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<editorsnote> Nerds, meet my buddy Alicia. She's about to embark on a 50 dates in 50 states dating documentary. She's here today to talk about her views on life, love, and all things through her nerdy little eyes. I only have one more thing left to say ... HIT IT ALICIA!! </editorsnote>

#TalkNerdyToMeLover's Alicia Ostarello

You know how Robert Frost wrote “Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and sorry I could not travel both,” right? Sometimes I feel like he wrote that just to taunt the rest of us into indeed attempting to find a way to take both paths — or at least, experiencing both of them. So when I could either go on a breakfast date with a gung-ho 33-year-old never-been-married Air Force Reserve officer or go to Vala’s Pumpkin Patch (aka, the Disneyland of the Midwest pumpkin scene) with a 31-year-old who admitted to being skeptical about the idea, I couldn’t see myself turning either of them down.

I misidentified Patrick, my pumpkin patch date, twice in the parking lot before finally meeting him. Internet photos are still, so I see someone moving and try to imagine what they look like frozen in a moment. This is a terrible way to identify someone, and I hope to soon put to a vote an amendment that states all first dates should have to agree to be the girl with a bird on her sweater or be the man with the feather in his cap so as to avoid the embarrassment that comes with asking a strange man if he is Patrick just as his wife and kids walk up.

Vala’s is a sight: from the petting zoo to the pig races, the corn maze to the haunted house, the apple launcher to the pumpkin launcher, from the animatronic sideshows to the cone of just-made cookies. Oh right, and pumpkins. Pumpkins, pumpkins, everywhere. This “Squash-a-palooza” was quite a way to hang out with a new person — we were constantly presented new stimuli to discuss, interact with, and simply allow to be the background of us getting to know each other.

My second first date was breakfast with Ben (the Air Force Reserve officer) at one of Omaha’s highest ranked morning-meal establishments, Cafe L. As I’m not sure I’ve ever been on a first date over scrambled eggs, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I’m a morning person to the umpth degree, but I know most people are a bit more mellow post sleep. Was my best option to tone down my chipperer-than-thou morning routine, or should I just be myself for better or for worse?

Ben was a cool cucumber who I managed not to misidentify upon meeting. There are not a tremendous number of single men hanging around breakfast joints though, so I suppose the odds were in my favor. As we got down to brass tacks of dating — learning about each other’s relevant past, notable present, and hopes for the future — I settled into a muted version of my morning-self. A little calmer, but with flares of excitement.

Though both dates differed in an obvious fashion (location, location, location), they did have one common conversation topic: dating in Nebraska. And despite their differences in life, upbringing and dreams, both Ben and Patrick agreed on one opinion: getting a girl in the big NE is hard. Both men were in their early 30s and were frustrated with trying to find a girl who had never been married and did not have any children (or even just one of the two). They felt stifled by the girls they could find, and were looking for something more. Mostly though, they really just wanted to be someone’s first for something — preferably walking down the aisle or birthing classes.

I accept their point of view, but in some ways, I really don’t understand it. We’ve all made choices that give us a personal history, and we are all exactly who we are in the present because of those choices. To block out someone at age 30 because of a choice they made at age 20 seems a bit preposterous. (I dare any 30-year-old to tell me they are who they imagined they’d be a decade before).

What worries me about Ben and Patrick, less so than their seeming unwillingness to consider partners with what they’ve deemed as “flaws,” is the fact that what they desire seems to be nothing short of a mythical creature in their fair city. These guys are hunting for pixies. And what happens if they are not able to capture that pixie? Do they live unfulfilled? Do they eventually change their tune but resent the fact they had to “settle”? Do they move away?

On another note, what frustrates me about the singleness of Ben and Patrick is they both seem to be decent human beings. There is nothing overtly flawed about them. They were gentlemen, they asked questions, they were interested and were in turn interesting. I felt like any gal would be lucky to have one of them in her life. So I guess I really shouldn’t worry about them. They’re going to be fine.

We’re all going to be just fine.

#nerdsunite

Alicia Ostarello has combined her talents in talking to strangers with degrees in English and Sociology and is currently taking a road trip across the country with one goal in mind: to go on a first date in every single state. Follow her trip and the documentary film being produced about it, 50/50: A Dating Documentary on Facebook at facebook.com/5050ADatingDocumentary.

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Alicia Ostarello,

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Wednesday

Jan302013

#NerdsUnite: My name is Alicia and I'm doing 50 dates in 50 states (Chicago #2)

Wednesday, January 30, 2013 at 3:20PM |

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#TalkNerdyToMeLover's Alicia Ostarello

I figure it’s almost my civic duty to have multiple dates when Megan and I sleep on the same floor twice in a row, so as we spent two nights in Chicago, I went out with two wildly different dudes. Read about date one with Danny, here, or skip right ahead to my second first date in Chicago with Tadd.

I probably spend way too much time thinking about the theories of dating these days. To be fair, everyone single and not super stoked on staying that way forever and ever probably over-ponders how to hook up and how to stay hooked. But lately I’ve been wondering which works better on a first date: something low key and easy to escape from or something wild and adrenaline-inducing.

For my second date in Chicago, I went with option two. My personal Adventure Consultants, ZOZI, had a “Fly a Plane” experience for sale in the area. A few clicks, one phone call and one text later, Tadd jovially agreed to take off in a Cessna airplane with me.

Interestingly, our first daring stunt of the morning wasn’t our AM, small-plane flight. Rather it was getting Tadd into our empty-tank-light-on Huckleberry Fit and then barreling down the freeway in order to make our reservation on time. Thank God for the fact that neither Tadd nor Megan nor I were psychos. Or worse … not morning people.

Maybe Tadd would add his own daring stunt to the drive–being the moral support to a complete stranger (me) who absolutely hates flying and just might cry on the plane. Which I didn’t mention until we were cruising the freeway.

When we finally arrived, we were greeted by a dog and a friendly office clerk. Then, we were ushered to the Cessna, handed ginormous headphones and buckled in. I began hyperventilating, but attempted to look absolutely nonplussed (mostly by keeping my sunglasses firmly planted on my face so neither the pilot nor Tadd could get a good read on me. So sneaky). And then we were taxiing. And then lifting off.

I had my eyes closed, so my only sense of the first ten minutes of the flight came from Tadd’s joyful remarks and conversation with Steve, the pilot. “Look, there’s the romantic rock quarry!” and “Wow. Just. Wow,” and “Oh, there’s the Chicago skyline,” and “Huh, I wonder who’s flying the plane?”

At that last one I jerked my eyes open and saw Steve had removed his hands from the controls. Laughing, he urged me to grab onto mine. Timidly I reached out, grabbing the helm with as much enthusiasm as a great-aunt takes hold of a Texas Longhorn bull’s horns.

And with that, I was flying. Mostly straight. Sometimes a bit to the right. Once to the left in a large loop over Lake Michigan. And finally, I yelled “CLOUD! CLOUD!” and pulled my hands off the controls looking panicked at Steve, who very kindly navigated us through the white fluffy monster of doom.

Back on land, high-fives and thank-yous were exchanged. Did I feel closer to Tadd because of our wild experience? You bet your sweet elbows I did. I even extended the date and invited him to brunch. After a lingering brunch at an Italian cafe (think every stereotype of Italy prominently spewed onto the walls, flooring, lighting fixtures, and yes, even in the bathroom sink), we piled into Huckleberry Fit for what I assumed would be a quick trip back into town.

Well, contrary to this Californian’s belief, rush hour in Chicago starts at 1:00pm sharp and might never actually end. Stop-and-go it was for the better part of 75 minutes. With Megan rolling the cameras from the backseat, Tadd and I had two choices: NPR or an unprecedented span of talking. We chose the latter — or perhaps the latter chose us. Regardless, with Ira Plato’s voice in the background, we hit topics that can only be described as intimate — disclosing the sort of information you typically only tell someone close to you. Someone you trust.

Admitting stories about past significant relationships, why they didn’t work, what we missed about those people and how we coped. Talking about what makes us anxious, how phobias can grow on you when you’re not expecting them, and what life is like on the other side of fear.

First dates aren’t always home to empty shells of conversation, containing no substance besides a wayward granule of sand. Rather, first dates can be a secure space for revealing difference facets of yourself without fear of another person expecting you to be one way or another. You can tell anything to a stranger and while it may be shocking, it will not be shocking that you have said it. A stranger — aka a first date — doesn’t know anything about the you persona you’ve been perfecting your entire life. To a first date, you are able to be anything. In return, they are able to respond in any way. And together, you create a space where anything is possible. Even sharing vulnerabilities and looking for acceptance. Which, when you think about it, is kind of wonderful.

#nerdsunite

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Alicia Ostarello,

talk nerdy,

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Monday

Jan142013

#NerdsUnite: My name is Alicia and I'm doing 50 dates in 50 states (Illinois #1)

Monday, January 14, 2013 at 5:59PM |

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#TalkNerdyToMeLover's Alicia Ostarello

I figure it’s almost my civic duty to have multiple dates when Megan and I sleep on the same floor twice in a row, so as we spent two nights in Chicago, I went out with two wildly different dudes.

Up first was Danny. We picked him up from school (community college, yo, he’s what the academic world calls a “returning student” as though somewhere in life he got lost from the college path and wandered into some bramble, but now he’s shaken the berries off his jeans and ready to learn learn learn!) and it took about 45 minutes of driving to figure out Danny was just not the guy for me. While he had a unique and drama-laden upbringing, his monochromatic style of discussion made even the most colorful story challenging to listen to. Though he was obviously intelligent and passionate about his education, he seemed to lack a good sense of a social IQ (admittedly, this is the Californian in me who was taken aback when Danny hand-rolled a cigarette and smoked it without asking if it was okay). And finally, Danny was not interested in having a conversation where two parties bounce ideas, stories and thoughts back and forth as much as he was interested in a running monologue occasionally interrupted by himself as he switched topics.

So I’m on a date that I really don’t want to be on, a scenario not unfamiliar to those who hit the datingverse with a vengeance. And here’s what galls me in retrospect: not once did I consider pulling a Houdini from the date. I noodle around with the idea of fibbing my way out of it. I ponder how miserable my face looks (I’m known for expressing how I’m feeling a little too well) and if I’m doing a good job of hiding it. And then I ponder if I should be attempting to mask my displeasure. And then I check out entirely and literally began thinking about how I might wear my hair the next day (this from the girl who wears her hair one of three ways. It’s not that tough of a choice).

Somewhere in the middle of all this we went up in the Sears Tower (yeah, it has another name, and no, I won’t refer to it by anything but this). The view up there was really neat, but you’d never think you were in one of the world’s tallest buildings. Is it weird to not have been that impressed by the tower?

And all this has me thinking that I have to learn the art of gracefully backing out. There’s nothing wrong with deciding how to spend your time and with whom you spend it. And that “you” goes for “me” as well. In true She-Ra fashion, I have the power. The power to hold my hand up and honestly say, “You seem nice but I have to tell you, I think I need to go now.” Or maybe, “Golly, I must be going now.” Or maybe, as my friend Sea suggests, “I’m sure you’re a nice person, but I have to tell you that I don’t think we’re right for one another.”

The point — the one I keep having to hammer home to myself — is that this is a first date. I don’t owe this person anything. And they don’t owe me anything. I don’t even owe him an explanation. I literally could have just stopped the date — and so could have he — and neither one of us would have had just cause to complain. Yet we’re trapped in the social convention of this being a date. And a date signifies you should be on our best, most polite behavior; that you should be nice regardless. But when are we being nice to save face for someone else, and when are we being nice in contradiction to your own self respect?

I’ll get the hang of this eventually … right?

Anyway, Danny talked and talked and talked, and eventually I stopped responding to see how long he’d go without asking me a question or needing a reprieve. Answer: over an hour. As we said goodbye he sort of tried to lean in for a more-than-hug ending. I dodged, shot Megan a look of abject horror, and she snickered. Ah, producers.

#nerdsunite

They're talkin about us .... boooyyyy!

#NerdsUnite

MyMelodie @JenFriel my friend did something similar gave a dollar to friends each time they caught him saying anything negative. yesterday · reply · retweet · favorite

MyMelodie @JenFriel I also want in on the girly slumber party! If you and others want to come to SD I'm happy to host! yesterday · reply · retweet · favorite

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Entries in Alicia Ostarello (10)

#NerdsUnite: My name is Alicia and I'm doing 50 dates in 50 states (Wisconsin)

| Tuesday, January 8, 2013 at 6:00AM | Post a Comment | | Email Article

#TalkNerdyToMeLover's Alicia Ostarello

Fine, I’ll say it. I went on a date in Oshkosh,

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Tuesday

Jan082013

#NerdsUnite: My name is Alicia and I'm doing 50 dates in 50 states (Wisconsin)

Tuesday, January 8, 2013 at 6:00AM |

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#TalkNerdyToMeLover's Alicia Ostarello

Fine, I’ll say it. I went on a date in Oshkosh, Wisconsin and managed not to make any “B’gosh!” references. But I thought them loudly from the moment we entered the city to the moment we left. After the Duluth incident, I wasn’t quite gung-ho to immediately go on any dates. Sure, one should always get back on the horse, but seriously, after an exhausting date I wasn’t eager to put myself in that situation. With a stranger. From the internet. Again.

Also, after the other Duluth incident which involved chow mein that resembled sludge, I was not super stoked on trying out another Midwestern version of Asian cuisine. But when Dan, my Wisconsin date, suggested a trendy new Oshkosh hot spot, I figured since I was still managing to giving dating a go — I may as well say yes to the food, too. B’gosh.

One of the most interesting things about Dan was the fact that he knew absolutely nothing about me — including my name. On this trip I’ve had the strange experience of dates knowing a lot about me, from my most recent breakup (“tell me about this pony,” they all say) to more recently being able to know about dates because of this blog. Rarely do I have such intimate knowledge of them. But I walked up to Dan, said hello, and he immediately said he didn’t know my name — he had just said yes to the date.

Though a hippie in the broad sense of the word (works in recreation, long hair, a bit spacey) Dan remained true to the Midwestern manners brigade. He opened doors for strangers and myself alike, and he pulled out my chair to sit. Yes. He pulled. out. my. chair. Without fanfare or production — this was a gesture he’d obviously done throughout his life.

Two absolute strangers with nothing currently in common but a dating site and proximity at the same table. Nothing to do but get talking!

We began slow, talking about music and work, obviously feeling each other out and how we’d react to conversation. From there, tales of travel were exchanged, including an interlude about hitchhikers. By the time our food arrived we were in a conversational stride, no lulls or lags to be had.

I’ll be honest: when I met Dan, I wasn’t sure we’d have anything to say to each other. I’m a bit high strung at times; he was obviously a mellow fellow. I was intrigued by an autumn tree full of chirping birds, so many that it was impossible to tell where the feathers ended and the leaves began. Dan thought my intrigue was odd. Dan used to follow The String Cheese Incident around (à la Grateful Dead style). I never considered that option for music I enjoy.

Funny how wrong I was. Those differences were superficial and said very little about us as compatible human beings. Because sure enough, we were quite compatible. We saw the world in the same light: as a stage for kindness, fairness and patience (though he has far more of the latter than I). We were both interested in each other and interesting in return. And as the date wrapped up, Dan mentioned the chirping tree, apologizing for minimizing my experience of it and said in retrospect it was a pleasure to see someone so in awe of nature when he takes that much bird for granted.

You’d think after this many days with people who surprise me, I’d eventually stop being surprised. But I continue being a bit taken aback by just how capable people are at being different than what I expect.

Note to self: keep giving people a fighting chance.

#nerdsunite

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Saturday

Jan052013

#NerdsUnite: My name is Alicia and I'm doing 50 dates in 50 states (Minnesota)

Saturday, January 5, 2013 at 10:27AM |

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#TalkNerdyToMeLover's Alicia Ostarello

To date, no state has done fall like Minnesota. Driving a back-country two-lane highway, Megan and I were in a constant state of crimson, golden and magenta with touches of foresty green. So thick were the trees, we never saw gaps from one to the next unless they were interrupted by a sparkling aquamarine lake. Which, in the not-misnomered “Land of a Thousand Lakes,” was certifiably often. Right before Paul Bunyan’s hometown, Megan and I leapt out of the car to snuggle up with all that autumn.

Also to date, no date has been quite like the Minnesotan I met up with, Carl. Truly midwestern-polite, Carl held doors open, kept conversation neutral and even ran inside to nab napkins when he realized I had spilled coffee over my hand. Once Megan and I determined he was probably not a psychopath, we agreed to let him into Huckleberry Fit (my car) so we could carpool to a hiking spot known for waterfalls: Gooseberry State Park.

Immediately upon entering Huckleberry, Carl’s demeanor changed. He said he often felt super-comfortable with people right away, and went on to incite boisterous conversation about his ex-wife and past girls he’s dated in Duluth, and then became the Grand Inquisitor of My Dating History. From my longest relationship to minute casually date, Carl wanted to know it all. Then with nothing resembling a segue, Carl clapped his hands together and said, “Let’s talk politics!” A loud conversation about the state of the union ensued.

Forty minutes later, I was a bit exhausted and we hadn’t even begun hiking. (Man, I just woke up after a great eight hours of rest and I’m tired after just remembering this date.) Gooseberry was lovely, and Carl never lacked for conversation starters, topics to ramble about and non-sequitors that tended to lead to TMI. To be fair, he did ask a lot of questions and was more than happy to listen and respond. Just the sheer amount of words being pelted at me was overwhelming for a first date.

My favorite moment of the date was when we were walking across a bridge and noticed a little girl merrily throwing rocks into a barely moving creek. Entranced at just how happy that rock throwing made her, we eventually made our way to the water’s edge and began skipping stones (Carl) and plunking rocks (me) ourselves. The little girl’s grandfather, who had been watching her without much emotion, even got in on the fun, and started throwing the biggest rocks he could find in order to make bigger and bigger splashes.

My second favorite moment of the date was when Carl said he’d always wanted to host or attend a bear party, not realizing that for the most part, those parties are meant for hairy men and the men and women who are interested in hooking up/having sex with them. I warned him that perhaps that would be what he was inviting himself to should he make it to San Francisco.

Before we left Gooseberry, Carl went to the bathroom and Megan asked how I was doing. I realized that somewhere along the hike I had spaced out in my head and started thinking about my ex, with whom I’d gone hiking a few times. And all I really wanted was to be hiking with him and talking about what we’d chat about — things we’d heard on NPR or how the light reflects off different foliage — instead of being present in the moment. But I’m smart enough to know those are just dust bunnies of thoughts stuck in my brain, so I shook them out and continued on with my date — admittedly, with less enthusiasm. Carl talked the whole way home, played us songs from his band and proceeded to ask if we wanted to get dinner. (He had told me he thought Megan might like his roommate and wanted to hook them up). After a polite decline, Megan and I drove back to our hotel in complete, delicious silence.

#nerdsunite

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