Continuing with my 0 for 0 dating way of life slump, I was more than a little excited when I met someone through the personals that I seemed to click with. We talked at length on the phone, as well as online. As it turned out, we were both big Morrissey fans, shared the same sense of humor, and we both liked to read. We made plans to meet for dinner at Pappadeux. I was really nervous. Not so much because I felt like this was fertile ground for romance, but more so because this guy could turn out to be something more…a potential friend.
We meet in the parking lot of the restaurant and my inner dialogue is freaking out because he’s actually good-looking. Trust me, this was a first for me. Most of the people I’d met (or would meet) were very nondescript. Not necessarily ugly, but visually forgettable.
Working at a music store at the time, Morrissey’s new album had just come out and I had got my hands on several of the store displays (LP-sized cutouts of his new album). I brought a couple to give to ‘Sean,’ as a way to break the ice. He seemed excited to receive them and we proceeded to go inside.
Dinner was going great. I was hilarious and had Sean in stitches. In retrospect, I was probably doing what I used to do when I get anxious: talking too much. The gift of gab can be a blessing and a curse both at the same time. A blessing because someone has to get the ball rolling, and a curse because you end up revealing way too much about yourself too quickly, which gives them the advantage. Why should you be an open book while they’ve wagered nothing? Make them work for it.
So, dinner is going well. We seem to have a lot in common and I can’t help feeling like this has potential to lead to the ever-elusive Second Date…until he says: “You know who you remind me of?” *sound of screeching tires* My internal dialogue is thinking ‘Fuck! Here we go.’ Anytime anyone has ever said that to me, the result was turdtastic. Lemme see, there was that time I wore a black turtleneck and sunglasses to history class and got compared to Roy Orbison, the man who has a face like a loaded diaper wearing Ray-Bans. Then there’s the lead singer of Los Lobos (circa 1987). And let me think, who else, oh yeah, Orson Welles. This from my B&W Photography professor, upon seeing my self-portrait assignment. Seeing the less-than-thrilled look on my face, she rushed to add “A young Orson Welles.” Riiiight. Pardon me while I bust out the Paul Masson.
A pained look comes across my face and I say “Uh oh. Let me have it.” He back peddles and says ‘No, no. You’ll take it the wrong way.’ I say “Noooo, you can’t do that; say something like that, then leave me hanging!” He continues to protest. I go on to tell him that it can’t be any worse than the other comparisons from my past, and he finally relents: Natalie from The Facts of Life. Nata-fuckin’-lie….from The Facts of fuckin’ Life. He instantly begins damage control by saying that it’s her sense of humor/delivery that reminds him of me. Not her physical appearance. For an instant, I’m torn because Natalie was always my favorite, but my ingrained sense of self deprecation can’t shake the physical comparison.
The conversation slowly, but surely grinds to a halt and we finish dinner. He asks if I’d like to go to Barnes & Noble and browse and maybe get some coffee. In need of some retail therapy, I consent.
We get in our respective cars and meet up at Barnes & Noble. We walk around the store browsing together, and as we browse, I’m very aware of someone continuously in my peripheral vision. I pay closer attention and notice this guy stalking us: we turn the corner to go down one aisle, he shows up at the other end. We go towards the center of the aisle, so does he, but at a distance. I watch him and he’s staring at Sean. Sean acts disinterested, but notices as well.
We continue to shop, trying to lose the guy, but he keeps popping up at the opposite end of whatever aisle we go to. We eventually move to the magazine area, and sure enough, he follows. At this point, it’s obvious that he’s cruising Sean, big time…and Sean seems to be seriously digging it. Obviously no longer distracted, but genuinely intrigued.
We decide to go into the cafe portion of the store and get something to drink. The magazine area is visible from the cafe, and as we sit down, Sean mentions in (mock) disbelief that the guy is still looking at him. He keeps on talking about it for so long, completely too distracted to carry on a conversation with me, I eventually say “Should I leave so you two can get it on or what?” He laughs nervously and says no, that he just can’t believe how persistent this guy is. At this point, I am so over it. I tell him I need to get going and start heading for the exit.
But we’re not the only ones leaving. The Shadow is leaving too, but he’s keeping his distance. As we’re walking outside into the parking lot, he comes out as well, and lingers near the entrance. We say our goodbyes and Sean says that he doesn’t feel like we clicked romantically, be that he would like to be friends. Completely turned off by the whole drooling over the stalker episode, I say sure, I’ll call him (lie).
We get into our cars, the back of his car facing the entrance of the bookstore. As I circle around and drive past the entrance, I see The Shadow emerge from beneath the entrance’s awning and stand in front of one of the large pillars that flanks either side of the doorway. As he stands there, leaning against one of the pillars, he blatantly rubs his crotch in Sean’s general direction, obviously hoping to catch his attention one last time before he leaves!
I roll my eyes as I exit the parking lot, more convinced than ever that all gay guys are whores.
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