Day 1 of my 30 dates in 30 days adventure got off to a strong enough start, with two men and three dates. Sounds confusing, I know—but let me explain.
It all started with brunch with a guy I met online who was in town for the weekend. He arrived the day before, and actually wanted to get together that night, but I decided against it, and suggested we do brunch instead. As I mentioned in my post from that morning, he was staying at the Venetian so I was hoping to go to Bouchon (or even Canyon Ranch Grill, which is also super-yummy) but no, he wanted to go to Grand Lux Cafe.
He was a 34-year-old financial planner from the east coast, who apparently likes his eggs over easy and wheat toast. He seemed like a nice enough guy: clean-cut, and with a baby face that made him look younger than he was. Still, there were no sparks on this end. Still, we had a nice brekky, and afterward, to my surprise, he asked, “What’s next?”
Oh, what the hell, I figured.
I suggested we check out CityCenter, since he hasn’t seen it yet. We walked there, and the conversation kept up all the way there, then through Crystals and Aria, and back again. It was a long, hot trek in the mid-afternoon sun and on a Saturday, but it was fine.
When we got back to the Venetian, I said I had to go, which I sort of did, but sort of didn’t. Whatever. I went to give him a kiss on the cheek, but he went for the lips. *awkward* And, after that, I was on my way.
Later that night, I agreed to meet another man I met on that same website for a quick drink. He lives here in Las Vegas, but was playing poker at the Palms, so we met at the Mint. I ordered a glass of sauvignon blanc and he grabbed a Grey Goose—and looked older than the 43 years he claimed on his profile. Still, he seemed really nice, and genuinely interested in me … until one of his friends came over, and he started referring to us as “love birds.” His friend was not cute or my type at all (not that my date was my type, either—I mean, he was nice and all, but he wasn’t my cup of tea). He kind of reminded me of Kevin Nealon, actually.
After 30 minutes, my “date” left to get back to the tables, and his friend stayed. But before the poker player left, he told me off—in the nicest way: “I think you’re really great, you’re obviously really pretty and really smart,” he said. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
He hopes I find what I’m looking for?? What the hell is that supposed to mean?
Oh, the sweet taste of rejection. I threw back the rest of my wine and left shortly thereafter.
Meanwhile, my date from earlier in the day was waiting at the Wynn. He had been texting me all day, and wanted to get together again. I didn’t want to, really, but, again, figured what the hell, why not? I met him at the center bar, Carousel Up, and one glass of white turned into two. Again, the conversation flowed—I ended up having a good time. But, as it neared 1:30, I knew I needed to go. He picked up the tab and we parted ways, me going to my car and him going back to his hotel room alone.
He texted me later: “Wish u were crashing next to me … come over.” My reply was direct: “No!” He gave me a 😦 and I was unsympathetic with my reply: “Oh, get over it.”
I guess he didn’t, because he’s still texting me today. Poor guy. He’s really nice—just not right for me.
The search continues. . .