The Single Avitalife

The Single Avitalife: Because you totally care about my dating life

On January 26th, 2010, my 33rd birthday, I moved out of the house I shared with my wife of 8 years and was single for the first time since I was 21.  I’ve had some interesting experiences exploring the dating world as an adult, and I’ve decided that it’s time to share some of those stories.  The names will be changed, but everything else will be true.  They might be embarrassing, some will be raw and profane, but it’s all part of my new life . . the single Avitalife:

The Single Avitalife

(This post was originally written on a private, anonymous blog that I maintained.  The original title was “The First Date”)


Twelve years had passed since I met Amy. I was 33 years old. The older, slightly more mature, moderately more wrinkled, significantly grayer, me. Recently divorced and looking at the prospect of dating for the first time since I was 21 years old.

I posted a profile on one of the online dating sites. Actually, on three. And it bore fruit in the form of a lovely woman named Kiki. Kiki was a blogger and a chef and a sommelier, and we planned a date out at her favorite restaurant in a nice part of town.

I got to the restaurant thirty minutes early. I would have been early to my own birth if I could have been. I sat at the bar, facing the door, and ordered a vodka and cranberry. I felt calm, relaxed, and confident. Nothing at all like my last date, twelve years prior.


My first date with Amy consisted of a bad movie followed by a cheap dinner. We talked a lot, and I used pretentiousness combined with self deprecation to be funny. I was awkward and nervous and even a little bit terrified. At that point in my life, I didn’t drink alcohol. I told myself that it was because I was a control freak and drinking alcohol with my addictive personality would make me lose that much-needed control.

It wasn’t until much later that I really identified the source of my discomfort with alcohol. After spending years in college looking down on the fraternity brothers who reveled in drinking copiously to the point of unconsciousness, I saw my avoidance of booze as something that elevated me above the others. I was better than they were because I didn’t need to drink. I would go out with them, enable them, encourage them to drink more, record their stupidity, and laugh at them, I’d think to myself. This superiority complex, combined with my increasing weight, led to my fear of being known as the “sweaty fat drunk guy.” Everyone knows this guy. He drinks, he gets stupid, and he’s grossly fat so it’s funny. Nobody’s laughing with him. They’re laughing at him. I was deathly afraid of being that person.

Things have changed now that I’m older. I’m more comfortable with who I am, and I know that I can relax and have a few drinks because I am a normal person. I’m not some higher being who needs to demonstrate superiority. I’m just a single guy.

My teetotalitarian position may have affected the quality of the date with Amy, but I don’t think so. I just think I was young and sexually and emotionally immature. I was extraordinarily nervous and remember sweating to an inappropriately moist degree. The late summer/early fall in the midwest did not lend itself to cool nights.

The conversation went well, and we enjoyed our dinner. Being the gourmand that I am, and gourmand is, of course, code for glutton, I ordered appetizers and a milkshake and fried food and dessert. Amy struggled with ordering something too expensive. My response was too threaten to order one of everything on the menu if she didn’t pick something that she actually wanted. Ah, how chivalry reared its ugly head!

Do you know what happens when you consume copious amounts of fried, greasy food very quickly, especially when your digestive tract is as finicky as mine? Yes. You have to evacuate your bowels posthaste, or, more aptly put, shit your motherfucking brains out.

I paid for our meal and ushered Amy to the car. She chatted away and didn’t seem to notice the strange way I was walking, much like someone who was trying to mentally glue their butt cheeks together. The drive was painful – my stomach would clench and I would think to myself, “This is it, old boy. This is the first and last date that you will ever go on, after everyone finds out you shit your pants.” But the pain would subside and I was able to breath again.

As a teen, I learned to drive from two Masshole parents, so I am by nature a fast, aggressive driver. Even so, my driving from the restaurant to Amy’s apartment was maniacal. I calculated in my head that after dropping her off, I could make it home within ten minutes and as long as the elevator wasn’t too slow, I might be able to pull this off.

I screeched to a halt in front of her apartment. “Thanks,” she said as she got out of the car. I replied in a frenzied jumbled mess of words and tore off for my great white porcelain savior.


Sitting at the bar, I ordered my third drink and waited for Kiki to show. From her photos online, she looked like a friendly, attractive blonde woman in her mid thirties. Our phone conversations kept me interested, and while I can’t speak for her, I felt like I had plenty to say as well. The phone, an extension of my brain, is my favorite tool. If I could, I would talk to telephonic companions for 8-12 hours a day, and when I was in high school, I totally did. I prefer the nuances of phone conversation to that of email, instant messaging, or texting, and it’s only surpassed by the advent of video calling.

When she finally entered, I recognized her instantly. We sat at our table and had a pleasant conversation covering everything from television to local restaurants. We talked about her life and mine to a lesser extent. We drank and ate and shared bites of each other’s gourmet meals. I was at ease, at home in my own skin, and it was early in our date when I had two important revelations.

The first revelation was a simple bit of ego boosting and an exercise in self confidence: Dating is easy. I am a fucking catch. I am good with people. I can talk to anyone. I’m an intelligent, funny, moderately attractive, successful man who can communicate openly, share his feelings, and has no major psychological failings. I can do this. I CAN DO THIS.

The second revelation was unfortunate but just as helpful: There is no spark with this woman. She’s friendly and funny and seems great, but I am completely unattracted to her on every level.

After dinner, I walked her to her car. We shared a brief hug and a peck on the cheek, and my first date in 11 years was over. Painless, carefree, fun, and hopefully indicative of my future as a single man. And not even a modicum of risk of shitting my pants.


My apartment was a studio apartment less than 450 square feet in size. The bathroom was a miserable dirty hole, and one side of the toilet was less than three inches from the radiator. I sat on it sideways, the only way that you could sit on it, naked, digging my feet into the peeling linoleum, biting my lip, sweating, and thinking, “I wonder if she’d consider going out with me again.”

It wasn’t until the last year of my marriage that I actually shit my pants. But that’s a story for another time. 

38 thoughts on “The Single Avitalife: Because you totally care about my dating life”

  1. So much harder to know what to say to a guy in these situations. A chick, I’d make a snappy reference to kissing frogs, but you’re the frog in the metaphor. Still, I wanted to leave a comment, because divorce sucks and is awesome. Same goes for dating again in your thirties after a decade plus in a relationship. Keep at it.

  2. I am really going to love reading these stories. I am dating again. The last time I did that I was 17. Also, I love the phone. I can and have talked for days on it.

  3. Jesus, dude, I don’t know if you noticed, but you have a whole fucking parade of female followers reading this blog. I’m the first person here that stands when I pee.

    You’ve inspired me. I might need to blog about one of the first dates with my wife, where I proceeded to lay out the wettest fart of my life on the way to the car. Thankfully she didn’t smell it and married me anyway after an awkward car ride home with my butt firmly clenched trying in vain to control the damage.

    I guess I don’t need to blog about it. That is more or less the story right there.

  4. Dating. Wow…hated it when I was younger…seems like it would be WAY more fun when you’re older. I guess you just know more of who you are at this age.

    This very topic came up in conversation with friends the other night. I came to the conclusion that I could never date again, as I say fuck waaayyy too much. It’s disgusting. 😛

    Love these stories. Did I ever tell you about the blind date I was set up on…I was 17 and the guy looked like Corky. Five minutes and I was out.

  5. What made you decide to use the year+ old posts from your now defunct blog over here? Was there a revelation? Deciding to get back into dating again? Just don’t want to write new content?

    PS-This isn’t asked with sarcasm or anything. I’m just curious of there was something that led to it or if it was a “I don’t really want to write, but I want some fresh content on”

    1. @Clown, I think I pretty much explained that in the first paragraph above. I decided to start posting some of my experiences while dating, and I think that starting off with the post about the first date is a good step. I also want most of those posts to get syndicated over here now, so I’ll incorporate them as they fit into the narrative.

      1. @Avitable, I don’t think you did though. You explained the what.. That you’ve decided to share the stories over the years. I asked why you decided that at this point.

        Adam: “I’ve given blowjobs to men from around town. I’ve had some interesting experiences so I decided to share them.”

        James: “Why did you decide this, after so long? Is it for X-Y-Z reason?”

        Adam: “I already said that. Because I decided to.”

        The last part of your reply is an actual answer… That you want the posts to get syndicated. All I was wondering.

        1. @Clown, no, the syndication of those posts over here is secondary. I just decided that I wanted to start writing about dating, and since I have a few older posts that fit that, I would start with those. I don’t know why I decided to – I just did.

          1. @Avitable, It’s a great post. No reason not to republish. I’m planning on republishing, over a long period of time, select posts from the blog I killed because the url includes my married name which I don’t intend to have forever. Self plagiarizing is a wonderful thing.

          2. @Avitable, That’s cool, and even that’s a better answer than trying to make it sound like I was asking something that was already covered. I only asked because you’re the kind of person that usually has reasons for what you do. If you’re not sure, “I don’t know” is just fine as an answer.

  6. This was great – I haven’t been by in a very long time. I look forward to further installments. I’ve been with the hubs for longer than I HAVEN’T known him, so I cannot even imagine how I’d fare on the dating scene now.
    Having had major gallbladder issues, when I read your description of your first date meal, I knew where it was going. And now I have shared overly much myself.

  7. *cracks knuckles* And now I am all caught up on the Avitablog.

    I’m lazy and didn’t leave comments on anything else, but I really wanted to say hi. Hi!

    Also, I think I’m way overdue for writing my own “first date” post.

  8. I am now doing the same stuff. I talk to these men online and things are hot but them I meet them in person and nothing. NOTHING. Not all of them but shit, why can’t they be the way my mind scrambles to make them during the texting and talking and flirting before I actually agree to meet them. I meet them and nope, nothing but crickets. I took your advice and thought, fuck it and put a link to my blog on OK Cupid. This way they can figure out if in fact they really want to meet me. Kungfupussy. Apparently, I’m intimidating which is funny as hell.
    Love your blog.
    – Susan

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