He plays guitar in a rock band, grew up on the Hamptons (think: free beach vacations) and now lives in Queens (think: real, down-to-earth guy). I super-stalked him on MySpaceMusic, and was pleasantly surprised by a fabulous jaw line and piercing blue eyes in every single picture. He even looks cute when he does that stupid tongue-out, devil horns, "I'm so much cooler than you" pose. In short, I was in love.
Then we made a coffee date, and I beat him there. No big deal. I try to make a habit of beating guys to an established meeting spot, because searching for a date makes me nervous. Then he walked in. His hands were in his pockets and he was, like...bouncing. "Uhhh, [bounce] hey? [bounce] Rebecca? [bounce bounce]" I wouldn't be surprised if it's the bouncing that deters women.
So I gave it a go anyway. And we commenced to have the least exciting series of conversations ever. Until I brought up death and cadavers. But then I just felt creepy for enjoying a conversation about death more than the one about heavy metal music. Or his roommates in Queens.
If all the energy you can offer a conversation is nervous energy, maybe you shouldn't be dating.
No comments:
Post a Comment