Second date (a.k.a. "Last date")

Online Date did call me and ask me out for a second date on Saturday night to a pool hall. I was needless to say, ecstatic.

It had been a while since I "had" a guy. For the first time in what felt like a century, I'd be on a fun date with a cute, intelligent guy that would hopefully end with a kiss. I hadn't kissed a guy in a very very long time, so one may understand why I fell into that trap that certain women fall prey to: extrapolating ridiculously overdramatic theories a/b one's future with this potential boyfriend. I even went so far as to imagine introducing him to my family (yes, pathetic, I know).

I badgered my guy friend into telling do's and don'ts on a second date. Obvious don'ts: sex of any kind, and even harmless nudity. A kiss in the car or even an extended make-out session should be sufficiently non-slutty.

So it was Saturday night. Online Date was 10 minutes late when he picked me up. Sitting next to him in the car, he looked a bit goofier. And the conversation stalled a few times as we drove to the pool hall. Still I remained optimistic.

We went to a pool hall (despite my poor shooting skills) when I began to see his True Self.

You see, on our bistro date, I was impressed by his ability to articulate his thoughts on philosophy and science. Yet in a casual, fun setting, he was utterly socially inept. Like an eight year old boy, he spent most of the evening teasing me. Not quite "You're fat and ugly!" but more like "that coat makes your head look like a balloon! ha ha!"

When I neglected to laugh at one of his oh-so-witty jokes, he gave me a knowing nod and said, "I'm joking. Sorry, sometimes it's hard to get my sarcasm." I didn't feel like explaining that it wasn't his sarcasm I didn't get--just his utterly bad, stupid, witless comments.

Every several minutes or so, he would jokingly antagonize me by making fun of me and mocking me. When I mentioned I liked dancing, he started mock-dancing, asking me, "Is this how you dance?" [Picture the Chandler dance from "Friends." Now picture Yellow Gal with a mixed expression of horror and disgust.]

What grade are we in? He didn't pull my pig tails but he did slap my left ass cheek randomly. At this point, my desire to have a boyfriend to kiss was replaced by an overwhelming desire to fashion a noose out of my scarf. Instead of noose-making, however, I merely said, "I need a drink."

We went to the bar whereupon I downed two consecutive Jack Daniels on the rocks to numb the pain. Whilst sipping our drinks, we began talking -- analogizing the Prime Directive of Star Trek to U.S. foreign policy. And he became normal again--articulate, intelligent, coherent. Then when we resumed shooting pool, he reverted to his third grade self. And my whiskey buzz did not alleviate the misery laden in his pathetic jokes.

Moreover, I realized we had little in common in terms of movies and hobbies. He did NOT like "Office Space" though he ironically spoke like Lumbergh. I concluded that while we were capable of having deep conversations, we were incapable of socializing on a normal, casual level.

Finally, pool came to an end. He suggested going to another bar which I vetoed with a stern "no." In the car, more pain ensued. My name, as I always indicated in person and in email, was Yellow Gal. Yet in the car (and perhaps a few other times throughout the night) he began calling me Yellow Gallygal. I corrected him, saying "My name is not Yellow Gallygal. It's Yellow Gal."

He then entered into annoying-joking mode and gleefully badgered, "Why don't you like Gallygal? What happened? Were you teased as a child? Traumatized by horrible childhood memories? [chuckle]"

I curtly responded, "Because it's not my name. My name is Yellow Gal. How would you like if I called you Online Dateramamama or Online Dumbass?"

He paused, musing over my exasperated remark, and said, "Okay. Yellow Gal it is."

"Thank you," I replied.

He pulled in front of my apartment and I awkwardly said, "Well I had a good time. Thanks for taking me out."

"My pleasure," he said.

I unbuckled my seatbelt, avoided eye contact, and placed my hand on the car door handle. "Well good night!" I squeaked. He then unbuckled his seatbelt--to do what? I didn't know and didn't want to find out. "Bye!" I said as I opened the door and bolted from his car.

And that, my dear friends, is known as my second/last date with Online Date #1.

The following morning, Online Date called me, leaving me a message asking me to spend the day with him. Perhaps only more shocking than his behavior on Saturday night is how he perceived my constant grimaces, curt remarks, and failure to laugh at his jokes as indicators that I liked him so much that I would want to see him immediately the following day. I did not return his call & instead wrote him today a Dear John email. It ended the way it began.

Next.