Funloving, Easygoing, Heavylifting—its all who I am.
Active within 24 hours
Colorado Springs, CO, United States
Seeking women 25-35
Within 50 miles of Colorado Springs, Colorado, United States
Have Kids: Yes and they live away from home
Want Kids: Not sure
Body type: Athletic and toned
Hair Color: light brown
Eye Color: blue
Smoke: No way
Education Level: High School
My Job: Sales/Marketing
Interests: Weight training, watching sports, health and fitness, campin, music and concerts, movies and videos, fish keeping
I dressed carefully for this date because, improper use of the word “its” notwithstanding, this guy was a hottie. He had beautiful blue eyes and obviously spent a LOT of time at the gym. One of the pictures showed him lifting weights, and the muscles in his arms were positively bulging. He wanted to meet at the bar in The Outback Restaurant so I arrived in my new tight black skirt and a red blouse. I also put on some sleek black heels that were to die for. There was quite a bit of leg and cleavage action going on.
I have to say he looked good. His large chest filled out the button-up shirt nicely, and the rolled-up sleeves left enough forearm showing for my imagination to take hold. He stood up and took my hand.
“I’m sorry I’m late. I warned you about it though,” I said when the introductions were complete.
“That’s ok,” he answered, “do you want something to drink? I’m having a sparkling water.”
“Actually, I’ll take a glass of Cabernet,” I said to the bartender.
Trevor looked at the bartender. “I have to watch what I drink. Training you know.”
“No, not really,” I said and looked steadily at him. What happened to fun-loving?
“So tell me about your job,” I said starting a topic of conversation that almost always successfully starts dates discussing themselves; their aspirations; their likes/dislikes; generally revealing their personalities.
He shrugged, “It’s a job.” I knew that he worked in sales at a manufacturing firm of some sort, but for the life of me I couldn’t remember what kind of company it was, and he wasn’t being very forthcoming with information.
This wasn’t productive. “Oh, well I work as a teacher. I teach sixth grade.”
“I know,” he said.
We sat in painful silence. “What do you do for fun? Obviously you like to work out,” I smiled.
He seemed to warm to this topic, “I work out twice a day for an hour. It’s what gives me purpose. In the morning, I do cardio and a cycle of abs and shoulders. Then in the afternoon, I do legs, arms, chest, and back. I have a light day on Saturday and just work out in the morning and do some boxing drills.”
“Wow,” I said hoping to sound interested, “that’s a lot of working out. Do you have any time for anything else?”
He leered at me, “Sometimes I make time for girls.”
Sheesh. He was cute but this conversation was painful. “Have you met a lot of women in internet dating?”
“A few,” he answered, “I don’t got a lot of time with workouts and my job. Plus, you gotta get a lot of rest with this sort of training schedule.”
“I bet.” I figured I’d try taking a more assertive approach, or maybe you could say it was passive-aggressive. “I’ve met quite a few men off of the internet,” I began, “but it’s difficult sometimes because a lot of them only talk about themselves and they don’t ask any questions about me.”
“Yeah,” he said as he signaled to the bartender for another round without looking at me, “good thing that’s not me.”
The bartender informed us that our table was ready for dinner, and we made our way through the crowded restaurant. My cell phone rang, and I excused myself to talk to the babysitter who was watching Leah (not my Dad). As if my life wasn’t crazy enough, now my Dad has decided to live “off the grid” in a Yurt (read fancy tent) in New Hampshire. Luckily, everything was alright and the new sitter just needed to know if Leah could stay up later (she could) so I returned to the table to have some more titillating conversation with grammatically-challenged Trevor.
I took a deep breath, “Well, what would you like to talk about?”
“What makes you happy?” Trevor asked. This was progress. At least he was asking a question, and it didn’t involve squats or bench presses.
“Hmm…good question. I guess lots of things. My daughter makes me happy. My students make me happy when they learn something—when they finally grasp something we’ve been working on. The sunshine makes me ecstatic. How about you?”
Trevor smiled and I noticed that his eyes really were an amazing shade of blue. “Adding more weight onto my reps. Pushing myself harder than the day before. Making love to a beautiful woman. Watching a funny movie.”
I took a bite of my shrimp cocktail, “Ok then, what makes you sad?”
“When people who supposubly are in charge don’t got no idea what they are talking about. When the Broncos lose. When 7/11 is out of my protein drinks,”
These were right up there with brain cancer and children dying of AIDS in Africa. He hadn’t asked, but I figured I would just go ahead and share my list anyway due to the dearth of conversation topics.
“It makes me sad when parents don’t care for their children,” I said. “And I am very sad when I can’t help someone who is hurting themselves. I also hate natural disasters.” (This is true, and I thought of some sarcastic comments to share with him about how my love life was one of them, but didn’t figure he’d get the irony so I refrained.) “I feel melancholy a lot, but I guess that’s not the same thing to me.”
He cocked his head to one side on his muscular neck, “Huh?”
I thought about how I could get out of the date early. Our dinner hadn’t even arrived yet so it might be somewhat difficult to extricate myself. I wondered what sort of karmic forces were at work that made it so difficult to find a semi-intelligent man with whom to spend an evening. Was it because I wouldn’t go out on a date with that repulsive fat guy named Norman (they are always named Norman) in college?
In the end, I suffered through the rest of a very agonizing evening and went home to watch “Blind Date.” I derived some fiendish pleasure in the fact that their dates were at least as bad as mine.
copyright © 2009 Tiia Jones