You know you’re a blogger when…
You go on a date and you spend the entire time coming up with the blog post you’ll write the next day.
And then I sit in front of the New Post screen and stare at it. I am at a loss for words because I told him I am a blogger.
So, of course, for the last 12 hours since the end of our date I have been paranoid that he “Googled” me. Okay, not the whole 12 hours. Because I did sleep. For about 3 of them. Oh insomnia, you are fucking killing me.
You know, I really wasn’t prepared for it though. Dating, I mean.
I nearly had a panic attack sitting in my car in front of the restaurant.
I got there right on time and then, because I get anxiety from entering places I am unfamiliar with by myself, I texted him to ask if he wanted to just meet out front.
And then I sat there for pretty much 10 minutes. My heart was pounding, I felt like I was going to puke, and part of me wanted to just throw the car into reverse and get the fuck out of there.
It didn’t really have a lot to do with him or whether he was going to like me. I just didn’t want to walk into that place by myself and try to figure out which person was the one I was meeting. All I had to go off of was a picture off the dating website, and it wasn’t exactly a great picture. I didn’t want to walk in and go up to random people of the male gender and ask if they were “W”. That thought terrified me.
I mean, yeah, I was kind of concerned about the whole, “Is he going to be as cool IRL as he is via text messages?” “Is he going to think I’m a socially awkward spaz and bail out ASAP?” (I mean, I am a socially awkward spaz, but yeah…)
I only changed my outfit like 5 times before leaving the house. And ended up wearing exactly what I had worn to work. I wanted to look like myself, and apparently that is very difficult for me.
So ten minutes after I arrive at the restaurant parking lot, he texts me that he just arrived and for me to meet him in the upstairs bar.
I heard towards the front of the restaurant and see the stairs to the upstairs bar. And get another text.
“I’m not the guy in green.”
I get to the upstairs bar, and – how helpful! – there are only two guys sitting at the bar. One of them is wearing green and the other is looking in my direction.
So I guess it was easier than I thought to find him.
And then he did the only thing that made me uncomfortable that entire night.
He hugged me.
And, in an effort to not make this post a manic brain dump and totally make you want to stop reading forever, I’ll just tell you that the date went well. We had a couple drinks, I tried pot-stickers, we talked a lot, but I probably talked more, I told him about T, he told me about his two kids, I called him a geezer, he called himself a geezer, he paid the bill, he walked me to the car, he hugged me again, and then we both went home.