We all tend to view our own problems as the worst in the world, and in light of my online dating debacles, I was no different. I have quickly regained a proper perspective. Quality family time, lots of good wine and laughter, and I feel so much better. Besides, my options are still open and completely unlimited. Life is bueno, and it does go on.
I suppose another factor contributing to my perspective-adjustment was the attack in Paris. It's yet another not-so-subtle reminder that life is precious and short. I'm not one of those who yearns to showcase how thoughtful I am by superimposing a French flag over a Facebook photo or hash-tagging PrayforParis. I've always been a substance-over-symbol type anyway, but the terror attacks did conjure some really random thoughts. One was extraordinarily random.
I remember when I won the coin collection. There was a running backgammon tab that reached just over $3000, and once I got tired of trying to collect actual money, we arranged an asset exchange. I got a .44 Magnum, a home gym, and a pretty cool coin collection. In the end, I was shortchanged quite a bit. I sold the gun a couple years later (story for another day), I gave the home gym to God knows whom, but I kept the coin collection.
Before I moved to Florida, I did a ton of pruning because I didn't want to take a lot with me. One day, I was browsing through the coins, and one caught my eye. At first, I thought it was a game token from an old carnival, but after a bit of research, I learned it was a late-19th century brothel token from Paris. They weren't worth a mint......I think mine sold on eBay for $120-150. The peculiar aspect of this particular sale was that I shipped the token to a guy who lived about 20 miles from the address of the old brothel. I remember feeling such joy that the token was going home. After news of the attacks broke, I wondered about the guy who bought it.
Address of Brothel
Location of old brothel
Proximity of old brothel to location of one terror attack
I'm not sure why I felt the urge to write about this, but I'm sure it has more to do with putting off the restoration of this monstrosity than anything.
Chin up, eyes forward, and Vive La France (they do have the best national anthem by the way). Adieu.
Note: I thought that I had deleted this post because it needed revisions. It started as complete cynicism before morphing into optimism. Now it's back to where it was. I should have stuck with Plan A (if I had a dollar each time I've uttered those words.....). The Gambler's Fallacy (in my own words): The psychotic belief that because something happens more frequently in the past, it is somehow less likely to occur in the future.
I don't know why I did it, but I did. My one-year, self-imposed exile from women was days from ending, and I had too much to drink. It was the perfect storm. I got home, and with my creativity amplified by wine, I composed a unique profile, and I joined an online dating site.
So here I sit, wondering how to compose an intelligible post when I haven't a clue where to start a story that doesn't have an end. Maybe by quoting lyrics from the one song I like from a band I cannot stand, though considering I was 14 or 15 when this song was released, they couldn't have been referring to online dating. Maybe they just sucked way ahead of their time. As usual, I digress.
It's all the same, only the names have changed.
Everyday it seems we're wasting away.
I can't believe that I have a Bon Jovi clip in this post. I feel ill. And embarrassed.
Anyway, I was inundated with messages. Honestly, I was surprised. I am probably the least photogenic person in the world, and I only used the one least-bad photo I had. At first, I responded to all of them because I accepted each as a compliment. After all, a woman took minutes from her life to send me a message, and I felt it proper to reply, even if there was zero attraction. I was naive. Once I replied, each took it as an opportunity to flood me with messages, Delete. Block. Holy shit....what the fuck had I gotten myself into?
Everything was a fucking cliche, including the photos. Every woman has a gym photo. The true psychos have the cross-fit photos. Then there's the obligatory gun-range photo. It's not unique anymore!!!! Duck lip photos. Horizontal peace-sign photos. Tongues out.
Then there was the all-too-common breast paradox. Women who "weren't looking for hook-ups," but were all too-willing to have their breasts hanging out in their photos (even the gym photos). During one brief exchange, I asked one woman what she thought her best character trait was. She replied, "My breasts."
It wasn't all bad. Some were cute and seemed interesting. Some were cute and seemed fun. Maybe this wasn't so bad. I even gave a few my number to text. That was naive mistake #2 (one woman sent me at least 10 naughty photos immediately after I gave her my number. Jesus Christ. Really? I blocked her number. It's better than a trip to the doctor, right?).
Then there was this doozy....we corresponded a bit on the site, and then we proceeded to text.
I took a pass, and I blocked her number also. She was cute, but I don't want to find any of my cats in a pot of boiling water.
Here's my favorite. She was gorgeous, and her profile read splendidly. We were hitting it off within the site's messaging service, and I passed along my number. She texted a few minutes later, busting my chops about selfies even after I had already explained why it was not part of my personality.
Go fuck yourself. You haven't earned the right to nag me yet. Too bad....you were pretty.
In the interest of brevity, I'm excluding a lot. This post has already taken so long, and I'm feeling anxious.
The dates......As of today, my username still exists, but my profile and photo don't. More on that at the end. I was on the site for exactly 40 days, and though I didn't chisel the Ten Commandments, I learned a lot about myself, people, and how being alone is spectacular until it's suddenly not.
Date #1
Two days in, I took the plunge. Her photos looked nice. She seemed quite bright. I told her that I had to see how some glue set on an antique couch I bought. I explained that I would be slobbing it, and she was okay with that. She even offered to buy beer, and meet me at my sister's (the couch was in her garage). Zero risk, high reward. She arrived five minutes after I did. Something was amiss. Her face favored her photos, but her body looked like it had gained 50 pounds since those photos were taken. I'm kind and courteous, and I wasn't going to throw her out for being deceitful, but my mind did immediately shift its thinking to, "How am I getting out of this quickly?"
We sat outside and talked for about 20 minutes. Well, she talked for about 20 minutes while I thought of a graceful exit. It never came, and I suddenly blurted, "I'm not feeling it. I'm sorry, but I need to go home." Thankfully, she was graceful.
Date #2
Undeterred from the disappointment of two days prior, I was scheduled to meet a really attractive woman for drinks. I liked her from the start. We laughed a lot. We talked a lot. We drank a lot. I had fun. The restaurant closed, and though neither of us wanted to drink more, we didn't want the date to end quite yet. We came back to my place (not for that!!!......just to hang out), and as soon as I opened the door, she darted to the bathroom to puke. That could happen to anyone, so I didn't think anything of it. I picked her up from the bathroom floor, and tucked her into my bed. Nothing more to write....she and I are still friends, and I think she is one of those "lifer" friends. Really cool woman, but there was no spark for me.
Date #3
This date was scheduled for 12:00 on a Saturday, but I had another date scheduled for 4:00 on a different side of town. The weather was perfect. I was excited because I knew she was really smart, and she looked pretty in her photos. Boom! Right on time. She looked exactly like her photos. We greeted each other with a hug and a peck on the cheek. I pulled her chair out for her to sit, and then I sat. Then she talked. The Hindenburg didn't crash as hard as I did that moment.
Her voice had two of the most annoying tones..... Northeast Coast smug blended poorly with Midwestern I-will-strangle-you-if-you-continue-to-talk. I couldn't consume the alcohol fast enough. She talked about obscure science-fiction movies and God knows what else. It has been a month, and I've tried to forget that date. It lasted way longer than it should have until I got a bright idea. When she excused herself from the table, I texted my sister to come up with an emergency for me via voice call in 15 minutes. 16 minutes later, I was walking her to her car. She said she hoped we could get together again, and I lied while reciprocating the sentiment. I didn't want to hurt her feelings. I think she knew the phone call from my sister was bullshit because she sent a text a few days later, laced with a less-than-cordial tone. I felt badly.
Date #4
I know I seem scummy for booking two dates on the same day. I kinda felt scummy, but if you can step back and look at it logically like I was, perhaps you'd understand. Imagine this: You're a baseball player with unlimited outs, and all you have to do is hit one home run to win every day for the rest of your life, Wouldn't the smart thing be to swing at as many pitches as possible?
I had an absolute blast on Date #4. It lasted 8 hours, so it was definitely the longest first date of my life. We laughed, talked, and watched football at the bar. For whatever reason, we failed to connect after that date. A few text exchanges later, we never spoke again.
Dates #5, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11
I didn't go out on a date for a week. I was swamped with work and consumed with its tension. While at my nephew's little league game, my sister and I were reading messages and browsing profiles. I received a brilliantly-written message, so we looked at the profile. Four kids!! Four fucking kids?? Four? We laughed hysterically. Then my sister said, "She's really pretty though." So I responded, and I'm glad I did.
She's an incredible person with a heart 20 times the size of mine. We had fun together, we had some great conversations, but in the end, she and I both knew I would never be able to deal with four kids.
Dates #6. 13
(I want this post finished so badly.....I'm tired of writing it, but I must finish!!)
I first went out with her on a whim. I was driving home from Date #5, and she asked if I wanted to meet for a drink. Why not? Unlimited outs.
I always got the feeling she and I would be friends, with no chance of anything else. I never felt a deep connection, but I liked her. We insulted each other, though we were always friendly. The more I was around her, the more I thought she would be the rudely-demanding type.
We were supposed to meet last Friday, but I really didn't want to go, mostly because I wanted to have drinks with my friend (it was a late invitation). I wasn't rude, but I wasn't charming. I didn't want to be a douche and cancel. I wanted to be a douche so she would cancel, and it worked.
Date #12
I have very little to write about her. She was sweet, but someone had just killed her dog. She was in my part of town, asked if I'd like to meet, so we met. There wasn't a connection, so neither of us has pursued since.
Date #14
She and I had been trying to meet since my second or third day on the site. Something always happened in her life to postpone the date, but it turns out, all the off-the-wall excuses were actually true.
We met at a sushi restaurant I used to frequent before I moved to Florida. She was a really cool woman, and were it not for #15, I would have seen her three days ago.
Date #15
I drank heavily on Friday. I didn't particularly want to, but when a 70-year old man keeps filling your glass with scotch, it would be rude not to drink it. So I did.
Early Saturday morning under sheets of rain, I made my way home. I was thankful to make it safely, and even more thankful for my bed. I couldn't know at the time that while I was passing out, someone perfect for me was composing a message.
We exchanged messages, and then we exchanged telephone numbers. We texted all night before I called her around midnight. We talked for almost three hours. It was perfect.
Our date the next day was scheduled whimsically, and it was also perfect. It lasted at least five hours.......it could not have gone better. She was thoughtful, smart, fun. She laughed a lot, She's a fellow Grammar Nazi. She seemed loving. I was enamored, but not delusional. I hope something comes of this, but probabilities suggest otherwise. However, blind dogs find bones, and a batter with unlimited outs will eventually hit a home run. Time will tell, but I keep hearing the voice in my head say, "If it's too good to be true, it probably is."
Update: I was right. She was too good to be true. On the Monday after our date, she wrote that she was not feeling well. Apparently it was a pretty severe illness. We exchanged some very forthcoming (all positive) texts until last Wednesday. Then she dropped off the planet. I don't know if she's dead, in the hospital, found a better guy, in jail, in rehab.....I have no clue. I don't understand. I've kept all the texts to affirm my sanity (which I am questioning), but here are a couple.
I'm so confused, but more disappointed than anything. Hope is a dangerous thing, and I let myself succumb. In the spirit of honesty, this encounter continues to screw with my brain, and it has further deteriorated by already quicksand-ish foundation of faith in people. This, too, shall pass.
Mostly because of #15, I deleted my profile, but I threw it on again late last week. My heart wasn't in it (I only did it out of spite), so I have since dropped it. I'm not prepared to go on 15 more dates to find someone as attractive in every aspect. Dating took up way too much time, and I want to get back to spending my free time doing the things I love. At least for now.
Besides tasting like shit, I won't eat tilapia because it's all farm-raised, and I don't trust what the farmers feed them. On the bright side, farm-raised tilapia is a fantastic metaphor for online dating. There's an endless supply, the cost is low, and it sucks.
One would think that if you met enough women, surely one would have long-term potential, but that's no different than betting your retirement on a black number simply because the roulette wheel has yielded 15 straight red numbers. The percentages for each spin are exactly the same as the previous million and the subsequent million. Oh....my profile name? Lawofaverages.....a euphemism for the gambler's fallacy. Back to art and furniture.
