Date 30: Tinder Oliver

This is a modern dating experiment. One girl. Five dating sites. Hundreds of chats. Thirty days. Thirty dates. Eighteen guys. (?) boyfriend. To start at the beginning, clickhere -- or jump right in at date thirty below.

Date 30/30: Tinder Oliver* (!!!)

Tinder Oliver invites me out to an Oktoberfest celebration in Newport with his friends for the afternoon, but my group is having a pumpkin-carving shindig in Laurel Canyon.

TO's name has come up in girl gossip seshes along the way, but today it begins its trickling descent to the full crew.

Crew: Corliss - you got a guy?? (Laughter. Heyyyyys.) 
Me: (Shoulder shrug) Maybe. I don't know...you know. It's just like, fun. He's, like, really kind. Whatever. We shall seeee. Besides, I'm probably, like, not even going to see him until, like, Wednesday.

(TO and I already have a date on the books to see Tame Impala play downtown that night. Because nothing that has happened so far has been anything we can control?)

...

TO: Come downtown for dinner tonight.

...

Or tonight. Ok, so technically I was supposed to go on another Match date tonight and teeecchhnically I'm not supposed to break any of my dates unless there's a really, really, really good reason - but dinner with TO counts, right? (My conscience shrugs impotently in fine-sure-whatever-you-say agreement.)

TO's buddy Morgan joins in for dinner as well, and we all gather at Tinder Oliver's around 7. I arrive last and walk into a bit of pre-din drama. Apparently, the boys originally met through TO's ex. Apparently, Morgan had invited TO's ex to dinner, not knowing TO had invited me. Apparently, TO's ex was not stoked on the situation. Specifically, me.

Awkward. Especially considering I was previously unaware of her existence? Like, three minutes ago previous.

Me: She should come.

It's halting. But it's genuine.

TO: Eh, I don't think that's a good idea. I know you'd be fine; I just don't know about her. Give me one second - I should just go handle this real quick. I'm sorry.

TO takes the phone into the other room, leaving Morgan and I to chat it out.

Morgan: You're handling this well.

I sort of feel like this whole situation should faze me more than it does. Unfortunately, I was never really blessed with the jealousy gene. Also, I'm still friends(ish) with basically everyone I've ever dated**. (Just friends(ish).) Can't fit a lot of judgment in this tiny room!

A few minutes later, TO returns to the kitchen, and we head out to Izakaya for a delightful little dinner full of so much proper etiquette.

[Sidebar: Once upon a time, I held my fork with a firmly clenched fist. My parents told me to eat like a lady. I told them I didn't want to be a lady. They enrolled me in etiquette classes. Always the consummate brown-noser where strangers were concerned, I quickly acquired delicate handholds, proper posture, and an affinity for all things Emily Post. Forever. Great for my parents; less great for my dating life. Calling all Patrick Batemans - quick snare in aisle three! Thankfully, TO seems to supplement his decorum with sanity. Yay, growing up!]

Mid-meal, Morgan brings up a woman from Tinder Oliver's past. TO seems less than thrilled to follow him down that road. There's a moment of befuddling silence. Turns out, several years back, TO shacked up with a married woman and her kids for a solid length of time. (I'm assuming that marital status had a few qualifiers.) He hadn't planned on sharing that little nugget with me this early on. So many reveals, all in one night! Again, I'm sort of feeling like this whole situation should faze me more than it does. Mistakes. Learning. Moving forward?

After dinner, we move forward back at his place.

...not that far forward. Just, like, I get to wear his softest t-shirt.

TO: It's been awhile since I've been with a new partner.

I hate the word partner.

...
...
...

Holy sh*t, THE THIRTY DATES ARE OVER.

The next morning, I wake up completely and totally unsure of how I feel about everything. Now that the experiment's over, reality's starting to sink in. This is real. Like, real real. Shudder. Gulp. Shudder. I also wake up to text messages from a few of this experiment's loose ends. I guess I have some tying up to do this week...

*not his real name
**And by dated I mean, went to dinner with one to six times (and you know, like, planned our future weddings/named our future children and all that stuff)

Date 26: Tinder Oliver

TO: I'm leaning against doing that party in Bel Air today, but would still love to see you tonight if you're game. I may get a few folks together for dinner and drinks down here.

Me: Ok cool. I'm game ☺

TO: Great. I will figure out plans. Aim roughly for like a 730 arrival if that works.

Totally works. Dates one, two, three, & four with TO were all spectacular successes full of fun slash conversation. At this point, normal me would have stopped dating anyone else because I like to tote all my eggs around in the same (questionably crafted) basket. But, thanks to the rules of this experiment, I have remained busy/slightly unavailable/dating other people, all of which I think has played well in terms of that whole 'keepin' 'em wanting more' thing I've heard so much about. Date five here we come!

Tinder Oliver and I have a glass of wine at his place before heading over to meet his friend Morgan* at Honda-Ya. Honda-Ya is a yummy sushi place inside what appears, at first glance, to be a deserted mall, straight out of a horror movie. What that first glance belies is the adult child's wonderland that awaits upstairs. Bowling, arcades, bars, sushi, and karaoke all under the same roof?! Be still my pre-pubescent heart.

Morgan's running a little late, so TO and I settle in at the bar next door to wait. I'm definitely going to need a solid cleanse after this experiment. Stick with me, liver!! It'll all be over soon.

TO delves a little deeper into family stuff, and it sounds like he and his sister have a super cute relationship, which I think is always a good sign. I choose to forego earnestness in favor of self-deprecation, tossing out a couple zingers that revolve around my awkwardly broad shoulders and incessant need for attention. He promptly dismisses both, stressing my femininity amongst other excessively redeemable traits. It sounds like he's got me on a standard-sized pedestal, which is always a great sign?

Eventually, Morgan arrives. He's a total sweetheart. Apparently a recent ex of his is not. Apparently everyone hates her because she totally f*cked him over slash was dating other guys while they were together. A Friday night flashback hits with the force of a mid-size vehicle. TO and I obviously aren't at the whole relationship point yet, but this conversation is still making me a little uncomfortable.

I feel even more uncomfortable a few hours later.

Back at his place... after telling me he's never made out with someone like this/or this much -- or at least not in, like, five to ten years (big range, much?) -- he finally goes in for the proverbial home run. Unfortunately (or fortunately, for my feelings of post-Friday whoreishness) things don't exactly... work out.

TO: I think I'm still a little nervous around you.

Having spent 29 years of my life trying to get guys to not have sex with me, I'm not entirely certain what I'm supposed to do/or say here.

I go with over-honesty.

Me: Ha. I'm usually the nervous one.

...

Really, Stacie? Just let him have this one.

When I wake the next morning, we're on opposite sides of the bed, and I immediately feel kind of weird slash sort of abandoned. I tiptoe out to grab some water, and find him in the middle of the bed upon my return. Cue: Several hour cuddle sesh. (All feelings of abandonment are immediately vanquished.)

TO: Ugh. I have to get up. It's 11 a.m.
Me: Noooo.

He goes out to the kitchen. I lag behind. He returns five minutes later.

TO: It's not quite 11 yet.

We return to super snuggly dreamland. The [late] morning [eventually] proceeds with breakfast -- this time around, he has black tea in his cupboards, presumably purchased with me in mind. Twinge. Ache. Swoon

TO: I'm requesting you on Facebook and Twitter, so I can see if you post anything new on your blog.

So many steps!!

TO: I gave your blog a read over the weekend. You're a great writer -- your personality really comes through, as does your funny.

Looks like someone's learned the way to my validation-hungry little heart.

...

We go ahead and put a date six on the books. I just, uh, have to make it through two other dates with two other men first. Is this experiment over yet?**

*Not his real name
**I asked, for the five millionth time.

Date 24: Tinder Oliver

Monday:
TO: Party above Sunset Plaza on Thurs?

Sure! Why not. This will be date four with Tinder Oliver. Date one was an hours-long cocktail sesh at Chateau Marmont, date two an Arctic Monkeys concert at the Wiltern, and our third date consisted of dinner and a haunted house. Rollicking good times all around.

After receiving the above text, I go ahead and cancel Friday morning's activities, just in case of a sleepover. Because I'm classy like that. (And a planner! But, like, you know, totally spontaneous, too.)

Thursday afternoon, I realize I'm a bit overdue for a visit to Anya, my favorite wax-wielding Russian. Half-a$$ed home sesh it is! Because the only thing better than paying someone else to strip each and every hair from your lady parts is conducting the massacre yourself. HOW DID THIS EVER BECOME A THING.

I thankfully survive the procedure/recover in time for TO to swoop me up at 9. The house the party is at is gorgeous and the people are friendly - we run into a couple of our mutual friends, which I find delightful/nerve-easing. I also find that I really enjoy being in this new, sort of burgeoning couple stage - I have never felt so adored. Except possibly at a gay circuit party, but that's a whole 'nother ballet.

When we're chatting up the party's host, he inquires about TO's recent trip to Asia.

Host: After experiencing all that, are you content to settle back here in LA?

TO starts to say he has considered moving to Asia full-time, but backtracks, glancing sideways at me. Hey - you do you. It's probably best not to start planning out our future life together at date four. But also...duly noted, sir. Duly noted.

We continue our meander through the festivities, chatting, checking out views etc before settling in with the crowd out on the patio.

Random Friend: So how long have you guys been together?

TO and I smile at each other, his hand on my waist.

TO: Uhhh four dates?

I nod, shyly, in confirmation.

RF: Oh wow - that's it? It seems like you've been together for a while.

TO: They were really long dates.

Me: We logged a lot of hours.

We then proceed to elaborate on each individual date, at RF's request.

RF: So whose turn is it to plan the next one?

Everyone looks at me, expectantly. I pretend to look over my shoulder, spinning (innocently) in a circle as if searching for someone on whom to pin this responsibility. Everyone laughs.

We are so annoying.

Around midnight, we've exhausted all hors d'oeuvres and my stomach is still grumbling. (If left to my own devices, I tend to forget things like dinner.) We cut out early and hustle over to Dan Tana's for some late night carbo-loading. Once again, the conversation takes a turn for the deep 'n' personal. I can feel myself trusting TO more now, revealing snippets generally reserved for the nearest and dearest. How unnerving.

Post-dins, TO drives us back to my place, pulling over on the street as if to park. We start to make out in the car...as if teenagers. Do I ask him if he wants to come in? Do people actually say that? And if so, how exactly do they say that without sounding like they're in a completely predictable rom-com? He starts to get a little handsy. Welp. Here goes nothing.

I pull back, looking up at him, channeling my best Julia Roberts. (I probably land more on...not Julia Roberts.)

Me: Dooo you want to come in?

...

Bye, dignity.

I hold the coquettish thing for almost a third of a second before I start snickering in a decidedly un-provocative way. So the delivery could use a little work.

...

Turns out, he does want to come in. (Shocking, I know.) His first time in my apartment! So revealing. My space is pretty much a direct reflection of my gypsy soul, so I always feel a little exposed when newbies enter. He seems to appreciate every last detail, grazing his fingers over every last tchotchke.

TO: Ah, it's all coming together now.

I shall choose to take that as a good thing.

...

I'm pretty sure it was.**

THE NEXT DAY: 

TO: Are you doing anything tonight that you can't blow off to come hang w me eastside?

UGH. As delightful as that sounds, I'm pretty sure I have a third night stand waiting for me in Manhattan Beach.  My stubbornly monogamist heart is feeling a a little twinge-y, but I remind myself that we have only been on four dates, and nothing is anywhere near official yet. I uh, sort of have a tendency to jump into things head first - much better to take things slow! This is so good for me? 

...

...

...

*Not his real name.
**Not like that, Mom, sheesh.