Sir Talks Alot and my never ending battle with transition lenses

Remember a few weeks ago readers, when I promised you some first date stories but then just openly plotted revenge against near-strangers? 

victoria grayson

http://revengeinfinity2011.tumblr.com/post/84797232308/impetus-as-told-by-victoria-grayson

Worry no more Victoria Grayson, because tonight I really will tell you about my date.  This date was my first Jdate after rejoining the site in October. I spent my first couple weeks on the site making fun of it, and not doing what I was supposed to be doing, like updating my profile or answering messages, or looking for potential matches. 

sassy gay friend look at your life

But then, after lots of pep talks from everyone’s favorite sassy gay friend (C),  I decided to reply to messages from some promising dudes.

This particular dude, who I am knighting Sir Talks Alot, for reasons that will soon be clear to you, seemed like your average Joe (Or, since we are talking JDate here, more like your average David. Or Daniel. Or Max. Or Josh.) He was in his early thirties, had a decent job at a government agency, and messaged me about benign things like my job, traveling, and my hobbies. He suggested meeting up at one of my favorite bars that has a killer happy hour and an even better back patio.

So, I begrudgingly put on lip gloss (not lipstick, I am not nearly cool enough for real makeup. I prefer to stick with the same make-up regimen and products that I’ve been using since 8th grade. Ask S, she knows.) (Real talk, I once staged an intervention on L’s bra collection upon discovering that each and every one was legitimately purchased in junior high. Homegirl has a problem.) and hauled my lazy self to the bar. This was going to be my first date in two months (unless you count dates with fictional TV characters. Which I go on every night. On my couch. In sweatpants.), and as I walked to the bar I was nervous.  Would I forget how to flirt? Could I remember all the thoughtful questions to ask? 

When I got to the bar I was pleasantly surprised. Sir Talks Alot was way cuter in person than he had been in pictures. I mean, in one picture, he had been sporting a FANNY PACK. In another, Tevas and sandals. I literally went to the bar expecting someone who resembled a nervous, midwestern tourist. Instead, I was greeted by a decent looking guy with glasses, wearing normal, preppy clothes, sans fanny pack. (Thank god!). Now, as we have discussed previously on the blog, there are two kinds of profile picture fraud.

  1.  The kind where someone posts a picture WAY more attractive than they actually are and then when the other person gets to the date they are so disappointed and bamboozled they can barely focus. This is by far the most common type of fraud.
  2. The kind where someone asks a blind, thumbless person to take his or her picture, right after they get styled by your dad. This is far more rare, because usually these bad pictures prevent someone from going out with you.

But, remember, shallow old me is doing a little experiment called “let’s not be the most judgemental person in the room,” and decided to take a risk with this dude and his Delta Sky Magazine style profile pictures. And it paid off. I spent the rest of our first date just mentally patting myself on the back for my good fortune. And, thank god I had something to keep me occupied. Because this guy DID. NOT. STOP. TALKING. 

Now look, before I get to the complains section of this post (because lord knows, that’s our bread and butter), let me just say I DID appreciate that this guy was putting some effort into the date and conversation. You’ve heard me and my co-bloggers complain time and time again about men who sit silently (or worse, mumble) while you lead the conversation like a paid mediator. But this talking was extreme. During the course of our 2.5 hour date, I think I shared four things:

  1. Where I work
  2. How many siblings I have
  3. My sister in law to be’s profession (Hey B, tell K she made into the blog AND the date. And I told my date and my readers that she was a DOCTOR.)
  4. That, yes, I would like another glass of wine.

Sir Talks Alot, on the other hand, shared about 1000 things. I mean, at one point I actually wondered if perhaps I had showed up for the wrong engagement and this guy thought he was meeting with the aspiring author who has going to ghost-write his biography. A few nuggets I learned:

  1. His dad’s job. His mom’s job. His brother’s job. 
  2. How every room in his house is decorated
  3. The names of his friends’ cats.
  4. A recipe for vegan stir fry.

Now there is nothing wrong with these nuggets individually, but string them together, and multiple them by 100 other random facts and there you have my date.

Now, why didn’t I just get up and leave you ask? The thing is, when one is shellshocked by reverse profile picture fraud (Type #2 fraud as described above), she is sort of in this imobolized haze where she is so confused at her own good forture that it is hard to think clearly. Also, what he was saying was interesting (his parents are also doctors! like my sister in law to be!), and I figured his incessant talking might just have been first date nerves. Lastly, once I started drinking wine, it seemed like too much work to stop. (Yes, I realize that last sentence made me sound like a lazy alcoholic, but no I am not sorry).

Anyway, by the end of the date I decided if he asked me to go out again and do something cool I would give it one more shot. And he did. He asked me to this fun food and drink festival that happens a couple times of year in DC. And, in the spirit of embracing new and creative date ideas, I agreed to a Sunday afternoon date, hoping that Sir Talks Alot’s nerves would have abated and he wouldn’t be so chatty.

However, when I met Sir Talks Alot for the date, I noted an IMMEDIATE CURVEBALL. This guy was wearing TRANSITION LENSES.

For those of you who have been lucky enough to avoid this fashion phenomenon for most of your lives, allow me to show you an example:

matt damon transition lenseshttp://www.celebitchy.com/345104/matthew_mcconaughey_camila_alves_worst-dressed_couple_of_the_sags/

See what Matt is wearing? Those are transition lenses. The stated goal of such lenses is to be a one stop shop for people who wear glasses to see and who need to wear sunglasses to protect from the sun. Indoors, they are reading glasses. Outdoors, they are sun glasses. Makes sense, right?

WRONG.

  • First of all, the lenses never fully make the transition? See how Matt’s lenses are a bizarre shade of gray? That is what transition lenses look like 80% of the time. A weird, funky gray color that compliments the face of NO ONE.
  • Second of all, the other 20% of the time, when the lenses are making significant shifts in appearance, they are terrifying everyone around them because, as one wise friend put it, “One minute you see their eyes. And the next minute they are sort of gone.” 

twighlight zone nightmare

  • Thirdly, the whole marketing campaign contains some stock photos that resemble either a Viagra add or a tampon commercial. 

transition lenses

ophthalmiclenses.blogspot.com

  • Lastly, transition lenses bring up weird free associations in my mind. Here are other people I know who have transition lenses:
    • My ex mother-in-law (L we both know you don’t have an ex mother-in-law). OK, not technically. My ex-fiance’s dissaproving Korean mother. Just as terrifying as the real thing.
    • My dad
    • Most of S’s exes (I don’t actually know this, but when I went on an anti-transition lens rant, S said, a little too proudly, “Please, everyone I’ve dated wears transition lenses. GOOGLE GLASSES OPTIONAL. I didn’t say it proudly (who would be proud of this??) but I’ll admit I was oddly possessive of my ‘dating someone who makes hideous fashion choices’ title and thus made a wildly inaccurate claim about “all my exes” wearing transitions (upon further investigation it was one dude at most. We’ve established that my memory is sketchy.) To be fair, though, the men I’ve dated HAVE shown up to meet me in all of the following: Google glasses, stonewashed jeans from Costco, windbreakers, and shorts paired with dress socks, so I know this feeling of bewilderment and public shame all too well #nerdfetish.

“Now before you jump down my throat and accuse me of being that judgmental person I swore about four paragraphs ago I wasn’t going to be, let me say that the worst part of the second date was not the transition lenses. That digression is mostly a PSA for your benefit, dear readers, that is intended to ensure that when you buy eyewear, you buy it only for one purpose. 

The worst part of the second date was that Sir Talks Alot talked even more than he had on the first date. This time, the conversation featured:

  1. His bowtie collection
  2. His favorite paintings of all time
  3. His grocery list

About 15 minutes in, I knew their wouldn’t be a third date, and just tried to escape as much as possible. I reached out to S for emergency support:

text 1 to s

text 2 to s

text 3 to s

Date Rating: First date 6/10, second date, 4/10: Once I knew the incessant talking was likely here to stay, I just used the time we were together to make my own grocery list and fantasize about the Sunday night TV I was going to watch. And the worst part? He didn’t even notice I zoned out

Lesson Learned: The lesson here folks? If you are hiding in plastic toilet on a hot DC day just to avoid talking to someone about their bowties while their glasses change color before your very eyes, it’s time to call it quits.

 

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first date with…oh, who cares? first date!

BREAKING STUCU NEWS:

I WENT ON A DATE!!!!!!!!!!

November goal: met. Curse: reversed. Dry spell: over. Dignity: regained (sort of). God, am I relieved. Mostly because I publicly set an (admittedly unnecessary) goal for myself and then panicked when I realized I might not actually achieve that goal. While the rest of you clowns were busy growing facial hair, I’ve been feverishly pimping myself out on the Okc. So I am thrilled to report that I made it with a week and a half to spare!

What’s that? You want to hear about my actual date and not just endure me taking victory laps for this entire post? You guys are adorable, but sure, I’ll indulge you.

My date was with D, a nice, nerdy guy who messaged me about a week ago. His first message to me was actually great, albeit a bit overly enthusiastic, but when I clicked on his profile I was met with some insane shit. First of all it was way way WAY too long. Mama has a life and a lot of prime time TV to get to, so she doesn’t have time to plow through a personal memoir while searching for a date. Second, he actually mentioned that his ex-girlfriend helped him write said profile (!!!!!!!) (boys, do I really need to tell you that mentioning an ex in your ONLINE DATING PROFILE is considered poor form? Also, D, your ex did not do you any favors, I assure you). And third, his pictures were comically outdated–I believe the oldest time stamp was from 2003. To put this in perspective, in 2003 I was obsessing over my upcoming high school senior trip to Disney World and listening to this on repeat:

Who am I kidding? I STILL listen to that on repeat. Fantastic jam. The point is, call me crazy, but it seems like a picture taken when I was probably still in high school and viewed when I was two weeks away from attending my 10 year reunion might be considered slightly outdated.

Anyway, the long, insane profile normally would have been a deterrent, as would the vintage photos from a bygone era, but beggars can’t be choosers and more importantly, D’s message was actually really nice and normal. So I replied, and we had a brief back and forth. Impatient to meet my deadline, I asked him out for a drink and we made plans for the only time we were both free, which was early evening on Sunday (SO creepy). D suggested we meet at a trendy speakeasy that I had been meaning to try but hadn’t gotten around to. The place was so trendy that I had difficulty locating it (here were his directions):

unnamed

If that’s not the start of an episode of SVU, I don’t know what is. When I found it, D was standing outside with a sheepish look on his face. The place was inexplicably closed. Honestly I was just so excited that D appeared to be all six feet one inches that he claimed on his profile, and was actually cuter in person than in his wildly outdated photos, that I didn’t care.

We headed down the street to another bar and it wasn’t until we sat down, ordered drinks, and had an ominous moment of awkward silence that I considered this fact: I might be REALLY rusty at this whole first date thing. I mean, It’s been five months. Maybe everything I’d learned up until then had faded and this was going to be a spectacularly awkward evening of social failure. Luckily, before I could think about this any more, D piped up to ask me a question and I didn’t have time to worry about my romantic shortcomings again.

It was a nice date. D was smart, interesting, did not take himself too seriously, talked a lot but also listened with interest about what I had to say. We had some drinks, ordered some snacks, and had a reasonably nice time. I told D about the blog which he loved and wanted to know more about (I did refrain from telling him that he was single handedly responsible for breaking my dry spell). There were a few over shares on his part, mostly about his terrible relationship with his dad (yikesaroo), which surprised me given the fact that I felt like I already knew his life story from his anthology of a profile. 

At one point in the date, D asked me how to pronounce my last name. Without thinking anything of it, I told him (this is not an uncommon question) and then excused myself to go to the restroom. Walking back, it hit me: I never told this dude my last name. This is an established first date policy of mine. What. the. fuck?? Did I have a stalker on my hands, or just your run of the mill serial killer? Is that why he wanted to meet me in front of an unmarked metal gate? Does he know my social security number and blood type, too? Should I sneak out the bathroom window like in the movies? But wait, if he knows my last name he could probably find me anyway. GAH.

I pulled it together in the ladies room and decided I needed to confront this potential killer. Here is what transpired:

S: So, I just realized… I never told you my last name.

D: I was waiting for you to say that.

S: Oh God, you’re not going to kill me, are you?

D: Huh?

S: How did you find out my last name?

D: I mean, I work with computers for a living. You told me enough about your job and industry that when I searched those facts plus your first name, your LinkedIn profile came right up. I’m sorry, is that totally creepy?

S: Sort of, yes. But I also kind of respect it. My friends and I are semi-pro stalkers and we can usually find out some pretty incredible stuff about our dates with minimal clues to go off of. Usually this terrifies men, though. The tables have kind of turned.

D: You’ve met your stalking match. So what did you find out about me?

S: Actually, I didn’t even Google you. (I didn’t tell D that this was because there was literally no time/I had a deadline to meet.)

Not much else to report on this date, honestly. It was perfectly nice, and D was perfectly nice. Do we actually have chemistry/a ton in common? That remains to be seen. But I certainly think it’s worth another look. I am trying really hard not to compare him to H, who I had off the charts chemistry with from our very first date, because one, that’s not fair and two, obviously that off the charts chemistry didn’t really lead to anything good anyway.

D drove me home (no kiss, no attempted murder) and we agreed we’d like to go out again, but I know I don’t need to remind you all to take that agreement with a GIGANTIC grain of salt. An iceberg of salt, if you will. The probability that D fades away is incredibly high so for now, I’ll just be congratulating myself for achieving my November goal without having to literally pay an escort service.

self-high-five-liz-lemon-gif

Date rating: 7/10. D was a nice, interesting, smart, TALL dude with great manners and a lot to say. Not sure if I feel anything for him beyond that, but it’s certainly worth revisiting to find out. The stalking was a little creepy, but I can’t really judge someone for doing something that is essentially a dating best practice here at StuCu.