Come on… sing with me first:
Blow the whistle, baby you’re the referee….
I blew my book deal on self respect. I couldn’t bear a few more dates with crazy men. Yeah… I’m saying I’m better than all that- so shoot me. It took a year of dating men I wouldn’t even give a second glance in the grocery store, to gain that level of confidence.
In my year of internet dating, I saw some crazy, crazy shit. Some of which is still locked tight in the draft section of my blog. Some of which will hopefully never see the light of day, because I’d hate to be sued by Match.com like Oprah was sued by the cattle industry for hating on a burger…. cause I could shut that shit down with what I know now.
Apparently (nobody told me) the whole internet dating fiasco is set up for some glorified hook up network.
So let me start by saying that NOT ONCE did I ever have sex with an internet date. Never. First and foremost because thou shalt not fuck weird ill-adjusted weirdos… but more than that?
I wasn’t even the slightest bit tempted, ever.
I saw it all, y’all…. and admittedly I began to hand-pick the crazies, so I deserved some strange experiences toward the end. I began to use my online dating as writing material towards the end of the crazy run, with a publishing group hot on my tail, begging me for just a few more every time I turned in more of my documented suffering.
I chose the weirdest of the weird- so I know just how bad it really is, when it’s at it’s worst. I was the wife-swap producer of Match.com. I systematically chose my opposites, sent a few emails and sat back to watch the trains collide.
I shook the ants in the jar, if you will…. and I never made it easy.
I pulled out my A game. I wore fishnets and heels. Fake eyelashes became second nature and the bleach in my hair was as common as the fake smile on my ruby red lips.
I was propositioned, hit on, flirted with, stalked, insulted, preached to, parented, offered a job, AND solicited for garden advice.
Welcome to dating, crazy internet division…. and not for the faint of heart.
I had a few uneventful pleasant dates… but honestly? It was more fun to date the crazies. I’d given my heart to a man determined to be unavailable, and if I had to pass the time missing him, I preferred to not hurt the innocent.
So I dated the guilty.
1. The extremely elderly appearing Delta pilot who swore he was in his 40’s… hmm…. perhaps 20 years ago…. brought his dog along on our date and let it run around the restaurant. For the manner police, that’s right up there with robbing a bank on the way. I was too mortified to really hear what he was saying. He brought his homemade jerky and it damn near ripped a filling out. Goodness. When he made the awkward attempt to kiss me goodnight, I actually ducked and thanked God at the same time that he was so tall. Out loud.
2. I have a few favorites… but this guy was right up there. The wild African game hunter/ bible beating baptist. My favorite hand picked opposite-do-NOT-attract lunatic. He actually asked me how I felt about “Our Lord and savior, Jesus Christ” before my salad showed up. I understand being passionate. I understand deal breakers…. but come on Grandpa missionery… have some respect for privacy. I told him about my favorite magnet… and it was our only date. One of the only dates I ever left early.
I have a very private relationship with God. I don’t buy a lot of it…. but… I love being Catholic. I have strong Mormon roots. You can take the girl out of Utah but you can never really take the bee out of the hive. It feels like home when I go back… yet I’m far too outspoken to thrive there.
I’m genetically Mormon, raised Buddhist and Catholic by choice. Three details absolutely predetermined to annoy the Bible beating crazy wild animal hunting Baptist. The writing was on the wall, but for the first time, I told a date I was not interested in continuing the date. I told him I was leaving…. and I did.
Slowly… these weirdos taught me to speak up… and how to stand up for myself.
3. My date last Valentine’s Day was beyond crazy. He let me pick a restaurant, and met me there for dinner. He had two dozen white roses in his hands. I must have had a deer in the headlights look on my face because he hugged me hello with them in between us, shoving them towards me. He was about a foot shorter than he’d said… but was attractive and nice. Ish. Something was just…. suspect. He was completely wonderful. Impeccable manners, ordered for both of us- sigh… Hispanic maybe? I don’t know. With the exception of the awkward pile of roses on the bar next to me (he forgot to make a reservation)… it wasn’t that bad. Goose on the rocks X2… and he was pretty nice. He asked me if I wanted to get a drink after dinner and I agreed. He took the roses from me and grabbed my hand on the way to the car. Nice enough- ok… it seemed normal, if a little… early. Whatever. He opened my door- handed me the flowers. and shut it… nice touch. I was impressed. Shiny white Mercedes sends up a red flag… he’s in his late twenties, early thirties… which is awfully young for that sort of debt… I don’t know- I’ve learned too much in doing this for a year… I’m being judgey. He drives around the corner to the martini bar and parks.
I don’t really have time to silently chastise myself for jumping to assumptions before he practically rapes my face with his mouth. I could feel his teeth a half inch from my lips. My word. His hand reached for my thighs and I grabbed his wrist. He was insistent and for the first time in this whole escapade… I was afraid. I was thankful my friends were only a few steps away, and reached for the door handle while holding his wrist to keep it from creeping any higher. Yikes. I sent the preplanned “HELP” text and I was done with him in a matter of 20 minutes.
The fun part?
Two weeks later, I get a call from a screaming lunatic wife… his wife. The wife that wants to know why he has a credit card receipt for two on Valentine’s day, and my number on the roses he bought.
He bought her a vacuum… and frankly I’d trade her… but she was a little too ballistic to chat about a trade. Think of the look on his face if he came home and saw those roses though… lol… I’m mean like that when it comes to cheaters.
She kept insulting me so I told her the absolute details of our conversations, plans, date, and the face rape/mouth attack that occurred in the car. Bad idea… one mention of the car and the lady went over the deep end. I honestly expected to see his face on the news the next day- she was that irate. She thanked me and hung up… I got one text from him later that said “Thanks A LOT!” lol… uh… you’re welcome, Cheater McFaceRaperPants.
I truly have seen it all. I avoided the hippie faction after the last bad time- but other than that… I went on 18 dates.
18 First Dates… never a second… and granted I live in a small town, but I’m the nicest person in the world when it comes to accepting people for who and what they are. As long as you’re not an asshole- you are A OK with me. Let your freak flags fly however you like- I like unusual people.
But these weren’t unusual people. These were crazy people. Creepy sometimes. Scary sometimes. Always weird.
I am an internet dating flunkie- and it wasn’t for lack of interest. I put myself out there and my profile was viewed thousands of times… I got hundreds of emails… and sorted them carefully at times and recklessly at others.
You have to like someone to consider being romantically involved with them. You can’t do that with someone based on a photograph and some cheese-ball fill-in-the-blanks profile. You have to get to know them first… and most of the serial internet daters are all about the hook up.
I’ve seen the stories, read the news… etc. My aunt recently got engaged to someone she met online.
I fell in love at first write… I come from a place of experience… I know it’s possible.
It does exist… but it’s not meant to be prepackaged and force fed. Figure out if he has a soul first and if you like it. Figure out who he is. BE CAREFUL.
Allow yourself to fall in love with the way he thinks…
But only if he does.
Oh and good luck…. you’ll need it.
….and thank the good Lord & Baby Jesus that my days on the online menu are over. <shudder>
Don’t even get me started on the Naked Man, the Police officer who ran my plates to get my phone number, and last, but not least…Dr. Cocktail Linky- who sent me pictures of his 2″ wang and continues to come in every Wednesday, without fail… sometimes with his wife and kids too. Oh my…
To quote one of my best guys, and the best advice I ever ignored…