Although meeting women when they’re out with friends isn’t the best time to pick them up, it does have its benefits. They tend to be more open, more [...]]]> Note: this is is the third installment of Dating Week, a series of blog posts sparked by a discussion last Saturday with two other single male friends.

The physical manifestation of my dating history.

Although meeting women when they’re out with friends isn’t the best time to pick them up, it does have its benefits. They tend to be more open, more comfortable, and more themselves. You can get a better idea of their true personality, quirks and all.

Quirks aren’t necessary a bad thing. I want  a woman with a lot of personality. As such, I’d like her to feel free to be herself; fully unrestrained, fun, and at her most unguarded.

There are quirks, but then there are red flags. Being able to decipher the difference is an important skill that I’m a long way from mastering.

I probably don’t have to explain what a Red Flag is, but just in case: a Red Flag is a euphemism for a warning sign. In other words, say you’re on a first date and all a woman can talk about is her ex-boyfriend. That’s a red flag. Another example: you go out to dinner and the person you’re with gets tipsy before your food hits the table. Major red flag.

My personal favorite red flag story: I was on a date with a woman I had met through mutual friends. Due to the company, both of us were comfortable and relaxed andhit it off well. We made a date for the next week, which also went well…to a point. There were a few moments and statements made that gave me some pause, but with my propensity for missing those little red flags, I didn’t pay them much mind. Thankfully, she had a flag the size of a football stadium to unveil.

As we were discussing our respective pasts, she brought up her engagement a few years back. It was sort of a sad story, as she was practically left at the Altar. At the moment, I didn’t think too much of it. Again, I’m an idiot, but something like that is certainly an important and traumatic experience. I mean, it’s bound to come up at some point.

Then we moved onto another subject, and it came up again…and again.

And again.

The kicker came later in the evening. We had moved on to an entirely different subject when she, without warning, emptied the contents of her purse onto the table. It made me literally stop mid-sentence. From the pile of assorted materials she took out a folded up page of a magazine, opened it, and handed it to me. It was an advertisement for a bridal gown designed by…someone. I forget whom, and I most likely didn’t know who they were anyway.

What a guy doesn't want to see on a first date. Well, the woman's fine, just not the dress.

“What’s this?” I asked innocently.

“That,” she said, “is the gown I would have worn.”

“And…you carry this everywhere with you?”

“For the last three years.”

If there was an alarm that went off whenever it was time to finish up a date and cease all romantic pursuits, it would’ve caused dogs on the other side of the city to howl. All in all, nice girl, but holy crap.

I thanked her at the end of the date. Not insincerely, either. Sure, I was thankful that she was forthright about something that was weighing far too heavily on her mind to be anything but a detriment to any potential relationship rather than an enchanting evening, but at least I took something out of it. I’m thankful for those rare moments where the red flags fly so high you’d think you were back in the glory days of Soviet Russia (where engagement break you!).

I end up with women that are wrong for me, which I suppose is true for anybody that’s not engaged or married. In hindsight, I can look back and say that these are not severely broken or undateable women. For all their faults, I can match them; for every piece of baggage, I carry my own. The simple fact of the matter is they were not compatible or healthy for me to be with on a long-term basis, leading to awkward interactions, uncertain motivations and broken hearts. And in every instance, I can always look back and recognize that there were warning signs from the beginning that I should have heeded, and in many cases they were mistakes and oversights similar to the ones I’d made before.

Problem is, I’m a sucker for a pretty face and expressive eyes. So when a woman does or says something so disarming to me it creates a pregnant pause in the conversation, I should just get up, put my money on the table for dinner, give them a kiss on the cheek and whisper “thank you so much” before walking away. Instead, I break the silence by taking their hand and saying “so what do you want to do on Saturday?”

One of these days, I’ll learn. Until then, I’ll keep making the dumb mistakes and hope history doesn’t repeat itself. If only Napoleon had been so tenacious, he could’ve made one Hell of a comeback at Waterloo.

Tomorrow: ONLINE DATING

So what about you, readers? What’s your favorite Red Flag story?

Our second installment for Dating Week is based on the same conversation with the two men we will refer to as Adam and Paul, because those are their real names.

As the evening wore on, Adam, Paul and I continued to bond over tales of what it was like [...]]]> -or- “Terrible Flirt, Terrible at Flirting”

Our second installment for Dating Week is based on the same conversation with the two men we will refer to as Adam and Paul, because those are their real names.

As the evening wore on, Adam, Paul and I continued to bond over tales of what it was like being 28 and single. As was touched upon yesterday, we discussed the folly of trying to pick up a potential mate in bars and how we still try anyway.

According to Google Image Search, this is flirting. Here, a happy young man employs one of my favorite flirting tactics, what I call The "In Comes the Airplane Neeeeeoooow" Maneuver.

Talk then turned to the last time we found ourselves at that same establishment. It was the same large group of people: a mixture of gay and straight folk who pursued theatrics as a profession or obsessive hobby. Oddly, we also ended up in almost the same exact area of Oh Bar on Lark Street, except the seating arrangement was different.

The last time we were there, I sat next to a girl with whom I’d struck up some swell conversation earlier in the evening. Through a friend of a friend of a friend, I was brought in to perform in a staged reading that she was also cast in. We ended up sitting next to each other. Since I didn’t know anyone there, I got down to the business of getting to know her. Also, she had these incredible eyes.

For the sake of maintaining anonymity and not embarrassing myself fully, we’ll refer to her as Redacted.  Would you believe that’s her real name? Good, because it’s not.

After the performance, we ended up being dragged to Oh Bar. My friends and I talked about a lot of things, including my passive interest in her. We ended up, just as in the performance, sitting next to each other. Not by design, but rather because of the placement of people we knew and with whom we were most comfortable. I had intended to make a play by striking up some more playful conversation with Redacted, and talked to a couple people about her unusually striking eyes. Unfortunately, I ended up getting shut down.

“No, you totally chickened out with Redacted,” Paul interjected.

Wait, that’s not—-okay, yeah.

I swear, I was within seconds of telling Redacted what fantastic eyes she had, but then she gathered her stuff and was saying her goodbyes. Okay, not within seconds, but I was about ninety percent towards working up the courage to tell her. And with such a large group and not enough chance to transition towards the compliments and flirting, I thought it’d be awkward to say “hey, it was great meeting you and you have fantastic eyes, can I have your number?”

…okay, I chickened out. I would have worked up the courage, though, honest! Well, most likely I would have. Maybe.

But probably not.

Some of my friends have said I’m a terrible flirt when it comes to women, but not enough to have me convinced that’s actually the case. If anything, despite my occasional prowess, I’m terrible at flirting.

Sure, it’s really easy for me to flirt when there’s no pressure to do so. If I just happen upon a person and strike up a conversation and/or if I know the exchange won’t lead to anything (because they’re not available or interested), I’m golden. Put me in a social situation where I’m just being casual and need to entertain multiple people throughout the course of an evening, and I’m Cary freaking Grant.

When it comes to someone that I actually meet or see and then get interested in, however, I’m the furthest thing from Cary Grant (Skeet Ulrich?). I find trouble locating a common ground for conversation, distract myself with the people around me, and ultimately end up driving her away with what appears to be a shy aloofness but is actually just brazen incompetence.

Now, this isn’t always the case. Sometimes, in fact, I’m pretty good. The mood will strike me, I’ll get my confidence at just the right time, and I’ll be able to…well, maybe not charm the girl, per se, but at least keep up my end of the conversation. For the most part, though, I find myself in a true quagmire: when I try to flirt, I fail. When I don’t intend on pursuing anything, I end up being a super flirt.

The solution: I have to make a conscious effort not to flirt, so that I can flirt.

…

Oh my God, I’m going to die alone.

Tomorrow:  FLY THOSE RED FLAGS HIGH

While there will be additional posts this week that touch on other subjects, at least one a day will be devoted to stories, subjects, and concerns I have being a single man in his mid to late twenties. While providing a glimpse into my mind (a [...]]]> It’s DATING WEEK here at In the Present Tense.

While there will be additional posts this week that touch on other subjects, at least one a day will be devoted to stories, subjects, and concerns I have being a single man in his mid to late twenties. While providing a glimpse into my mind (a frightening prospect the say the least), it’s my hope that this will also spark discussion amongst our single friends.

A special thanks to friends (and hopefully readers) Adam and Paul, with whom I had the conversations that became the impetus behind most – if not all – of the subjects we’ll be touching upon this week.

—————–

Against all advice and logic to the contrary, many people I know still try to (or do) pick up potential mates at bars. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve sat around with friends at a bar, talked about how bad it is to pick up women or men at a bar, then proceeded to try to pick up a pretty woman or handsome dude at that very same bar.

These two look so happy, but they're obviously not having a conversation.

The conversation came up again at Oh Bar while I was half-jokingly conveying my lack of success with hitting on women at that particular establishment. And yes, straight women; I know enough to not bother knocking on the door when all the lights in the house are out. I don’t know whether it’s the company straight women arrive with, their intentions (or lack thereof) in entering a gay establishment, or the overwhelming gaggle of gay and straight wingmen I have with me every time I’m there. But for whatever reason, I always strike out at gay bars.

I realized as soon as I wrote that last line that it was going to get quoted out of context. I can only repeat a line from “The Office” wedding episode that people have suggested I adopt as my own introductory phrase: “I’m not gay, I’m Kevin.”

Anyway, as we were discussing my ridiculous notion of getting lucky at a gay bar and running free with the jokes that write themselves, talk turned to what a bad idea it was to try to pick someone up at a bar and how we end up doing it anyway. I mean, really, at our age (mid to late twenties) we should know better.

But romantic inclinations are a tricky thing. Anyone who’s ever had anything resembling a true friend can tell you the frustration in getting and/or receiving sound, logical, heartfelt advice that is taken to heart and rarely put into practice. It’s easy for me to sit here and say that I know not to try to find my future wife at a bar, but it’s a different story when I make eye contact with a big-eyed brunette with a raspy voice, infectious laugh and engaging personality.

So why is it such a bad idea to try to pick up a man or a woman at a bar?

Well, firstly, there’s the more serious ramifications: things like health and safety concerns, which for the sake of maintaining a lighter mood I won’t get into. Let’s just say one has to exercise a bit more caution when trying to pick up a potential mate at what is often times a glorified meat market.

Then there’s the influence the alcohol and atmosphere can have on a person’s decision-making. You don’t have to be drunk or even have a strong buzz to have your hormones affected by the volume and tone conversations, music, or the excitement of having so many people around. It can stir something in you that leads you to put more emphasis on physical desires and immediate gratification rather than things like long-term compatibility. Even if don’t drink much – or like me don’t drink alcohol at all – you’re apt to encounter someone who is going to express far more interest at the moment than they would the next day.

Another potential minefield? When you make eyes with someone across the room for an extended period of time. You’ll do it once and write it off as a furtive glance. Then it’ll happen again, and a third time, and the anticipation will start to build as you discuss with your friends whether or not you’re going to approach her or how you should go about it. Then, with all that build-up, you finally talk to her and she’s an idiot. Now you’re trapped and need to find an out that isn’t super awkward or insulting. Unfortunately, they already know your name and are finding you on Facespace of Myyearbook or Friendster or whatever all the kids are using these days.

As stated previously, I don’t drink. But when socializing with people in my age bracket, we invariably end up at a drinking establishment. I know a lot of people my age that work under the false assumption that the only thing to do in this area is go out to a bar. It’s not entirely true and a view I chalk up to laziness and lack of creativity, but it’s still an idea that’s prevalent and needs to be eradicated if we’re ever to rid ourselves of the awkward interactions that occur with potential mates drinking out of a pint glass they assume was washed thoroughly.

I could point people in the right direction, but I’d rather have you guys do it. Besides, we can get a grander scope from the readership than from yours truly. So please, share your experience and wisdom. What do you guys do on a Friday or Saturday night that doesn’t involve hitting up a bar in Albany? Where do you find is a good place to meet men and women (not online – that’s another future installment)?