Manic Monday

I went on a first date this past Saturday. It went really well as first dates go. To be clear, and put things in perspective, my first dates don't usually go so well. They are fine while I am there but I usually decide within the first 15 minutes that I can see no future meeting with the person on the opposite side of the table from me. My date on Saturday didn't go like this though. So, that, at least, was a plus.

On Saturday I went out with a guy I met on OkCupid. (Yes, of course I am an internet dater.) We had been talking fairly consistently for the week before we decided to go out and had finally set a causal coffee date for last Saturday the weekend before. He called me to set it up. I truthfully hate when guys I don't know call me and I almost never answer the phone. For some reason though, I did answer this call. And to my intense surprise (though I should have discerned this information from his online dating profile) I was greeted by a deliciously British man on the other end of the phone. After speaking with him for a brief but delightful ten minutes, I found myself excited by the date and jokingly told my friends I had a date with "the man I was going to marry." (Still waiting to see how that plan pans out; I figured it was a step up from the usual dread I feel when gearing up for another first date with a guy I'll probably dislike...)

So, back to the date on Saturday. Like I said, it went really well. Two days before the date we moved the location and time from coffee at 4:00 to dinner and drinks in a local and very crowded but amazing pizza and winebar called Vin 909. The wait for a table was an hour and 15 minutes. While we did wait a pretty decent amount of time to sit, to be honest, I have absolutely no idea how long it was because I was so entertained by our conversation. It was easy and effortless. I could (and did) talk to him for hours. We talked about everything. I wanted to fall on the floor a few times laughing at his devilishly inappropriate jokes which made me feel right at home. And I nearly fell from my chair each time he used a purely British word like "brilliant" to describe something. He laughed and smiled right along with me throughout the night.

We left the restaurant around 10pm and he walked me to my car. He hugged me and said, "see you soon." Shortly after I got home, I texted to say thank you for dinner and that I had had a lot of fun. He, upon getting home as well, texted back with, "me too! A lot of fun!" On Sunday, I texted him when I saw something on TV that reminded me of what we had discussed at dinner the night before and he texted a back with a joke. All good stuff, right?

Since it is all good stuff, can anyone tell me why, despite the fact that no feelings are involved yet, I can't stop willing him to text or call me to make more plans? Why I can't seem to trust or take his "see you soon" at face value? Am I really so used to men letting me down that I automatically assume they are all pathological liars? I think maybe I am. And that sucks. A lot.

Based on the twitter conversation that I had with my friend last night, he's not calling because guys are afraid to trigger a girls' "women are crazy and lose interest in what they can easily attain switch." The worst part is that my friend is totally right. If he texted me last night (or even tonight) when I was hoping he would, it very well may trigger my crazy girl switch. Too easily attained or too many games? Ugh. My head hurts from thinking about it. How I hate the games.....!!!

So, I guess I better start trying my hand at having faith in "the guy I am going to marry." He's cute. And British. And honestly (and most importantly), a really good guy who I have a lot in common with. Here's hoping I really will see him soon...