Mixing a CD for Joy is more difficult than I had imagined. The R.E.M. songs go pretty well, and I end up choosing ten from across their catalog of albums:
1. “Radio Free Europe,” Murmur
2. “So. Central Rain,” Reckoning
3. “Driver 8,” Fables of the Reconstruction
4. “Begin the Begin,” Lifes Rich Pageant
5. “Disturbance at the Heron House,” Document
6. “World Leader Pretend,” Green
7. “Half a World Away,” Out of Time
8. “Find the River,” Automatic for the People
9. “Electrolite,” New Adventures in Hi-Fi
10. “Man-Sized Wreath,” Accelerate
I skip the albums Monster, Up, Reveal, and Around the Sun because, although I like some songs on each of those albums, they are not as good as the others. That’s my opinion. It’s not fact, although a lot of people agree with me.
Finding ten Matthew Sweet songs is a harder chore. Don’t get me wrong, I can find ten that I like, but I can’t necessarily find ones that I think someone else would like. Matthew Sweet can be a real downer.
I end up choosing six:
1. “I’ve Been Waiting,” Girlfriend
2. “Devil with the Green Eyes,” Altered Beast
3. “Superdeformed,” Son of Altered Beast
4. “Come to California,” Blue Sky on Mars
5. “I Should Never Have Let You Know,” In Reverse
6. “Wait,” Kimi Ga Suki (the Japanese album)
It’s a fine collection of songs. I think if Joy for some reason decides that she doesn’t want it, my disappointment will be soothed by the fact that I will get to keep it.
At 10:00 a.m., I walk in the door at the Great Clips haircutters on Grand Avenue. There is no line. Most of the rest of Billings is at work.
I have had this stylist before. Her name is Heather, and she is very pretty, with big blue eyes and long, blonde, straight hair. One thing about her, though, is that her attitude varies wildly. She recognizes me and smiles and invites me back to the chair.
“The usual?” she asks.
“Yes.”
This is an easy job for Heather. My hair does not need styling. It needs to be cut, and she quickly does it.
“What’re you up to today?” she asks.
“I have an online date.”
“Cool.”
“Yes.”
“I haven’t had a date in for-ev-er,” she says, drawing out the syllables, and then she starts telling me about what a disaster her last date was and how she swore off men but can’t stay away for long and that she wishes me luck and just be a gentleman and it will all work out just fine.
Heather is fun to listen to when she feels good, like she does today.
On the way back home, I stop at the Albertsons on Grand and Thirteenth Street W. and buy a single red rose from the floral department. The nice lady who works there wraps it loosely in a cellophane cone and pops a small container of water onto the stem to keep it looking fresh.
I am nearly ready for my 7:00 p.m. date.
It is 10:57 a.m.
While it’s true that I am feeling a bit overeager—an odd sensation for me—it’s also true that I do have some other chores.
For one thing, I have to eat lunch. I will not have much, in case Joy wants to eat tonight at the wine bar downtown. It’s not just a wine bar. I have been reading up on it, and apparently, the place—it is called Bin 119—has very good food, too, including something called lobster mac ’n’ cheese. I don’t know if that sounds good or not. I don’t have seafood very often—only at my monthly dinner with my parents, and not at every one of those. I’ve had lots of mac ’n’ cheese; it was one of my favorites when I was a child, with the box of noodles and the powdered cheese that would turn gooey when mixed with butter and milk. I do not think that kind of mac ’n’ cheese would taste good with lobster. But that’s just my opinion. It’s not necessarily a fact.
I have spaghetti for lunch.
At 5:00 p.m., I start trying on all of my new clothes again. I have two purposes. First, I need to ensure, again, that none of it is defective. If there’s a zipper that doesn’t work or a button hanging by a thread or a small tear at the corner of a pocket, now is the time to know. Second, I need to choose what I’m wearing tonight.
In the end, I choose the George Foreman pinstripe suit and the white shirt with blue stripes, with no tie. I think it looks dressy, yet easygoing. I also think I look too round and puffy. This is not something I thought about before I decided to look for dates on the Internet, but now that I am an active Internet dater, I may have to incorporate some belly control into my daily routine. I could start doing sit-ups. That would give me something new to count and whip my stomach into shape. The thought of this makes me happy.
It is 5:37 p.m. and I am dressed for my 7:00 p.m. Internet date with Joy from Broadview.
After putting the mix CD in my front coat pocket—and then checking twice more to make sure it is there—I decide to do some last-minute brushing up on Internet dating, just so I know as much as possible about what will happen tonight.
On one website, I find an article called “Everything You Need to Know Before You Go on That Online Date.” At first, I am not interested, as the article plainly says that it is written for women over forty, but then I remember that Joy is forty-one and I think that it might benefit me to consider things from her perspective.
By the time I finish reading the article, however, I wonder why any woman would ever want to go on an Internet date. The person who wrote this article does not seem to like dating or to expect much from it. She says that men don’t want to date older women and that the only way a man will show genuine interest in someone is by stalking her, which alarms me, because I don’t want to stalk anybody.
Finally, the writer suggests buying the book He’s Just Not That Into You, by Greg Behrendt. She says that it will reveal everything about men and what they think.
Regardless of what happens tonight, I must read this book. I would be very interested to know my feelings about dating women.
I immediately go to Amazon.com and order it.
I think I now know more about Internet dating than I want to know. I hope Joy hasn’t seen this article. Why would she come?
It is very easy to get from the house on Clark Avenue to the wine bar downtown. After backing out of the driveway, I head east on Clark down to Sixth Avenue W., make a right turn, then an immediate right on Yellowstone Avenue, then a right on Seventh Street W., pass by Clark Avenue, and then make a right on Lewis Avenue.
I have driven in a circle, but I also have taken all right turns.
Lewis rides down through the tree-lined neighborhoods of central Billings, crosses Division Street and becomes Fourth Avenue N. downtown. At the corner of Fourth and Broadway, I can see the big Billings Herald-Gleaner building, where people are inside compiling the things I’ll need tomorrow, including my weather data and Dear Abby.
I turn right on Broadway, cross over Third and Second Avenues, and pull into a diagonal parking spot across from the wine bar.
As I shut off the ignition, the digital clock in my Toyota Camry flips over to 7:00 p.m.