August 13: A Night to Remember

Back in the day, hosts of dating shows always asked the contestants what their idea of a perfect date was. They received answers like, "go somewhere where we can talk and get to know each other." Boring. How over-played is that scenario? Allow me to share what my perfect date would be.

First I would arrive at her parents' house at seven o'clock because that's the time we agreed upon. I would nervously adjust my collar as I anxiously follow the brick walkway past her mother's zinnias and toward the intimidating French doors.

Her dad would answer my knocks by slowly opening the door and staring deep into my eyes. After inviting me to sit on their white sofa in the living room, he would proceed to interrogate me about my future. I will be able to hear the top 40 playing upstairs as my date finishes any last touches to her outfit. The conversation with her father would inevitably lead to him telling me about his gun collection and his love for shooting "weasels." At this point, her mother would step in from the kitchen wearing a floral-print apron to scold her husband.

After a brief introduction with my dates mother, the living room lights would mysteriously dim and Patrick Swayze would croon She's Like the Wind as she appears at the top of the staircase. Our eyes meet and she would look sheepishly to the ground. Just a fool to believe I am anything she needs, she slowly and effortlessly descends the stairs as if on an escalator. He's right. She is like the wind!

While keeping one eye on her father and the other aimed at the carpet, I toe the ground and murmur how lovely she looks. She giggles as her mom makes one more adjustment to her hair and her dad grunts. Mother escorts us to the door and tells us to have fun. As we step into the cool night's air, Father repeats what time she better be home by.

Being the gentleman that I am, I open the car door for her and wave one last goodbye to her folks as I get in on the driver's side. I strap on my seat belt and we're on our way. I keep my hands on 10 and 2 of the wheel and grip tightly trying to hide my balmy palms. We make small talk and she politely laughs at my pathetic attempts at humor as we make our way to the local ice cream shoppe (That's right. Two p's and an e).

A couple is doing the jitter bug to Buddy Holly on one end of the bar and a girl in a red poodle skirt is sitting on the counter on the other end. She has her hand to her mouth and is twirling her piece of gum around and around her index finger as her date, with his slicked black hair and leather jacket, leans against the bar and flirts with her. My beautiful date and I grab two rotating stools near the center of the bar and I order a root beer float with two straws. Extra cherry. Buddy Holly finishes It's So Easy before Chuck Berry teases us with You Can't Catch Me.

The vanilla ice cream and carbonated soda tastes so good. My nerves have subsided and I can finally be myself. We tell stories of our youth. We share jokes we heard the week before. She wipes my chin. She flutters her long eyelashes. When the dessert is finished, my nerves come back. I tell her how much fun I've been having and I ask her if she wants to go up to Lover's Lane. With a nervous giggle, she nods quickly and silently.

We're not alone on the hill that overlooks the night lights of our hometown. A line of cars face the beautiful view and I find a spot in between a green car and a blue pickup before turning off the engine. We sit in silence. No radio. Just silence. I can hear her soft breathing. It's quick and nervous. Without looking, I reach my sweaty hand for hers. My fingers gently wrap themselves around hers and they are met with reciprocation. Without saying anything, I turn and smile at her. This is how we stay for the remainder of the evening.

At 11:15, the brick walkway doesn't seem so long. The zinnias reach for us as if giving an ovation. The French doors aren't nearly as intimidating. We stand on the stoop looking at each other with both hands met. She thanks me for a lovely evening and leans in. My heart races as she applies a soft kiss on my cheek before opening the door and softly closing it behind her. The night is silent and I continue standing there trying to soak it all in.

I skip down the walkway as the zinnias cheer and dance in the night's breeze. The French Doors merrily wave goodbye and the engine roars like a lion. I feel like a lion. Like a king.

"Somewhere where we can talk and get to know each other." Pshh.

July 18: What's in a Number?

You're at a bar having a good time with your friends. The music is bumpin' and the adrenaline is pumpin'. There might be some sports highlights on a nearby screen and everyone seems to be in a fairly jovial mood.

A group of girls comes in and one of them catches your eye. You let her settle in and get a drink. You face your group of friends but your focus is on the girl. You observe her take notice when you make a joke. She's listening, but keeping her distance.

Finally, you work up the nerve to break the ice by saying something dumb like, "What're you drinkin' there?" She answers and just like that you find yourself having a light-hearted conversation with a complete stranger. Suddenly time shifts into overdrive and before you know it, your group of friends is ready to move on. You let your new friend know that you have to go, but that you want to continue the conversation so you ask for her number.

You make little jokes about how you've never met someone with so many 3's in her number or how this is the first phone number you've ever received. Once you have the tenth digit (area code included), you press send which calls her phone and in turn, gives her your number. You say your goodbyes and you walk away with a little extra skip in your step after successfully closing the deal.

Fast forward a few days. Fast forward to a time when you're sober and alone at home. Fast forward to a time where you barely remember what she looked like or how she sounded when she laughed. Fast forward to you holding your phone and searching through your contacts until you find her first name with the name of the bar where you met in parenthesis. Fast forward to you sitting with the receiver just grazing your ear as the distant ring sends sound waves bouncing against your drum.

Is there anything more awkward than that first conversation? I'm not exaggerating either. The first time you dial the number and she picks up has got to be right up there with sitting naked in homeroom. Maybe it's because I'm a complete turd and know absolutely nothing about talking to girls, but I never have anything intelligent to say after, "Hey, it's Brandon from the bar."

I was just thinking about you and thought I would call. Pathetic. Well, it's been three days since I received your number and here I am calling you. Laughable. I could use a cold beer and thought about places that sell beers and I thought about the bar I was at three days ago and remembered meeting you and getting your number and now I'm calling you. It's as good as anything else I have.

There is always the rhetorical, "Hey, how's it going?" question. I think we all know how I feel about these questions, but I always answer the same way: "Great, how are you?" This always leads to her saying that she's been busy with blah blah blah or yadda yadda yadda which turns into a conversation where I ask her everything about the activity. Before I know it, she's told me a half an hour worth of material and I've recited nothing about what I've been up to.

I don't think I'm complaining because I hate talking about myself. (I'd rather write a blog about myself every day for a year....) These conversations are funny because she always ends up telling me some pretty personal things (Mom was just diagnosed with Parkinson's, Dad's an alcoholic, Step Dad used to scream obscenities at her and her mom, etc. etc.). I don't know if it's my expert ways of asking probing questions or my fantastic listening skills, but on more than one occasion a girl has said, "Now that you know my life story, what about you?"

Come to think of it, this first conversation isn't all that bad. Sure they all start the same and I can't stand monotony, but I end up listening to some pretty interesting things. I rarely have to worry about stuttering and stammering because she's doing all the talking. No, those initial phone conversations aren't that bad at all. Now if I could only work up the nerve to go and talk to more girls...