It's a...date? Part Deux

I'm going to pose a question to you men at the end of this. At least, I think I am. So if you don't want to read my girly crap, please skip to the question. And answer it. In the comments, not in your head.

So there was a presumptuous kiss and an invitation to watch a baseball game. Which, seriously, is a fine first date idea, it's just that I wasn't thinking about it that way. So I was looking at this as "hanging out with the motorboater" and he was looking at it as "possibly I'm in love with this girl because she has nice boobs AND likes sports." You can see where a problem might arise. Plus, the kissing.

At 2:00 am when the bar was closing, no one really wanted to go home. So I suggested everyone (and by everyone, I mean 5 or 6 people) come to my place. We all piled in cars and everyone followed me (no, I wasn't even remotely drunk). LOB called to see where I was because she had been at the sorority party with an open bar and she was completely shit-faced and bleeding from several places (which, really, she hadn't noticed) and what was I doing and she was going to take a cab to my place and would I be there and she sounded really really really drunk.

I didn't really want her getting into a cab by herself in that condition. This is Texas, okay? It's not like New York or something where cabs are "the thing." Cabs are not the thing. I told her that if Fransen wasn't with her, I would come pick her up. She said some semblance of "it's fine, I'll take a cab" and I had people following me, so I went home.

When I got there she and Fransen were in the hallway (because they couldn't find the keys). I opened the door and we all piled in, where Fransen and LOB immediately began some form of professional wrestling on the kitchen floor. Unfortunately, LOB sort of forgot that she had decided to go commando under her dress and she might have (I admit to nothing) flashed her lady parts to the entire population of my apartment.

We remedied the underwear situation and I tended to her wounds while Smalls made drinks and everyone else pretty much sat down on the kitchen floor.

At 5:00, I finally had to kick everyone out, so LOB could go to sleep. Fransen was already passed out on the couch, having unsuccessfully tried to call himself a cab. And no way was I calling his dad at 5:00 to come pick him up.

I'm amazed he doesn't have a black-eye from all the times he got kicked in the face by LOB because she couldn't figure out what he was.

Everyone made it to their respective destinations safe and sound. And I only got two hours of sleep because I was too worried that someone would miss a flight or oversleep or something.

Then next day, Motorboater came to pick me up (on time) to go to the game. He drove and paid for the tickets, which was sort of my first clue that this was actually probably a date. It was a good game, and we had a good time. He sort of reminds me of Vince Vaughn in The Breakup (Yes, Jay, I know it's a terrible movie. But I sort of like it anyway) and I can't decide whether or not that's a good thing. Neither of us thought to bring (or wear) sunscreen, so we both got crispy fried. Sometime mid-game, he said to me, "So, now I just have to figure out how to get you out on a second date."

Um...why don't you get me out on a first date first, eh?

So here's the thing. He seems hell-bent on proving to me that he's not a douche. But it all just sort of seems like bullshit. So if being a douche is douche-y, but also proving that you're not a douche is kind of douche-y...what isn't? I mean, I know that all you men think that women don't like "nice guys." But that's not necessarily true. What we don't like are nice, BORING guys. Personality? It's a good thing.

I can't decide if I feel really uneasy about all of this because of all the things I've been through, or if I feel uneasy about all of this because I'm trying to tell myself that this dude is not a good idea. I mean, he helped me clean up my kitchen, he took out my trash (this involves sitting it outside the door, before you give him too much credit), he thinks I'm great. But it all just feels like an act. And like he's trying too hard.

Which I suppose is better than not trying at all.

Also, he texted me at 7:00 the next morning to say what a great time he had. That's...weird, right?