At a particularly desperate fork in the road that has become my life, I let my single and fabulous friend Lisa set me up on a blind date with a guy I’ll call Ned. Now, Ned was not his real name, but he had a name that was the dorky equivalent to Ned.

Anyway, my friend Lisa was single, and seemed to have no qualms about this. We were both 23 years old, attractive, and single. The difference between us was that Lisa was perfectly content playing the field, and I have always been more of a “couple” kind of person. I feel better when I am in a couple. I don’t know why. You know that “You complete me” crap from Jerry Maguire? Well I am one of those hopeless romantics who totally buys into it. This is why I agreed to go on a date with Ned, even though I had advance notice from Lisa that he was kind of a trekkie type. “He’s the nicest guy in the world!” she kept saying to me…. “But he’s kind of a trekkie.”

Now, I am not a trekkie type. In fact, I have never been able to sit through the movie Star Wars without falling asleep in the first 15 minutes. And I’ve tried like nine times. And yes, I’m vaguely aware that there’s some kind of difference between Star Wars and Star Trek. But I don’t really care to find out what that is, because neither one interests me in the slightest. But I digress.

I had just finished two long term relationships, and I was looking for change. I figured a trekkie would definitely be a change from my WWF watching first boyfriend, and my lying, cheating, sports-addicted second boyfriend. So I decided to give Ned a shot.

Ned and I agreed to meet on a Friday night at a Starbucks. I got there first, and ordered a caramel macchiato, which used to be my regular drink before I turned 25 and discovered cellulite on my thighs. I sat down with my drink to wait for Ned. I had an indistinct idea of what Ned looked like from Lisa, but nobody ever believes their friends when they say someone they want to set you up with is attractive.

Truer words were never spoken, than the line in When Harry met Sally (one of my personal favorite movies, and my pseudo-bible) “When someone’s not that attractive, they’re always described as having a good personality.” I couldn’t help but wonder why Lisa didn’t want him if he was so great. So I was pleasantly surprised when I heard “Are you Shannon?” and looked up to find an attractive, tall, blonde guy. He wore glasses, and had his tee-shirt tucked in, but I expected as much, what with him being a trekkie and all.

We had a great first date. We sat there for hours talking about books, shopping, movies, food…. He was really into history, which I found interesting and cool. I liked him a lot. Sure, he had quirks. We all do. But for some reason, at this particular time in my life, I was willing to look past the fact that he had an extensive Barry Manilow CD collection. I agreed to go on another date with him, even though I was pretty sure that he was one of those people who marked $0.31 scoop night at Baskin Robbins on his calendar, and had his library card number memorized. Hell, a guy who had a calendar to begin with is normally not the type of person I’d go for. He told me that I’d probably like science fiction if I gave it a chance. I agreed with him. Call it temporary insanity.

I went on several more dates with Ned before things really started showing up that I couldn’t handle. For one thing, I started to notice that his socks always matched his outfit. Blue shirt, blue socks. Brown shirt, brown socks. It was eerie. On our first date, I told him how much I loved Pride and Prejudice and the characters of Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Darcy. I told him how Gone With the Wind was my favorite novel of all time. On our third or fourth date, we went into a Barnes and Noble and he bought Pride and Prejudice. Said he’d never read it and wanted to. I don’t know why this bothered me so much. It just did. Note to guys everywhere: Never purchase Pride and Prejudice in front of a girl you are newly dating, unless it is a gift for your mom.

Also, he was definitely a Republican of the worst kind. You know the kind I mean. Ned was one of those Republicans who was only a Republican because he made good money and was stingy.

He also told me he was falling in love with me on our 3rd date. This was a weird change for me. You have to beat that kind of thing out of most guys. I didn’t say it back, but I didn’t freak out either. I thought to myself “This is all just different. This is just a different kind of guy than I’m used to. That’s a good thing. But did it make me uncomfortable that he was so attached so soon? Oh, yes definitely.

I just kept telling myself that maybe this was the kind of guy I could be happy with. Something foreign to me— Not a bad boy, but a nice boy. With a good job, a condo, and a wine rack filled with expensive wines with names I couldn’t even pronounce. “Try it out for just a little longer” I kept telling myself. “He’ll grow on you.” I kept repeating in my head. Like a mantra.

Well, it all boiled down to one particular weekend. Ned and I had been dating for about 3 weeks, and he really wanted to meet my friends. I decided to get his feet wet by letting him meet my best friend, Emma, and her husband Elton. I thought this would be a good match because Elton is really into Super-Man. He also is always carrying a pen. If it’s 2am in a bar, and you need a pen, Elton has one. He’s very organized. And clean. For some reason I thought they would get along.

We went to the zoo. The details are fuzzy, because I was miserable, and really starting to realize that Ned was too big a dork for even me, but what I do remember is this: On the way back to their car, Elton looked at Emma and said emphatically “I am NOT hanging out with that guy!”

I decided then and there that I could not continue to see Ned. If he was too dorky for Elton, he was too dorky for me. I think Ned could tell too, because (a) I am pretty transparent and not good at hiding my feelings, and (b) he did the classic “leave behind” by bringing a hard back science fiction book over to my apartment for me to “borrow,” telling me “This is my favorite book, it’s a collector’s item, first edition.”

Ahh, the leave behind. A classic “I’m about to get dumped” dating move. Now, for my dilemma. It is virtually impossible to break up with a nice person who has, literally, done NOTHING wrong. Usually when my relationships end, I have a good reason, like “You cheated on me, you bastard!” or “I’m sorry, but I just can’t make myself be a vegan.” But what was I supposed to say to Ned? “I’m sorry, but if I hear the word “Hobbit” or “Medieval” one more time, I’m going to scream?” Nope, doesn’t work.

Emma offered to do it for me over the phone. She’s a good friend like that, and we sound a lot alike. She promised to let him down nicely. I was too worried he’d be able to tell that it wasn’t really me, so I agreed to go on one more date with Ned and tell him in person.

We met for dinner in downtown Kirkland, and I tried to explain to Ned that I just didn’t think we had anything in common. I told him that all I knew about Louis XIV was that people had some of his furniture, which was a tidbit I picked up from reading Danielle Steel novels over the years. I told him that we didn’t have any chemistry. When he argued vehemently with me, I had to be blunt and tell him that when I kissed him, it felt like I was kissing my cousin, but slightly less creepy. Yet, only slightly.

I tried to explain to Ned that you need some mental connection as well as physical attraction to create chemistry. He defied me and said that he was interested in the things I was interested in. He told me Desperate Housewives was indeed one of his favorite shows, and that celebrity gossip, Jimmy Stewart movies, Seahawks football, and Christmas shopping were at the top of his list when he thought of fun things to do and talk about. I knew he was lying. I would not be swayed.

Until he cried.

Yes, Ned cried. This was my first time making a boy cry. Actually, that isn’t true, I have always been quite a heartbreaker. When I dumped Mike Howe (yes, My Cow—say it fast) the summer after 9th grade, he cried too. But I did it in the play area of a McDonalds, and I sort of expected it. I was *not* expecting this grown, 26 year old man to start crying.

I am not a person who takes it well when other people cry. I am very sympathetic, and I immediately want to fix it for them. Ned was no different. So even though I definitely was not buying his whole “Danger is my middle name, you just don’t know me well enough yet” spiel, I gave him a hug and told him we would give it one more shot. He wiped his nose and eyes on the sleeve of his tucked in polo shirt, and we started walking back to the car. I was feeling kind of put upon, you know? I was being a willing victim, since I knew things were not going to work out with Ned, yet I was giving him another chance anyway. I’m a giver.

Anyway, I don’t know if you’ve ever been to downtown Kirkland, but the whole town is very Stepford. It’s has a small town, Main Street kind of feel to it. Stepford, I mean, Downtown Kirkland, has little orange flags at every crosswalk. You hit the button and the little white man on the “Walk” sign tells you to go ahead and cross. In theory, you can pick up a little orange flag, hold it high above your head, and cross the crosswalk. Most people don’t do it with this much fanfare. Literally, in the two years I lived there, I only saw one person do it. Most simply walk across the street.

Well, it was pretty late at night, and there were no cars to be seen. Anywhere. We weren’t exactly on the freeway, just a narrow two lane road amongst a bunch of little cafes and shops. The nearest crosswalk was about 100 yards North, and since there were no cars coming, and we were literally right across the street from our car, I said “Come on, lets just run across the street.”

For what happened next, I think you had to be there. But Ned looked right at me, his eyes still red and puffy from all the crying and said (with a totally straight face) “No, lets not jaywalk. That’s illegal.” At first I thought he was joking, but then he grabbed my hand, and we walked up to the crosswalk. I was annoyed, I’m not going to lie. But I still wasn’t going to dump him again.

Until he picked up an orange flag, held it high over our heads, and marched across the street.

It was bad enough that he wouldn’t jaywalk. But the flag was the straw that broke the camel’s back. So I went home and called Emma. After a few days of avoiding Ned’s calls, I sent him a very nice email letting him know that I didn’t think we should see each other anymore. I know it’s totally mean to break up with someone over email, but I couldn’t take the crying anymore.

I sent Ned’s “leave behind” book back to him FexEx, without reading it. It didn’t interest me. Just like Ned didn’t interest me. A few sporadic emails here and there, which I ignored, and he was ancient history. I learned a valuable lesson from Ned though. You simply cannot compromise the personality traits that make you attracted to a person. You just can’t. It’s a foolish thing, to date Mr. Right now, just because he’s all the things a good boyfriend and husband should be on paper. Paper is no good. You have to click with them in person.

And while I have wasted a lot of time, and a lot of kisses, on a lot of Mr. Wrongs, well, at least we had something to talk about. Even if all we were talking about were the results of America’s Next Top Model.

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