Bachelor #67

I knew there was a reason I’m swearing off blind dates. In fact, there are about 42,000 reasons, but here’s another: Bachelor #67.

Bachelor #67 was the last in a long, long string of Internet dates I have subjected myself to for deep-rooted masochistic reasons that would take years of therapy to ever fully understand. Seriously people, why do we do these things to ourselves? Why would anyone voluntarily agree to sit in a bar and attempt to make small talk with a total stranger with whom you have next to nothing in common, with only the most remote possibility of any reward for your suffering? Yeah yeah, I know, it’s a numbers game, you can’t win if you don’t play, blah blah blah. I am not fooled. No sir. Not this girl. Not anymore.

One thing I can say for Bachelor #67 is, unlike many of his predecessors, he didn’t lie about his height. He said he was 6”6. At 6”6, there is no need to lie about your height.

Unfortunately, the same cannot be said about his age. In his profile, Bachelor #67 said he was 48. 48 is older than anyone with whom I’ve ever had a serious relationship, but it’s not outside my target zone. I’m pretty OK with anything that starts with a 4. I’ve tried to venture beyond the 40s but it always feel like I’m on a date with my uncle. Turns out, Bachelor #67 isn’t 48. He’s 52. He lied because he’s worried that women don’t search for anyone over 50. When I tried to explain that, JUST MAYBE, that’s because those women actually WANT to meet someone under 50, he thought I was agreeing with him. I wasn’t. Not only did I find myself inadvertently duped into going out with a 52-year-old, I also found myself inadvertently duped into going out with a liar. Call me crazy, but I don’t find liars as appealing as you might think.

You see, at 40, I could certainly worry about being left out of searches by men who cap their age range at 39. But then I would have to explain that not only am I actually 40, but I am a 40-year-old liar. Either that, or I’d have to relive the trauma of my 40th birthday, and I have serious doubts about my liver’s ability to make it through that again.

Of course, none of this is an issue since I am not currently a member on any online dating sites. Ha!

Anyway, back to Bachelor #67, the very tall, 52-year-old liar. In fairness, I wouldn’t say Bachelor #67 is unattractive. In fact, I think some people would find him quite attractive. For example, if you find Ken dolls attractive, you might find Bachelor #67 attractive. He had a certain undeniable plastic quality about him. Not that there’s anything wrong with looking like you’re made of plastic.

But I am a bigger person than all of this. I could forgive plastic facial features, compulsive lying and advanced age, if you make up for it all with a disarming personality and biting sense of humour. If, on the other hand, short bursts of dull conversation are punctuated by too many awkward silences to count, and the only person there who made me laugh was the waitress, I am not so forgiving after all.

But then, I’m just not into blind dates.

Next. (Or maybe not.)

Bachelors #61, 62 and 63

So many men, so little time to blog about them!

Sometimes it seems there is such a dearth of men, the universe may never yield another date. Other times my dance card is so full I can barely squeeze in another. I am delighted to report that my cup is currently running over with men, and some of them would appear to possibly even be reasonable prospects. Go figure.

Unfortunately, however, sometimes there are things one just cannot share with the internet. No, silly, get your head out of the gutter. The issue at hand is Bachelor #61. He is the brother of my very lovely friend C. And so, by nature, he is not bloggable. Having said that, I think it is perfectly reasonable to share the story of the mind-bogglingly-awkward way in which we were introduced. (Thanks C.!)

Bachelor #61 has a sailboat. C set out to suggest that her brother invite us out for a boat ride. That was all well and good, and potentially ever-so-slightly less awkward than your run-of-the-mill blind date. But that was before C's sister AND HER MOTHER got invited as well. Yes folks, I went on a blind date WITH HIS ENTIRE FAMILY along for the ride. And of course, they all knew why I was there, crashing what had somehow morphed into a floating family dinner. All I can say is THANK GOD FOR WINE.

Amazingly enough, both Bachelor #61 and I survived the excursion and have agreed to go out again. I'm thinking maybe just the two of us this time.

And then there's Bachelor #62. Bachelor #62 is the latest offering from the Overpriced Dating Service. Now, if you'll recall, we are not too confident in the Overpriced Dating Service's abilities. And so this time I asked A LOT of questions. For example, I'm pretty sure I asked the question "IS HE ATTRACTIVE?" about 40 or 50 times. The first time, their answer was, "He has kind eyes." Are you convinced? Yeah, me neither. But after I asked the question another few dozen times, and insisted that they give me a better reason to think I might like him than the fact that he enjoys movies and wine tasting, as, by the way, does every single man they've recommended, they swore up and down that he is appealing in many ways, well suited to me, and yes, he's attractive. So I agreed to meet him.

They described Bachelor #62 as 5"10 with BROWN HAIR and blue eyes. Kind blue eyes, that is. Now, you'll recall I asked for confirmation about his looks REPEATEDLY. And so, you can imagine my surprise when a COMPLETELY BALD man sat down at my table. Now, in fairness, Bachelor #62 is actually a reasonable prospect. He's smart, interesting, charming, successful, active, and the kind of guy who doesn't play games and would certainly know how to treat a woman. And he's not actually UNattractive. Had I not been expecting a man with brown hair, I might not have been so immediately taken aback. Yet another ridiculous misrepresentation by the Overpriced Dating Service. Did they think I wouldn't notice? Still, while I'm not wildly attracted to bald men, in the end I had a nice time with him and in the interest of doing the smart thing -- you know, just for something new and different -- I'm going to go out with Bachelor #62 again.

And speaking of wildly attractive, then there's Bachelor #63. Bachelor #63 wrote to me online. We emailed a few times, and made plans to get together. When he cancelled our date at the last minute, I was a little annoyed and tempted to write him off. But his emails were funny, his stats were good (45, 5"11, fit, successful, divorced, successful, lives nearby) and oh by the way, he's HOT. And he even has hair. So when he texted again and asked to reschedule, I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and ignore my instincts that were telling me this one has NO IDEA how to treat a woman.

We met for a late drink. He suggested a very upscale restaurant. Everyone there knew his name. We drank. We laughed. We talked. He showed off. There was flirting. It was fun. He is trouble. So naturally, I like him.

So there you have it. The plan at the moment -- astonishingly -- is to go out with all three of them again, as well as a few more on the agenda (though how I plan to fit all this into my schedule remains a bit of a mystery) and hope that, as is usually the case, the choice becomes easy. Of course, the most likely possibility seems to be that I will be distracted by the fun, sexy unreliable one and therefore lose interest in the nicer ones, only to find I've wasted even more of my relative and rapidly disappearing youth on yet another Mr. Wrong. But acknowledging that you have a problem is the first step towards recovery, right?

Here's hoping. But I make no promises.

Stay tuned.

Bachelor #59

Bachelor #59 was one of the most obvious forms of online dating hazards: The Good Writer With No Discernible Personality In Person. Yes, in writing Bachelor #59 was positively oozing with personality. He was confident. He was funny. He made a distinct point of demonstrating his commendable command of the apostrophe, which is no easy feat for the average online dater. He came across as smart, interesting and engaging. He was SO charming I was willing to give him a shot even though he was 53.

Then he showed up with a big blob of mustard on his shirt. And wet shorts.

Now, in the hands of a man with a sense of humour and a personality, that could have been a fantastic ice breaker and the beginning of a very amusing conversation. In the hands of a man with the personality of soap scum, it was nothing more than pitiful and embarassing to be seen with.

Ordinarily, even on a bad first date, I do my due diligence and ask the basic questions: occupation, age of children, length since divorce, etc. With Bachelor #59, none of these questions even crossed my mind. There were only 2 things I wanted to know:

- How can you seem so interesting in writing and be so painfully bland in person?
- Is 11 minutes too soon to get out of here?

And another thing: it's time to stop all this "I look young for my age" nonsense once and for all. If you're 53 and you have gray hair and jowls, you don't look "young for your age." You might look young for your grandfather's age, but for your age, you look bang on. I don't care what your mother told you.

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?

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 #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.

Bachelor #48

When an online dating prospect suggests plunging right into the face-to-face meeting, I’m always greatly relieved. No awkward phone call this time! But I’m starting the re-think that strategy. Bachelor #48, for example, could have EASILY been screened out at the phone call phase.

After a very brief “I-liked-your-profile” “thanks-I-liked-yours-too” email exchange, we booked a time for a quick drink. He suggested we meet at the bar at a nice restaurant downtown. He mentioned that he lives in a condo downtown. He works downtown. Can you see why I was getting a very clear “downtown guy” vibe? So imagine my surprise when I walk in and find him sitting there in a plaid shirt. And imagine my further surprise when he opened his mouth, only to find that every sentence he utters is punctuated with the charming phrase “and what-not, eh?” Here are some examples:

- I pretty much only drink beer, except when me and my buddies go out for drinks and what-not, eh?

- The thing I miss now that I live in a condo is not having a yard. I used to really like going out and cutting the grass and what-not, eh?

- You know, I’d be out cutting the grass and the neighbors would stop and say hello and stop for a beer and what-not, eh?

- I’ve always lived in a small town until I moved here a few months ago. I really like the small town life better but I like being able to walk outside and there’s all these places to go for a beer and what-not, eh?

Luckily, after about half an hour, he said:

- I don’t like the email back and forth much. I’d rather meet face-to-face and see if we like each other and what-not, eh? Then you know if you want to go out a second time. What do you think? Do you want to go out again?

And so, seasoned dater that I am, I responded:

- Well, you seem like a really nice guy and what-not, but I just don’t think it’s a match for me.

OK, I didn’t really say “and what-not” but I did get out of there in less than 40 minutes. That may be a personal record. I’m getting better at this.

Next and what-not, eh?

Bachelor #44

Online dating sucks. I know this. And yet, for lack of random encounters with handsome strangers, I just keep banging my weary head against the same old wall.

Bachelor #44 sounded just dandy. 45, nice enough looking, no major grammatical errors in his profile, and he swore up and down that he's 6"1! Hallelujah! We talked on the phone and he was charming, funny, interesting, yadda yadda yadda. When he said he feels that coffee dates are a train wreck, and he'd like to take me to dinner, the oddest thing happened: magically, all previous experiences of being trapped in restaurants for hours on end with horrid men vanished from memory. I have no explanation. I know better. Blind dates must allow for an easy exit. And yet, there I was, happily agreeing to dinner. So I deserve whatever fate awaited me, right?

Well, as it turns out, I understand perfectly why he doesn't like coffee dates: not enough calories. I swear, I am not exaggerating AT ALL when I tell you the man weighed EASILY 350 pounds, quite possibly more. He was a mountain. He was, without question, 150 pounds heavier than in his photos. In fact, in one of them he was engaged in actual physical activity, obviously not something he's done in the last couple of years.

I know this is typically the male online dater's domain: nearly every man I've met online has a horror story of the girl who posted a picture taken 50 pounds ago. Up until now, I thought men were more interested in lying about their height than their weight. But isn't it nice to know that sometimes men and women are from the same big, fat, dishonest planet after all?

The one saving grace was that he picked a small, out of the way restaurant (with generous portions) so I didn't have to worry about being seen by anyone I knew. I did, however, have to sit through an entire dinner, because I just couldn't think of a polite way to say, "You know it's funny, but you didn't say anything in your profile about being morbidly obese." Or "I wonder why I couldn't see all your chins in any of your photos."

Fate's a bitch.

Next.

Miscellaneous Online Bachelors, Part Two

I swear, I really am going to abandon the whole online dating thing. Any minute now. Just as soon as someone tells me where else on earth one can find an ongoing stream of dates.

In the meantime, however, I think I may be too jaded on the topic to get any actual dates out of the deal. Witness the following online conversations:

Miscellaneous Online Bachelor A (who, for the record, contacted me, lest you think from the following that perhaps it might have been the other way 'round): So, I should probably tell you, I met a woman about 5-6 weeks ago, and we've been on 3 dates. I kind of like her but it's going awfully slowly. And I had another date with another woman who I think I'll see again. Just thought you should know.

Me: Well, don't let me complicate your life any further.

Miscellaneous Online Bachelor B: Do you want to meet for a drink this weekend?
Me: Sure, that sounds good.
Miscellaneous Online Bachelor B: Well, the thing is, my car's in the shop this weekend. So can you swing by and pick me up?
Me: Well, see, the thing is, yeah, no.

Miscellaneous Online Bachelor C: You're yummy.
Me:
Miscellaneous Online Bachelor C: You there?
Me:
Miscellaneous Online Bachelor C: Hey sexy, where'd you go?
Me:

Miscellaneous Online Bachelor D: Would you like to get together for coffee?
Me: To tell you the truth, I've never had a successful coffee date. How about a drink instead?
Miscellaneous Online Bachelor D: I don't drink. How about we meet for soup?
Me: Oh, of course. A soup date. Why didn't I think of that.

Miscellaneous Online Bachelor E (EVERY SINGLE TIME I LOG ON): So, how are you on this _____ (insert daily weather report here) evening/morning?
Me:

See what I mean? There has to be a better way. Please, someone, anyone, tell me there is a better way.

A Theory

I have a lot of theories. Some make sense, even to people outside of my head. Others, well, my friend D often suggests that I could hurt myself jumping to the conclusions I do.

But this isn't my theory. Credit goes to my friend C, who is the lone straight male voice in my chorus of sometimes loud, always opinionated and quite often inebriated girlfriends. C has the great pleasure of listening to all my tales from the dating dark side, and provides the much-appreciated though rarely-anticipated male perspective.

Here's what C thinks: the reason I'm not succeeding with online dating is that I am a hopeless romantic, and online dating is decidedly not. Romantic, that is. Hopeless? Oh yeah. What he means is, when you meet someone through a dating site, the whole thing is completely contrived, and far too closely resembles a job interview. Where's the romance in that?

I think C is onto something. Here's some evidence that I am, in fact, a hopeless romantic:

- I'm a girl. Really, 'nuff said, but there's more.
- I have been known to write poetry to my beloved (when I had one.) I really did. Please don't click away immediately. It was his idea, I swear.
- I do things like print pictures of us (when there's an "us") in black and white and frame them artistically over my bed. Which is a bitch when you break up, so don't get any ideas.
- When I have a new boyfriend I make everyone around me want to hurl with my incessant gushing, 12-year-old style
- I am 40 and still holding out for true love. That should do it right there.

So can a hopeless romantic meet her true love online? A true hopeless romantic never says never, but it is doubtful. I need a good old fashioned chance meeting. Luckily it's spring, so I'm feeling good about my chances.

If anyone's looking for me, I'll be roaming the streets in pretty outfits, deliberately inadvertently bumping into handsome strangers.

Bachelor #41

I hate Internet dating. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it.

There, I feel better now.

Wanna know why I hate it? Let me tell you about Bachelor #41. Bachelor #41 is tall, fit, dark haired, hard to tell for sure from the pictures but might be decent looking, etc. etc. You know the drill. So he wrote to me. Note, I said HE wrote to ME. I responded, we exchanged the usual email pleasantries, then he gave me his number.

So I called, and we chatted for about half an hour. I wasn't exactly booking the wedding, but I thought the conversation went fairly well. We found a few things in common, no awkward silences, a few laughs. Then he suggested we make plans to get together. Note, again, HE suggested it, not me. We had a few challenges aligning our schedules, but after a little back-and-forth, we settled on drinks after work on Tuesday night. This all seems fairly normal, right? Typical even?

So explain this: why did he email me an hour after we got off the phone and tell me he changed his mind and decided to cancel our date?

Now don't get me wrong, I'm not losing a whole lot of sleep over this guy. I wasn't even sure if I found him attractive. HE wrote to ME, remember? HE suggested getting together. I just don't get it. I've gone over it in my head and I remain convinced that I was utterly charming, as always, and said nothing I can think of that would likely send a man running for cover.

Which leaves me perplexed. And dateless. And hating Internet dating. A lot.

Next.

Bachelor #40

Bachelor #40 was a handsome Greek with dark curly hair and striking green eyes. Yes, I've already visited Greece on my One Woman Tour of the Men of the World, but that is no reason to discriminate.

In our email exchanges, he told me he hadn't been on a date in a while and was a little nervous. Well, lucky for Bachelor #40, he was in the hands of a seasoned professional. I could handle "a little nervous." Leave it to me.

We met at a nearby pub. His first words when we met: "I'm a little nervous." Yeah, I got that.

Actually, "a little nervous" did not quite cover it. I tried to make the usual first date small talk, while he looked down into his lap, where his hands were frantically swirling and twirling like a guilty four-year-old's. Every once in a while, he'd force himself to look up at me and say, before quickly averting his gaze again "I'm sorry. You're very pretty. I'm just a little nervous."

No, sweetheart, you are A LOT nervous. You are a whole crazy mammoth bunch of nervous. You are nervous on steroids. You need to go home and hide under the covers for a few more years before you're ready to come out and walk amongst the humans.

Next.

Bachelor #37

Everyone always tells me to be open-minded. Expand my horizons. So when Bachelor #37 wrote to me, I decided not to immediately dismiss him based on the fact that he's 53. In case somehow you missed it, I'm 40. And I usually adhere to a 10-year cutoff.

But Bachelor #37 was that elusive breed of Internet dater that doesn't post a picture not because he's all too keenly aware that he'd NEVER get a date if he did, but because he's just so darned successful and high-profile in his career that a little discretion is in order. The fantasy that men like that are out there is what made me try the whole Internet dating thing in the first place. When someone writes to me without a picture, I always think, he must be a politician or a prominant lawyer or maybe Patrick Dempsey. (Yes, I know he's happily married but this is my fantasy, OK?) Then, sure enough, he sends me a picture and it turns out he's a bald, toothless, cross-eyed maintenance manager at a nuclear power plant.

But Bachelor #37 sent me a few pictures and they were all pretty good. Turns out, he was a successful downtown trader, so he suggested we meet for a drink at the bar in one of the most expensive restaurants in the city. Naturally, I assumed if all went well we'd be staying for a lovely $300 dinner. After all, he chose the venue.

When I got off the elevator, there was this well-dressed man who, from the neck up, looked just like I thought he would. A little older, yes, but in a sophisticated kind of way, and quite a nice face.

The thing is ... and you know there's always a thing... in my indecision over whether or not to go out with a 53-year-old and my excitement at the notion of dinner with a successful trader, somehow, amazingly, I'd completely neglected to check how tall he was. I know, I know, I of all people should know better. So I guess you won't be surprised when I tell you that, in my 3-inch heels, I could see the top of his head.

But I guess HIS initial opinion was a little better, because he did suggest we stay for dinner. Funnily enough, sitting down he was so much more appealing. He was smart, and nice, and VERY interested in being in a relationship. Then he thought it would be nice to show me his office. Which meant, unfortunately, walking around together. And there was the top of his head again.

For the record, I did go out with him a second time. He was very nice and very interested, and I don't like to think I'm so shallow as to dismiss a perfectly reasonable candidate just because he's 5"6. But then on our second date, he wore a form-fitting t-shirt, and now in addition to seeing the top of his head, I could also see his 53-year old body. Is it shallow to want to want to see your man naked? There's either chemistry or there isn't, right?

Why can't I just ignore this silly desire to want to actually fall in love with someone, and just be a shameless gold digger and latch onto the next successful man that comes along? So what if he's short, he can always stand on his big fat wallet, can't he? And if I don't want to see him naked, can't I just keep my eyes closed? Who's to say the life of a gold digger isn't a happy one? Even if I wasn't in love with my husband, I would be madly in love with my shoes. Surely that is fulfillment enough?

But no. And so...

Next.

Bachelor #36

Sometimes I amaze myself. My ability to attract some of the freakiest men on earth is truly remarkable. Read on at your own peril.

I met Bachelor #36 online, which is, in many cases, cause for concern from the get-go. But he seemed like lots of the good things I'm looking for: fit, smart, nice enough looking, interesting, funny, and even Jewish, which is always a nice bonus for my mother.

We were talking on the phone, actually having quite a good conversation, when Mr. Spontaneous Pants decided he just HAD to meet me RIGHT NOW. A little anxious, maybe, and it was almost midnight, but hell, I'm game for just about anything.

Well, just about.

On the phone, he was a little eccentric maybe, but generally light and funny. In person, in addition to being a little short (why, I ask you, why are they all so short?) and more grey-haired than his photos, he was suddenly all serious. It's not that easy to make this seasoned dater uncomfortable, but I've got to hand it to Bachelor #36. He sat across the table and stared. Wide eyed, silent, and staring. Until finally he said very slowly, and I quote: "YOU ARE THE FACE I'VE ALWAYS DREAMED OF."

Now, I'm confident enough to say that I am a reasonably attractive human being. And I know how to take a compliment (and how to spell one, which is a lot more than I can say about most men on the online dating sites, but I digress...) However, this time, every fibre of my being was screaming "FREAK!"

In a desperate attempt to break his gaze, I got up and went to the bathroom. When I returned, he told me that as he watched me walking away, he couldn't help noticing how beautiful my butt is, and that he would like very much to spend a few hours just rubbing it.

Sometimes my fibres are really perceptive.

NEXT!

About The Insta-Boyfriend

Is it me, or are men out there in some kind of hurry? Well I know it's not JUST me, because it's happening to some of my friends too. Now don't get me wrong, I want to get off the online dating hamster wheel as fast as anyone, but even so, one blind date does not a relationship make. Call me crazy, but I believe a girl needs to get to know a random man she meets online at least a little before she's ready to gaze longingly into his eyes and declare herself off the market. But apparently the same does not appear to be true for the guys.

So here's how it goes: We chat online. We agree to meet for a drink. When I walk into the bar and meet him in the flesh, BEST CASE SCENARIO, I'm thinking the following:
- Thank God he has some hair
- Thank God I am not embarrassed to be seen in public with him
- Thank God he is taller than me in my 3 1/2 inch heels
- Thank God there aren't too many awkward silences
- Thank God there seems to be evidence of a brain
- Thank God there seems to be evidence of a personality and I don't have the carry the entire conversation myself. This time.
- OK, I wouldn't mind seeing him again. You never know, it could build into something.

Here's what I'm getting from him:

- HURRAY! I have a new girlfriend!
- Want to go out again tomorrow? And the day after that? And the day after that?
- Let's hold hands and maybe makeout a little?
- How about a weekend away?
- Can I call you baby, baby?
- Wanna meet my mom?

People, am I missing something?

Bachelor #34

I hate talking to strange men on the phone. Call me crazy, but I just find there is just something so darned awkward about talking to someone you've never met. And if the conversation isn't going well, how on earth do you get out of it? But sometimes, try as I might, I lose the battle. Why I don't get to call the shots ALL the time is beyond me, but it happens.

So when faced with the dreaded phone-call-with-a-total-stranger, I always go in with my expectations as low as possible and a few escape routes at the ready, like "Oh, sorry, that's my parole officer on the other line. I should really take that." Or "Can I call you back in a few minutes? I just have to run into the drug store to pick up the prescription for this oozing rash I have that just won't go away." You know, just in case.

But Bachelor #34 got on the phone and had me laughing in the first five seconds. I can't even remember what he said, but he was funny. His pictures were only OK, but he got BIG points for sense of humour.

So we went for drinks. I am fond of drinks. I believe that drinks make for better dates, but sometimes, some people have TOO MANY drinks. And then sometimes they get a wee bit aggressive. And sometimes maybe a wee bit forward. Then sometimes they try to kiss you but get all confused and mistake your head for a lollipop. A large, wet, frightened lollipop.

Next.

Bachelor #33

As a seasoned online dater, I pride myself on the ability to vet the REALLY horrible ones long before it ever gets to the face-to-face meeting. Although none of the men I've met so far have been the one for me -- and some haven't even been close -- most of them have been basically decent human beings. Unattractive, dull, cheap? Certainly, but still essentially decent people. I've never feared for my life. Never thought I was out with a serious slimeball. Never had the desire to throw a drink at anyone, run screaming from the restaurant, or felt an urgent need to wash my hands immediately after shaking his.

Then I met bachelor #33. We went out for lunch. In a restaurant. Which is, for the record, a public place. During the day. Bachelor #33 has some kind of middle management job or other, which is what he told me about in his emails, but over lunch, he told me about the business he's starting on the side: a sex toy web site. Not that there's anything wrong with that. I'm no prude and although it's not exactly the dream job I'd imagined for my prospective partner, and I'm not quite sure how I'd explain it to my mother, I can appreciate that it's a business like any other. Maybe even a successful one.

But then he took a vibrator out of his pocket, turned it on and offered it to me across the table. In a restaurant. Seriously. It was vibrating. Which makes a noise. Which other people heard. And saw.

I think the fact somehow I managed NOT to throw my drink at him or make any more of a scene is beyond commendable. I am thinking about nominating myself for sainthood. Can you do that? I am going to have to look into it.

Next.

Bachelor #32

Sometimes, on a blind date, you know in the first 3 seconds that he's definitely not the guy for you. Other times, it creeps up on you slowly over the course of the evening.

At first glance, Bachelor #32 was OK. Decent looking, well dressed, neatly groomed, with a warm, if slightly crooked smile. Conversation flowed easily enough. There was laughter, the usual exchanging of stories. Then gradually, it started to dawn on me: when it was my turn to tell a story, he'd laugh. When it was his turn? I'd find myself thinking about my plans for the weekend.

OK, so he was a little on the boring side. We can't have everything, now can we? But then his cell phone rang. And he answered it. I am pretty sure that is in strict defiance of dating etiquette. So now he's boring and also rude.

And then he told me how much money he makes an hour, and asked me how much my house cost. Does that fall under rude, or cheap? Considering the fact that he got there by bus, I think we can safely say there's a bit of both.

So... boring, rude, and cheap. Three strikes, you're out.

Next.

Bachelor #31

Sometimes I am smart. Sometimes, not so much.

Bachelor #31 only had one picture on his profile, but it was a really good one. It doesn't look like it was taken at the Sears Portrait Studio. He looks active, fit, and actually kinda hot. He's wearing a t-shirt and baseball hat and he seems to have all his teeth. In the right spots and everything.

So we agreed to meet for a drink. I walk into the bar, expecting to meet a sexy dark haired man with a winning smile. But strangely, there is no such person to be found. Perhaps I'm early? But no. Just then, a bald man with an alarmingly large beak-like protrusion in the middle of his face that I soon discover to be his nose approaches and taps me on the shoulder.

Internet Dating Rule # Something or Other: If he's wearing a hat in the picture, he's bald.
Another Very Important Internet Dating Rule: Always insist on seeing more than one picture.

So anyway? I tried to talk to him? But it turns out? He's an uptalker? With a big beak? And no hair?

Next.