The Post as Boring as the Dates It Depicts

Sometimes when you're in the muck of something, it's impossible to get an objective opinion about it. The Peace Corps was like that; none of the volunteers' opinions were the same during their tours as their opinions a year after completing their missions.

Date One

Mason (#3) and I went on two dates, which took place amidst endless texting and long conversations. He was very intelligent, caring, considerate, and definitely seemed to also want a long-term relationship. Another pro was that Mason had a stable, good job (which is unfortunately rare in Las Vegas). He seemed ideal.

I was so nervous before our first date that I annoyed the crap out of my buddy Topher. Seriously, I think Topher started to question his decision to befriend yet another chick. Here are the vitals about Mason that Topher had to listen to ad nauseam:

• Claimed Age: 39
• Ginger
• Physicist
• Claimed Height: 6'2

Being a very considerate guy, Mason had chosen my favorite restaurant for our first date. When I arrived a few minutes early at the tiny ramen joint, Mason was already there. He was sitting outside, slumped on a bench, chatting with a homeless guy. I liked that he would talk to anyone, because I'd befriended a homeless guy on The Hill in DC whom I'd chat with at lunch breaks.

I stood next to him for a second while they finished their conversation. Mason stood up and stepped back from me as he smiled and said hello. "Did you put our name down for a table?" I asked. He said no, so we went inside. When we were seated and had our ramen in front of us, we both realized that hot soup on a 110-degree day is not the best option. Picking at our food, Mason and I tried to talk in the noisy restaurant. We both ended up abandoning our food and leaving within 15 minutes, because it was just too warm.

We sat outside on the bench talking for half an hour, during which time he gawked, slack-jawed at a girl's breasts. When he saw me notice, he blushed and looked away, which was funny. It's Vegas: ladies have their cleavage not just out, but poised on the podium of a bustier top; who cares? After that awkward second, Mason seemed uncomfortable and we decided to leave. He walked me to my car, and stood next to me talking for about five minutes. I smiled at him and shrugged eventually, and said goodbye.

Within a minute of driving away, Mason text and asked if we could go out again. I agreed, and we continued texting all day, everyday.

Date Two

Mason brought up our second date several times without ever making a concrete plan, so I decided to take initiative. I asked if Thursday worked, and he said yes. I asked if 7pm worked, and he said yes. I asked where he'd like to go, and he had no ideas. Seriously. In a city that's built to entertain tourists, you should have a few ideas. I chose a venue, and he said okay. The night before our date I text him and said I'd meet him at the creek by Crave, and he said okay.

Because he hadn't kissed me on our first date, I decided to look more enticing. I wore a cute sundress, left my hair wavy, and made sure I was showing a little cleavage ("church cleavage" by Vegas' standards). When I arrived a few minutes early, I sat on the bench by the creek and started playing on my phone.

Ten minutes after 7pm, I text Mason and said to let me know when he arrived, in case he was lost. He responded immediately that he was already here. Sure enough, he was sitting on a bench within plain sight of me. I really don't know if he didn't recognize me, or if he was too shy to come over, or if he arrived and just sat down without bothering to see if I'd arrived first. It seemed odd.

When I stood and walked over to him, he didn't register surprise or happiness on his face. He just smiled a little and said hello. I asked if he was hungry, and he said no (even though we were supposed to meet for dinner). At that point, I felt pretty awkward. "Do you want to walk around the mall?" He nodded and started walking in his old, somewhat dirty sneakers. His old school comic book t-shirt was cute, but the combination of that with dad shorts, high socks, and dirty sneakers did not speak of romantic dates and seduction.

As we walked around the mall we spoke awkwardly and had a lot of pauses. Eventually, more out of awkwardness and boredom than hunger, Mason decided he was hungry and we went to dinner. The meal was not much better, but we did have a few interesting conversations about science. When we were done, Mason got both of our meals wrapped up for himself and took them with him.

He walked me to my car, again. We loitered at my car for five or ten minutes while I became disinterested in him mustering up the courage to kiss me. Finally, I shrugged and turned away as I said goodnight. "Wait. Do you want to go out again?" Mason asked. My reaction was somewhere between, "Uh, sure" and, "(sigh) Okay." Maybe I'm a bitch, but why would a guy take me out twice and not kiss me, and still want a third date?

Date Three

Clearly, there was no date three. Topher tried to talk me into giving Mason another chance, but I declined. That's when it got really interesting. Mason called, texted, and left messages frantically. All in all, he left about six voicemails and 14 text messages before he gave up. It surprised me that a guy who seemed so blasé and uninterested was, in fact, pretty interested.

Here are Mason's finishing vitals:

• Actual Age: 39
• Ginger
• Physicist
• Painfully Shy
• Actual Height: 6'2

If he'd just kissed me on one of the two dates, I would've given him a chance and really tried to get him out of his shell, but his total lack of assertion was just too much of a turn off. It took me both dates and a few extra hours to put my finger on the problem; it was definitely his disconnectedness: it's impossible to establish a connection with someone who doesn't even seem to get himself, let alone you.

Disappearing Act

It's always disappointing when you spend weeks exchanging emails with a guy and then he disappears. For weeks you imagine what he's like in real life, and you form a tenuous attachment to your idea of him. Maybe the two of you even discuss date plans, but never set a time and location. Then, suddenly, he's gone. There's never a reason given or any form of closure. One minute you have a connection and you're excited--maybe even fantasizing about fun dates and more--and the next you're rejected.

It could be the result of misphrasing something that unsettles him, bad timing, or you reminding him of someone he used to love and now hates (or his mom and sisters), and other times it could mean he's already started dating someone else, but otherwise would still be interested. I am guilty of blocking/deleting people who say something creepy that might have been innocent but badly worded, people who remind me of exes, and guys who call me pet names like "sweetie" or "baby" prematurely. Who knows why someone blocks you; you certainly won't get an answer. You're just tossed in the trash heap like all of the toupee-wearing 55-year-olds who claim they're 42. Back to the drawing board.

Disastrous Double-Header, Part Two

Today's professionals move around the world for work, leaving behind the comforts of yesterday, such as meeting people organically. Today, it really does take conventions like Meetup.com to find friends in each new city, and to ensure that weekends don't become more punishing than work weeks.

After my abysmal date with Rex, I headed home to watch Insurgent, because I hadn't learned my lesson from the previous movie, Divergent. I have this horrible hope addiction; I'm always hoping things will be better the second time, even when the stats, odds, and common sense are against it.

In the spirit of second attempts, I agreed to go on a spontaneous date with Saul, a man I'd only been emailing for half a day. Although Saul lived an hour from Vegas, I rationalized that it'd be better to date a great guy an hour away than to settle for someone boring who lives five minutes away (actually, I think this might have been one of those horrible Facebook memes people kept sharing all week). It turned out that Saul was in Vegas to go to REI, so the timing was right.

Saul (#2) seemed intelligent and successful. His emails were so well written that I started re-reading my own to ensure that I was keeping up. I loved that he jumped straight to a date, sparing us both the weeks of emailing that inevitably amount to nothing.

Saul's vitals were a bit of a mystery still:

• Claimed Age: 39
• No Kids
• Traveling Consultant
• Claimed Height: 6'1

We agreed to meet at Three Angry Wives' Pub at 6:00, but Saul text me at 5:40 stating that he was in the booth by the door "waiting." I hurried to the pub, and felt a bit chastised when he checked his watch and pursed his lips as I arrived at 5:55. We awkwardly hugged, and then I sat down.

"So, why are you named Dylan?" he said with disdain and a deadpan stare. I explained the following reasons:

1. My mom liked Bob Dylan's song, "Girl from North Country"
2. My mom also has a dude's name, and thinks it's super cute
3. We're Frenchified (not in the venereal way), and in France they have the Fabienne/Fabien thing, so my mom thought an American Dylan/Dylan thing would work

Three explanations in, he was still staring, expressionless. I changed the subject and asked about the photographic hike that he'd mentioned via email. Saul went on a fifteen-minute rant about what serious hikers do, and how laughable people are when they claim to like hiking on the dating site, but have never lugged a 60-pound hiker's pack on an overnight run. I smiled weakly and planned to leave as soon as our drinks were gone. Then Saul asked, "What kind of hiker are you?" just as the waitress, finally, appeared. Much to my chagrin, Saul ordered a two-course meal: having already eaten and having only agreed to one drink, I declined to order.

We both sat in the booth quietly for a moment, and then Saul continued his hiking rant. He told me about trails in Pahrump I hope to never visit, and wild horses I never want to see. His passion for hiking seemed like the kind of thing that would be a defining requirement for his significant other. Suddenly, Saul circled back and asked about my interest in hiking, again. "I like short, easy hikes. Actually, in the 110-degree Vegas heat I prefer to hike in the gym on the treadmill." He didn't think that was funny.

He picked at his food slowly as he continued talking about hiking, until he suddenly thought of something. His tone and demeanor changed as he mentioned, "The next time I see a person carving his initials into a tree, I'm going to carve my initials into his flesh." He took a bite of salad and stared at me without blinking. Oh, shit. Thinking back, none of his six dating profile pictures displayed a smile; they all had this intense gaze.

As I looked for the waitress, he continued to talk about hiking, and the qualifications required to be a "real hiker." It took the waitress about fifteen minutes to get our check and for him to sign. I tried to pay for my beer, but he declined. At that moment, I got a text from a friend about an event we would attend the next night. "Saul, it was nice to meet you," I said as I slid off the booth, "but I have to go! This is urgent!"

Here are Saul's finishing vitals:

• Actual Age: 39
• No Kids
• Traveling Murderer?
• Actual Height: 6'1

I drove around Summerlin for half an hour thinking, or because I wanted to make sure he wasn't following me, and then I went home. Sequels, as we all know, are utter shit. My friend's mom's leftover lumpia and a cold Diet Coke would be a better choice any night than a date with Saul. Ending my Saturday on a real slump, I realized I hadn't returned Insurgent to Red Box and would be condoning that crap-fest with another night's rental fee. Times like these make a lady wonder if the ex-boyfriend was really that bad.

Disastrous Double-Header, Part One

Let me begin by saying that I've always hated dating, and I don't have much experience. I certainly don't fit into the hyper-aware, uninhibited, Las Vegas dating scene (where waiting until a second date is "old fashioned"). Now, I'm not claiming that everyone here is sleeping around on first dates, but it certainly is normal.

Rex (#1) seemed charming and laid-back in his emails. Like almost all of my dates, we met on a dating site and exchanged emails for about two weeks. While I could tell that grammar wasn't necessarily his jam, I could also sense that he was a genuine and kind guy, so I gave it a shot. As you can read in this blog, grammar isn't my strongest suit either, so who am I to judge?

When he finally asked me out I'd been dodging the question about my real name for a full week. It's always an awkward topic, what with Caitlyn Jenner still making the news and transgender debates raging due to Target pulling gender labels from aisles. I admitted that I have a dude's name, and he didn't ask the three obnoxious questions that everyone thinks are so clever, which are:

1. Did your parents want a boy?
2. Do you have a brother named Sue?
3. Are you sure that's how it's pronounced?

Right away, Rex was less despicable than the online daters who'd bluntly asked if I was born a woman. Yes, yes I was, and thank you for saving me the trouble of a first date, guys. By the way, isn't the name the first thing a person changes when s/he gets a sex change? Come on!

Before we jump into the date, here are Rex's vitals:

• Claimed Age: 40ish
• Hawaiian
• 11-year-old daughter
• Cop
• Claimed Height: 5'9

I arrived at Sambalatte around 1:25, because I like to buy my own coffee for these pre-screening coffee dates. By 1:30, I was seated and waiting, so I checked my email. Rex had emailed that he was going to be ten minutes late, which was thoughtful. At 1:45 he arrived, seeming flustered and confused. We hugged awkwardly and said hello. He noticed my coffee and went to get one for himself. I leered long enough to notice that he was a fit, handsome guy.

When Rex returned he sat down, proceeding to lean forward and backward frenetically for the rest of the time we were there, as though he was rowing the table through the date with his torso. "What's your name?" Rex asked with glazed eyes. It was followed by, "What do you do, again?" As serial online daters often do, Rex had forgotten which one I was: although I wasn't offended, I definitely lost a bit of interest. Then, I realized something else. Rex asked me my profession a second time, and generally seemed incapable of following the conversation. Oh, shit.

"One time I went to Cafe Leone but it was busy, um, so ... " Rex stared off into space vacantly. Normally, when guys look off and their eyes glaze over it's because they're eye-fucking some young, hot girl. This time, however, Rex was just looking at the wall. A painting- and window-free wall. Two or three more times Rex lost his train of thought and announced a decibel louder, "BRAIN FART! heh heh."

At this point, I knew there'd be no love connection or picket fence, but I was still wondering if I could work a friendship out of it. Then, Rex smiled the smile of a man who doesn't own a toothbrush or floss. While it's completely shallow, the visual compounded by the reminder my childhood dentist barked to us, "Cavities are contagious!!" stuck in my mind, and my attraction bottomed-out at 0%. Yet, the diligent part of me still wanted to come away with a friendship, even if it was a tenuous, "Talk to you next never!" sort.

I asked all the right questions, and Rex tried to follow along. In the end, the only intelligible conversation he offered was that he loves his boat. When we walked outside and headed toward our cars, we were both equally disappointed to realize they were in the same direction. Stopping near my Prius, I smiled, shrugged, and said, "It was nice to meet you, Rex." His response was a furious-red blush and, "I'm sorry. I'm so nervous. Dating is awful." He quickly walked away and I watched his amazing shoulders disappear into the horribly bright Vegas day.

Here are Rex's finishing vitals:

• Actual Age: Well Preserved 40ish
• Hawaiian
• 11-year-old daughter
• Cop
• Actual Height: 5'7

Dating is awful. Even if you're a perfect ten (which I'm not by any means; maybe a six), it's still dreadful trying to find someone who comes close to you on every level and makes you excited to see the world through love's rose-colored glasses. Heck, I can't even find a guy to drink mimosas with on Sunday.