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Romantic Getaway

4/26/04

My friend Caitlin likes to date.  I like Caitlin because, unlike 104% of all women (not to broadly stereotype all women, you understand), she asks a number of men out.  Sure, she gets hit on a fair amount, too, but if she meets someone that she likes, she pulls the trigger, and like all dating experiences, some of these work out, and some of them do not.

About two months ago Caitlin met a pretty cool guy that happened to live some sort of foreign service or traveling consultant lifestyle; the "Port City Playboy" that I have detailed in the past, someone that is a pretty cool guy, well versed in the ways of our great world and, naturally, the fairer sex, since he has had some opportunity to "hang out" with women all over the country, if not the world.  They went out a few times, and Caitlin thought he was quite charming, so when an opportunity for a weekend getaway with said gentleman came up, she didn't hesitate to make it a date.

It didn't work out quite the way she had hoped.

As I listened to Caitlin describe the number of things that went wrong that weekend with Carlos (I don't think that's his real name, but it wouldn't surprise me if it was), I nervously shifted as I thought about the number--the sheer volume--of people I know that have gone on a weekend e-saver with someone they are dating, only to come back with *that* story, the one that starts all

"Man, I think this one's going somewhere..."

and ends all

"I'll tell you what--I hope I don't see that [woman/tramp/lady/bitch] ever again!"

My buddy Ross--a man who, as much as I love him, could write a whole damned Chronicle on these types of weekends--had this happen recently, where an attractive ladyfriend came to Washington to see him, and things were looking quite smooth coming into it...and then, the chips began to fall and by Sunday, Ross had *that* feeling, the one where you send that follow-up e-mail on Monday that leads with

"Hey Trixey, I had a cool time this weekend...did you make it back to town okay?"

only to never be returned; Ross, smelling something fishy faster than he could say "Silent Dump", knew that it was three strikes-and-you're-out time and all of the good times had gone by the wayside.

But, things had started out so well.  In fact, many of these situations happen when you attempt to cross the bridge from Casual Dating Land into Exclusive Relationship Terrace, or worse, when you pay the toll for Those First Five Dates Were Sweet Circle and cross into Let's See If This Is Even Worth It Lane.

I had these, and many other, stories on my mind lately, since I have been planning a trip with the girl I am currently dating for--

WHOA!  WHOA, BRO.  YOU BEEN DATING SOMEBODY...YO, WHAT'S UP, FOOL?

Sorry, you're right...I have been holding out.  Even my dad last week dropped that whole "You're dating somebody?  Man, sometimes I think you work for the CIA, you tell us nothin' any more, man!!" bit on me.  Hey, what can I say?  Given my track record, I tend to keep these things under wraps mostly because just around the time I start telling people about potential girlfriends, *something* happens.

You know, *something*.

• "Yeah, Justin, about Saturday night..." (like The Trik Template)

• "Justin, you should know that, uhh, I don't eat meat."

• "No, really, you're funny, you have great friends, you like to go out, the sex is good, you live ten minutes from my house, but...I'm a crazy bitch who has a dual personality.  It just isn't going to work out."

• "Oh, I didn't tell you?  I've been dating this guy Bob for the last month while you and I have been dating, and, frankly, he could buy you right now you poor bastard."

And, on and on.  In fact, as I'm thinking about it now, I have been consistently dating or "hangin' out" with people for most of the last 15 months, but I talk about these things so little that some of my friends in San Francisco didn't even meet the last girl I spent time with there, and I saw her nearly every day for three months.

Most of my friends and family didn't really know about my current ladyfriend because she doesn't live in Washington, so I don't get to see her very often.  More importantly, they didn't know about her because I didn't actually tell anyone, since I have come to loath the amount of attention people put on relationships still in their infancy because of the fact that I'm nearly 30 years old.  The change was subtle for a while, but in the last year, I feel like every new dating partner is built up by people to the point where, after two or three months, we're talking about wifey material, something that has really never been a stress for me but is constant on the peer pressure front.

So, mostly I have been coy about it, but admittedly, four months is a long time to be casually dating anyone in this day and age, especially long-distance-like.  Many of you know Jennifer Young, aka "The Snatchologist", a classmate from UVA, where she and I graduated many moons ago.  She's a resident at a teaching hospital in Boston (OB-GYN), hence the lack of regular visiting hours.   More importantly, she's a bastard carnivore like myself, ridiculously smart--smarter, in fact, then I will assuredly ever be--and given her South Carolina heritage she possesses a oft-stereotyped Southern sass that allows for moments of the most sincere hospitality to be mixed with Bobby Bowden-like smack-talking whenever UVA is blowing their latest lead, be it basketball, football, lacrosse or cricket depending on the location of the disaster.

She's good times.  Which made the pressure of a recent expedition to my holy land, South Beach, all the more ominous.  See, I haven't taken "The Adult Vacation" in nearly five years--a trip somewhere that requires airfare, hotel and meal accommodations to be shared with a person you have a romantic interest in.  The recent happenings of my friends Caitlin and Ross were ringing in my head by the Tuesday before the trip (a Wednesday-through-Sunday bonanza) because my mindset is that a trip like this makes or completely fucking demolishes any goodwill created in the first three months of a relationship.

Why is it make or break?  Well, let's start with the obvious:  telling your friends that you are going on a trip with just one other girl to SoBe.  When I pitched the situation, the responses were quite, err, varied:

Dave Bell:  "Whoa!  Who IS this girl, man?"

Gordon Stokes:  "Whoa!  That's a big deal, Bell."

Rob "Jellybean" Grant:  "Whoa!  What, uh, are you guys, uh, gonna do down there?"

Mandy "Never Shy" Taylor:  "Justin BELL!  This sounds SERIOUS!"

Brian "Schmoove" Prenoveau:  "Good work, playboy...good work."

This became comedy after a while; although I have made the drive up to Boston to see Jennifer a couple of times, those were met with "Oh yeah?" or "Well, have a good time" by the friends here; you book a trip to Florida, and it's a fuckin' engagement party.

The Adult Vacation is make-or-break, though, for other reasons.  For me it is mostly a chance to see, up close and personal, if I can spend 96 hours with the same person and not want to put a gun in my mouth.  I'm pretty easy going, and as you can tell I have an uncanny ability to talk about anything or nothing for hours on end...but, on the other side, I always worry that there could a moment where you run out of things to talk about.  You know, 24 hours in, and you've told all of your A-list stories about your wild youth, or about your dreams and aspirations, or about your 85-year-old "cool" uncle...where do you go?  Everyone's got a couple A-listers, right?  You almost want to space them out, like the "funniest thing that's ever happened to me" story, or the "craziest party I've ever hosted" or the "time I went to Hedonism" stories; you don't want to blow your load on the night of the first dinner!

And, what about each of your habits?  I didn't want to find out during this weekend that Jennifer might beat my dad in the Loudest Snore in America contest, or that she takes 35-minute showers or that all this talk about loving to dance could be blowing smoke up my ass.  Worse, she could find out the truth about me:  I'm living life on a culinary diet that has me dead by 35, I have a tendency to violently shake regular remote controls when there is no TiVo set of buttons or that I almost always sleep less than six hours, even when I am on vacation.

Lots of things can go wrong on trips like this one, especially one in Florida in April.  What if it's not hot enough to hit the beach everyday?  What if it rains?  What if we have to STAY INSIDE EVERY DAY AT THE HOTEL AND TALK TO EACH OTHER ALL DAY???  How will the two of us handle bad eating experiences, or long lines, or unfriendly confines?

I must say, not only am I happy that things came off without a hitch in SoBe for my sixth trip down there, but in a way, I think I'm kind of relieved.  The weather was fantastic down there; mid-70s every day, not too hot, but warm enough to get some color out on the beach.  This was Jennifer's first trip down there, so I took her to many of the sights that I have hit in the past, and even hit a club (Pearl) that I had missed last time around that may have been the highlight of the trip...besides the lobby at the Delano Hotel, which I guess is kind of always the highlight, isn't it?  We ate at shitty diners, nice outdoor cafes, ice cream shops and the ever-ritzy restaurant/lounge B.E.D., lapping up meat and Ben & Jerry's at every turn.

Most importantly, she had a great time, too.  Maybe all of that pressure I put on myself to insure that Jennifer and I wouldn't kill each other actually just confirmed that we get along pretty well after all.  The outlook is good, and we're taking it one long weekend at a time.

Maybe I won't be getting the Silent Dump after all.

 

Random Bellviews, courtesy of Bell and Longer Community Trust:

• Pearl Nightclub, in every way:  Opening Weekend

• Bartenders that check your ID, and then 90 minutes later, remember your name:  $9.50 Show

• Getting a good tan...and, ending up chafing like a mofo:  Matinee

• Having the hot water go out in your hotel:  Rental

• Not being able to get everyone you know to hang out in SoBe every single year:  Hard Vice

 

justin@bellviewmovies.com