Will the real Cameron please stand up?

After the Digits Disaster, I went back to okcupid determined to get one date in before I left town for two weeks. I continued messaging the only cute and normal guys on the site and did not hear back from any of them, per usual. (Note: the only guys that message me are ones that say things like, "You should try tickle sessions sometime if you want a real adventure" followed by IMs informing me "I'm tickling your feet right now." Needless to say, I disabled the IM feature immediately.)

I FINALLY got a response from a seemingly normal and attractive guy (tall, dark hair, sexy facial hair, architect, lives in Brooklyn, profile pic taken at PS 1). These details were good enough for me. He actually messaged on Sunday and suggested that we meet up that night if I wanted to. HIS SUGGESTION. I gave him my number and he texted that evening. We determined a place and time. It was official. Shit.

I started to get really nervous. My friend made me a White Russian to ease the nerves, but all it really did was ease my bowels. My arm pits began sweating profusely. When I hopped in a cab, I demanded the cabbie turn on the air conditioning immediately to dry the pit stains that were starting to form. I got really panicky and started thinking to myself, I don't do dates. Especially sober ones. Usually I'm wasted, make out with a guy at a bar, and somehow a long-term relationship follows. Probably not the best way to do things. But it's the only way I know.

When I got to The Bar, I noticed a guy outside the front door playing on his phone. He had dark hair and a beard. This might be him (let's call him Cameron for anonymity's sake). I mean, Cameron only had one picture posted on Okcupid, and it was more of a side shot. It was hard to tell. I timidly went up to him and asked,

"Are you Cameron?"
"What?"
"Are you Cameron?"
"Uh, no."
"Oh."
Awkward.

I stepped inside and immediately the real Cameron turned and looked at me. We both smiled knowingly. He got up to greet me (slightly awkwardly) and I told him the mistake I had just made. We laughed. I ordered a PBR from a bartender who was singing an 80s ballad at the top of his lungs to me for a solid minute. The awkwardness finally passed and it turned out to be a great night. Good conversation. Cute guy. No kissing but a hug at the end of the night and talk of a second date when I got back to NYC.

So one date down. Three to go. Staten Island Creep, I feel slightly more confident saying I won't be seeing your wallpaper-bordered basement any time soon. Save those trashy bangs and fuzzy white robe for another girl.

I hope I'm not eating these words come September 15.