Bachelor #56

When last we heard from The Overpriced Dating Service, they were dangling yet another wonderful-sounding but in all likelihood fictional character in front of me, in order to stop my incessant (though justified) whining about the last pitiful $114 specimen. Sadly, this fictional character was heading off on a fictional vacation, so my date with Mr. Wonderful-If-only-He-Were-Real would have to wait.

And wait I did. Then, at long last, the day of the big (but probably fictional) date arrived. As I often do on date days, I awoke thinking, "To shave my legs, or not to shave my legs?" On the one hand, if I consult my calendar, it would appear (at least to the uninitiated) that I do indeed have a date scheduled for this very evening, which would dictate leg shaving (though only to the knee, lest we not encourage any inappropriate behavior in the unlikely events that, first, my date should in fact turn out to be non-fictional, and second, that I should actually find him somewhat appealing. ) But on the other hand, given the history, I will probably be spending the evening eating popcorn for dinner in my yoga pants, in which case, shaving my legs would be an enormous waste of water. I have to think about the environment here, OK?

But of course, ever the optimist (read: FOOL) I shaved. Of course. But only to the knee. Then, at 10:30, the most amazing thing happened. The Overpriced Dating Service called to confirm my date. I thought, "But how is that possible, since we all know he's fictional?" But apparently all my skepticism was unfounded. I had been too quick to judge. The Overpriced Dating Service may be overpriced, but to suggest that they conjure up fictional men in order to shut up their whiny female clients is just too harsh. This is a legitimate business, providing a legitimate, albeit overpriced, service. I would be thanking them tomorrow and eating my words.

And then at 1:15, my phone rang again. Imagine my surprise when the coordinator informed me that one of my fictional date's fictional family members had been in some kind of fictional accident, and so he had to cancel. Now, ordinarily I am a kind, sympathetic human being, capable of all kinds of sympathetic thoughts when someone is struck by tragedy. However, when that someone is fictional and screwing with my social life, sympathy might be a little hard to summon up. But I think I pulled it off, and we rescheduled our fictional date for the following Monday.

So this morning I woke up and again wrestled with the leg-shaving decision, but decided to settle it based on wardrobe selection, and shaved for the dress, not the soon-to-be-cancelled date.

Once again, 10:00 rolled around and I got the confirmation phone call. She had spoken to him and all was a go. The restaurant where we had originally planned to meet was closed tonight, but we had moved to another and everything was under control. I had to wonder. Could I have misjudged the poor misunderstood overpriced dating service once again? Was Bachelor #56 real after all?

But then at 11:00, my phone rang once again. Yes, my fictional date HAD confirmed but a short hour ago, but now would like to know if I can reschedule for Wednesday. The new venue just isn't convenient.

Well, I was very sorry to hear that my fictional date found the venue inconvenient to his fictional life, but this was getting out of control. I am not available on Wednesday. And even if I were, I have been put off by this fictional asshat one time too many. I told the coordinator in no uncertain terms that after making me wait 3 weeks while he was on vacation and then another week due to some fictional fictional accident (OK, maybe I left out my fiction theory on the phone call, but you know they're going to hear about it one of these days...) it was his turn for a little non-fictional inconvenience. It was tonight or never.

Can you guess how this turns out?

Not so fast. She called back a few minutes later to say that his issue was that his fictional car was in the fictional shop, so the new restaurant choice posed a bit of a challenge, but he's agreed to take the subway. The date was on. Gee, how chivalrous. How self-sacrificing. Maybe I should bring him a medal.

And then, of course, at 3:45, you will be shocked to learn that I got the call to say he just couldn't make it. It was just too gosh darned inconvenient. Now, my first instinct (after the one about the bridge) is to assume that I've been right all along. There never was a Bachelor #56. The vacation, the accident and the car in the shop were all elements of a carefully crafted work of fiction designed to make me believe they're doing everything in their power to find me a match. And prepare me for the next consolation date with a short, boring, middle-aged troll. But on the other hand, the coordinator sounded almost as annoyed as I was, and she told me she had quite the conversation with him about committing to the process, learning how to treat a woman (a clue: NOT LIKE THIS) etc.

I guess in the end I'll never know. But in the end I didn't have popcorn for dinner either. My lovely friend C picked me up in her convertible and treated me to a delightful dinner. With LOTS of wine. And as far as I could tell, no fiction.

Next.

Confessions of a delinquent blogger

There are inherent challenges in writing a blog on which you mock your bad dates. First, there’s the challenge you hope against hope for: a good date. One that leads to a second. And so on, and so on. What’s funny about that? Of course, even a good guy and a good relationship are not above mockery. After all, we can always find things to mock about our friends and family members. At least I can. So, should such an unlikely event occur, the blog would be forced to morph, but it could go on.

But what to do when you have no dates at all? What if you find yourself surrounded by happy couples announcing engagements and flaunting their affection, and, rather than finding humour in your ongoing solo status, you’re contemplating the nearest bridge? What if you’ve been convinced that online dating absolutely doesn’t work, your friends have exhausted their supplies of fix-up material, the dating service you’ve invested in can only produce one boring, horribly mismatched date every two months, and random meetings almost never happen, and when they do, you suddenly see the advantage in dating methods that allow for basic pre-screening? What to blog about then?

That is my excuse for my prolonged absence. And what a sorry excuse it is. But the truth is, I just haven’t come up with anything funny to write. So I apologize to whoever is left out there to read this. I have been a bad blogger indeed.

But things are looking up, if not in life, then at least in blog fodder. The overpriced dating service finally materialized again, so we have another $114 dating story to look forward to tomorrow. And I am giving the hideous world of online dating another chance, if for no other reason than the fact that having no dates at all is even more depressing than a series of bad ones. I'm also exploring some activity-based ideas in which, potentially, there may be the chance to meet a prospect or two.

So if I haven’t lost you yet, stay tuned. And thanks.

Bachelor #55

I never believed it could really happen. It sounds too good to be true. It’s the single girl’s impossible dream: the Starbucks encounter. Yes, a couple of days ago, I was walking by Starbucks – I wasn’t even going IN – and out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a handsome stranger sitting alone on the patio, looking straight at me. Our eyes met. Amazingly, I fought my natural counter-productive instinct to quickly look away, and instead, I did the unthinkable. I smiled. He smiled back.

Still, I am the world’s biggest wimp, so I kept walking. I was on my way to run a quick errand. I knew I’d be walking back in this direction in a few minutes, so I had time to come up with a plan. I decided if he was still there, I was going to boldly go where pretty much everyone but me probably goes all the time (which might offer a bit of an explanation about my dating history): I was going to say hello.

And I did. And just like that, I met a handsome stranger at Starbucks. We chatted for a couple of minutes about, well, Starbucks, and then he gave me his card. So there you have it folks, it actually CAN happen.

Of course, at this point, I knew essentially nothing about Bachelor #55 except that he’s a consultant, he has great dimples and he drinks Americano. For example, I had no idea that he was also a raging anti-Semite.

Here’s how I found out. I sent a cheeky email. Flirty banter ensued. We agreed to meet for a drink. We got to chatting, and he mentioned that he spends a fair amount of time at a very hoity-toity private club. The kind of place where the men wear blue blazers and the women are all named Muffy. As is my way, I made a joke about how if I ever went there with him I’d have to lie about my very Jewish-sounding last name. From the look on his face and the change in his demeanor, you would have thought I had pushed back my hair to reveal a pair of shiny silver horns.

Naturally, I called him on it. And just as you’d suspect, he told me I was crazy. What was I talking about? He loves Jewish people! He’d never go to a doctor or an accountant that wasn’t Jewish! He was just surprised because “usually, you can tell."

Next.

Confessions of a dating narcissist

Lately I’ve been wondering if my approach to dating isn’t just a little too narcissistic. Case in point: I have, as I have documented here on many occasions, a distinct preference for the dark-haired man. I also tend to be most attracted to those who are articulate, professionally employed, fit, funny, divorced with kids, and maybe just a little neurotic. In a nutshell? The male version of me.

As Carrie Bradshaw would say, I can’t help but wonder, is this a perfectly natural inclination, some Darwinian predisposition that can’t be helped, or is it an indication that perhaps I’m a smidge more neurotic than I think, and maybe I’m bypassing all kinds of perfectly wonderful men, just because they don’t match the picture in my head, or the one in my mirror?

For example, how many men have I dismissed as soon as I see a grammatical error in their online profiles? Answer: A LOT. But is it really fair to judge everyone on my own areas of strength? Maybe he’s not so confident when wielding an apostrophe, but he’s masterful with a calculator in hand. How many men do I completely fail to notice just because they’re blonde? Why am I instantly bored by perfectly kind but not-very-funny guys? Why do I assume I’m best off with a divorced dad when there are countless examples of single, childless men happily coupled with single moms?

And today, I’m working from home (I use the term “working” loosely), and there’s a very sexy construction worker toiling away outside my house. I’ve been enjoying both the mild flirtation and the view, but is he someone I’d consider dating? Am I a dating snob? Who am I to say he couldn’t be a highly intelligent person, just because he’s not a white collar professional?

Maybe, just maybe, George Kastanza was onto something when he came up with the notion of going against his instincts, if not in all areas of life, at least when it comes to dating. Maybe there’s something to be said for dating against type. Lord knows my current strategy has not exactly panned out. So far the dark-haired, funny divorced dads with impeccable grammar haven’t been quite the dream-come-true I have always dreamed them to be.

Maybe I’ll go outside and see how that construction is coming along.

Bachelor #54

What’s the cardinal rule in dating, the one thing that ever savvy dater knows is an absolute no-no on a first date? DON'T TALK ABOUT YOUR EX.

There are others, of course: Don’t talk about your physical ailments (particularly the digestive and foot-related ones); don’t disclose your mental health history, criminal record or recent stint in rehab; don’t mention that you live with your mother; and please, for the love of all that’s good in the world, don’t whip out a vibrator at the table.

But most of all, by this point in our lives and dating careers, we should all know better than to talk about our ex-boyfriends/girlfriends/husbands/wives/fiancé(e)s, right? Well, not bachelor #54. Bachelor #54 thinks his fiancée, with whom he broke up OVER A YEAR AGO is a fascinating topic of conversation for a first date.

Here are details about Bachelor #54’s ex-fiancee that I was fully content not knowing:

- The street she lived on, and its proximity to the street he lived on
- How natural it all was at first, blending their families
- The issues he had with her children
- The issues she had with his children
- The issues his children had with her children
- The issues her children had with his children
- Are you getting the idea here?
- Does this sound like appropriate first-date conversation to you?
- And my personal favorite: He told me the delightful story of how they had met a couple years before while they were both married, and then the lovely coincidence of how they met again when they were both divorced. Isn’t that charming?

I thought about sharing lovely romantic stories about my past loves, but then I realized a) two wrongs don't make a right, and more importantly b) that would prolong the agony that was this date. And no one wanted THAT. Well, at least I didn't.

Bachelor #54, spurred on by the obvious romance in the air (alas, not with me) tried to kiss me. I guess he mistook the glossing over of my eyes for sparkle?

Next.

Bachelor #53

Can we talk about personal grooming habits for a moment? As a woman, and a single woman at that, I put what some might call a disproportionate amount of time, money and effort into personal grooming. I don’t walk around with crack whore toenails. I maintain a uniform hair colour. I contribute generously to the bottom line of many cosmetic and skin care companies. And last but far from least, I am fastidious about hair removal.

Say what you want, but I remain convinced that men have it quite a bit easier. A little gray showing through? No problem, you look distinguished. The vast majority of non- homo- or metro-sexual men have never experienced a manicure or pedicure. Forgot to shave? Scruffy is sexy. Sure, there are men who torture themselves with back waxes and those who feel the need to manscape (which I personally think is overly vain, not very masculine and generally a little suspect, but that’s a whole other issue…). But at the end of the day, all most women really ask for (in this department) is a man who showers regularly, smells nice, and, call me crazy and demanding, but it would also be nice if he could manage to keep his nose hairs from protruding nearly to his lips.

Yes folks, Bachelor #53, who I met online a few months ago but recently reconnected with by email, showed up for our date looking like a walrus. I’m not talking about one or two stray hairs here. I’m talking about a thick, extensive protrusion from each nostril. Honestly, I could barely even look at him.

Now here’s the thing: you’re on a date. You’re not meeting your buddies for drinks (although I’m sure they too would be appalled and far less polite about it than I was.) You’re not running errands or meeting your mother. You’re on a DATE! Did you not look in the mirror before you left the house? Do you need glasses? Are you so convinced that women will like you for your charm that you don’t see the need to bother with mundane details like personal hygiene?

In case you’re wondering if I’m being quick to judge (What, me judge?) and if he was otherwise a decent prospect, since protruding nose hair is a curable ailment, let’s just say I wasn’t exactly overwhelmed with his sparkling personality either. I suppose if I had actually liked him I could have suggested we go to Walmart on our next date and subtly direct him to the personal appliance department. But with a straight face? Not a chance.

Next.

She who hesitates

Here’s my burning question du jour: to hope (online) or not to hope? When one is bored enough to subject oneself to the torture that is online dating, and one is engaged in email conversation with a rare prospect who hasn’t frightened you with shirtless photos, incorrect apostrophe use or sexual innuendo, do you remain flirty but cool and detached at all times, or do you allow yourself to engage in blatant optimism, exposing the ultimate hope we all conceal beneath that cucumber-cool facade?

The reason I ask is, of course, because I find myself in the midst of an email exchange about which I am utterly torn. In writing, he is charming, articulate and chivalrous. He is generous with compliments and overt in his optimism that the stars may have finally aligned and I could be “the one.” Shouldn’t I be enjoying this virtual wooing? Shouldn’t I be flattered by the kind words? Shouldn’t I allow myself to get caught up in the crazy possibility that maybe, just maybe, he’s right? Why am I so much more comfortable with a quick “Hi, liked your profile” when at the heart of the matter, romance is what I crave? Here it is on a silver platter, and I find myself squeamish and slow to respond.

Of course, my skepticism is not without justification. If I’ve learned anything about online dating – and Lord knows I’ve had ample opportunity to – it’s that no matter how great someone seems in words and pictures, you can’t know if you like them until you meet in the flesh. But the question is, does a little pre-date cyber-romance improve the chances that it won’t be just another painful hour that can’t end fast enough? Or does it only serve to make the inevitable disappointment that much more bitter?

My instinct is to nip this nonsense in the bud. Let’s just stop this silly optimism and cut to the awkward meeting. But am I sabotaging my own chances? Am I doing myself a disservice by refusing to dream? Should I learn to stop shutting up and play along?

Anyone out there care to de-lurk and inject some wisdom into this conundrum?

Bachelor #52

Happily, while I wait for my next $114 date, while I learn to accept that Bachelor #49 will never call, and while I hide from the lying, hideous men of the Internet, I have good friends who are always on the lookout for dating prospects for me. Naturally, I was thrilled when my friend S called to say her charming husband has a divorced colleague I might be interested in. Might be?? He’s a 48-year old lawyer with 3 teenage kids. She hasn’t actually seen him, but her husband swears he’s good looking. I’m not so sure I trust the male opinion on their own kind, but, with the usual channels on hold, one cannot be too picky.

Email addresses were provided. Plans were made. Pre-date primping was thorough. First impressions were positive. Greetings and pleasantries were exchanged.

And then the interrogation began. It went something like this:

Date Who Thought He Was Conducting a Job Interview: So, what are your hobbies/interests?

Me, Not Yet Realizing I Was Being Interviewed: Well, I just bought a really cute lime green bike. And I’ve taken up gardening. Oh, and do shopping and drinking count as hobbies?

Humourless Date Who Thought He Was Conducting a Job Interview: Hrrumph. I enjoy biking as well. Perhaps we could ride some time. So tell me, where do you want to be in 5 years?

Me, Starting To Catch On, Almost Spitting Out My Drink: Seriously?

Date Who Thought He Was Conducting a Job Interview: Absolutely.

Me, Trying To Come Up With Some Impressive 5-Year Goals Since It Didn’t Occur To Me That I Had To Think Some Up As Part Of Date Prep: Well, I’d like to do some traveling. And I’m hoping to write something. (Inside voice: besides a blog about my bad dates that is, Bachelor #52). And what about you? (Knowing full well he had a canned answer but desperate to make him answer a question before he asks another)

Date Who Thought He Was Conducting a Job Interview: Oh, well, I’m hoping to be happily re-married in 5 years. What I’m doing isn’t as important as who I do it with.

Me, Too Dumbfounded By Bullshit To Think Straight: Right. Of course. I meant that too.

Date Who Thought He Was Conducting a Job Interview: What are you looking for in a relationship?

Me (out loud): Someone I want to go out on a second date with would be just awesome. (In my head: What I’m looking for in THIS relationship is an excuse to get OUT.)

Humourless Date Who Thought He Was Conducting a Job Interview: Hrrumph. Really, you must be looking for more than that?

Me (out loud): Well, if the thought of seeing him naked doesn’t make me throw up, that’s a pretty big bonus too.

Humourless Date Who Thought He Was Conducting a Job Interview: Well, I think intellectual compatibility is the most important thing. Where did you go to school?

Me, Wishing I’d Brought A Resume Along: Would you look at the time.

Date Who Thought He Was Conducting a Job Interview: Don’t be silly. It’s early. I still have a lot of questions I’d like to ask you. Tell me, what three things do you miss most about being in a relationship?

Me, Near Desperation: Gee, you know, there are so many. But I have an early morning. Waiter?

Next.

The Good, The Bad and The Ugly

Let's start with the good, shall we?

Guess what? The Overpriced Dating Service has, at long last, emerged once again from the depths of uselessness to present their next $114 specimen. So here’s what makes me bonkers about the Overpriced Dating Service’s M-O. They set me up with some boring, pre-maturely middle-aged dweeb. I complain. A lot. They call with the next prospect, who sounds positively too good to be true. Handsome, successful, fit, charismatic. You know the drill. So I wait for them to call me back with a confirmed date. And I wait. And I wait. And then, every time, it turns out he IS too good to be true. In fact, I’m fairly certain they make these guys up for just this purpose. So it turns out, every time, that even though he’s DYING to meet me, he’s just too gosh darned busy right now and decided to put his membership – for which he paid gobs of money for the express purpose of meeting women -- on hold. Indefinitely. So… I am impatient. I call. A lot. So, in a desperate attempt to shut me the hell up, they send me out on another date. With a boring, pre-maturely middle-aged dweeb. And then the cycle continues…

But amazingly, this time when they called to tell me about the next Mr. Too Good To Be True, they were actually able to schedule a date. Naturally he’s away for a couple of weeks so the date is 2 ½ weeks out, but it is an actual confirmed date, which leads me to believe he may be an actual real person. Of course, the jury will remain out until I meet him, but at least there is reason to believe he is neither a consolation-prize nor a fictional character. Which is a vast improvement for the Overpriced Dating Service. So keep your fingers crossed on that one.

And now for the bad. Remember Bachelor #49? Well, it has now been a week since he managed to pull himself away from his busy schedule long enough to send me an email, and not a word. I have officially given up AGAIN. Only I mean it this time. Really. I’m quite certain he’s disappeared for good, and even if he hasn’t, why would I want to waste my time with someone who’s too busy to shower me with the constant attention I so richly deserve, or at least that I so desperately want and truthfully can’t function without? Obviously, he is not the guy for me.

Which brings us to .... Now, I don’t want to be mean, but sometimes you just have to call a spade a spade. I’ve been doing the hideous online dating thing AGAIN, thank you Bachelor #49 for THAT. A guy wrote to me and had one very hot picture posted. His profile was very well written and very romantic. He was 52 -- a little older than I’d like, but if he looked as good as he did in that picture, I could get used to 52. So I wrote back. Only, I didn’t realize until AFTER I’d written back that he actually had 3 other pictures posted … all of which looked NOTHING like the hot one. In fact, he looked more like 62 than 52. And not a good 62 at all. I think it’s safe to say that first picture was taken decades ago. Of someone else. I don’t think so, grandpa.

Next.

Bachelor #51

I shouldn't even count this one, since we didn't make it as far as an actual date. Which, in hindsight, is a REALLY good thing.

Bachelor #51 is nice looking: clean cut, professional, reasonably attractive. His profile wasn't exactly oozing with personality, but he did say something about lacking patience for bad grammar, which always earns points with me.

So he gave me his phone number. And once again, I was reminded of precisely why I am so reluctant to do the phone call thing. Bachelor #51's idea of fun, flirty conversation topics likely to endear him to me enough to want to meet him include:

- Building a deck, including a detailed step-by-step overview
- His son's gastrointestinal problems
- His son's academic challenges, resulting directly from his gastrointestinal problems
- The weather
- His plans for the weekend, which include working on his deck, of course, and finishing his overdue taxes

I think I may have nodded off there for a few minutes. Gee, I hope I didn't miss anything interesting.

Next.

Bachelor #50

With such an auspicious number approaching, you'd think I'd make some effort to make sure #50 is a good one. Ah, hindsight...

Instead, I decided that, while I wait for Bachelor #49 to make time in his oh-so-busy schedule for our second date, I need to be my usual proactive self and get me some dates, damn it.

Bachelor #50 sounded respectable enough on paper: 44, 6"2, a 9-year-old daughter, works in the travel industry (read: free trips!) and his picture was surprisingly good. Good enough for a while-I-wait date.

When I walked into the restaurant, I saw a man I was pretty sure was him, sitting alone at a table in the corner. I thought, not bad for a filler date. He was nice looking, and nothing about his wardrobe screamed of another decade. I was actually feeling rather hopeful.

I joined him at the table, ordered a drink, and things weren't going badly at all. No awkward silences, no jokes left dangling. It's all sounding too good to be true, right?

Right.

Then I made the fatal mistake of asking how long he's been separated/divorced. The correct answer to this very simple question can be just about any number, but the correct unit of measurement is YEARS. Not months, and certainly not WEEKS. Bachelor #50's answer? "About 15 weeks now."

I was tempted to get up and leave on the spot. I have been doing this way too long to be someone's rebound girl. But I stuck around, and it's a good thing, because it only got better. He went on to tell me how very much fun he's having with this online dating thing. You meet SO MANY women this way! He's got dates lined up every night of the week! He's having the time of his life!

You see, after being in a bad marriage, it's just so great to know that women still find him attractive. Now, I can certainly understand feeling that way. Hell, I was in the same place when my marriage ended ELEVEN YEARS AGO (minus the online thing -- somehow men just fell from the sky back then. But that's not really the point here.) Now, however, I am not in that place. Not even close. I am not excited about the notion of dating a different man every night of the week. I consider that the worst case scenario, not a dream come true. And I certainly have no interest in going out with a man who's unapologetically dating for sport.

Bachelor #50 was puzzled by my reaction to all of this. He was just being honest, after all. Why couldn't I just be his Monday night girl?

Next.