Tuesday, February 26, 2013

The One About Online Dating

I have a confession to make.

I have tried online dating.

Last summer, I suffered through the heartache of 2012. After months of moping around feeling sorry for myself, my dear Mother (hi, Mom!) decided it was time for some action to help heal my aching heart.

I was asked to sign up for a dating website, giving it three months. Surely I would find someone.

And boy did I.

Gentleman Number One

We sent each other a few messages. His photos appeared okay. We agreed upon a meeting.

The meeting was about two hours long, over coffee. It was rather non-eventful, and truthfully a little boring. I can only talk about sci-fi for so long.

Parting ways, I thought to myself surely this was a first and last meeting if I ever saw one.

And then came the constant text messages.

I'd respond out of politeness. But when someone constantly asks me what I am up to, it gets a little annoying. I mean, hello, why would you keep saying "I can't stop thinking about you" if you're not getting a response? Sure, I would respond sometimes out of politeness, but his messages far surpassed mine. I was just trying to be nice (story of my life).

Then came the fateful day that he sent me multiple messages, to which I did not respond to. Hours later came the call, to which I did not answer. Checking my voice-mail, he stated that he had driven the two hour drive in hopes of seeing me, you know, just passing through, late in the evening...


And that was (almost) the end of Gentleman Number One. He still continued to ask me for dinner dates for weeks afterwards, even after I sent him a "thanks, but no thanks" e-mail.

Gentleman Number Two

He seemed promising enough. Pursuing a PhD in mathematics, I thought this could be a good thing.

Ever hang out with a boy genius? Someone who is socially awkward, and beyond smart? Like, "what planet are you from" intelligent?

I will not divulge into too many details, but here is one thing you should know about me: I take my faith incredibly seriously.

Long story short, this gentleman pulled out a family photo out of a Ziploc bag and described to me, in detail, who his family is.

I asked one very simple question about where his natural father is (he only mentioned a step-father) which led into an incredibly awkward, unsettling conversation, about his father's lifestyle choices.

So, on a first date, in a coffee shop, we got into a debate. Actually, it was in between a debate and a fight. After that ditty was over, I thought for sure I had adequately ticked him off and he'd never want to see me again.

That is, until the next day that I received a three page email saying:
"You now have my complete and undivided attention-I'm not dating anyone else, nor will I start unless I stop dating you first. (Just so there's no confusion, I do believe I want to continue dating you for the foreseeable future.)"

This was after he e-mailed me his schedule so that I could know all of his comings and goings, down to Every. Little. Detail. 

Gentleman Number Three

After the last two guys, I was pretty discouraged.

To be honest, my heart was not into meeting this guy. Not because anything seemed wrong with him from the few messages we had shared, but because it was going to be yet another guy who was probably crazy, and I just wasn't in the mood.

Additionally, though I had never had acne in my life, my face decided that this was the prime time to have a monumental breakout, and according to my father, I looked like a meth addict (Thanks, Dad!) I was pretty ugly, and no amount of make-up could cover it up.

That, and my contacts had also decided to rebel on me, so I spent most of our evening distracted by the sensation of having sand in my eyes. Like, an entire beach worth of sand in my eyeballs.

Anyway, on a freezing cold evening, I parked on Pearl Street and tried to fumble my way through my wallet, looking for change for the parking meter. A few ladies approached me and offered me their ticket, which had a considerable amount of time remaining. Naturally, I thought to myself that this was a sign of good things to come.

Freezing, (in fact, I'm not even sure if freezing is an accurate word for that evening); I made my way to our designated meeting spot.

He met me at the door, and hugged me, (a first, since the previous two guys made it all awkward-like initially, unsure what they should be doing).

My hands, face, and the rest of my body frozen cold, we made our way to our table.

My Mom and I have a text-message code. I would send her an emoticon based upon initial impressions.

:) = Yay!
:( = No!
:/ = WTF? (WTF meaning anything but the intended meaning, because I don't use the F word).

So, the evening progressed. And for the first time, this guy didn't give me the creeps, and he didn't give me reason to argue with him. We had, what I thought, was a decent conversation. Except, if you know me: (and if you don't, just read this sordid story, particularly the third paragraph.) I am one pathetic human being; me and cute boys don't mesh well.

I ordered ice cream for dinner, which according to another guy, this is a bad move on a first date because the guy will automatically assume that these are my eating habits and in no time, I will become morbidly obese, and that's just a nasty first impression.

Gentleman Number Three made a few telling comments, one being that I'm not asking any questions (boy, if only you knew what was going on in this head of mine! I'm paralyzed!) and two, that I live too far away.

I sent my Momma a total of two texts that evening, the first being:

And the second being:
"I'm actually having a good time!"

But then, at a Starbucks, when we sat down to talk, I brought up Kenny G when he told me about his love of music. Seriously, Sarah? KENNY G?!?

Yeah, because if there is any way to impress a potential guy, it's to simultaneously mock his love of music and talk about Kenny G. Nice.

Another disaster that evening was that I decided to be honest, and tell him that so many guys try to go too fast too quick with me. Whilst trying to drive the point home, all I really did was sound like a girl who was way too full of herself.

So while I thought this date was going okay (minus the fact that I couldn't talk, but when I did, I talked about retarded things), he seemed to like me well enough. He even grabbed my hand a few times. Gee whiz!

Until the end of the date, when he walked me to my car.

He hugged me, very tight, and told me he had a great time.

Then he opened my car door and shoved, literally shoved me into my vehicle, and ran away at impressive speed calling out, "I'll talk to you later". Oh no you won't. 

Trust me, I knew.

A whole week went by before he sent me a message stating that among other things, I just didn't appear interested in him.

I tried to re-assure him that this was not true, but you can only beat a dead horse so many times. He was, as they say, just not that into a pimply-faced, irritated eyed, boring, ice-creaming eating, only able to talk about Kenny G, and how-many-guys-have-liked-me kind of girl.

Can't blame him.

Dead Horse

Gentleman Number Four

As I sit here, I have spent a considerable amount of time with my head in my hands trying to figure how to write this portion out.

Within one week of communication, (meaning having not physically met in person), and with us only Skyping, he had decided that he wanted to marry me. (See that, guy number three?! I wasn't exaggerating!)

This is an odd sort of thing, but come on now; I've had multiple events like this in the course of my life. What made it different was after telling him he doesn't know me, and that I could be a crazy serial killer, he tells me that God "vouched" for me, so it's all good.

Disaster struck though, when he asked me via text message what my BRA SIZE is. Seriously, dude? Am I one of those girls?

It got weirder though, when he said:
"I want you to be my wife. That means not only my best friend, but also the object of my desires."

Well fiddly fee.

He got pretty annoyed that I wouldn't divulge this set of details to him, despite his best pleading. Yeah, red flags all over the place.

"I'll just have to accept the fact that you have your own reasons for doing things that don't involve my happiness at this point."

Apparently, I am "so darn attractive that the mystery was killing" him. For bra size? What?

Men, I have to tell you this: Breasts are not all that attractive. I see hundreds a year (because of my job, not because I'm a creeper), and gravity does a number on them. Unless of course, you're attracted to milk glands, milk ducts, fatty and connective tissue, get over it. Don't be a pig. Women are more than their bra size or a pretty face.

Needless to say, I opted to end this relationship before it even started. I had to. I'm not looking for a cheap hook-up. If a relationship starts this way, imagine how it'll turn out. He made a lot of disturbing comments to me, including (but not limited to!) That I give him "Nothing, not even sex". Well, buckaroo, a) I'm not that kind of girl and b) We never even met, so yeah, no hanky panky.

He also made mention of being disappointed in me. Well sir, I am disappointed in you. For shame.

His final text:
"Sorry for losing my temper last night. What I was trying to say it that I need a wife who can be as open with me as I am with her, no matter how sexual or whatever else the conversation is. Doesn't seem like you're that way. However, you're a great girl, and it won't be long before you find someone. If God tells you to keep trying with me, then I'll be receptive to that. But, the ball's in your court at this point. After the way I acted last night, I'm in no position to be in control of the situation. Whatever happens, know that I truly do care about you and wish good things for you. God bless."

People, if you're one of the lucky ones where things work out like they ought, count your blessings.

If you could potentially be interested in someone, just tell them. Ask them out to coffee. Take that chance.

I've spent half my life hoping that it would work out, and the best I've ever gotten after sharing my truest feelings was being called a "freaking woman" (yup, true story). Sometimes it doesn't work out, but you'll never know unless you try.

So, read my words and take them into consideration.


Dead horse