2 - Nondescript

How many ways can you describe oatmeal, though...

Early on during my time on Plenty of Porpoises or whatever, my swiping patterns (link for the background on this) revealed something about myself:

Ya girl is shallow.

I have a short list of physical requirements, and thus I am a bit of a stickler. I am extremely attracted to height. I'm into height the way that some men are into women's body parts. No one would ever say to man that he should date a flat-chested woman if he is attracted to big boobs. No one would ever say to a man who likes nice rear ends that he should date a woman with no butt, because "her butt is still bigger than yours". So why do people insist I should ignore what I am attracted to and instead date shorter men, simply because I am a shorter woman? Where is the science? Make it make sense or shut up, please.

Diatribe over. I am into height, okay? So I can’t do short. I can’t do fat. That’s it. I'm clocking guys in at 6'1 to ride this ride. Maybe to you that seems excessive, but this isn’t your blog so keep it to yourself. My personality is at least 5’11 and I prefer his height to outsize my attitude.

I work out 5-7 times per week, so if a man is soft, portly, chubby, or any other euphemism, I simply cannot. He definitely doesn’t need to be a CrossFit god or sport a six-pack, but if the middle jiggles more than a little, keep them thumbs a twiddle because I don't fiddle if it ain't whittled. Not even a diddle. I don’t even like Jell-O. Bye.

Nondescript messaged me as I was seemingly stuck in a swipe loop of hobbits and beer guts. He wasn’t super hot (which I’m fine with), but he wasn’t fat and he was 6’1, so I sighed a sigh of relief and wrote him back.

In our chatting, he wasn’t particularly interesting or funny, but he could carry a written conversation fine enough. He looked nice in a suit and I’m a fan of glasses, so I agreed to go on a date when the bespectacled fellow asked. He suggested we meet for smoothies, which melted my heart immediately. The basic white girl in me loves a good pineapple, kale, avocado blend.

We meet at a smoothie joint in Addison. He pulls up on his motorcycle, removing his helmet as he approaches the outdoor table where I sit in my jeans and white V-neck. Oh, I think, Nothing to see here folks...

He wasn't unattractive, he just wasn’t very much of anything. Thus, Nondescript. He wasn’t even basic-looking. He was blah. Like, I’d be just as intrigued looking at a bowl of oatmeal. Obviously, he wasn’t quite giving me feels. No feels at all in fact, but this was only my 2nd date so my optimism was high that maybe he’d sweep me away with his conversation.

Spoiler alert: homeboy did not.

The smoothie shop is super cute. There's a little library and a bookshelf full of board games to choose from in the front. It’s not too crowded, there are only about 11 patrons playing when we walk in. We get in line and I’m eyeing a cinnamon avocado concoction. “What are you getting?” I ask.

Eyes fixed on the menu, he answers monotonously, “Uhh I think...the raspberry tea smoothie.” As he speaks, I notice his teeth are...less than stellar, but his lips aren't bad. Probably only to look at, though. “How about you?” He asks.

“Definitely the avocado. I love avocado!” I chirp. I'm a chirper.

We reach the front of the line. The cashier, a chubby white girl with tired eyes and a sloppy ponytail mumbles, “What can I get you?” She was beat. I know what that’s like. Yes, girl, me too.

I order my green drink. $2.67. Nondescript stands behind me staring at the menu. I slowly reach into my purse, pull out three bills, pause, then hand it to the disinterested portly teen on the other side of the counter. My date doesn't even react. Fail. Okay, so I know where this is not going, but I’m still open to the possibility of redemption through decent conversation.

We sit outside in the breezy evening air and talk. Subjects ranged from the impact technology has had on interpersonal communication in our society to the art of sales and entrepreneurship.

He wasn’t particularly interesting, but I enjoyed our even-tempered conversation and he asked good questions. And he was an actuary, and I’d never met one of those before. After 1.5 hours, I was over holding in my farts, so I let him know it was my bedtime.

As I turn to leave, he invites me to check out his motorcycle. A motorcycle is basically a heavy bike with two wheels, if you haven't seen one before. That's it. We side-hug and I walk to my black Mustang across the parking lot. Which is cooler, in my opinion. I mean, it remote starts. #VroomVroom

I arrive home and see he sent me a text likely right after I drove off. This was the nail in the coffin. He failed Test 1, then doubled failed with his post-date punk-assness. The message read: “You’re so pretty. What are you looking for with dating?”

Sigh. Eye roll. Sir. I was with you for nearly 2 hours and you couldn't muster up the balls to ask me that in person? Well, thank you, I put on 4 pounds of makeup so I better look pretty and I’m looking for nothing with you when it comes to dating.

I will save the rest of the textual nonsense that ensued with Nondescript since there is only so much space on the Internet for my words. Rest assured, the findings below are accurate.

Test 1: Fail

Verdict: He asked me on 3 dates after that, to which I said no. I told him that I didn’t think he and I would be a good dating match and he got really rude, threw a mini tantrum. Blocked his number.

Click for Date 3 - Gootense