white designer boots. I interrupted what she was saying to interject, "[Wow] Those are nice boots!" For some reason, I really liked the boots. I'd never understood how there could be anything sexy about footwear until that moment.
By now, Shantelle was starting to warm up. I didn't know if I could really be interested in her, but I was enjoying demonstrating my hard-earned social skills. My humor seemed to be breaking her down, revealing the fun side beneath her overly serious exterior.
I was no longer bored. After I pointed out that she didn't seem to have a Boston accent, she did an impression of the heavy accent characteristic of people in her home town. With completely loose, uninhibited mannerisms and tone of voice, I slouched back in my chair and waved my finger, telling her that her impression was so good that maybe she should come to acting school with me. I saw her capacity for humor once again when she asked, "So what do you do when you're not listening to death metal?" after I mentioned liking mere rock music. She hadn't even had an answer to the question of what she liked to do for fun, but I was starting to feel as if I could help her find the light, fun side of herself that obviously existed.
We'd been together a while, and I was following my new philosophy of letting first dates end naturally. Throughout the conversation, I continued to practice my skill of relating to my partner. I asked questions about things I knew she was interested in, like the upcoming Obama presidency. Her mention that she had just finished her last graduation requirement that day also came in handy. When there was a shot break in the conversation, I said randomly, "I feel like you should be out partying tonight." She happily agreed, sharing with me her feelings about the accomplishment.
I wasn't just good. I was damn good. I sat thinking that I was putting on a dating clinic the last several days. I was the best, and it was no exaggeration.
I'd been periodically glancing at my car parked questionably on the street outside. Shantelle had thought it was fine, but a policeman pulled up behind my Honda. I waited at first, and then exclaimed "Oh no!" the way Jerry Seinfeld would, and immediately ran outside when he started walking towards it.
It was pouring down rain.
I found that there was already a $100 parking ticket in my windshield. I decided that I might as well stay, and headed back to Shantelle until the officer stopped me and said, "That's a ticket, not a permit."
I was impressed by the officer's humorous comment, and wondered whether he came up with it on the spot, or if he had used it before.
Finally, I got back to Shantelle after moving my car.
I was unphased by this, the second parking incident in as many dates. I was completely confident, and the speed with which I vacated Starbucks and ran to my car had been nothing short of impressive.
I'd already known Shantelle liked me. After an hour, she had asked, "So after meeting me, do you think you want to continue talking to me?" When she asked a general question about me, I said, in the most relaxed way possible, "I'm pretty awesome." I exuded so much confidence that her only response was "You look like you're feeling awesome."
I offered to take her home. When we encountered a huge puddle on the way to my car, I offered, half-kidding, to carry her across. My constant barrage of lightheartedness prevented her from returning to any heavy subjects, and we finally reached her doorstep and hugged.
"Well, I definitely had fun. Definitely call me when you get home."
"Sure, I'll send you a text."
"No....you can call me....."
"Alright. Well I'll talk to you later - congrats again!"
I called her when I got home, and she reiterated that she'd had fun, and was updating her Feycebook status to say that she'd just returned from a good night out. She said not to be a stranger, and that if she didn't hear from me by the end of the weekend, she'd probably give me a call.
She'd mentioned during the date that I wouldn't have to guess about the way she felt, and now it couldn't seem more true. It'd be the stark opposite of dating most every other woman.
I thought that maybe that was just what I needed.
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