TALES FROM THE BARSTOOL
By: Clint Lien

"The horror! The horror!"
Joseph Conrad, The Heart of Darkness.

I think Conrad was referring to man's ability to be vicious and cruel, but he just may have been commenting on 21st century mating rituals.

I've been single now for the better part of the last six years. There have been a few near misses along the way but personality or geography have ended most hopeful beginnings. I really do make an effort to get out there and meet people. I do the dating thing once in awhile, but the process is so excruciating, I fear I may soon set aside any future attempts at starting a relationship in this traditional manner. Quite simply, dating is hell. I'm closer to forty than I am thirty. I'm reasonably intelligent so I'm able to follow most conversations, and can say with a fair degree of confidence, that I truly like women. I enjoy their company and am generally happier when one is in my life than when one is not, but still that first date fills me with near paralyzing fear.

While I can't really give you any first date stories of terror and destruction, I can list dozens that have ended with a numb feeling in my head, combined with an overwhelming desire to run away as fast as my legs will carry me. I sit across the table from some new face and I imagine what's on the Sci-Fi channel, wishing I was home on the sofa with a cold beer and a bag of chips. At the end of the night you fork over your ninety-three dollars and speed out of the parking lot. I'm confident that most of the women are speeding away in the other direction as well - equally relieved to be the hell outta there. At least they still have their ninety-three dollars. It's not that they're bad dates - well I guess they are, but really they must just be bad for me. Somewhere out there is a man who would thrill to be with the gal I'm itching to be away from. It holds then, that somewhere out there is a woman who will count her blessings to be sitting across from me in some quiet little place. If you happen to be that woman and find yourself with me on that tension filled, angst ridden first date, here are some tips.

If you insist upon talking about your ex-boyfriends, please don't crucify them like they were Nazi war criminals. I may be an "ex" one day.

Please, please, please don't tell me how you are the only person at your work who knows which way is north. I don't want to hear how the entire corporation would crumble in a day if you weren't there to support all your incompetent bosses who do not have the slightest idea of your true worth or what, exactly, their job is.

If I happen to mention that I like to train for triathlons as a way of keeping in shape, don't tell me you were the only female cyclist ever to train with the US Postal Team and that you dropped Lance Armstrong in the Malibu Mountains. (no kidding; I was really told this once.)

Don't tell me that you drink only on occasion and then put down seven glasses of wine. What occasion are we talking about - the rising of the sun - the passing of an hour?

Don't tell me you don't care about the looks of a man or how much money he has. It may be true, but every woman I've ever dated works this one in at some point in the evening. Be original. Ask for a recent financial statement and demand that I bring pictures of my father so you can see what you're getting into.

Don't try to catch me in a lie. My memory is too poor to be a liar and I resent the effort. I guess women have been burned for so long by my gender that this defense mechanism is natural, but you'll be better served if you can set it aside.

Make an effort to split the bill. I won't let you (unless you pick the restaurant and then down seven glasses of their "good" wine,) but the effort will be appreciated.

Trust that what I say is what I mean. If I comment that I like the way you do your hair, it doesn't mean I think your ass looks like a school bus.

And please, don't go on for an hour and a half about your life and not express the least bit of interest in mine. I was once dropping off a woman after an excruciating evening of listening to her autobiography. As she was digging out her door keys she casually asked, "What did you say you did for a living?" "I didn't say," I said and went back to my car. X Files was on when I got home. The night was not a total loss.

I would love to read a woman's list of first date rules. Maybe I'm breaking them all and this is why the going is so rough.

In the end I suspect it won't really matter. Ms. Right will come along, break all those rules and still I won't be able to sleep thinking about her. It all comes down to scent. You get it and nothing will get it out of your nostrils - even if she drives slow in the fast lane.

Reactions? Comments? Write me at barfly@netlistings.com