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The Jedi

This is the story that started it all; which is to say that this is not the first time I’ve had an experience like this, but it was the experience that put me past the point of reason and sealed my fate. I will be single forever.

Dorks will tell you that there is a hierarchy among the very smart and poorly socialized: there are geeks and then nerds and then dorks, and this pecking order is meticulously maintained because shit rolls downhill and everyone has to feel as though someone is worse than they are, but the reality is that for dating purposes, they are interchangeable. Where very smart men go, so goes cosplay and manga and MMPORPGs and, more dubiously, polyamory and furries and stomach-turning fetishism so horrifying as to be intolerable in the daylight under any circumstances. And I have had enough of all of this.

Let me illustrate.

Several months ago, right before Halloween, I was introduced to a man via a mutual acquaintance, who thought we’d get along. This particular chap is (of course) employed in IT, and is a white Afrikaaner from Johannesburg, and for the most part appeared pretty okay on paper. That’s mistake number one: don’t fall for the pedigree, ladies.

After a few phone conversations (wherein he let his dork flag fly, but that’s okay because it seemed entirely benign at the time), he asked me out to dinner, and suggested a swanky and well-reviewed South African restaurant in Atlanta. Because I’m a smart girl, I checked the website, looked at the entrée prices and based on the wine list, determined what I should wear.

The scene: A restaurant bar in Buckhead. I am waiting for my date and enjoying a glass of wine. I’m wearing a long black pencil skirt that shows my shape but not much skin. Beneath that, black fishnet stockings not immediately visible due to the skirt. (Fishnets are a garment that should be used like most culinary garnish; sparingly, and only when it benefits the dish as a whole.) A black top, buttoned up to somewhere between conservative and suggestive. Purple satin pumps. An Audrey Hepburn-esque wide-collar black wool coat with my grandmother’s mink stole (because the mink is already dead and it doesn’t insult it any more to actually wear the thing).

Yes, that’s right. Purple heels. A mink stole. Fishnets.

My date arrives.

He is wearing polyester track pants. The variety with the snaps down the side, for convenient and effortless removal, as if one might feel compelled at any point during dinner (or any other activity where track pants might make an appearance, dubious or otherwise) to grasp the fabric and rip them off with a big, enthusiastic WOOO! These snappy, plastic track pants have a white stripe down the side of each leg, for speed, one would assume. Except my date weighs more than most veal calves on the hoof, and the sad reality is that he hasn’t seen a track since grammar school, and certainly doesn’t run unless he’s chased, so let’s call these bad boys what they really are: eating pants.

Homeboy wore his stretchy eating pants with the elastic waistband. And into the eating pants was tucked (tucked!) a t-shirt. It’s too cold for a t-shirt because I’m in a coat and fur piece, if you’ll recall, but apparently this gentleman has packed on enough adipose tissue to regulate his body temperature in the North Atlantic Ocean like a narwhal, and so he needs no coat. Just a t-shirt. And on this black t-shirt, a phrase:

“Pirates? Ninjas? To a Jedi, these matter not.”

I say hello and shake his hand and tell him to forgive me, I just need to answer an email quickly before we move on to the table, and I immediately begin texting anyone who might call me and feign an emergency. I am using wireless devices to chew my own leg out of a steel trap like a coyote.

The story could end there. It doesn’t, actually; he would later in the date ask me what my panties looked like and tell me that he likes to wear lacy bits because of how they feel against his skin (and presumably, on the inside of his non-jogger’s jogging pants). That part isn’t really imperative to the story, though. Here’s what is:

1.  You are taking a girl to a restaurant where the chicken dish is over $30 and the parking is exclusively valet. By not bothering to wear a shirt with some goddamned buttons, you’ve done two things: 1) You’ve communicated to the girl that shoveling African game meats into your maw is more important than her company, and 2) You’ve nonverbally communicated to everyone else in this restaurant that you have hired this girl to be here, because you look like a slob and in comparison, she looks like a call girl. Not cool, padre. Not cool at all.

2. You’ve ruined any chance you have of getting into my panties, regardless of whether I’m the one wearing them or you are.

3. You’ve proved that you exist in a world where fantasy is more important that reality, and that’s a problem because THIS is the world where I maintain platonic, familial and romantic relationships, THIS is the world where I have a job and student loans and consumer debt and a gym membership and a library card, and THIS is the world where I would someday like to develop a meaningful romance that becomes a lifelong partnership that will produce smart, social, well-adjusted children. There is room for you in my world, but there is no room for me in yours. Your world is packed up with stormtroopers and samurai warriors and giant robots. Your world is complete childish bullshit, and you are 35, and it’s time for you to grow the fuck up. You are not a Jedi.

No, really. You’re not a Jedi. There’s no such thing. If you’re looking to claim allegiance to a masculine warrior ethic, I suggest you start with wearing the uniform of Nice, Standup Guys in THIS galaxy and wearing real man’s pants.

7 Comments leave one →
  1. divya gupta permalink
    May 18, 2010 2:00 am

    it kept laughing throughout. loved the shit rolling down the cliff part and your dress too!!
    keep it up and keep writing..mwaaaaaaaaaaah!

  2. Sean permalink
    May 18, 2010 1:05 pm

    Love it… loved the story in person and I love its writeup here. You almost owe him a card for providing you with such a great anecdote. Another thing this made me think about is- you’re one of the most forward people I know, yet that powerful invisible hand that guides us all, social mores, still determined the course of the evening. At least for you. This guy clearly either didn’t know about convention (or didn’t care).

    There are plenty of smart men out there who aren’t into cosplay, manga, MMPORPGs, polyamory, furries, and stomach-turning fetishism. And there are plenty of smart women out there who are. I think it’s all about figuring out what you’re in to, what you’re willing to tolerate, and then to just keep putting quarters in to the dating-slot-machine until you feel like you’ve found someone for whom you’d be willing to cash out.

    • lookingforsomethingtofind permalink
      June 8, 2010 11:57 pm

      What’s funny is that I’ve always been the smartest guy in the room type of guy, but I don’t really ever act like it, my friends joke I have the mind of Einstein but the personality of Forest Gump. Interestingly when I get really drunk (I mean really, really drunk) I revert back to my inner geek. Thankfully I came from a family where dressing well was a point of great importance, so to any fellow geeks reading, don’t be afraid to dress well, and act dumb, being smart is great on paper, but being fun is better in real life. I have a good friend who is into D&D and invited me to a LARP contest, which I politely (and actually somewhat regrettably) declined. Also for the record I have never played an MMO-sober.

  3. May 18, 2010 1:27 pm

    I have a full pack of cigarettes and a red Solo cup full of quarters. Don’t mistake my bitterness: I am enjoying every minute of this.

  4. Paige permalink
    May 26, 2010 3:21 am

    Reading this I’m seriously wondering if this date was with my ex-husband. Laughing because I just have to! So freakin funny!!!

  5. June 9, 2010 3:51 am


    That guy committed so many atrocities, I don’t know where to begin.

    In any event, very well written and enjoyable – for me at least.

    Not a Jedi,

  6. June 9, 2010 1:06 pm

    Wow, notajedi. Really well-written – I imagine posting it must’ve been a cathartic experience. Like a good movie that I don’t want to end, I kind of wish you went over to his place just so you could recount the horrors of what lies in the nerdcave.


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