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.