One of the most difficult parts of maintaining an active dating life is keeping straight everyone’s name and story. There is nothing more embarrassing than attributing one person’s anecdote to another person, then trying to save face when they look confused. I’ve been on both sides of this situation. I’ve confused one guy’s love for some movie with another guy, and I’ve been asked about my time growing up in the Midwest when I’m actually from New England and am not truly sure the Midwest is a real place since I’ve never been there. It’s obvious and acceptable that we’re all probably dating more than one person at a time, but it never feels good to be the one your date can’t remember anything about. Just dating one person at a time may seem like an obvious solution. I go back and forth on this. Sometimes I want to, sometimes I don’t. Rule of thumb: don’t be an inconsiderate ho-bag, but until you have that exclusive talk, you’re probably better off with a diversified portfolio.
The other factor in play here is keeping your friends properly informed about who you’re seeing. Typically we refer to this as girl talk. You can’t have proper girl talk if your friends aren’t clear about who you’re referring to. It’s hard to remember which guy is Sam, which one is Tom, and which one is Bob.
Welcome, then, the nickname. It doesn’t have to be elaborate, it just has to be descriptive enough to jog your memory. Some examples from me and my friends:
- Chinless Steve
- The Schnoz
- Fake Ross
- Too Much Tongue
- The Silver Fox
- Airplane Guy
My favorite nickname from my past is Overzealous Monday Guy. OMG for short.
I messaged OMG based on his height. He lived a bit further away than I was hoping for – I don’t like venturing to the greater metro area, just the immediate metro area – but I thought I’d give it a shot. He messaged me back and soon enough we traded numbers.
This man LOVED to text. Before we even met, he texted me constantly. On a 2.5 hour train ride he texted me so much that I ran out of battery on my phone. Pictures of what he was doing, questions about what I was doing (I was sitting on a train, not really a fluid situation), and how he couldn’t wait to meet me. Overzealous. I’m really not one for non stop communication, but I’ll admit that I was going through a dry spell and was pretty lonely, so I went with it.
We arranged to meet on a Monday evening. He picked a bar halfway between us, and when I looked it up it seemed fine.
I got lost driving to the bar, and when I finally found it, I realized it was a hotel bar. Not a nice swanky hotel. A Courtyard Marriott off the highway. Seriously? What kind of presumptuous dumbass picks a hotel bar for a first date? I sat in my car debating whether I would die that night. His text interrupted my internal dialogue. “I didn’t know this was in a hotel, I’m not familiar with the area and this is what came up when I Googled ‘Irish bar.’ Please don’t think I’m a creep.” Unconvinced, I thought that at least there would be enough people around that I’d be safe so I went in.
OMG greets me with a huge, lingering hug. It’s the kind of hug reserved for your old best friend that you haven’t seen for years and have missed so much that your heart is overfilling with joy. Not someone you’ve just met. We sit at the bar and have a drink, then move to a booth for dinner.
He orders a burger and eats it without the bun. One of my greatest pet peeves in life is someone who orders a burger and then eats it without the bun. First of all, it’s a waste of a good burger. Second of all, if you want to be healthy, order a salad. Please don’t make me watch you make a mess of yourself. I make a joke about his bread-free decision. He launches into how focused he is on fitness, how he spends hours at the gym every day, how he’s done Tough Mudders and qualified for elite strength competitions, how people at the gym marvel at how built he is, how his diet is a big part of this, and how he used to be trainer on the side. It’s not so much a discussion about what he’s passionate about, more a bragging session about how great he is. I am unimpressed. I eat his French fries.
Despite this, OMG is nice, so after dinner we go to the movies. We miss the early showing of Fast and Furious 9000, and the movie theatre is in a mall, so we walk around until the next showing. He holds my hand. This is an overzealous move. We pop into the Lego store and play with Legos for a bit. I LOVED Legos as a kid, and I’m not really paying attention to him at all, I’m just focused on building a tower. He’s jabbering on about his family, I mention something about how I’m close with mine and I miss them a lot. He says,
“If you ever want to talk about that, I’m here for you. You can talk to me, you know.”
I have known you for approximately 2 hours, guy. In no universe should you be ‘here for me.’ We watch the movie. It’s not bad. He’s impressed with how big the muscles are on Vin Diesel and the Rock. I think they look frightening.
We head back to his car after the movie. The parking lot is empty. He leans in to kiss me, and I figure what the hell. I kiss him back. In one effortless move, he has maneuvered my seat all the way back and has swung himself on top of me. It’s the smoothest thing I’ve ever seen. (I tried it out alone in my car afterwards. I couldn’t do it.) So smooth, in fact, that I don’t really care that he doesn’t eat burger buns and is obsessed with the gym and wants to ‘be there for me.’ He has big wandering hands and he’s not so presumptuous that they wander below my belt, but he’s overzealous enough that I feel like I’m in the car scene of Titanic.
We go on another date and he’s back to the diet talk. I am not a fat person, but I am also not a swimsuit model, and I’m starting to get uncomfortable. I order a salad, then realize it’s because I feel scrutinized, and immediately wish I had ordered a burger with extra buns. He comes back to my place and we fool around for awhile. It’s fun. He mentions that he wants to take me to Pittsburgh for a baseball game/overnight trip with another couple. This is overzealous and I don’t want to do that, but we make plans to go out again.
He brings me a fan for my room. I have central air in my apartment, but my room is still unbearably warm, and I’ve mentioned more than once how I can’t sleep because I’m so hot at night. This is an overly nice and unnecessary gesture. He brings food to cook dinner. I’ve already prepared tomatoes for bruschetta. He says no, he doesn’t want to eat bread. I roll my eyes. This bread thing is really fucking annoying.
After dinner we sleep together. He’s so into fitness, I think it will be good. Stamina is not a problem, but I wish it was. It’s like I’m not even there. He is in another world, he’s narrating everything he’s doing, and he’s very pleased with how fit he is. Shouldn’t I be the one getting off on his physique? When he’s finally done I walk him towards my door, but he sits down in the living room. He wants to talk more and get to know me more. Christ.
He talks and I drift in and out of listening. He tells me about his rocky relationship with his dad. Apparently OMG is not enough of a man’s man for his father. Ugh. The only thing worse than a girl with daddy issues is a guy with daddy issues. He tells me how much he loves his mother. The only thing worse than a guy with daddy issues is a momma’s boy. He tells me how he was fat as a kid. He tells me how he wants to really get back into being a physical trainer. He offers to give me suggestions on my work out routine. He says:
“If you just lost 10 pounds and did some toning exercises, you’d be banging.”
OMG. Dating is the worst.
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