Riesling To The Rescue

Last night, I went on another un-date. I think they’re becoming my new hobby. This time it was with an oncologist (what’s with me and doctors lately?) who was visiting from New York. I met him when I was there on business and told him to give me a call if he ever came to Chicago. Lo and behold, three months later, he did just that and he asked me to go to dinner. I explained to him that I wasn’t exactly “dateable” at the moment, but he said that didn’t matter and that I should make reservations at the restaurant of my choosing. Obviously, I chose Gibson’s, one of the nicer, and more expensive, steakhouses in Chicago. As you may or may not recall, I’m a vegetarian, but steakhouses always have great salads. Plus nobody ever takes me to Gibson’s, not even on real dates, and it’s one of like three restaurants in this city where you might see famous people (if they happen to be stuck in Chicago for some odd or unfortunate reason.)

So anyways…I had another un-date. Only this one didn’t go very well. The Oncologist picked me up in a cab and we went to the restaurant, which is known for often being elbow-to-asshole. After waiting a half hour for our table (because apparently reservations are just a cute little formality there) we were seated in an area devoid of any celebrities so I was forced to focus my attention on him. Things went downhill from there.

I didn’t really know The Oncologist when I agreed to have dinner with him. I’d only met him casually in a large group of people back in Manhattan. Now, one-on-one, it was clear that we didn’t have a damn thing in common. Plus he wouldn’t stop staring at my tits. Prince Charming, he was not. He was uneasy, unfunny, and he actually made me uncomfortable. It took me five (count 'em, five) glasses of wine just to get through dinner and dessert. If he made one more blonde joke I was going to choke him. It’s sad when you can see a guy is trying his hardest, and then you realize Corky from “Life Goes On” probably has better game.

Boy am I glad I didn’t tell him about the blog.

So it turns out, un-dates can suck just as bad as real dates can. But if this were a real date six months ago, I would have laughed at his lame punchlines, responded to his creepy come-ons, and lead him on so he’d ask me out again. Thanks to The Celibacy Project, and some of my recent epiphanies, the new-and-improved Allie Dating Persona takes no prisoners. I was completely myself. I didn’t force anything. I was polite, but I wasn’t laying it on thick the way I used to. And although I didn’t have fun, I still felt good, because I was being honest with myself. If he calls again, I’ll be honest with him, too. I’m done wasting my time on situations that clearly aren’t right for me. And I’m still convinced that one day, Mr. Right will take me on my dream date to Gibson’s….and we’ll sit next to Posh and David Beckham. And Brad and Angie will be there. And they'll only serve tofu that night. Hey, I said “dream date.”

xo