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OK. I’m going to tell you all the story of The Christian Conservative, and then you can all add your two cents, because I have no fucking idea what’s going on.

About two weeks ago, I got a message from Yahoo personals from this guy who said he liked my pictures and then said he could out-trivia me. (I have a little blurb about how my head’s full of useless information.) I replied, and we exchanged phone numbers.

The first time he called me, we were on the phone for about two and a half hours. He was very smart, and funny, and articulate (and super cute). I could tell by some of his comments that he was fairly conservative, though he said that he considered himself neither red nor blue, but purple. I liked him. The next time we spoke on the phone again, it was very lengthy.

I looked again at his profile on yahoo, and noticed that under his preferred body type he chose “slender” and “athletic”. Being that I am neither of those, I got a little nervous. When we were planning our first date, I found a way to slip my surgery into the conversation, and he said, “Oh. OK.” And then I said, “You know, I’m not a skinny girl”, and he said something about how most of the girls in California that he dated were vapid and more or less retarded - which I took as his way of saying “I would prefer if you were skinny, but since you can spell your own name, you’ll do.” (That is an exaggeration - albeit a mild one.)

We also discussed his condo renovations in our phone calls, and he told me I could find before and after pictures on his myspace page. When I looked, I started nosing around the information, and in the favorite books, there was a book about Jesus, a book about Islam, and the Bible. In the heroes section, he picked his mother. And Jesus. I got nervous. Not because I’m full of judgment toward christians (OK, some of them), but because I am probably not the kind of girl a guy who goes to church regularly dates. I curse, I make inappropriate comments at inappropriate times, I frequently use the terms “goddamn” and “jesusfuckingchrist”, and I have a filthy mind and want to have sex all the time.

The fact that we spoke for a few hours before we ever met and I had no idea how into Jesus he was indicated to me that he probably isn’t one of those preachy bible-thumping pains in the ass, but you never know.

Our first date was at a casual restaurant that he wanted to try. I got there early (I am chronically early to new things, I can’t help it), and I was nervous. So, so, so nervous. Because I liked him, and I wanted him to like me. When he walked up, we exchanged hellos and as we walked into the restaurant, one of the most horrible things that could possibly happen to me on a first date was happening - I saw my family in the bar having drinks. I panicked. He said, “Do you want to go?” I said no, and we went to our table. (Luckily, my sister saw me and got my parents out of there before they knew what was going on. Because if she didn’t, my parents would have jumped at the opportunity to make me as uncomfortable as possible. Assholes.)

We sat in that booth and talked for four hours. And when they kicked us out, we sat outside and talked for a while more. It was good. He told me about halfway through that it was a good date, and that he was having fun with me, and we made plans for the second date. He walked me to my car, and when I said goodnight, I could see he was going to kiss me, but then he hesitated.

Goddammit.

So I just hugged him and told him I’d talk to him later. I got in my car and went home.

(At this point, you’re probably all saying, “What the fuck Andria, why didn’t YOU just kiss HIM?” Well, that’s a good question. As loud and moronic and abrasive as I can sometimes be, there are situations where I turn all gooey and unable to assert myself. And when I am around a man that I don’t know well, and to whom I am incredibly attracted, I go dopey and get shy. This was one of those times.)

So our second date was Saturday. Again, we had good consistent conversation (we’re both fairly obsessed with The Office, so we spent a lot of time talking about that), and he even managed to slip some sexual innuendo in followed by a suggestive look, which I appreciated. But that’s about as far as it went. He dropped me off at my house and said, “Well, call me later.” And I said, “OK” and then I walked to my apartment cursing silently because I can’t tell if this guy doesn’t like me, or is too shy, or what. But fuck me, it’s frustrating as hell.

I called him last night before I tried to hump my TV watching Mad Men (OH MY GOD THAT SHOW!!!), but there was no answer. I’ll call him again later this week to see if he wants to go out this weekend, but I’m not holding my breath.