Stone age romeo
He was bent over the pool table when I first noticed him…a nice ad for jeans. I turned and resumed drinking my beer with Anne. We had one mission that evening and that was to get her pickled before her redeye flight out of LAX to go back east. Anne was sticking to plan when a bar band began a string of recent-rock cover tunes. We giggled watching the 20-something band groupies in front whistle and ya-hoo while their buddies strummed along. You could tell they were minutes away from ordering shots. Anne and I rolled our eyes and giggled in an I-remember-those-days kind of way.
It was right about that time that I could tell the drunkest kid out of the bunch was going to dance. Ripe for white-boy mocking, I did the white man dance on my barstool. Thumbs up. Shoulders gyrating. Head bobbing. I was cracking myself up when Mr. Nice Ass/I mean Nice Jeans walked up to our table.
Oh fabulous.
He said something to us. Of course, I couldn’t hear because the Counting Crows’ “Mr. Jones” was too loud. When I got closer, I discovered his name was Don.
“I love redheads. If I could, I’d kiss every freckle on your body right now,” he said
All the blood rushed to my head and I took a big sip of my beer and sighed. Now I remember. I’ve been internet dating too long. No two week string of leading emails culminating in a Photoshop-ed picture of my e-paramour who has oh-so-delicately cropped out his ex-girlfriend. Nope, I was in real time now and I was freaking out.
When you are a 37-year old, divorced female, the Internet provides you with an efficient channel of dating possibilities that you can turn on or off in between running to Costco for economy packs of AA’s. I’m at that age where I’ve learned that you don’t meet men in church (name a couple you know that met in church). The courtesy dates your married friends arrange are wonderful Monday morning water cooler talk. I have never wanted to date anyone from the office. And the guys I’ve met volunteering have been gay. Because I’ve been tied to the web business since 1996, I’ve always felt it was perfectly normal to use the internet as a recruitment tool. And I’m old and lazy and know what it’s like out there.
I’ve had limited success with the internet. My most recent boyfriend answered a personal ad I placed on Craig’s list. Eight months later, he left me to join Ringling Brothers. Seriously. He left me to join the fucking circus. Needless to say, I’ve curbed my addiction to internet dating since then.
Tonight I’m reminded that meeting guys the old-fashioned way, in a bar, is kind of refreshing. I’m giggling and flipping my hair. There’s no keyboard in the way. I’m smiling and they know it.
Anne slid off her barstool and staggered to the bar to grab the tab. I grabbed Don’s ass, gave it a squeeze, and I kissed him on his cheek while passing him my card.
“Email me sometime,” I told him.
Some habits are hard to break.