Halloween on Lincoln Road

Tonight I'm going to Lincoln Road in South Beach for Halloween. Sorry, your town probably doesn't do it as well as South Beach.

BEST PARTY OF THE YEAR
Halloween on Lincoln Road
Like all truly great annual traditions, Lincoln Road's Halloween parade just sort of happened. There is no sponsor, no formal organization, no one in charge. It's simply an outgrowth of the Road's late-Nineties transformation from a deserted strip into one of South Florida's prime people-watching spots. For locals who hardly need a holiday as an excuse to pose for a closeup, showing up in their Halloween costumes has become a no-brainer. Consequently veteran attendees know to stake out a sidewalk café seat early. Order dinner and a few drinks -- by nightfall the pedestrian mall is engulfed with dead Elvises, vampires, and every drag queen within a 50-mile radius -- all strutting their stuff for an appreciative audience. Never has the phrase freak show been so apropos, or so enjoyable.

Of course, I hate massive crowds and that's what this is - especially on a Halloween that's on a Friday night. Luckily an acquaintance is having a private party at a nice lounge/bar right on Lincoln Road so I can escape the masses a little bit and hang with proper dorks like me, with some sexy people sprinkled in (me again, ha ha).

Sylar

On Wednesday I talked on the phone with a new guy from one of the dating sites. Frankly, I had a feeling it wasn't a great match to begin with because he seemed sort of jaded/negative in his profile. But he's educated and sophisticated, so I wanted to give it a try.

At the beginning of the convo I said, "So you had to wait a long time to vote the other night, huh?" By my calculations, he had spent three hours! That's a lot!

Unfortunately I then received a long rant-like stream of complaints about the optical scanner method of vote-counting. I tried to ask questions, but he was very argumentative and didn't really want to include my input in the "conversation." I should have ended it then, but I kept thinking about how my friend said that she's gotten burned talking politics on a first date kind of thing, so I thought I'd give him more of a chance.

During that time, I started to realize that he sounds like Sylar, the bad guy on "Heroes." And the actor, Zachary Quinto, is latin, and this guy is Cuban. So now in my head I'm talking to some version of Sylar, perhaps the nicer one we've seen in the future when he makes pancakes for his son and Peter's all weirded out.

Sylar said he's not much of an environmentalist, doesn't think global warming is caused by humans (sigh). I said regardless, I try to minimize the amount of trash I generate because that IS bad and IS caused by humans. This was a very novel idea to him.

Sylar tells me I'm really attractive, blah blah blah. I mean, it's just from my photos. I think it's a little weird.

Then he says, "So why is a cutie like you single at 29?"

Me: "Honestly, since I got here four years ago I keep meeting men who want to prove, or even say to me, that they are smarter than me. And none of them are."
Sylar: "Well, I'm smarter than you."
Me: "We'll let the IQ test determine that."
Him: "You know I was joking, right?" (How Sylar-like, and creepy!)
Me: "Not really. Besides, guys say stuff like that and I don't know if they're joking, and then they act like I'm dumb for not 'getting it'. But maybe I just don't care!"
Him: "Hmmm."
Me: "Or they just want to tear me down, like the Cuban guy that said I was 'brave' for speaking Spanish the other day. Just to make me feel bad. I speak really good Spanish!"

Then he gets me to speak Spanish, and says that it's so hot, when we meet he's going to hump my leg.

And he keeps talking about how he's going to hump my leg.

Really. And I don't encourage this at all. For those who know me, I can be very flirty and inappropriate, but not on a first phone call!

And then, he says something about me being a "lucky bitch."

Me: "You cannot call me that. Ever."
Him: "Okay, then 'ho.'"
Me: "No."
Him: "Then 'slut.'"
Me: "Nope."
Him: "Cow?"
Me: "You can only call me something nice. That's all that's allowed."

Somehow I end up agreeing to meet him for coffee (I know, I'm insane). But then I decide to just ignore him, because when I hang up I feel all uncomfortable and weird.

He's texted me twice and I haven't responded. I hope I don't get a hostile message. I'm actually a little concerned that this guy has my cell phone number.

Did I mention that he teaches middle school?

Date 2

Bobby initially wanted to meet in Coral Gables, near his office on Miracle Mile. Since I already trekked up to Aventura for date #1, I asked if we could do something more convenient for ... me? Duh? He knew where I worked/lived. Already a bad sign when they can't figure out that they should at least pretend to be accomodating for the first date.

Then I realized I had to be near the Mile to go to my friend's birthday party later in the evening, so I called Bobby and asked him to meet me at a Starbucks on the Mile.

I'm running late, as usual, and then can't find parking because (duh) I didn't give myself enough time for a Friday evening. I eventually park in some municipal garage, get out on the street, and find myself completely lost. Then I realize I just need to figure out where the Douglas and Le Jeune Roads are, and I'll be fine. But I'm late, so I call him:

Me: "Hi, I'm a little turned around."
B: "Okay, where are you?"
Me: "In front of Tarpon Bend (a bar/restaurant)."
A few lines go back and forth about going to the Starbucks.
B: "Where are you?"
Me: "In front of Tarpon Bend."
A few lines back and forth - should he meet me there, I say no because I need to be near Starbucks later anyway.
B: "Where are you?"
Me: "In front of Tarpon Bend," getting a little frustrated.
A few lines back and forth.
B: "Where are you now?"
Me: "Um, I don't know how to answer that question. I've already answered it several times."
I admit, I was bitchy when I said it. Totally.

Now that I've established that our communication has broken down before we've even met, I'm not looking forward to the date. Especially since earlier in the day when we spoke, he said we could meet and "conversate." I was horrified, because he wasn't being funny. I guess my list of required qualities now includes genius (see Date #1) and excellent grammar. Did you know there is a blog called conversateisnotaword? Because others hate it as much as me!

Bobby's lines of conversation run in two lines:
1) How attractive/hot/sexy I am
2) What do I do in my free time (Ugh - see Date #1)

Then he says, "So why are you still single at 29?" His tone was a bit critical.
I said, "I don't think I was really ready until a few years ago for a real relationship. Then I had one, it ended, and I took a year off to figure out what went wrong. I think I know now."
I know I don't owe a stranger an explanation, but he asked!
Then I asked him, "So why are still single at 37?" And yes, I was a little snotty.
"I just haven't met the right person," he sighs.

Asshole.

He asks me what my religion is. I'm not gonna bust out with my 12-step rap just yet, heh, so I say "unaffiliated. You?"

"Evangelical."

"Really?" I said. "I would've thought a Puerto Rican guy from New York would be Catholic." I said this very nicely!

"Nope."

I think I was sort of in shock that I had stumbled on an Evangelical in Miami, where everyone is Jewish, Catholic, or just not very religious. Those are really your choices.

Afterwards, we said we'd get together again but I doubt he was dying to see me. And he hasn't called, thank goodness. I went to my friend's party and told my (Catholic/nonreligious) friends about the date and we all laughed.

Date 1

I'm back on the dating scene. I'm on several online dating sites. What have I got to lose, you know?

Steve (name changed to protect the innocent) is two years younger than me, which is really not what I'm looking for. Wasn't even going to go out with him, except we had a really interesting text message rally during the last Obama/McCain debate. I could tell he isn't as smart as I would like, but I don't know if that really matters. "Smart as I would like" is veering off toward genius IQ and I've gotta be reasonable. Plus, he has a job - that's more than I can say for the last guy in whom I was really interested.

So we talk about where to meet, and he clearly hasn't given it any thought, which is lame. I mean, show some initiative! We end up meeting in Aventura, which is a serious drive for me coming from Dadeland/Kendall, but he's in South-Central Broward and the options between us are limited, to put it kindly.

The pizza place is nice enough. He seems like a cute guy, but not really a conversationalist (and thus not my cup of tea). We talk about American history, which he is really into, and it's fun. Then the conversation gets stale. I'm okay with lulls, really. They are normal. But you gotta do better than, "So tell me what you do in your free time," especially when we've already discussed that, you know?

Snore.

He also reveals that, as I suspected, his main activities are drinking ... and drinking. "I really like happy hour," he says. Seriously? He says he likes to go to happy hour on Friday night, then "party," then "recover" on Saturday morning, then go to a bar and meet his friends "to watch football and drink beers."

Sigh.

Then it was almost nine and I thought it would be better to end it than stay out really late or whatever. He was disappointed, but of course did not offer a cogent idea on where to go. AND he went in for a kiss. I got out of it the first time, but he tried again and I just let him plant one on me. Luckily it was only slightly more than a peck. I mean, I'd have needed to drink a lot more than one beer to make out with this guy after that date. Sheesh.

The grand intro

A number of years ago while living in Washington, DC I was regaling my two friends, married to each other, with some ridiculous dating stories. The husband suggested that I write these things down. I was too lazy. Besides, what was I going to do, make a book out of it?

Since then I have moved to this crazy town they call Miami. I love the sun, but I don't sunbathe. I don't adore the heat; I just don't miss the 6+months of gray in Maryland and DC.

I don't intend to write solely about my dating life; but it does seem that these are some of the most amusing stories. So that's where I'm going to start. Who knows where I'll end up!