Circle, circle, dot. dot. dot.

Match Date # 2: The Writer
12:30 PM, Tuesday afternoon

Out of the men who contacted me during the first few days after I had signed up, I thought that the Writer and I probably had the potential for the most in common. We had been through the same English department as undergrads. He had studied writing and I had studied literature. We both went somewhere else for graduate programs and had both returned to Raleigh.

He writes professionally now, for a few different places. Being the nerd that I am, I, of course, found all of that very interesting.

I also thought it was endearing when after I made a comment in an email that I had always been interested in how people got involved in writing for television shows, he responded with basically a how-to guide for my distant dream. He apologized for “geeking out.”

I’m definitely one of those girls who find that kind of thing attractive rather than the other way around. If a guy can’t “teach” me something, or if he can’t “keep up” so to speak, I lose interest quickly.

We made a date to have lunch after I finished teaching at a restaurant near the college.

The restaurant is frequented by a lot of the other professors in the department. I have been there a handful of times, and it never fails; I always see someone from the department there. It’s one of the “nicer” restaurants on the strip, and it’s rare that you’ll see a student there.

By the time I finished teaching for the day, I was already batting 1,000 (as they say). The night before, I hadn’t been able to fall asleep at all. With teaching the 8am class this semester, I’ve been trying desperately to go to sleep before my usual 1am. Monday night I hadn’t been successful at all and had tossed and turned until sometime after 2am. My alarm went off at 5:30, and as I got up I wondered how I was going to teach three classes let alone make for an interesting lunch date. I was also cursing the weatherman, as rain and cold temperatures had been forecasted. It was overcast, yes, but not raining. And it wasn’t cold.

I opened the large wood door to the restaurant weighed down by my briefcase; umbrella and winter coat and saw the Writer sitting there like a little boy on the bench. He looked nervous, self-conscious, and confused.

I smiled and walked towards him, saying “hi” cheerfully. He stammered, stood up, and said, “the party is here” to the hostess.

I like to consider myself good company, but I’m not sure that I qualify as “a party.”

We both walked toward our table, but then he stopped, turned, and asked if I wanted the inside or the outside.

I was glad he offered, because I always prefer a seat that leaves me less exposed to the surrounding tables.

Over the next hour, we ordered food (me: swordfish salad, him: fish tacos), and made our way through conversation.

I quickly realized that he was very nervous, or at least, socially awkward. He kept jilting our unsteady table, shocked each time that it had moved so violently.

He also kept putting his fingers to his forehead in a concerted way.

I noticed an interesting facial expression that he sometimes made, where he bared his teeth in a type of grimace.

His eyes kept darting to my abundant cleavage and I self-consciously tried to catch the errant greens from my salad that never seemed to make it from the fork to my mouth in a dignified manner.

At one point in the conversation I described myself as a very social person – someone who enjoys most activities as long as I have good company. I lamented that I hadn’t been as social as I would like since moving back down here.

Conversely, he described himself as someone who is hardly social (surprise). He “geeked out” on me a few times as he discussed his Tivo habits and love of comic books.

As the lunch progressed, I realized that I could move him out of the “has potential” pile.

I felt badly as I found myself watching the cute bartender behind him.

I am trying to keep an open-mind about these dates, but if there’s one thing I’ve been able to nail down about what “type” of guy I like, it’s someone who has a strong enough personality to carry conversation and intrigue me. I knew quickly that he didn’t feel comfortable, and I didn’t think it was necessarily the fact that he was meeting someone for the first time.

He nervously checked his watch a few times and gave me an estimated time of his departure.

“I’ve really enjoyed having lunch with you. You… You seem really nice. But I only paid for an hour and a half in the pay lot, and I got here early. So I have to leave soon. I will have to leave in 7 minutes.”

I thanked him for the lunch, and started to gather my things. But I realized that he had something more to say.

“I think you’re… you’re really nice. I enjoyed meeting you. I. I was wondering if you would like to go to a movie on Friday. There is an independent theater I like to go to. And they’re showing something on Friday if you would like to go? Also. I would like to get your email address or your phone number.”

“I can give you my email address.”

“Okay. Okay, great. Oh. Gmail. Great. I use that one too.”

“About Friday, I have tentative plans with a friend, so can I get back to you?”

“Sure.”

Moments later he rushed up from his seat, and I told him he could go on ahead of me.

Then he was gone.

I gathered the rest of my stuff and left the restaurant.

As I crossed the street and walked through the campus, I hoped that my potential plans with another match guy would be confirmed for Friday. The Writer was nice, but I knew he was not the kind of guy I would want to date, though I wouldn’t mind having him as a friend. But I also knew that I couldn’t lead him on in any way, nor did I want to lie. I emailed him last night telling him that I have plans for Friday (which I do), and he responded this morning seemingly picking up on my lack of interest despite my two-line email.

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