Recently, I was contacted via Twitter by one of my followers - let's call her M - and asked if I was interested in being set up on a date with her ex boyfriend. Dangerous territory? Probably, so immediate red flags, whistles, bells, pretty much everything red was thrown at me. But I was curious/ desperate for a new date and blog post so, eventually, I accepted the challenge. I wasn't sure how this would all go about; remember she's never met me, has no idea what I look like, she just 'knows' me from reading my blog. In other words, we pretty much became twitter bffs. From the way M and I interacted, (in 140 characters or less) it seemed pretty clear that she was no longer interested in her ex and that he was fair game. But I assumed M had ulterior motives for our arranged rendez-vous and that it wasn't meant in a friendly, peaceful 'I hope they live happily ever after' manner. She just wanted to get a brutally honest review of her ex, and like I do with all of my victims... I mean dates, I wouldn't lie about my first impressions. Here's to a date with a twist...bring on The Z Man!
Before I had the chance to let The Roommate in on my newest quest, that very night, she let me in on a little bit of gossip herself; her coworker is friends with M. When he had 'liked' my 52firstdatesTO Facebook page (which all of you probably should too, peer pressure) M noticed this, intrigued by the concept of the blog and offered her ex as a possible date, then contacted me via Twitter. Oh, the power of social media. I also found out through my roommate's coworker that The Z Man is in fact a huge douchebag, in the end treated M terribly, broke her heart and as things got rocky between the two, M thought he was acting weird because he was going to propose...au contraire, he broke up with her. A lot to swallow? I definitely had a 'you've been warned sticker' slapped on forehead. Still, the news didn't deter me from wanting to meet the inevitable dick. I tried not to judge The Z Man solely by what I heard, but to save my judgments for our eventual meet - because, well, that's fair. Days went by, and it seemed like the whole set up had been dropped. Until I got a new submission to my contact form on 52firstdates.ca from none other than the infamous man, I'm not allowed to judge, himself.
As I reluctantly read through The Z Man's email, I couldn't help but notice his wonderful grammar and sentence structures. #Winning! Punctuation? Check. Proper use of your and you're, too and to, than and then? Check, check, OMG check! Lack of LOLs and hahabahahas, I secretly questioned whether M had hacked into The Z Man's Gmail account to make it seem like he was a well-respected, educated non jock. We continued to email and his grammar never slipped: I was immediately intrigued to meet this man more and more. At this point, I was pretty convinced that no douche, no real douche could pull off such excellent writing skills. Right, bro? Through our conversation, he admitted that M had suggested he go on a date with me just to spite him, and just to spite her, he accepted. I was stuck right in the middle of this fucked up love/break up triangle. They were both seeking evil revenge or some kind of twisted way to get back at each other for their lack d'amour. Lucky me. Still, he was willing to have me judge him, blog about him how I please, just be completely brutally like I am of my other dates.
"I'm looking forward to the blunt blogging. Have you ever gone on a date, either good or bad, and had no idea what the person across the table was actually thinking? Maybe it didn't workout because I took them to all you can eat sushi and ate all I could, maybe my gingery stache was too real for them. Whatever the case, I'll usually never know what went wrong/right and I'll go forward with no personal growth or development. Be blunt as hell. All constructive feedback will help me in the long run and if I'm truly a dick, which I'm not, it'll make for a good read!"
According to M, The Z Man was a gym whore so she had recommended on several occasions to touch his #abs on the date and ask if he would bench press me. Obviously fond of his personal trainer's bod. Well, since I was on my I-hate-my-life-eating-bland-food-blows-big-balls diet and he curls weights with his fingertips, we decided to check out a sheesha bar on Ossington, and drink ice water. A no calories soirée. With all the anticipation and build up for this date, it was the first time I truly felt nervous during my entire 52 first dates experience. I was the only person in the city of Toronto driving with their windows completely down during an extreme cold alert. I was sweating in anticipation. This truly was a blind date! He described himself as the guy wearing a brown, deep V sweater. I immediately thought of Canada's first TV Bachelor Brad Smith, and his infamous "deep Vs" and got excited. I spotted him right away: his sweater wasn't that deep, and he definitely wasn't Brad Smith, but he was a Canadian bachelor indeed. 6'3, blondish/brownish hair, green eyes, built like a tank, arm span of a Boeing 777, nice smile. I instantly understood why M insisted I feel his #abs. Although, not exactly my type, I don't care for guys with Ken doll bodies and protein powder injected into their blood stream. It's really all about personality. I actually mean that. Stop laughing.
He started up a sheesha bong, and had ordered me an ice water, as planned. I was secretly afraid to share a common mouth piece with a total stranger and hoped I wouldn't catch a disease or six. Again, I took my chances and I'm here to tell you that my lips are herpes free. Conversation went as smooth as butter. (Mmmm, butter) I found him to be slightly self absorbed, and obsessed with talking about the gym. But I soon found out he's more than just one large walking muscle; he has a good job something to do with stats/analytics, his speech was just as good as his written dialogue, his random witty one-liners really got me chuckling, and he sets goals for himself. He's really into fitness (no shit) he's a part-time personal trainer and to further his fitness 'career', he's entering a competition in the next few months. Could you get more vain than that? Probably not. But hey, a goal is a goal. And I could probably use him for some tips on how to look like Britney -- pre shaved head mental breakdown.
The topic of M did come up at times - pretty much because I would pry into that subject like a good Scorpio PI investigator should...I wanted to know the dirt! As much as I tried to get The Z Man to act like a douche... he wouldn't. It's highly possible he was on his best behaviour for the sake of the blog, but in my opinion you can't fake douchiness. That quality is inbred, you're either a douche or you're not. No use of the words bro, bra, dude or yo, no calling the waitress 'babe' (fuck off, FG), no swearing every 2nd word. His cellphone was placed on the table and not once did he interrupt the conversation to check it. (fuck off, FG) Even as I'm trying to get the dirt on M, he kept it so politically correct and polite. He didn't have rude things to say. He just said it didn't work out between the two of them, that they argued often, and that in the end, the bad outweighed the good. Chances are he could be a dick, but not a douche. There's a difference.
There was a moment where I questioned whether or not he was gay. It's only natural to question this, not only because of his female Ken doll looks and his flaring hand motions when he spoke, but mainly because of his passion for being lathered up in oil, (probably by another man) getting an orange fake-and-bake tan, prancing around in front of a panel of judges in skimpy spandex booty shorts and strutting his stuff on stage to, I can only imagine, the "I'm too sexy" theme song. Oh, and he likes musicals. M too shared her initial concerns for his closeted homosexuality when she first met him. I don't think he's gay, but it did cross my mind. So, naturally, I asked him straight up. He responded with a very hearty NO. Convincing enough for me and we dropped that subject.
The sheesha let out its last flavoured puff, we were all watered out, and The Z Man finally grabbed his phone to check the time: it was a quarter past 11. We had been chatting for 4 hours. And didn't even notice! He paid for the bill and we bundled up to brace Toronto's frigid winter weather. Ironically for once, the goodbye wasn't awkward: we hugged and at the point he told me he'd like to see me again. I questioned whether or not this was a good idea, whether M would be hurt or angry or secretly stalk and kill me (please don't), whether The Roommate's coworker would come up with other reasons why I shouldn't date the supposed douchebag, whether the date itself was just a ploy to get blog famous.
So, I told him I'd let him know...
What to do? What to do! Thoughts? My guard will definitely need to stay up with this one.
To be continued....
La Blonde xx