Pimpin’ Ain’t Easy

Several years ago, I went through a few periods of being single.  In case you are not aware of this, it is really hard to meet good people when you are in your late 30s.  The pool is small and, well…rather picked-over.  I already wrote in this blog about one of my online dating experiences.  I did the eharmony thing for a few months, at my friend’s insistence.  I was not a huge fan, but I will say, it is a great way to get out there and meet some people.  When you’re single, I think the best thing you can do is just get out of your house and go meet people. It served that purpose well, but I felt like eharmony was hard for me because it seemed like it was stacked up with dudes with whom I’d never have anything in common.  So I started to get creative. 

I don’t remember whose idea it was.  I might have mentioned to my pal Lisa (the same one who bought me the eharmony membership) an idea to use facebook to try to meet guys.  I guess the thinking was that it’s not so random—it’d be people my friend knew—at least somewhat.  So Lisa pimped me out on her facebook page.  And it worked.  Sort of.

Two guys responded to her post.  One was an old neighbor from the house she lived in till she was ten.  His name was David.  Lisa hadn’t seen him since she was ten, but assured me that his family was wonderful and that he had been a nice guy—at least back then.  She gave me his phone number and asked me to tell her if his voice still sounded like Kermit.  I was able to let her know later that it did.

I found out that David was recently divorced.  He was employed as a guy who drives around the state to different dentist offices, picking up the precious metals that have come out of people’s teeth.  I’ll bet you didn’t even know that was a thing!  And I guess that right there is why I didn’t completely hate dating.  Because every person you meet is probably going to—at the very least—give you a gem like that. 

After a not-entirely-promising conversation, we decided to meet in person.  We met at a martini bar in Royal Oak at 9pm on a Friday night.  The meeting was a little like an interview—a couple of people firing questions at each other, answering the questions, looking for anything to latch onto to turn into a conversation.  After what seemed like a few grueling hours of this, I went to the ladies room, checked my phone for the time and was devastated to see it wasn’t even 10pm. 

I returned to the table, considered calling it quits, but out of politeness, decided to give it another shot.  Up to this point, he had mentioned his divorce and his ex-wife a handful of times in pretty derogatory terms (that’s always charming on a first date).  So I decided to go ahead and ask about it, “So sounds like your divorce was pretty tough, huh?” 

“Oh, no, we get along ok.  We decided to stay civil because of our son.”   I felt some sympathy for that woman, having to have a tie to this man for the rest of her life.  He went on, summing up their relationship and its demise like this:  “Oh, you know how you ladies are…in the beginning, you’re going to the gym and taking care of things and looking good.  Then you get married, have a kid….by the time we got divorced, my wife could take up two chairs!”  David was no prize.  He looked ok until he smiled—and then his whole face became unattractive somehow.  And turns out he was ugly on the inside too.  Things wrapped up pretty quickly after that.    

The other guy was a friend of Lisa’s from way back. I’d heard of him, but we’d (I thought) never met.  Turns out, not only had we met before, but he had actually been to my house once, years ago.  He’d come over with a couple other people I’m friends with—people who don’t even know Lisa.  So that was a fun way to start things off.  That first phone call lasted a really long time.  He was interesting and intelligent—a far cry from David—things were looking up. 

In that first conversation, he mentioned something about being a squatter in a friend’s abandoned house.  Ok, I don’t want to sound nit-picky, but squatting brings to mind an idea of transience.  It’s not like the guy was a hobo…but it’s just not something that sounds awesome when you’re meeting a potential mate. 

He also disclosed that he liked to smoke weed.  I don’t have a problem with that.  I have many good friends who smoke and hold down impressive jobs and lead successful lives in every sense of the word.  But he mentioned it kind of a lot.  Having been in a marriage that was destroyed by drugs (among other things), I am a little guy-shy about that stuff.  I’m not going to criticize anyone for smoking a little weed now and then, but I didn’t want to get into a relationship with someone who is all about it either.

We made plans to go get a drink the next night (a Wednesday).  He was going to pick me up at my house at 8.  That night, he was 45 minutes late (stoner time?).  I am not always the most prompt person so I will not fault someone for being a little late…but come on, 45 minutes?  He had brought over a couple of Miller tall boys in a plastic bag, which was really thoughtful, but funny—like a pre-party for a first date.  The funny thing is, that is not the only time a bag of beers has made an appearance in my dating history.  There was one guy who I had been hanging out with for a little while and I was thinking of breaking things off with him because I was starting to see that he was sort of selfish and cheap.  There were many examples of that, but one thing that bugged me was how he would always come over and have beers from my fridge, but never brought any over. So I finally asked him if he’d bring some beer over.  And he did.  He brought over a plastic bag that had about 5 Milwaukee’s Bests in it that he had grabbed from his parents’ fridge.  Needless to say, he got dumped that night.  But I digress.  Back to the pre-party for our date.  It was about 9pm and I had to go to work the next day so I told him I didn’t want to stay out too late.  And I didn’t want to chug down a whole 16 oz. beer in ten minutes so we split it.  And he guzzled down the other one too.  And I think we only hung out at my house for maybe 20 minutes tops. As we were leaving he muttered something about having cut down drinking lately so that he had a buzz.  So I got drunk-driven to a bar on a first date. Luckily, it was only a few miles away. 

We went to a club that had some old Motown-era musicians playing.  It was a cool time—we talked a ton about music and politics and all kinds of stuff.  As he was leaving, he gave me a bag of cherry tomatoes he’d had in his car—just picked from his garden.  Looking back, I think, aw, the tomatoes were really sweet—especially since I am a bit of a gardener too. But I think neither of us called the other after that night.  Maybe he was nervous.  Maybe I was too judgmental.  Anyway, it doesn’t matter because eventually, I got back together with my old boyfriend.  But if you ever find yourself single and disenchanted with the standard means of connecting with people, be creative.  Have your pals pimp you out.  If nothing else, maybe you’ll come away with a story or two.