First Dates are the best...I mean worst

So I had a thought the other day.  I had my first date/"boyfriend" when I was 10 years old. And since I didn't marry him (because, eew... insert Kentucky/West Virginia joke here) I have continued to date. That means that I have literally been on this merry-go-round of love for almost 23 years. TWENTY THREE YEARS! You would think that with 23 years of experience, I would eventually be good at this. But no, sadly, I'm still playing at the amateur level for all intents and purposes.

But here's what makes it fun. I did a recent tally, and I've been on something like 15 first dates in the past year, plus or minus. And first dates are hilarious. They're awkward, they're occasionally awesome, but usually just a lot of build up to very little return. And these facts are fairly universal. I LOVE talking about crazy first dates with friends. If you've met me, you know I'm a story teller. And I really believe any situation is worth being a part of, as long as I can tell a good story afterwards. When I was in my twenties, this belief lent itself to some crazy stories that 30 year old Dulciña would never entertain now. But luckily this reasonable, don't waste my time chick didn't emerge until my late 20's so we still have all the stories to tell, usually over a glass of red wine.

For this post, I've decided to gather some of the favorite stories I've gathered from my own life AND the lives of my other friends who are either still in the market, or have gladly left the single lifestyle behind. I make the disclaimer now that if it sounds like you, um sorry. Take it for a compliment. Apparently, while I might be mocking you, I still like you enough that you have access to my blogger thoughts.

So without further ado, here are more Do's and (mostly) Don'ts for first-ish dates (some creative license has been taken to include the occasional second date).

DO pay/offer to pay for the first date if you get any sense that the lady is a traditionalist. Do NOT pull out an envelope with cash, instead of a wallet and say "Wow" three times when the bill comes, especially if you order the lobster and your date orders the cheapest thing on the menu and water.

DO offer the lady a compliment if you think she deserves it. Do NOT tell the lady on the first date any of weird kinky things you want to do to her private parts, feet, underarms, hair or really anywhere else when you've been out for exactly 30 minutes.

DO try to sound smart if you are. Vocabulary is important to some girls. Do NOT throw out words like caligynephobia to try to impress your dates when what your really saying is "hey you're pretty and someone has accused me of being this word that sounds like a venereal disease but is really just a way of saying that I was actually more socially awkward in my distant past than I am now."

DO send the flirty text with emojis if that's your thing after the date. Do NOT send the dick pic. Ever, preferably, for some women. But generally, if she hasn't seen it in real life, it is NOT the time to send it over via text message. Also, if you're at work and you send us a pic from your home bathroom, we notice. We KNOW the picture was just sitting in your picture gallery ready to be sent at the "right" time. And if you are sending it from work, DUDE, where the hell do you work? Also, google auto saves all photos, so now your dick pic is a forever part of her internet life. She will not be thanking you for that. Except for 1 or 2 of you. She may thank you. You know who you are.


DO be single when you ask someone on a date. Why I have to say this, I don't know, but apparently, it's a thing. Do NOT talk about your CURRENT 2nd wife (3rd if you count commonwealth) while trying to convince a girl to become your mistress/side piece. Not only is it terrible form in general, but the girl will go home trying to figure out if she somehow presented herself as sidepiece friendly.

DO offer to pay for drinks. Do NOT offer gifts on first dates, especially money.Call me old school, but if money is being exchanged before last names, that feels awful close to prostitution or at least escort-adjacent.

DO look good on a first date. After all first impressions are important, and while women may not decide whether or not they want to get with you on a first date, they definitely determine whether or not they are willing to. Do NOT look prettier than the woman you're going out with. If you're going to a simple bar on Tuesday, leave the three piece suit with matching ascot at home. Even if your orange gators or cowboy boots are your favorite accessories, perhaps leaves those as a special surprise for date number three or four.

Do NOT neg your dates. I really don't care which MTV jack-behind said this was a good thing to do, real women with self esteem will never respond well. If you deliberately want to be an ass, stay home and leave real women alone. Netflix and wine will always make us happy. Dates telling us that we're as cute as their exes but maybe not as a successful yet, can go suck a big fat lemon and stop wasting our favorite post work hours.

DO talk about what you're currently looking for in your dating life. Do NOT tell ridiculous stories about your exes that make you look like a douche. This should be self explanatory, but people really are dumber than you think.

DO ask someone if they had a good time on your date. Feedback is important after all. Do NOT assume they had a good enough time that now she'll want to cook you meals and perform sexual favors at your house (dude, you're still a stranger) on the second date if you only invite her to do so.

DO be yourself. She wants to get to know you, not your date friendly representative. That being said Do NOT let your freak flag fly on the first date. If your dates ask you what you're into, and you say 50 shades of grey-esque stuff/licking dirty toes/unicorn porn etc., the average female will immediately exit stage right. We really wanted to hear about your fantasy football league and obsession with rafting.


DO own your sports obsessions in a reasonable way. If #Knicktape is your thing and the G-Men own your fall, that's fine. Do NOT cry over sports on the first date. Your parents are still alive. Get yourself together, man. (And I say that as a huge Duke bball fan. I also don't go on first dates during Duke games because I know better)

DO go for a first date hug, and occasional kiss, depending on the woman and the overall vibe. Do  NOT take off all of your clothes while she's not looking and say "surprise, guess who came to join the party!"

DO say that your were not feeling the date/the vibe/the chemistry or whatever. Do NOT say that she was the best thing since sliced bread and then duck phone calls and texts like you're in witness protection.

DO ask questions on a first date. Do NOT take notes. Seriously. Paper and pen should never be a part of a coffee date.

DO be sensitive and listen to your date, especially if you have just met. Do NOT feel like this is the time to grab her hand and read her the poem you wrote about raindrops, lust & pain, or the song you wrote about the juxtaposition of your relationship with your mama and the time you were kicked in the balls that one time in grade school.

DO be honest. Google is the truth serum of us all. Do NOT tell me you were born in the wilds of some weird third world country that doesn't speak English, but your name really is John Smith.

Unfortunately many of us have been on the wrong side of the "Do NOT" column on our first dates, and yet we continue to put ourselves out there. Why? Because sometimes you make us laugh. Sometimes you make us forget the doldrums of  our normal 9-5 and excite us. Sometimes you look at us and make the efforts of the short skirts and tight heels worth it. Sometimes you smell or sound so good that we're seduced into trying one more time. And sometimes you do all of  that and provide wine. And for all of that and much more, when you say "Hey, are you free on Saturday?" we'll continue to say "Sure, what do you have in mind?" And humankind will continue to grow and love and thrive as it always has. And as it is always meant to.  
 

  

Two stories

From as long as I can remember, the month of February has been a touch one for me. Beyond all the silly Valentine's day nonsense, and the cold weather and snow, and general lack of sunshine, this month has always seemed to drag on. In high school, my house counselors realized just how awful the month was and started something called "February friends", which was basically a month long version of Secret Santa. We would select someone in our dorm at random, and be tasked to give them small gifts and notes throughout the month as a pick me up, revealing ourselves at the end of the month. It was a small thing, but something I now appreciate and remember fondly.

As I started writing this today, I'm sitting on an amtrak train heading back to the city and feeling really nostalgic, because Amtrak was such a big part of my boarding school life. And I can't help but think, man I wish I still had a February friend. Because what ultimately makes this my most difficult month every single year was something that happened 15 years ago today. A friend, someone who I loved, took their own life. And in many ways, big and small, that changed mine.

Link to original article in the Phillipian

I've had several years to process how I felt that day, and the big blur that seems to sit over that day, that week, that month and maybe even that year. I remember what felt like a good, even normal day of classes. I remember an awkward heart wrenching meeting in the Nathan Hale Common room. I remember desperately searching for friends who had been sequestered. I remember sitting in a chair in the CAMD office not talking, not really seeing for 20 minutes, or maybe 2 hours, I don't actually know. I remember eating everything that was put in front of me because I knew I had to eat, but not tasting anything. I remember seeking out and then breaking down under the half mast flag in the middle of the courtyard. I remember yelling at a friend who had also had her battles with depression to never do this to me again. I remember my mother and brother driving up to Massachusetts because they heard something broken in my voice. I remember hearing Amazing Grace or His Eye was on the Sparrow in the chapel and feeling my heart break all over again. I remember standing on a line, introducing myself to and hugging his mom and hearing her say that her son loved me. So many moments, and there are so many more, shared and private that will always resonate and resurface, especially today. 

But that's not why I'm writing this today. Today I want to talk about two more, two good moments that were mine and Zach's alone that I think about often but don't share as much. When I was a junior in high school, I was a pretty smart kid, but I was still learning how to dream bigger. I had the grades and profile to get into the best schools in the country, and ultimately did, but for whatever reason, I hadn't really started thinking those dreams could be mine yet. They were still for others; the "traditional" boarding school kids, the legacies, the kids who were whiter than me, richer than me, less female than me, more everything that I didn't consider myself to be yet. I ran into Zach randomly after a college counseling session where my college counselor and I had started to work on my college application list for the following year. I was still early in my research about high caliber colleges and thought that one of the schools on my list was the name of a big state school, rather than a similar sounding school, which was one of the best small liberal arts colleges in the nation.

I don't remember exactly what Zach said to me in that moment but it was along the lines of "Candace, you're not applying to a state school, even as a safety,  because you're going to get into every school you apply to." And I'm pretty sure in that special "I'm so wise but I'm willing to share my knowledge with you because I like you" way that he had, we had a conversation about my goals and where he saw me in a year's time. And at the end of that talk, he had made me feel ridiculous, smart and talented, all at the same time. It was one of his talents. Even when you lost a debate with Zach, you felt like you had won more knowledge for having been involved. That moment and that conversation really mattered to me. He had always been my ideal of all those things that seemed to "belong" when I saw myself as "other" and he had the faith in my dreams before I was brave enough to even have them. Later on, when I did well with the college application cycle, and a classmate claimed "affirmative action" to a friend of mine, I never doubted whether I was worthy of my successes. And that can partly be attributed to the boost of confidence that random conversation gave me a year earlier.

Fast forward to senior fall. At my high school, 11th grade spring, and senior fall are the hardest semesters on deck for all the normal reasons (SATs, APs, harder classes, college applications, angst about the future, etc.) During my spring of 11th grade, I developed a benign cyst on my tailbone that required surgery, a lot of pain, and several weeks of recovery and special cushioned seats. It was not easy to deal with in the middle of writing my History 300 paper (for Mr. Jay Rogers, another fine man and teacher taken too soon).  And I'm the first to admit that I'm a pansy when I'm sick. But I made it through and went on with my year, including an incredible summer spent in Spain with Zach and 16 other classmates who were part of one of the best summers in my life.

When I came back to school in the fall of senior year, I was feeling some minor sensitivity in the same area and went to the doctor to get it checked out. I was told that the cyst might have come back and I may have to go through the entire process again (ultimately, I didn't). We didn't have cellphones back then so I couldn't call my mom to freak out until I got back to the dorm. Once again, randomly, as I walked across the Great Lawn thinking about why this was happening to me, and what if this was something more serious, and could I really be sick again while away from home for several weeks, I ran into Zach. He asked me how I was and I said "fine" and I tried to continue walking, but he stopped and asked me again, because that's who he was. He cared and he sensed when people weren't feeling right, and he felt it was his job to help those in need, especially those he considered friend. And as I tried to explain what I had just heard (which I'm sure came out as gibberish), for the first time in my high school career, where occasional homesickness and stress related tears were common place for many but never for me, I broke down and cried in front of him. And in the middle of that big lawn, in the middle of that random day, he hugged me and told me that everything was going to be okay, and that no matter what happened, I was going to get through it because he knew I was strong. There are many memories that make up the story of our friendship, but that one was the one that assured me, no matter where life would take us, and even if we never kept in touch, a part of me would always love him and wish him the best for the rest of our lives. I just never knew that time would be cut so short. I'm not sure if I ever thanked him for those moments, but I'm a person of faith, so I have to believe he hears me when I think of him.

I wish many things. Stupid things. I sometimes google Zach's name, not because I'm looking for the past, but because I like to see the legacies that others with that name are building and try to picture where he would be (clearly at the top of all searches). I wish that he had a facebook account so anytime I wanted to see his face, I could just type in his name and relive his all encompassing smile in technicolor. I wish I could hear him argue.... and argue.... and argue... some point, irregardless of whether it was trivial or important, with the same passion and desire to win the debate. I wish I could make fun of his overly bright blond hair in Salamanca or watch him wear that green Dartmouth shirt one more time. I wish I could hear his laugh. I wish many things.

The year I was set to graduate from college, on my way back from a senior trip to Cape Cod, I made a stop in Acton to visit his grave for the first time. I did what I always do when my heart is too full, I wrote. I reread that note to myself almost every year around this time and I reminisce about the good and the bad, and all the in between. Our lives are made up of and filled with the "in between", because that's where all the memories live forever. As I finish writing this post, now at home, on my computer, the light overhead had started to dim and eventually it faded to black. It seems suiting to let this post sorta fade away in a similar way.

"...but know that as long as I live, you'll hold a special place in my heart, deep where I don't let a lot go, but also where I hold those things most dear." - CD, May 2004

We miss you still, our friend. We always will.