Life in the shallow lane

On a (somewhat) lighter note...

Yesterday afternoon I was supposed to go on a first/blind date with yet another online suitor. We had talked on the phone a few times and had good banter, so I was willing to overlook the fact that he only had two photos posted - neither of which gave me a clear idea of what he looked like - and that he was a huge sports fan.

It's not that I mind sports, per se. It's that this guy clearly stated he was looking for a girl who would watch out of interest and not of obligation. I told him during our second phone call that that would likely never be me, but he must have select hearing loss because five minutes later we were setting up a date for Sunday afternoon. We agreed to talk the day before to firm up a time and a place.

Come Saturday, he asks what I want to do. Red Flag #1. Guys, I know some of you might think this looks casual and open-minded, but seriously? On the first date, take control. You know (vaguely) where I live, you know (exactly) where you live, you should have at least one suggestion of a place where we can meet halfway. Especially if you've had four days to think about it. Please come to the phone call prepared.

Fortunately, I came prepared with my own suggestions, so I said, "Well, it's supposed to be a nice day, so I was thinking we could have drinks outside somewhere."

He was like, "Yeah, were you thinking Jamba Juice or coffee?"

Red Flag Number 2. Not to sound like an alcoholic, and not to embody my favorite cliche, Carrie Bradshaw, but I do not believe it's a date without cocktails. Anytime a guy has asked me out for coffee I have immediately lost interest and assumed he was either lame or in AA. At this point, I'd actually be excited to meet someone in rehab because the coffee dates have always, inevitably, turned out to be lame.

So I said, "Well, actually, I was thinking of grabbing a beer or something, but if you aren't much of a day drinker, that's cool. I could do some Jamba Juice." Lie. I hate Jamba Juice. I'll drink one, occasionally, but they're a waste of calories and I'd rather just have the fruit. Or an ice cream.

I went on to say, "As long as we can grab some sun somewhere, I'll be happy." I have a flask. Maybe I can spike my juice and reclaim the afternoon, after all.

"Oh, well, sun is actually a problem for me. I'm a skin cancer survivor."

Silence.

Red Flag Number 3. Um, have you met me?

"Oh, um, er, uh..." I stammered on like that though did manage to verbalize an apology while silently thinking that I need to get out of this date, stat.

I should note, here, we were meeting at 4 PM. The early May sun should not be a huge problem at that hour, and so, I reasoned, I shouldn't be that upset about missing it. Right? But we could never have a future together, certainly never go on vacation together. I couldn't even imagine spending a summer dating -- I'd feel guilty laying out and he'd be a constant nag about the sunscreen. No. Just, no.

I was at the end of my wits, by that point, so I finally kind of spat out, "Okay, well, what do YOU want to do?" Since you are making this so difficult.

"Well, I thought we could go to a park and just talk or walk around."

Okay. Fine. "Alright, well, I don't know any parks around here, so did you have one in mind?"

"Oh, yeah!" he bounds back, enthusiastically. "There's a great park right here in Sherman Oaks that I go to all the time. And it has plenty of shade."

Great. A park across the street from him, that was, at minimum 25 minutes from me, and usually more like 40. I've never discriminated against dating someone in the Valley, but I sure as hell didn't want to drive a half hour or more to spend a sober, shady afternoon with a stranger I had so little in common with.

"Great!" I chirped back. It was too late now. I lacked the balls to tell him that I really didn't think this was a good idea, though I knew there was no way I could go on this date. I was utterly turned off both by his lack of planning and our clearly different ideas of a fun afternoon. My disdain only increased as he warbled through driving directions, confusing different streets and turns. I stopped writing them down half way through. I knew I wouldn't be going.

How, exactly, could I cancel on him, though? He had pulled the Cancer Card! After something like that, it felt a little shallow to explain that we had nothing in common because I was a big drinker with a tanning problem. Maybe I should meet him. Maybe he could change my ways, save my skin, salvage my liver.

Or maybe I could trust my instincts and realize that keeping an open mind does not mean compromising ALL my standards. If he wanted to sit in a shady park, he could have suggested that off the bat. Or, once we had agreed to meet in his neighborhood, he could have at least offered to pick us up a six pack.

I wrote him a kindly-worded but straightforward email, explaining our differences and why I did not think meeting would be a good idea. To his credit, he left me a lovely voice mail and an email in response, apologizing and offering to change the terms of the date to anything I wanted. But, I didn't want to change the date so I'd be happy; I wanted us to be on the same page about what constitutes fun on a sunny Sunday afternoon in the first place. Between the sports, the sun, and the soft-focus photos, I just knew it wasn't going to work. And if anything could be saved, it was going to be my weekend.

So I wrote back that I was sorry and appreciative but was still going to pass, and went to a Sunday afternoon pool party, instead. It was seriously the best decision I've made in weeks.