He Said What?!

MrWrongSignsThe minute he walked into the bar, I knew it wouldn’t last.

I’m no stranger to dating. At 35, I’ve been on more dates than I can recall – blind, or otherwise. The truth is: most of them can’t beat a good bottle of wine, buttered popcorn and a John Hughes flick.

I’ve joined dating services, paid my dues for their ridiculous ‘match’ fees, and dolled myself up for a night of misery. Ok, they weren’t all bad, but let’s just say my ‘matches’ haven’t really matched that well. After a rather unfortunate encounter two years ago with a blind date (set up by one online dating service) I swore off online dating altogether. He was NOT 35, he was NOT tall and he was most definitely NOT interesting. He was an old man looking for a good time and posted a fake photo, fake profile, fake everything. It was a disastrous evening and I threw in the towel. It’s just not worth it, I said to myself.

I’m a believer in the theory: when it happens it happens. I don’t rush love and I don’t expect love to come trotting down my street on a white horse. But, I can admit that once in a while I get lonely. As a travel writer I trot the globe and my favorite part is meeting new people. This year, as I boarded another plane to another country to another hotel, I thought it might be nice to bring along someone special on these trips. Maybe? So I took the plunge… again… and joined an online dating site. So far, so bad.

The first three ‘matches’ were men I had previously been on dates with, and the first blind date I committed was dull, to say the least. I received an email from another guy – we communicated for two days via email and had some pretty interesting conversations. He asked me to get together for drinks, I said where and when, and I haven’t heard from him again. Um, commit, much? The third date happened last night, and on the encouragement of my fellow Relationships Editor here at SingleMindedWomen.com, I’ve decided to pen this little tale.

Sit back and listen, single ladies. Let me tell you a story of how a graceful woman handles a complete DB (I’m going to refrain from writing what DB means, but if you don’t know, ask Josie…)

His stats:

33, a designer living in the city. The photos he posted had girls flanked on either side of him. (This should have been my first clue.)

My stats:

35, writer, living in the city. My photo: a headshot of me at a local bar, martini in hand. I think it speaks the truth.

The pros: he appeared good-looking and said he liked to cook.

The cons: his communication. The email convos went something like this:

DB: What do you do?

Me: I’m a travel writer.

DB: That’s kool. What do you write at?

Me: (was that English?) A bunch of publications

DB: Do you like dive bars? What’s your fav dive bar?

Me: (I’m 35, I don’t do dive bars). Don’t really have a favorite since the Different Drummer (local Boston bar) closed about 5 years ago.

DB: And sense than you havent fund one u like?

I stopped responding at this point. The short-hand communication and complete lack of knowledge of the English language had annoyed me. Call me crazy, but unless you’re in grade school I can’t forgive your bad grammar. I figured he’d just go away. I was wrong.

One week later:

DB: Meet for a drink?

Me: (in a moment of weakness). Sure.

We met for a drink (NOT at a dive bar, thank you very much). As soon as he walked into the bar I knew this was going nowhere. The DB had that serial-killer saunter about him — you know the kind: the shifty eye when he walked in the room to make sure he didn’t know anyone else there; the ‘checking you out’ look to see whether you’re equipped to bed him… I figured I would indulge in one drink and then say ‘thank you’ and go home. He had other plans.

DB: So, what do you, exactly?

Me: I’m a travel writer. I travel the world and stay in hotels and write it about it all.

DB: Do the hotels know you write about them?

Me: Sometimes they do, yes.

DB: That’s why what you do is a total joke. Your reviews are worthless to the consumer because it gives travelers (like him, apparently) a bad taste of the industry. You’re the reason that people like me don’t read publications.

Wait… WHAT?

Me: (thinking: DB, you can’t spell — are you SURE you can read?) Excuse me?

DB: It was nice to meet you. Enjoy your travels.

And he walked out.

Let’s dissect this together, shall we?

First starters, I’m happy he left — I was not about to defend my job to anyone who hasn’t spent a day in my shoes. Secondly, why did he leave? It couldn’t have been because of my job. So what we can assume that either 1) he wasn’t interested to begin with, 2) he was hoping we’d hit it off and he could capitalize on my travels or 3) he didn’t find me attractive and was looking for an easy way to end the evening. Regardless of the reason for this behavior, this was how a 33-year-old handled the situation.

I went home, opened a bottle of wine and called a girlfriend of mine in California to report on the events of the evening.

“You are a total fraud and a disgrace to your industry,” she said. “I mean, you only support an entire industry, of which this DB is lucky enough to take advantage of, thanks to you.”

Damn right, sister!!!

Moral of the story: When a blind date goes bad, call a girlfriend and have her remind you have fabulous you are. And then repeat it to yourself.

Our Health editor Martin had this to say: “Just like produce, every now and again you pull a bruised lemon. Upside: You found out fast he’s a NUT.”

Well said, and with that, single ladies… I bid you good luck in your search. Let me know how it goes, and don’t be discouraged if you, too, meet a DB. They are out there, we just have to weed through the bunch to find the good pieces of produce.