Tonight I went on a first date. My first First Date since 'D'. Obviously it didn't go that well considering it's 11pm and I'm home and blogging about it. Honestly though, it wasn't actually a bad date. It was really quite pleasant. But even so, the minute I got into that cab, I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes.
I know that sounds all sorts of terrible, especially because really, the date wasn't actually bad. He was on the short side but cuter than I remembered. He had some funny stories and he shared my love of Arrested Development. While I was there, I had a good time. But the minute I was alone again, it hit me. I was out on first dates...again.
In so many ways, this was the perfect first First Date to go on. I had absolutely no expectations. It was practically a blind date. I didn't know anything about him apart from his name and the fact that he had a 617 number and so probably had some connection to Boston. I met him three days after things ended with 'D', when I was at Spitzer's (again). I ran into him on my way out of, and on his way to, the bathroom. (Yeah, totally romantic.) He was basically like, "Hey, I was actually going to come over and talk to you and your friend in a minute." So we had a quick chat, I gave him my number, he called and I agreed to have a drink with him.
Despite the many, many random guys I've given my number out to at bars, I've actually only gone out with 2 (now 3) of them. And, not because of any fatal flaw of their own, none of them have made it past the first date. And this latest one is probably not going to be an exception to that rule.
It's just that as LOW as my expectations were for this date (and they were lowest they could be since I had none), I was still disappointed. I was disappointed all over again by 'D' and the fact that here I am, out on first dates again when all I really want is to be with someone who knows me, inside and out, who understands me, who loves me, and who, despite the fact that he could, would never, ever break my heart.