Thursday arrived and I was ready to go meet schoolteacher-pizza-delivery-Jason-Varitek. I got out of work on time, which was a modern day miracle, got changed in the bathroom and made my way over to Dave & Busters Times Square.
Being one of my first blind dates (with some pictures exchanged), I was still self conscious enough that even if I was looking my date in the eyes, I would call and pretend I didn’t see him so he could come find me.
I was pretty sure I saw him, but made the call, looked in the other direction, and he “found me.” He was cute – tall and big with a nice smile and white teeth (and no, that isn’t redundant) – and friendly. And he seemed normal. Ahhh, I was so naïve back then – guys don’t tend to a) self-diagnose, b) recognize or c) advertise that they are weirdos.
We made our way into the building, up the series of escalators and into the one of the bars (which, until recently, I thought was the only bar in D&B). We each ordered a drink and grabbed a table.
Good, we’ll have a drink, loosen up a bit, get the conversation going before we play games.
“Man, I can’t believe I’m finally here. I’ve been dying to come for so long.”
“I know – you mentioned that. Is it everything you hoped it would be?”
He laughed, “We’ll see! We just got here.”
“True, can’t make any final calls till you’ve played some of the games. Right?” I thought I was being clever.
“Oh, nah. I don’t care so much about playing the games. I’ve just wanted to come to this bar.”
I don't get it.
Oh! My turn.
“Oh yeah, totally," we ARE in Times Square - not the Twlight Zone, right? "Great bar."
The conversation picked back up and we were having fun – despite the fact that Mr. New York chose Dave and Busters BAR in Times Square for our first date with no intention of actually partaking in activities (I love activities, by the way).
We shared funny/awkward dating stories.
“So I have to admit something,” he said.
I was ready. I thought I was ready, “OK.”
“I saw my ex today.”
I could empathize.
“Oh yikes. How was it?”
“Well, it was the firs time we’ve seen each other since it was finalized.”
I was a little confused by his word choice, but soldiered on.
“That couldn’t have been easy. First time since you broke it off.”
“Yeah,” he shook his head. “First time since we signed the divorce papers.”
“And it was an ugly divorce, so you can imagine what it was like to see her after all this time.”
“How long has it been?”
“About 2 years.”
He was 28.
“Oh wow. How long were you together?”
“We dated for three years, were engaged for one and married for one.”
“Yeah. She went all possessive - psycho - bitch on me.”
Does she have a history of violence? Been there, done that.
“Yeah total crazy psychotic blonde,” he paused. “Actually, come to think of it, all the girls I’ve dated who are blonde end up being crazy - just abso-fucking-lutely crazy.”
Insert Anna Faris “I don’t know what’s happening” laugh here.
He continued, “You’re not going to become obsessed with me and turn into a mega psycho bitch too, are you?”
“Well you’re blonde!” he threw in a laugh for good measure.
Listen brosef, I'm so not a possessive psycho bitch that you will, in fact, never hear from me again - but thanks for setting the bar so high.
“Oh, hah, no-no. You don’t need to worry about that.”
“Good – I mean you seem normal now, but you never know.”
Yeah. You seemed normal until you revealed that you double as a pizza delivery boy, lust after the bar at Dave & Busters in Times Square, got a divorce and therefore, you were married...and then accused me of being psychotic.
It's true, you never know - until you do.