Virginia is for … Dating

Thursday, February 25th, 2010

New Year’s Eve 2007 was one fine sight. Picture me, no makeup, hair back in a frizzy bun, sprawled out on the couch in sweatpants and an oversize “Virginia is for Lovers” T-shirt. I looked like a sloppy mess in my Crystal City apartment, channel surfing between QVC and Dick Clark’s “New Year’s Rockin’ Eve,” sipping on cheap cabernet, and, of course, eating. Unfortunately, there weren’t any hunky Matthew McConaughey’s fawning and fighting over me. I was alone that night, ignoring everyone’s calls. However, I did manage to call security on my neighbor’s party. I mean seriously, I could barely hear Dick Clark over the party next door. The Debbie Downer in me came out that night, but overall, I was actually feeling good (partially due to the cheap wine).

About a month before that lively evening I had finally ended a long-term relationship, which dragged out well beyond its expiration date. I had spent most of my twenties in monogamous relationships with the exception of college, where I focused much of my time and attention on communication studies at fraternity parties, football games and breakfast clubs. As I watched Dick Clark and crew discussing who had died in 2007, I decided to leave the ghosts of the past behind me and enter into 2008 unrestricted. Dating spree.

In order to get back in the game, I needed the right dating game plan. It had been a while, and I wanted to date as many guys as possible without rushing into anything serious too soon. So, I set a few ground rules. I would say yes to the majority of guys who asked me out (unless they seemed sketchy or just intended to make out with me). Secondly, I wouldn’t jump into a sexual relationship with any of my dates. Thirdly, no game playing. I would be upfront and honest with my dates, telling them where I was in my life and my expectations. I decided to keep a diary of each date and each guy. I called it my little red book.

First there was The Gentleman. Whether going to costume parties or out in Virginia for cocktails, his dates were always active and fun. It was on the third date after walking me to my doorstep that he asked for a kiss. Now, some would say that is sweet. However, there was a certain sense of spontaneity he lacked. I felt zero attraction to this guy, but gave him a quick peck on the lips anyway. That’s when I realized I couldn’t turn this date into a fourth. There was absolutely no chemistry or physical attraction.

“Matthew McConaughey” had potential. We met at a house party in Alexandria, where he couldn’t stop staring. I loved the attention and reciprocated until he finally walked around to my side of the kitchen and made an excuse to talk to me. We ended up chatting the rest of the evening. It turned out it was his first week in the area, and I offered to give him a tour of Northern Virginia. We went on five dates. There was no denying the chemistry, and the conversations were always lively. However, I quickly learned those burning eyes that stared right through me also wandered toward attractive younger women. He was a flirt, and the ladies liked him. I lost interest after getting the distinct feeling I wasn’t the only one on his mind.

Then there was The 34-Year-Old. We shared the same birthday and went out on a few dates. He took me to see “No Country for Old Men” when it came out in theaters. I couldn’t help but laugh throughout it. Men and their guns. Afterward, The 34-Year-Old told me that I was more confusing than the movie. Now, most ladies might be offended by this comment, but I took it as a compliment and thanked him. Still, in the end, I decided I was looking for someone with some pizzazz and more of a sense of humor.

From January through March 2008, I dated 21 guys. Occasionally, I double booked, having lunch with one guy and dinner with another. I wore one dynamic date outfit per week, which really saved on clothes. During those three months, I dated almost every type of guy.

Kentucky was a chivalrous guy with a cute accent. He took me to the Chris Rock show in Baltimore, jazz in Georgetown and delicious restaurants. On the third date he mentioned our children’s names. We were to have a boy and a girl together. Suddenly, Kentucky wasn’t so appealing anymore.

I met Meathead in my office building. He was tall, dark and very handsome. We had eyed each other for a couple of months, saying hello in the hallway, making small talk at Au Bon Pain.

Meathead: “You’re going for the chocolate chip cookie today, eh?”

Me: “Yeah, I can’t resist.”

Meathead: “Hey, did you get tickets for the gun show?”

Me: “What gun show?”

Meathead: “These.” (flexing his biceps)

He finally asked me out to dinner, but it was a challenge to schedule a date. When he wasn’t working, he was focusing on his chest at the gym. As with most dates, I did most of the talking and asked the questions. At times with Meathead, it was like pulling teeth just to converse. Although I’ve got to give him proper credit; he knew a lot about protein shakes, bench pressing and egg whites. We stopped by his apartment after dinner (which I paid for, by the way—$60 and change). I had never seen an apartment like his. He had dresser drawers but didn’t use them since he had a floor, which I couldn’t see. All of his pots, pans and dishes were housed in the sink and caked with burned chicken and moldy water. He told me he had a ritual of eating chicken breast and eggs after every workout. As for the toilet … I hovered. It became pretty clear Meathead didn’t want a date; he wanted a mom. And I simply didn’t have enough money, patience or soft scrub to take on that responsibility.

Internet Guy didn’t like the word “no.” His persistence was unparalleled, repeatedly asking me to spend the night with him after our first date. He then called and emailed me for a good month asking for a second evening out. He was intelligent and could carry on a conversation. But his arrogance outshined his good qualities.

I admired The Environmentalist’s passion for hybrid vehicles, clean-coal technology and turning waste into energy. A guy with a cause is always a shoe-in. However, he lived in a neighborhood that was neither Metro-accessible nor safe to walk in day or night. Since he didn’t have a car, I played soccer mom for every date, and wearing a bulletproof vest made me look fat. My passion for him quickly waned.

And how could I forget Tony Soprano? He knew how to wine and dine and did it flawlessly. We met on my birthday. I was out with friends, and he was bartending. The free drinks kept coming and by night’s end, he had my phone number. He arrived with a nicely wrapped scented candle for me on our first date. Good taste and good move. At dinner, he ordered for both of us, and he did it with confidence.

“We’ll start with the tuna tartare followed by the porterhouse steak, a side of sauteed fresh soinac and mushrooms and Lyonnaise potatoes.”

I sat back, content not to have to make a decision. To top it off, he ordered a chocolate birthday dessert for me, complete with a candle. I ate the entire piece as Tony watched me devour it. It was a good date—until the moment came somewhere between our after-dessert Scotch and his cigar when he began detailing past sexual exploits. Arrivederci, Tony.

Those first three months of 2008 proved to be liberating (and not just financially speaking!). I had the time of my life adapting to 21 very different personalities, senses of humor (or lack thereof) and idiosyncrasies. Some of the guys had planned a lifetime with me, others wanted me for only a season, and a handful just for the night. And I learned to differentiate quickly.

One year later, New Year’s Eve 2008, proved to be another fine site. Only this time I had replaced the sweats for skinny jeans, frizzy hair for soft tendrils and Dick Clark for a night out in Shirlington as I walked hand-in-hand with Lucky Number 22.

–Katie

Follow Katie’s blog as she discusses dating in Northern Virginia, relationships, nightlife, local excursions and more. She can be reached at littleredbook@northernvirginiamag.com.

Tags: Dating, Dick Clark, Katie Greenan, Little Red Book, New Year's Eve