You know how everybody has a celebrity “list?” The list of celebs that, if they EVER propositioned you, EVEN if you were happily married to your spouse of 25 years and had 6 kids, and were in the middle of open heart surgery (performing it or having it) you would IMMEDIATELY drop EVERYTHING to have sex with them? (If you don’t have a “list,” stop judging me and make one right now. It should have between 2-4 people on it to encourage maximum thought and specificity, and those people should be living so the fantasy can be somewhat real).
So, at the top of my list is this guy:
If you know who that is, I salute you. This is why we’re friends. If you don’t, allow me to explain. That is Mark Duplass, who is best known for being Mindy Kaling’s (our spirit animal, you remember?) f%^k buddy/rival on “The Mindy Project.” I first developed my very serious crush on him though, while watching the little known FX classic, “The League.”
Mark (we’re on a first name basis, obviously) plays Pete on “The League,” who, much to my therapist’s chagrin, epitomizes everything I am drawn to in a man:
1. He’s a scoundrel. Oh, how I adore a ne’er do well. Pete is always up to no good. He loves to trick Taco into making ridiculous trades, get Kevin in trouble with Jenny, and sleep with Baby Geoffrey’s nanny. I am total mush for his on-screen antics, and love to fantasize about what kind of off-screen trouble we’d get into.
2. He has untapped potential (aka he is lazy): We know Pete works in a cubicle, and basically spends all day wasting time, pretending to work, and actually doing nothing but fantasy football. But we also know Pete is very smart. He was the original architect of the Sacko Bowl, for gods sakes! Clearly, he needs the right woman to help him discover his passion and use his intelligence for good! I am that girl Pete!
3. His outfits. What can I say? I am a mess for a man in a hoodie and a loose, plain T-shirt. I call it “slacker chic.” My friend C calls it a “mediocrity fetish.”
4. His love of sports: Let’s explore this a bit. Because I am no Jenny MacArthur. The only sport I can claim to be a legit fan of is college basketball, and that doesn’t even have a real fantasy draft. But for some reason, men watching sports, talking about sports, etc. has always turned me on. I have done a lot of soul searching oh this topic, and I think I’ve come up with the reasons for this:
a. Genetic need: I am terrible at sports, despite over 10 combined years on field hockey and softball teams as a youth. Unfortunately, I was one of the rare cases where practice actually yielded no tangible results. It probably didn’t help that I donned protective eyewear for my entire athletic “career.”
(Please know I most closely resembled the child on the left, but with bigger glasses, and a lot more hair.)
Despite the childhood obstacles I faced to becoming the next Serena Williams, I really want my children to be good at sports. I think sports build great character in children and adults (how to be a graceful loser and gracious winner, working hard, exercises regularly collaboration, etc). So I am biologically drawn to men who will bare and nuture this quality in my children.
b. I like it when a man knows stuff I don’t know. I don’t give myself credit for many things, but I’ll take credit for this: I know a lot about a lot. I’ve always been an information sponge, spelling bee champ, history nerd, grammar policewoman, expert on 18th and 19th century lit. (I know, I’m too sexy for this blog, too sexy for this blog…) But I don’t know a ton about sports. I like it when a guy can tell me some new and interesting facts, or get me psyched about something that I previously did not know enough to be psyched about.
c. I really love sports food. My cellphone background is a picture of a hot dog with cheese whiz that I got at a baseball game. With some nachos on the side. Give me buffalo or chili covered anything, and I am a super happy lady. I figure I have a very good chance of encountering this food at Superbowl parties or at live sporting events. Which I will be attending, of course, with Pete.
(Oh dear. I just read this list and I have a very clear understanding of why I am still technically single. If any NON-SCOUNDREL, HARD WORKING, WELL-DRESSED, SPORTS FAN is reading this and thinking, “Oh, L sounds amazing! I love know-it-alls with a healthy appetite and terrible hand eye coordination! Too bad I am not her type,” please contact me anyway. I promise to abandon my bad judgement and give you a shot. My mom will be very happy! And I promise not to steal your cheese fries until Date # 2.).
So, the point of this very long and obscure digression is to set the stage for the fact that when D contacted me on OKC, I was psyched. He was a lawyer turned fantasy sports blogger who, in his initial message, claimed to have met Busta Rhymes (not on my list, but one of my heros!). Being the competitive chum that sports bloggers will be, I suppose, he challenged me to Scrabble match at one of my favorite bars.
I spent the days leading up to the date doing minimal research on football (his favorite), but then gave up because 1) I know enough to carry on a conversation and 2) I don’t want our future marriage to be built on a foundation of lies. So I wasn’t a sports expert! There can only be one in the family!
(I assure you, this is a healthy level of what we single ladies like to call “getting ahead of one’s self.”)
D looked better than his pic when I got to the bar, and he also offered me some free pizza samples, so needless to say the date was off to an excellent start.
Unfortunately, I proceeded to annihilate him in Scrabble. Like, it was 300 to 80 or something. By the end I was literally feeding this guy words. I mean, I will say that I do know my way around a Scrabble board (…TOO SEXY!), but this was an exceptionally poor showing for a high school graduate. Plus, this guy didn’t seem appropriately ashamed of himself, and I felt like he wasn’t trash talking me nearly enough. Pete would have been throwing verbal punches by Round 2. But D was still very cute. And very nice. And pretty interesting, and cheerful (something you rarely find in men and women in DC).
So we decided to switch to another game. He picked “Life”–and I am a little ashamed to say I kinda let him beat me / I lost because I was getting really drunk and focusing most of my energy on sticking the little pink and blue people into cars. Four hours into the date, I realized I was going to be late to meet my friends for dinner, so I bid D a hasty goodbye. In the cab to dinner, I called S and babbled about what a great time I had and of course offered her Super Bowl tickets, which I assumed I would definitely get if I ended up dating Mr. Sports blog.
D called me the next day and asked me out again. I really wanted to see him, but the summer had been hella busy between work and summer beach trips, friend’s parties, etc, and I truly only had 2 open weekdays in the next month (I have had the benefit of learning from S’s experience, and I don’t do weekends until we’ve passed the 3rd date mark). So, we made plans to hang out again, in two weeks.
D spent the majority of the two weeks regularly texting me pleasantries, most of which I found annoying. However, I’d be a liar if I didn’t admit that I was flattered by his consistent attention. I’d also be a liar if I didn’t admit that I was enjoying starting sentences with, “This sports blogger I am sort of dating says…” or, “Oh? Fantasy football? I am going out with a guy who like invented that!”
A day before our date, I hadn’t heard from him, which was unusual, because he had been texting me inane things almost daily. So, I texted him to check if we were still on:
Wait? What? Oh hello, rejection! We are meeting more and more frequently these days!
Welp, obviously, that was the end of D. I am sorry readers, cause I really wanted to give away a few Super Bowl tickets to you. At the end of the day, I can’t fault D. He did the right thing by being honest and direct. There are no laws against him meeting someone else. We’d been on one date, after all. And, there must have been some truth to what he was saying, because the next day, he deleted his OKC profile.
I spent about two days mourning the end of D. When I reflected on the experience, I realized I wasn’t that into him after all. I could never respect a man who I could cream so overwhelmingly in Scrabble.
Date rating: (7/10) While the ending of this story is disappointing, D was a decent date. I would have definitely gone out with him again, had he not met someone cooler than me at a bar.
Lesson learned: The big lesson I learned here is about timing and momentum. If you let a couple weeks pass between first and second dates, it’s quite possible a desirable person will find someone else. I do think that if the timing had been a bit different, D, DeSean Jackson, and I could be out for beers right now.