The Mess: A New “Something” in the Mix (Part Three)

Dating Fail

[dropcap]At[/dropcap] this point, it was about 8pm.  I had spent the first half hour waiting for him and the second half deflecting inappropriate comments and trying not to be horribly disappointed with the mess of a man that plenty of fish had served up to me.  Not to mention thinking this has to be as bad as it gets, right?  RIGHT?!?!  Wrong.

The waitress came over to see if we wanted to get something to eat.  I didn’t really but he wanted to share something little Yam fries?  Sure.  So he ordered some yam fries to share and another beer.  The waitress brought the beer, and since he was only half done his other pint, the logical thing to do on a first date would be to chug it, no.  So he did.  Then the fries came.  I ate about 10.  They were good, certainly.  But honestly I hadn’t been that hungry and since every time he said something creepy or awkward or uncomfortable I would sip down some diet coke, you can imagine I was getting damn full on that.  Plus, to be totally honest.  Watching a guy who is completely oblivious to the world in general and to social protocol specifically, eat yam fries dipped heavily in mayo after pounding back a few beers has got to be one of the grossest things ever.  Not to mention his conversation never lagged so I wouldn’t be surprised if at some point I had yam bits spattered across my face and arms.  Ugh.  KABOOM!


And then…came the dating experience chatter.  The moment that occurs more often than not on dates that sprung from dating websites.  They say you shouldn’t talk your past on first dates, but I think your past says a lot about you as a person.  And, in my date’s case, it said way way too much.  First he told me about some dates in the recent past.  Only 12 or so since January.  I assume, of course, these were all first dates.  He tells me about the chick who freaked out on him because of the fact that he was a smoker.  Obviously she is my idol.  And then there were a lot of dates that had the same three factors:  wine, him getting laid, ceasing contact.  It’s like these ladies had never heard of masturbation or standards because honestly there wouldn’t be enough beer in the world for me to have sex with my date.  boom.  And then he mentioned his upcoming date with another lady two days later.  boom.  And then finally he mentioned “we’re clearly not getting married”  boom.  He meant it as if to say that he and I could have some real fun together before I potentially went away to school but even so.  dude.  smh.  worst.  KABOOM!

 

Now something I haven’t mentioned thus far but spanned the entire duration of our date was The Mess’s overall demeanor.  To be honest, it’s a bit hard to describe.  The best way I can think of is by comparison, which allows me to tell you that he basically acted like a tweaker.  There was a lot of movement in every gesture.  The topics were scattered and uncomfortable.  And more than once was there an invasion of my personal space.  What can I say, I’m not really into guys who hold up their finger to your face (repeatedly) because they want you to stop speaking so they can chime in.  Charming.  And I haven’t even gotten to the good part yet.  You see, well he was getting shitfaced, I was stone cold sober (and perhaps even more alert than normal given my chugging of diet coke to avoid awkward moments).  And that’s when he hit me with it. Blah blah blah stupid story blah blah blah I’m 41 blah blah blah  HOLD UP!  What’s that?  41?  That’s not what your profile says.  KABOOM!  KABOOM!  KABOOM!



You see, his profile said he was 38.  The irony is that I wouldn’t have cared.  41 or 38 – there isn’t really that big of a difference.  But someone who lies on their dating profile?!?!  Someone who lies repeatedly on their dating profile?!?!  That’s not going to fly with me.  And since I knew there was no way this date was EVER going anywhere not in a million freaking years and yet I couldn’t bring myself to stand up, tell him this wasn’t going to work and flee the scene I felt it was my duty to women everywhere to educate this douchebag on just why exactly it was so awful to lie on a dating profile.

His logic, by the way, was that if a person really liked him it wouldn’t matter what age he was and fyi isn’t that the same logic of sexual predators and pedophiles alike?  And so I explained to him that the problem isn’t the age, it’s the lying.  I went on to explain that by lying on his dating profile, he had taken the decision away from me as to whether or not I would want to meet the real him.  This was dating fraud of the first  degree.  To be honest, he couldn’t or didn’t want to understand.  He just keep jamming mayo covered yam fries in his mouth and saying that at least he wasn’t trying to hide it now.  Yeah, thanks, jerkoff. Now is too late, I’ve already wasted good hair and makeup on you.

But the truth is.  All this.  All these lengthy lengthy paragraphs detailing the endless torture that was my date with The Mess pale in comparison to the piece de resistance.  At some point I went to the washroom and when I returned to my bar stool, I had just about had it with this date.  I had held off as long as I could, and since I couldn’t bring myself to white lie about having to get up early or having to pack or having to hold the hand of a dying relative…I knew that my parking would be my out.  You see, I’d paid for 2 hours.  And I wasn’t going to get a ticket on account of this dick.  So at about 8:50 we got the bill.  Which the waitress had surprisingly split up.  Now I don’t know about you guys but I have never NEVER had a waitress split a bill when out with a fella without asking first.  Which leads me to believe that during my trip to the ladies my Prince Charming, this true Mess of a man, asked for our bill to be split.  That’s right, even after torturing me for two hours and gorging himself on the fries…I had to pay for my own diet coke and “half basket of fries”  KABOOM!!!!!!!!!

 

I.  Was.  Livid.

 

The irony, I don’t think he did it to be a dick.  I think he just is a clueless one, by pure accident.  Because after we had paid, and I was ready to high tail it out of there, he asked if he could walk me to my car.  Was this dude for real!?!?!  Get bent homie!  Sure.  And then I practically jogged to my car.  Upon which he exclaimed how can you afford that *insert weak complaints about his shitty 20 year old truck*.  Yeah, because nothing makes a girl hotter than exclaiming about your poverty when you’re a grown up with a government job who supposedly only has his thesis to finish to complete his MSc at SFU.  So I just told him I’m independently wealthy.  Get.  Real.  Son.  Kaboom!!


He mentioned a lovely coffee shop up the street and I could tell, sitting there, on the tip of his tongue, was going to be an invite to join him.  And while I haven’t perfected my break-away-during-the-date-dash, I damn sure have my already-getting-in-my-car-adios-kid stride on lock.  I hit him with a quick,  well it was nice meeting you and pretty much ran around the car to the front door, jumped in, slammed the door, hit the gas, and drove to chronic tacos…a reward for the torture I’d just endured.  Scarred for life.  By a Mess in a lavender leather jacket.

 

Vancouver Dating Blog:  Dating Vancouver a Better Place, One “Something” at a Time

The Mess: A New “Something” in the Mix (Part Two)

boom


Continued from – The Mess:  a New “Something” in the Mix

Have you ever gotten a present, like say for a birthday or Christmas, which you then opened only to find that there were more and more presents inside?  Like, you had thought yourself lucky enough to get the first edition book you wanted, but then hidden beneath that was also that diamond necklace you’d been mooning over for months and beside that a round-trip ticket to Paris?

Yeah.

This date.  Was the total opposite of that.  Instead of presents upon presents it was like I had just walked into a mine-field of disappointment and loser bombs were exploding all around me.

I lied about being a non-smoker KABOOM!

I lied about my age KABOOM!

I’m going to eat all your yam fries and then make you pay for them  KABOOM!


But I digress.  I’m getting ahead of myself here.  I mean come on, if I had to live through the whole disappointing experience I’m certainly going to make you share in the misery too.  That’s only fair, right?

Sidebar:  I feel the need to preface this date with two thoughts.

One, that while I may be a judgmental person, I’m also a very understanding person.  While the rest of the world seems up in arms over a few spelling mistakes in a dating profile, I’m more likely to let them slide.  However, if you couple those errors with tedious conversation, a general lack of ambition, a disheveled appearance, etc. suddenly it’s death by paper-cuts and I’m throwing baby out with the bathwater.  So I’m guess I’m asking…don’t judge me for the bombs exploding on this date but the fact that they murdered me in my entirety.

Two, somehow when I go over this date story in my head, it doesn’t seem quite as disastrous as it felt at the time, which is why I’m certain I’m not doing it justice.  I want it known that any inability to convey the absolute ickiness of this whole date is due to a inferior ability to put into words the sheer awfulness of the experience.  So I’m guess I’m asking…multiply everything by two and then push it off a bridge into icy waters…yes…it was that bad.

Back on Track

So there I was…casually sitting at the bar, with my diet coke, a nervous disposition and the optimism of champions a hope for a fun night when suddenly there was a palm on my back, I turned the left and there he was.  In all his mauve lilac lavender colored jacket wearing glory.  KABOOM!

And then he spoke.  And without evoking too many I’m-a-total-jackass-it’s-not-his-fault-that-nature-gave-him-this-but-it’s-also-not-my-fault-that-it’s-not-a-turn-on-sexist-stereotypes, he had a seriously feminine voice.  KABOOM!

But then again, haven’t I always lamented feeling like my voice was too husky?  So the date carries on, because this is just superficial bullshit, right…and for all I know his personality is amazing.  And speaking of superficial bullshit, that’s when he takes off his jacket to reveal himself quite the little potbelly.  And I know what you’re thinking aren’t you a plus-sized chubby chick?  And indeed I am, and I make no effort to hide it, in fact I do my best to make sure it’s as visible as possible. Of course, I make an effort to look my best in photos, the same way I do for dates (I’m not showing up in jogging pants and a ponytail here right…I mean I’ve done my hair, I’ve all gussied up in pretty smoky-eyed makeup), but I don’t like to pull any punches because can you imagine showing up to a date and having someone be like ugh…you’re way fatter than I thought…I’m out of here.

But I digress.  And like I said, maybe his personality would be stellar.  Maybe he’d knock my socks off with his interesting questions or the kind way he listened to me talk about writing or traveling.  Maybe we would laugh over witty repartee and cry over the loss of the Canucks and talk about the other teams still in the playoffs.  Maybe.  maybe.  maybe…

But that’s not quite how it went.

Once he was settled and had ordered a beer, I started with one of the most simple questions known to man.

How was your day? I said.

Good he replied I bought a bunch of packets *inaudible ramble* to quit smoking *in audible ramble*

Wait what!?!  He’s a smoker?!?!  Uh…that’s not what his profile says.  And cut the bullshit, if you can’t actually say you’ve quit smoking (past tense), you’re still a smoker.  That would be like me saying I’m an average body type…because you know I’m working out and trying to get to a healthy weight and all.  So yeah.  KABOOM!


And the worst part of the whole thing, it’s not like he was even apologetic.  No, I’m so sorry I fudged the truth but I hope you’ll forgive me.  No, I get that it’s a really shitty thing to do, lying on dating profile, but blah blah blah.  None of that.  The dude acted like it was no big thing.  And while perhaps I should not have, I too acted like it was no big thing, I mean, we were less than 5 minutes into the date.  I don’t even know how you bail this early.  So I smiled and he carried on.  To the next subject.

Which was the mobile vaporizer he had just purchased, for $300.  At first I thought he had asthma.  Then realized it was for smoking weed.  Which in theory is fine.  But here’s where social protocol comes in.  This is a first date.  Keep that shit to yourself, son.  Seriously.  And then he explained further.  Indicating the shape of the device with his hands kind of like a stout penis or a small vibrator he said *insert gross creepy laughter, encroaching on my personal space and attempting to touch my hand*.  Oh, and of course my awkward laughter.  KABOOM!


Luckily, he changed gears and asked me one of the only two questions he laid on me all night.  What are you studying at UBC?  I told him English Literature.  Usually when I tell people this the conversation goes one of three ways.  Nowhere, they’re not interested in this and we move on to other subjects like dating or politics.  They ask who my favorite author is, which is fine, I usually just say Dickens or Defoe because there’s a fairly good chance they’ll know who I’m talking about or I’ll just mention anything that falls under the heading of Eighteenth Century Whore Biography.  The third option makes me the most uncomfortable.  It’s kind of like that Pros vs. Joes TV show where regular Joes try to beat Pro athletes at their sport.  It’s where the person lists off their own favorite authors, books, etc. (without me actually asking them) and then grills me about all sorts of obscure authors I’ve never even heard of, and act shocked that I might not know about number 13 on the current New York Times Best Sellers list for hardcover fiction.  Like, are you serious?!?!  There are Billions of books…yes yes, please go ahead and try to feel a sense of superiority because you know a few books that an English Literature major has never heard of.  Congratulations, you’re a genius.  And that’s exactly what happened.  We spent the next 5-10 minutes in an awkward tango of him attempting to outdo me, and me being fine with that.  super.  KABOOM!


Maybe he sensed how uncomfortable I was.  Maybe he had just exhausted himself.  For whatever reason though, I was given a reprieve when he asked about Grad Schools.  Which ones had I applied to and did I know any results yet.  I listed off the schools I’d applied to and told him that both Georgia State and North Carolina State had accepted me but I was still waiting to hear about the rest.  Somehow this lead to a discussion about water, and I informed him that Georgia does, in fact, have water access.  Now perhaps I’m at fault for what happened next as my finger-on-bar-top drawing skills may be a bit sub par but when I drew the state of Georgia and where it touched the ocean, his response was It’s like a nipple *insert gross touching of my imaginary drawing*.  KABOOM!


To Be Continued…Part Three

 

Vancouver Dating Blog:  Dating Vancouver a Better Place, One “Something” at a Time

The Mess: a New “Something” in the Mix (Part One)

Total Dating Disaster

 

[dropcap]A[/dropcap]nd then it was April.

Guy #1 emailed.  It was eloquent.  It was adorable.  He was going back to London.  Fuck.  We decided to keep in touch anyway because with his job moving him around and my academic adventures on the horizon, who’s to say we wouldn’t one day rendezvous in Paris or Boston.

Guy #2 emailed.  Weeks later.  Apparently it had been very difficult to find my email in the message that I had sent him.  This seemed a rather weak and unnecessary excuse but it was heavily offset by the fact that he seemed to think I was fantastic and definitely wanted to take me out.  Unfortunately for him I was still wrapping up exams and schoolwork so, as is often the case, this boy would have to wait.  He seemed okay with that.  We exchanged phone numbers.  But you see, in my tornado of a end-of-semester-brain, I managed to inadvertently give him the wrong number.  I gave him the 778 version of my phone number when it’s actually a 604.

Luckily or not so luckily, I decided to text him since he’d been the one putting forth all the effort up to this point.  And to be honest, the text was nice.  Not amazing.  But not bad either.  It was the exact caliber of texting you would expect from someone who was ready to take you out the moment you were in, and was thus saving up all their good convo or is just super tedious and boring.  Either way it was all looking good…until he texted:
Ok text me with a heads up when you are ready to giv’er! Lol.
Now I’m not saying this is the kiss of death or anything but do you ever have those moments where you look back and you’re like this right here, this is why I knew we wouldn’t be a good fit?  Yeah.  Well.  This.  Giv’er?!?!  Giv’er is fine…er…it’s acceptable…if you’re camping or surfing or anything involving beer and a high school reunion or a trip to Whistler.  But when you should be trying to impress a lady?  When you’re a 38 year old man?  Giv’er is not good.  Not sexy, honey, not sexy.
But I let it go.  As I’ve been known to do.  Because I have this eternal optimism that people are better than they present themselves.  Sadly, I’m wrong more than I am right, but I digress.  Soon after this, we were finally able to make plans to meet.  But not before he asked me to meet IN THE MORNING before he had to fly to Portland.  Was this guy fucking serious?!?!  A first meeting in the morning?!?!  To which I promptly responded that asking a writer/student to hang out on a Saturday morning would never fly with me, not even if you were Bon Jovi.  

We fixed a time to meet on Monday.  On Sunday he texted to remind me, it was actually rather cute.  He took the initiative and picked a place (St. Augustine’s on Commercial).  Now you may be thinking…um…a place focused 75% on beer…for a sober chick…might not be the best idea.  But see here’s the thing, I’m actually fine with bars and pubs, other people drinking and nightlife.  Just because I no longer engage doesn’t mean I want to sit home alone in silence.

And then at 7pm, I met him.

Or more, I went to meet him.  You see, just as I pulled up and parked, I got a text.  Going to be about 15 or 20 minutes late.  Followed by CUSoon.  Ugh.  To be honest I was more disturbed by the teenage texting skills than the lateness.  Shit happens.  I’ve been late for a date once before, and the fact that he let me know boded well with me.  Plus this way I could get all situated, order up a nice diet soda, watch the game on the big screens and get my relax on.

Earlier in the day we had texted a reminder pic of ourselves to the other, since it had been weeks since I’d had a dating profile up on POF (though I didn’t really need one of him, obvs I saved his profile as a favorite to keep my memory fresh).

And then 20 minutes later I felt a hand spread across my back…I turned to look…and there he was…a new “Something”…known henceforth as TheMess.

To Be Continued…Part Two

Vancouver Dating Blog:  Dating Vancouver a Better Place, One “Something” at a Time