Dating Portlandia: The Good Kisser Guy

When I saw his picture online I thought, 'Yes. Please.'

He was a DOLL.

Big blue eyes, adorable smile, the kind of handsome that stepped off the pages of an American Eagle catalogue.

Only less douchery and more charm.

I was stoked to meet him.

He picked a place I'd never been to on Belmont. 

Circa 33.

It ended up being the kind of bar that's right up my alley.

Kind of chill environment but fancy enough to use the good dark cherries in an Old Fashioned.

(By the bye, that is the sign of a good bar: One that makes a damn good Old Fashioned. Try ordering one at a dive bar or a Mcmennamins? Absolute rubbish).

When I walked in, he was already there, with a drink nearly empty.

I sat down and was immediately attracted.

He was a little pretentious and arrogant (as I discovered he was also an actor--and what talented artist isn't at least a trifle narcissistic?)

But I honestly find it amusing when guys flaunt their raging egos on dates.

I know they're trying to impress me.

Which really just means they think I'm cute.

The date was going well enough, conversation flowing, along with the whiskey.

But I was having a hard time figuring out if he was into me or not.

Maybe it was my own nerves, because I found him so attractive, but I honestly thought maybe the night would end early.

"Come on, let's go to Aalto." 

He paid for our drinks and without even waiting for me to agree or not, headed towards the door.

We headed to Aalto Lounge (which is like three doors down from Circa 33).

I've actually had quite a few dates at Aalto over the years.

Although, I apparently hadn't been there in awhile because the decor had vastly changed.

It used to have the kind of bathroom that made you afraid to sit on the toilet but everything looked much more classy than I'd remembered.

There was modern art on the walls and obvious coats of fresh paint (though Aalto's notorious lack of lighting had remained in tact).

I was impressed.

With the swanky new Aalto, with the cool confidence of my date, with the fact that after just a few minutes of sitting next to each other he leaned in and kissed me.

I've only had a few first dates with moments like this.

Where the guy gives me a goodnight kiss in the middle of the date.

It takes the right kind of swagger, and an insane amount of chemistry.

But it's always awesome.

I blinked several times as he pulled back, smiling at me.

"You know. You're not my usual type."

'I'm not?' I played along.

"No. I usually go for girls that are like this big," He cupped his hands like he was holding an imaginary grapefruit. "And like, this tall," he held his hand about three feet above the ground.

'Pixies!' I said.

"Yeah. But you're a total fox."

I grinned.

And let him kiss me again.

Or rather, devour my mouth.

He had no idea but his little compliment fit snugly in this tiny hole in my heart.

Guy, the lost love of my life, had hooked up with a tiny little pixie months after our breakup.

It alway stung that his rebound was a girl ten years my junior, with a body type exactly the opposite of mine.

But this guy was telling me I was so irresistible I broke the mold for his usual pixie girls.

Pretty much the perfect thing for him to say.

He wanted me to come home with him (Gosh, isn't that sweet?) but being that I'm not a skeezy skank I politely declined.

We did however french beside my car long enough for me to wake up the next morning with a hickey on my neck.

(I didn't know guys still gave hickeys when you were in your thirties).

And it was the first date I'd been on all year, where I didn't feel this longing to see Guy.

I felt a longing to be kissed again. 

And no sooner had I crossed the bridge and gone from SE to SW than my phone rang.

It was the Good Kisser Guy.

'Hello?'

"Where are you?"

'I'm downtown. Why?'

"Already? I wanna see you."

'You just saw me,' I laughed.

Gee. I didn't just break the pixie mold, I was such a good kisser, he wanted more. 

After only five minutes of being apart.

My ego inflated and nearly derailed my car.

'Next time,' I cooed into the phone.

"I look forward to it."

I hung up and couldn't get rid of the stupid grin painted across my face the entire drive home.

 

Dating Portlandia: The Intense Guy

I actually got there early. 

Which is surprising because I'm always late.  

For E.V.E.R.Y.T.H.I.N.G. 

If I ever get married I'll probably show up after the groom.  

I like to make an entrance. 

I'd never been to Interurban before.  

Part of what I enjoy most about dating, other than the possibility for something new and fabulous, and other than the sheer entertainment of men in general, is learning about hidden gems in Portland.

Interurban is a bar on Mississippi.  

And Mississippi is the new Hawthorne.  

(Or rather, Mississippi and Alberta are the new Hawthorne and Belmont.) 

NE is actually cooler than SE now.  

Because it's still indie enough that the majority of people haven't realized how cool it is.  

But I'm a total baller.  

Or rather, my date was.  

He picked the venue.

The layout of the bar was relaxed with only a few tables.  

I walked along the bar down a narrow hallway which led to outside tables.

The fall weather coupled with my dress didn't bode well for outdoor seating so I headed back towards the front of the bar.

I actually kind of love being the first to arrive on a date because then I can scan out the best seat in the house to be viewed.

The kind of placement that makes you easy to spot and makes it easy to spot the guy when he walks in the door.

I tucked myself in the corner right along the wall, near the front entrance, and he spotted me right when he walked in.

He looked like my first love.

If my first love had gained thirty pounds and smoked a lot of weed.

I think my date may have been stoned.

This is Portland after all.

He started talking and he was an open book.

He spoke very passionately about life and his interests.

About how his ex girlfriend and he had turned their relationship into an open one and she fell in love with some other guy and so here he was.

"And what is your feeling on open relationships?" Intense Guy asked me.

The good thing about dating in your thirties versus dating in your twenties is that in my twenties I may have been too nervous to give my honest opinion about things I didn't fully agree with.

If a guy was cute I wanted him to like me.

And what guy's gonna like me if I tell him his ideas are dumb?

'Oh no. Not for me. I'm terribly old fashioned. And I don't like to share my toys,' I replied.

"Your sex toys?"

'N-O. My men. My men toys. Like, my favorite toys, my favorite things. Not sharing them.'

I knew within fifteen minutes of the date that this guy and I weren't compatible.  

But I also ordered steak tartare that happened to have just arrived and it also happened to be phenomenal.

Interurban had this rad combo of having a sort of casual dive energy about it but the menu was swanky enough to have bacon wrapped figs.

It's like topping chocolate chip cookies with salt.

An unlikely pairing that's fucking fantastic!

So instead of leaving my date right away, I enjoyed my food, and my delicious Old Fashioned (that was made with a delicious dark cherry--yes, this bar was a keeper) and nodded with interest to what the Intense Guy had to say.

Eventually, though, he sensed my disinterest.

"I feel like I might have alienated you with what I said," he observed.

'I just don't feel like we're compatible at all.'

"Well, I appreciate you being honest. Most people aren't like that."

He was quiet for a minute and I thought how this seemed to be the best worst date I'd ever had.

"I'm really glad we met up," he smiled at me.

We split the bill and I thought how amazing it would be if all dates could be so forthright and straightforward. 

"You know, I think there are some things that you want that you don't even realize you want."

'Like what? Like being in an open relationship?' I asked.

"Like being tied up and dominated."

'Ohhhhkaaay. And with that, dear one, I bid you adieu.'

So maybe a hint of guile and secrecy is better on a first date.

Good Lord.

Dating Portlandia: The Nice Guy

"I agree. Dating sucks."

I was kind of drunk so I don't really remember what I said for him to agree with. But maybe I didn't say anything specific.  Maybe it was just my tone he heard.  It's hard to find someone who understands you.  Especially when you have no idea what you want anymore.

I went out with him twice.

The Nice Guy.

Who I curiously enough would have dubbed The Pervert after our first date but first impressions aren't always very accurate.

My last boyfriend I first thought was queer.

Turned out instead to be the best lover I'd ever had.

Jokes on me.

Repeatedly.

The first time The Nice Guy and I met up was at Goldust Meridian.  The bar has a casual vibe but it's dark and kinda sexy too.  I think that's why I like it.  If the date goes well, it helps set the tone.  But if the dates a dud it's easy to think of it as just another Southeast hipster bar.  It boasts 10 different champagne cocktails.  One, Death in the Afternoon.  Champagne and Absinthe.  Which always hits me hard.  I've had several dates where Death in the Afternoon played a part.  But I didn't order one that night.  I drank Old Fashions instead. I was feeling understatedly classy.

He was tall and lanky. Dressed in a button down shirt with a vest.  I love it when guys dress up.  Vests and suspenders and ties.  It all just makes me lose my freaking mind.

We shared a couple appetizers.  I always feel a date is good when you're already sharing your food and your cocktails.  It's like admitting you're comfortable with their mouth being in the same vicinity as yours without openly  admitting you've already thought of each other naked.  He was fun and made me laugh.  It wasn't one of those awkward first dates where you keep looking toward the door every time someone walks into the bar just so you can have someone else to look at.  

But he did seem to have problems looking only at me.  He had a bit of a wandering eye.  No, let me rephrase. It seemed every pair of tits that walked by our table he had to check out.  At first it was sort of funny because I thought, man you're not even being subtle.  But then it just got kind of annoying.  I go on dates all the time and no other guy I've gone out with has had such a hard time keeping his attention on me. Have you seen my ta ta's?

He paid and with the exception of his boob radar I had a decent time, so I decided if he asked me out again I'd go.

And he did.

So I went.

I planned on calling him out on his blatant douchery should it persist a second time.  I'd be playful about it. Like, hey buddy, let's at least check 'em out together.  What do we think of her over there? My thing is, I hate being ignored.  So if I'm at least included in your undesirable characteristics, it will at least entertain me. And dating is all about being pleased, is it not?

The thing of it was, though, he wasn't oggling anyone the second time around. He was actually really sweet and attentive. I was running late and he asked if he could order me something. And when he noticed my first drink was empty and our waitress was nowhere to be found, he went to the bar to get me another cocktail.  He listened intently while I talked and at some point in the middle of some story I was telling, he softly said, "You are so beautiful." When I got back from the restroom he'd already paid the tab and feeling so overwhelmingly wrong about my first impression of him (and feeling the warm embrace of the bourbon I'd been drinking) I shared my mistaken view of him thinking we'd have ourselves a good chuckle over it.

But he just sat there. Blinking at me. He looked wounded. And I felt like I'd kicked a puppy. Eventually he quietly mumbled, "I don't want to feel like I can't ever look at anyone."

I was ready to leave and felt I'd shifted the energy of our date so I just changed the subject and said we should head out.  He walked me to my car (all 12 feet across the street) and leaned in to give me a very unexciting goodnight kiss. It was the kind of lackluster kiss you'd expect a highschool actor to give the class virgin in the spring musical.  Only in my play there was no orchestra accompanying us.  Only the sound of my own thoughts convincing me I should let him kiss me since he'd been so nice.

I didn't hear from him again.  Maybe he knew when I kissed him, I really didn't mean it. 

Maybe he didn't hear an orchestra accompanying our kiss either.

But I did realize at least one thing I know I want that night.

I want the kind of goodnight kiss that makes my vision blurry.

It's out there.

I felt it just the other night.