Date Review: Dylan

Dylan is a PR person for Ultiamte Fighting Championship, and a weekend EMT. She enjoys Sports, Travel, and Social Drinking.
The highlight of the evening was when she simultaneously stripped me of dignity and masculinity by stating: "It's like you're the girl, and I'm the boy!" Ha! See if I bring my dignity with me on any more dates.

Part of the problem was saturation. She planned a Marathon date, 2pm until midnight. She took me to an Angels v White Sox playoff game. She's a Chicago kid, so she really wanted to see her team. Why not? I thought. Plenty of opportunity to communicate. Who knows. It could be good.

It could also be very, very bad.

Where can I begin?
We both came from the exact same page: T-Shirts. Her SOX shirt was unclean for some reason, so she actually had to go out and have one made the night before. You know, with money. I had a vision in my dreams of an Angels shirt that I had to will into being, so I went out the morning of, and made it. You know, my self.
It was a red Tee, with the Angels logo on the left Sleeve. Using mad skillz and a "legitimate" (see also: Lies) version of Adope photoshop, I edited the White Sox logo (which says "SOX") to say "SUX."
I threw in a little geek humor, and it was perfect. "teh SUX" it said. I was so happy.
Apparently the cross section between nerds and Angels fans DNE, because no one got my shirt. In fact they all thought it was a red White SOX shirt. My subtlety had been lost. Completely.

In the beginning.
It started off well, with a train ride to union station and to Anaheim. We talked, and we talked with the stranger who sat with us. It was nice.

During the game, she revealed that she was infact, a republican catholic. A Diabolical combination. She didn't SAY it, but she implied that she was religiously opposed to women's rights (abortion, women in the military...), and gay rights. The only two political issues I actually care about. Call me an asshole for standing up for civil equality. Do it. I want you to. I support your right to do so. Asshole.

I wasn't terribly uncomfortable, but I wasn't comfortable either.
I had a pretty good time at the game. Her team was winning, so I was glad, because she cared.

We left early in the 9th inning to try to catch the train. When we noticed the time, and the end of the game, we had 10 minutes to exit the stadium and cross the lot. Unfortunately, I lead us in the wrong direction for a few minutes, and we missed the train by just that same increment. I'm willing to take the blame for that, but it didn't help that she refused to run. She was in Heels, decidedly impractical. I always wear shoes that I could hop a fence in. She also refused to hop the fence.

When waiting the 2 hours for the bus, she revealed that she'd never been to such a calm sports game. Usually she's yelling, and cursing, but I was so calm that she felt out of place if she put her energy into it. Great. I reduced her sporting fun quotient. While you're at it why don't you tell me how you wish you were hammered right now? Oh, that comes later.

Waiting for the train didn't do well. She blamed me for missing the first train, but she didn't say anything. That's alright, because I secretly blamed HER for wearing heels, adn not hopping fences.

We hung out in front of Hooters (where we couldn't get in, on account of the lines). She was bored. I'll save you the pain of reading about the next dull hour. Just imagine that I was unable to amuse her, and that she was unable to get the alcohol she apparently needed to enjoy her evening.

Things went so poorly, that I began to feel inadequate. I felt as if it was perhaps my fault that the date was going poorly, and as a result, my confidence was shot before the train ever got to us.

We agreed that we didn't have to talk on the train, and she took a nap, while crazy people made kissy faces, hocked up unnecessary organs, and threatened each other. It was just what I thought the subway would be like, but with less stabbings.

I drove her home, mostly in silence, but I said too much. A Wreck of a man, devoid of confidence, feeling as if I was at fault for the fate of our date. You can imagine what I may have said, and shake your head in pity.

It wasn't until days after the fact that I contacted her, and told her that I thought it was pretty clear that we didn't work out. I wished her the best, and said good bye.