Friday, March 12, 2010

True Life: I'm a Burnout

So I’ve decided to take an indefinite hiatus from my plunge into the world of online dating. No, not because I’ve met someone…though I have met people, just not exactly anyone who I really hit it off with. Instead it’s a combination of not having found any chemistry with any of my dates, and that Match is INCREDIBLY time consuming and tedious. Corresponding with a bevy of online dates, weeding out the undesirables (read: jorts, hair gel, 42 year old creeps who live in the suburbs, the guy who called me Porkchop, etc.) is exhausting. And those that I did want to get to know better had me glued to my computer, perfecting every single email to come off as smart, witty, and charming. However, despite how well our e-flirtation would go- it would ultimately dissipate once we came face to face. This is not to say that my days are over, as I can’t rule out the possibility that I may reappear on the online dating scene someday down the road. But until then, I’ll always have the memories…

Take Dave for example…at 6’4 he definitely hit my height requirement. Having earned his degree in some engineering field of sorts, he was now pursuing a masters in the same thing. Fancy. First impression of his photo was – WOW. He’s cute. As my first date, I was both giddy and apprehensive, but after exchanging some of the best emails to date (yes- I rate on those levels when it comes to Match), I was psyched. We opted for margaritas at my favorite Mexican place, to take place on a Friday evening post-work. Sounds good right? Then he gets out of the car- and by car I mean Volvo hatchback. I’m slightly confused by his choice of vehicle. But I push these thoughts aside and stride toward him to introduce myself. Upon closer inspection, my concern begins to grow, as his ensemble paints him in a far more metrosexual light than I’d envisioned throughout our emails. He had on a white zip-up…which looked nice despite my preference for half-zips, but definitely bordered on seasonally inappropriate slash urban hipster. Again, I pushed these judgments aside. However as he turned his back to get back into his car, I noticed the telltale Rock and Republic R’s on either pocket of his jeans. This gentleman was sporting better jeans than me. I was quite unsure what to think- was I impressed? Disturbed? Puzzled? Perhaps a mix of all three. With his gator skin loafer pressed to the pedal, we sped off in the jaunty little Volvo as that first sentiment dissipated and I was definitely left wondering where the evening would lead.

In the span of our 1 mile trek to the restaurant, Dave made roughly 7 racist/sexist/bigoted jokes. Now, I’m not a bleeding heart or really even a nice person…but this astounded me. Um sir, WE JUST MET. This clearly wasn’t an issue for him…as he continued to put down everyone (myself included) but himself. This guy was way into himself- he purchased the hatchback himself- bought the condo he was currently residing in, refurbished the kitchen. He literally dominated the conversation…my eyes bugged out wondering how I could get a word in edgewise. And when I finally took a stab at contributing to the conversation, I was sorry I had. Thus, I downed my margaritas, and enjoyed my fajitas. Then the check came. He instructed we split it- and while I was prepared to pay my way, I did not take kindly to the way this subject was broached. Once our respective cards were run and the receipts returned to the table, I shared my absolutely love for the mints included within. Big mistake. Evidently these mints were subpar…just like every other interest of mine I’d shared that evening. Hesitantly I followed him back to the hatchback, and prepared for the car ride home. I reached into my bag to check my phone (probably rude, but whatever) to find numerous concerned texts from a friend…including one inquiring as to if I were dead in a ditch. I shared the message with Dave…who came up with what he clearly thought was a clever response:

“Tell her you’re smoking a cigarette after your third orgasm.”

I nearly vomited…and not from the mix of margaritas and Mexican sloshing in my stomach. This guy was a skeeze. Thank god this comment came from him right as we pulled up to the ambiguous corner near my apartment where I met him. I got out of the car, so confused by this person I’d just spent the past two hours with. I was both majorly creeped out, and somehow hoping he’d call me? The latter of these sentiments definitely arose from the fact that I absolutely did not want to be a failure.

The next day I sent him a polite text thanking him for everything (and considering I paid for my dinner, everything really only consists of the awkward hatchback ride, the one-sided conversation and the crass humor), and headed out for some wine at a friends.

As girls do, my friends eagerly plied me for details on the date- I explained my reservations…how he seemed like a jerk, was definitely full of himself, and had questionable taste in music. Then I shared one final detail- his username. My friends eyes lit up- he had asked her out at 2 am that morning…roughly 5 hours after our date had finished, and probably about an hour after returning from McFadden’s with his broskis. This somehow made me feel so much better- we determined this guy was a serial Match-er, and a complete dbag, for lack of a better term.

And that was the last of Dave…may he and his hatchback be eternally happy.


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