Dating Portlandia: The Goth Cowboy

I'm definitely not the same girl I was ten years ago.

I went on a date with a cowboy.

He grew up on a dairy farm. 

But he wore black nail polish, hoop earrings, a necklace & an assortment of bracelets on his wrists. 

It's not a real turn on for me when my date is more accessorized than I am.

I'm the cute one, dammit. 

All eyes on me. 

Once I dated this guy who always liked to sit at the bar when we'd go out.

It's a different aesthetic feeling part of the scene where the action is and conversation with the bartenders was always interesting, to be certain. 

But one night the bartenders at Barlow were more interested in my dates ensemble than my own. 

And that was the end of sitting at the bar.

Next date we went to Driftwood Room and as we walked in he asked if I wanted to sit at the bar.

Oh no. 

Let's sit right over here. 

Tucked neatly in this dark corner where you have no distraction but ME.

Cut to my goth cowboy. 

In spite of his accoutrement abundance there was something about him that was attractive. 

It could have been the dumb way he kept grinning at me. 

"You're like the sun.....I can't look at you for too long or I'll go blind."

Jesus. 

Did he really just say that?

SO fucking cheesy. 

And yet I willingly drank the cheesiness in like some famished little mouse, every last drop of it. 

He just had such earnest in his eyes. 

It was endearing. 

That's my favorite, you know.

The way men look at you when they think they might get to sleep with you but they still don't know. 

They hope. 

I found myself, in spite of myself, wishing he'd slide up next to me in the booth and kiss me. 

Instead.

He asked me for my hand. 

He HELD my HAND.

It was beyond awkward. 

That's supposed to be sweet but it just felt so corny.

I couldn't hold his hand for very long. 

It was the length of time that goes from slightly awkward to painfully uncomfortable. 

And there was nothing I could do but giggle out of feigned modesty and subtly wrench my hand away from his grasp.

Then, ten minutes later, because the date hadn't been sufficiently awkward enough yet, he was telling me how he was into BDSM.

He even had PICTURES!

"Look. This is me tied up."

That's nice. 

The visual aids really take it up a notch. 

Too many genres going on. 

Too many accessories. 

Too many boxes I had no idea which one to put him in. 

And when he did kiss me goodnight all I could think was how much I wanted Taco Bell to chase all those Manhattans. 

Then again. 

First dates are rarely a reflection on your connection with someone. 

But I doubt there will be a second one. I'm not really into whipping someone. You can pull my hair but you can't lash me. 

And you can't hold my hand at the damn table. 

Have some dignity man.