Spring cleaning in July

This is my personal blog. I should be able to share anything and everything about my twisted, maladjusted psyche. But I don't think I have.

I hide many things from you loyal readers ... for your sake. But sometimes, it's just for my sake. I have a hangup delving into certain facets of my life. There are several reasons. One, I'm guarded by nature. Two, I do not want to sound emo and whiny. I have no problem sounding grumpy or agitated, but emo? Heavens no!

This all leads to a shocking revelation I've shared with only a few people. Don't feel bad if you weren't in the loop. I don't go around sharing failures this painful with a lot of people.

The revelation? I went on a date with a real, live female a few months ago. It went great aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand it went nowhere.

Why didn't I blog about this when it happened? Well, I didn't want to jinx anything and, frankly, I just didn't feel comfortable. But three months later and she's still knocking around my head so I figure a therapeutic outpouring on this webspace could serve as a sort of spring cleaning of my mind.

We met online in a bestiality chat room (kidding) and corresponded for about two weeks. I won't reveal too much information on this mystery woman, except that she lives in Miami and studies psychology. I spent maybe 20-30 minutes constructing every email, pouring over every last word to make sure I did not say something stupid that could ruin the whole thing. Even if the email was 200-300 words, I spent a lot of time on it.

We went back and forth and the exchanges were great. Funny, enlightening. I could tell she was VERY smart, modest, down to earth and from her picture cute as a button. Basically, right down my alley. If you don't know by now, I don't go for women who look like porn stars with bleached blond hair, bronzed skin and tons of makeup. They don't go me, either. For lack of a better term, the cliche' "girl next door" is my type. And she fit it to a tee.

So we met at a outdoor cafe in Coral Gables on the opening day of the NCAA tournament (again, this was a while ago). I got there an hour early just to make sure I wouldn't be late. After walking around Coral Gables - where everyone dressed and looked like extras from CSI: Miami - I arrived at the cafe five minutes before 8 pm and picked a random table. The place wasn't very busy.

It was 8:05 and no sight of her. I was already getting nervous, but she showed up and she looked even better in person. To give you an idea, she's white, petite, about 5-7 with curly brown hair. With a table of four chairs, she took the one closest to me, which I thought was a good sign.

And we talked. For a solid three hours. We had an almost insane amount of things in common, from political beliefs, her long work hours, the fact she works in a field dominated by one gender, her fear of flying to her being raised Catholic. At the time, her younger sister was about to get married. So she mentioned to me that, at 26, she kind of felt like an old maid. Likewise, I have a younger sister who is engaged and another who's been in a serious relationship for a few years. Obviously, we're closer to flying cars and a Muslim homosexual president than I am to getting married.

Another thing I got a kick out of was her affinity for foreign movies. While not a movie snob as some people might like to believe, I do enjoy a foreign film from time to time. She really impressed me by having seen "The Lives of Others," a German movie set in East Germany at the time of the Stasi. It's a really good flick and one I highly recommend.

I think I even impressed her with my passing knowledge of the Milgram Experiment. Thank you, Northeastern! (By the way, she's an alum of a university that, while much more prestigious, gets confused with Northeastern sometimes.)

While at times I had to prod her a bit to continue the conversation, it went pretty smoothly without any awkward silent gaps. We ended at 11 or so, the only people still left at the cafe. She had to to get to bed early because she was part of a wedding party the next day. I escorted her to her car, which was parked only a few feet from mine in a garage, asked for her number, received it and we went our separate ways. No, I didn't try for anything else. Just did not seem like the thing to do. If you try and it's rejected, well, the whole night is ruined, right? Game over. See ya.

Anyway, I did pull up behind her as we paid for our parking stub and accidentally hit the horn and dug in my pocket for my wallet. She didn't turn around or anything so I assumed I caught a break and she hadn't noticed. Or maybe she realized, "He's just a prick northeastern driver. Asshole!" I'll never know for sure.

So I waited the requisite day and called her Saturday morning and left a message. Days passed ... nothing. If you know me, you can assume I read into this in the most pessimistic way possible. I called again, left another message. The next Friday I got an email. Suffice it to say, it had the requisite "Sorry it took so long to respond. I enjoyed our conversation. You seem like an intelligent, honest...blah blah blah But I'm not really looking to date right now."

And I got this email about an hour before I went into work. Devastated is a good word to describe my state of mind. Confounded is another. If I felt like I screwed up, at least I knew what went wrong. If I felt she had not shown any interest, then so be it. But I felt otherwise. I felt like I did as best I possibly could (and there's no harsher critic of me in this field than myself) and that she enjoyed the night.

That following shift, a 7 pm-4am doozy, was one of the hardest I've ever had. If I had my druthers, I would not have said one word the entire time. But my co-workers would have noticed and the questions would have come flying. I didn't want to deal with that.

Despite my best efforts, they still noticed, but I deflected them. I told one of the guys the next day that a "date didn't work out." It took a solid 48 hours to recover enough so I could operate as the good ol' Steve they know and tolerate.

"Why the confession now?" you ask. Three months later and that woman, that night are still knocking around in my head, still bothering me. We exchanged a couple of emails and talked for a few hours. It's not like I got dumped by a longtime girlfriend or anything. It's completely irrational for this to still haunt me the way it does. But we're talking about a guy who loses his temper when a bunch of millionaires lose a big lead in Baltimore. You're talking about a guy who is still pained by the "Immaculate Interception." So sometimes reason does not enter the equation.

Well, there it is. My attempt at self-therapy. Hopefully it works, even just a little. With any luck, these memories will head to the dustbin. Maybe I'll find them if I lift up the carpet, but otherwise they'll stay out of view. I'll let you know three months from now.