DatingDotCom

For the past 9 years, I’ve toyed with the idea of writing a book & calling it DatingDotCom.  It would be a collection of my online dating stories, of which there are many, covering an 18 month period of time.  Even though that book never did come to fruition, I’ve decided to share the very worst story with you right here & now.  It’s the mother of them all.

This is the story of my First Date in 23 years. The names have not been changed to protect the innocent, either. Snicker.

Some background first:  In 2002, I got divorced after being married for 22 years.  I decided to re-enter the dating world but boy, at 45 years old, I was pretty rusty at the whole game.

How does a newly available, middle-aged woman get back into a scene she’d given up at 22 years old, way-back-when in 1979? I was pretty good at it then, I must say, and playing  Disco Diva to the hilt. I was always on the dance floor, boogieing down until Donna Summer finished the final song of the evening, Last Dance.  But now in the twentieth century, I was quite sure things had changed.

And I was right.

I decided to join the DatingDotCom world, since I had no idea how on earth I’d meet an eligible man otherwise. At the grocery store? While walking the dog? Sheesh, not much opportunity to meet a man that way, in reality.

The first service I signed up with was Match.com.  Truthfully, that site should be renamed LosersOnly.com, that would be way more accurate.  The first guy I went out with after being out of the dating scene for 23+ years was named Tony.  He was so attractive in his online picture & wow, he certainly had the sexiest phone voice I’d ever heard. I was pretty nervous to meet him for drinks at Bennigan’s, 20-some miles away from my home.  I’d changed outfits about ½ a dozen times, fussed with my hair & make-up, and applied a bit more Secret to neutralize my sweaty armpits.  I was downright petrified for that first date.

When I pulled into the parking lot, I saw a very slob-like man getting out of an old jalopy & walking up to my car. “Lord, do not let that be Him,” I prayed.  But of course, it was Him.  But not the Him that he’d advertised himself to be on his profile, that’s for sure. He was at least 100 lbs heavier than he was in his online photo & dressed like a hobo; torn & dirty t-shirt, ragged jeans, and a balding head.

Funny how he’d had a FULL head of hair on his profile pic, huh? Hmmm. Perhaps he’d lost the vast majority of it overnight.

Or perhaps he was a big fat liar.

I couldn’t take my eyes off of Tony’s beer-belly, if that’s what it was. He looked 9 months pregnant & ready to burst, truthfully.

When he spoke, I heard that deep & velvety voice I recognized from our many phone conversations.  Now I’d have to close my eyes to conjure up the vision I’d had of him being all smooth & sexy because in real life, he was neither.

Here was lesson #1 in the DatingDotCom world: Hurry up & meet; do not have lengthy phone conversations for a month or two before laying eyes on the troll. Oops, I mean the First Date.

So anyway, I was there, we’d made this date, and so I’d keep it, period.  We found a little round table in the bar area & sat down to talk.  He immediately ordered a 24 ounce Bud on draught.  We started talking & a few minutes later, he summoned the waitress over for another 24 ounce Bud.  Ok. The guy must be pretty thirsty….

20 minutes into the conversation & 6 beers later, I thought to myself, Holy cow girlfriend, this man is a raging alcoholic! He’s starting to slur his words & flirt with the waitress, making little jokes & such. How rude to be doing that while on a date with a woman who’d primped & fussed & gussied herself up for nothing. Ugh, what a total-package-pig.

Actually, I had had no idea just how big a pig Tony really was.

As the keg of beer started ‘loosening’ him up a bit, he’d put his hand on my neck & fiddle around with my heavy gold rope choker.  Blech.  I did not like his hand on my skin at all, and I squirmed away from his touch.

After he’d finished sucking down 12, 24 ounce Buds on draught, the waitress came over, looking a bit nervous, and told him No More.  Patrons of the bar were cut off at a 12 beer limit, and he’d sloshed down his 288 ounces in 90 minutes.

He burped & wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. Just lovely.

I excused myself to go to the ladies room at that point, thoroughly disgusted.

I fiddled around in there for a bit, gathering up my wits to tell him Thank You For A Lovely Evening (ha-ha) & Goodnight when I got back to the table.

But when I got to the table, Tony-the-Raging-Alcoholic was gone.

I thought maybe he’d gone to the Men’s Room to release a few gallons of beer.

Nope. He was still nowhere to be found 10 minutes later.

I saw the waitress lurking around the bar, looking all weird & playing with her hair.

I called her over. “Do you know what happened to my date?” I asked her.

“Well” she stammered, “he went rushing out the front door a minute after you’d gone into the bathroom. And boy, he sure seemed like a nice enough guy.”

What?

I went to the front door & looked around the parking lot. His old beater was gone!

He’d ditched me!

When I got back to the little round table in the bar, the only thing that remained of our date was the bar bill.

$68.94 to be exact.

The bum had stiffed me! Left ME with the check & not so much as a Goodbye!

I was truly stunned speechless. Which is a rare occurrence, let me tell you.

The poor waitress felt awful, I could tell by the pitiful expression on her face, and I was embarrassed beyond belief at that point. I wasn’t red in the face, I was purple.

The waitress & I shared a few ugly comments about  Some Men Being Losers & the horrors of the DatingDotCom world in general. There was plenty of tsk-tsk’ing & Oh-My-God-I-Can’t-Believe-It’s, while the bartender processed my credit card payment. I was thankful I’d brought the card with me, or else I’d have been washing dishes in the kitchen that night.

I was absolutely livid on the long drive home. I called that man every filthy four-letter word I could come up with & I even remember letting out a blood-curdling scream of utter frustration.

WHAT NERVE!

After I’d gotten home & changed into my comfy PJ’s, the phone rang.

It was Him.

The dirty-rotten-lousy-filthy-Loser-son-of-a-bee.  He was calling to tell me his son had been hurt in a skate-boarding mishap. His babysitter had called him & he had to ‘rush out’ of Bennigan’s to meet up with them at the Emergency Room.  His son was fine, just bruised up a bit.  He’d had ‘no time’ to knock on the ladies’ room door to tell me of this mishap, nor did he have time to pay the frickin bill before rushing off to do his ‘fatherly duty.’

Uh huh. What a crock. “Do you think I just fell off the turnip truck?” I asked him. I was born at night but not last night.

“By the way” he said with no hesitation or hint of apology in his deep, velvety voice, “can you loan me $100 to pay the doctor’s bill, I’m running a bit short this month?”

What?

UGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

I wound up having to pull out the heavy-duty Hoover to clean up the bits of broken phone shards that were scattered all over my living room floor.  As I returned the vacuum to the utility closet, I saw my reflection in the mirrored door.  Sans heavy gold rope choker which I had not removed & returned to my jewelry box in my haste to get my jammies on earlier!

The dirty rotten scoundrel must have stolen it! Oh My God! He must’ve unhooked it when he was pretending to be all lovey-dovey (throwing up a little in my mouth as I type this) at the table!

Now, if this wasn’t the icing on the road-apple cake, I don’t know what was!

Cost of 12, 24 ounce glasses of draught beer & 2 Diet Cokes: $68.94

Cost of heavy gold rope choker: $1,500.00

Cost of Learning the New Dating Rules for the 20th Century: Priceless