There comes a time in every woman, well almost every woman’s life, where she must venture into the horror, the gasp, the realm of online dating. Now my go at the match.com happened when I lived in DC. DC where I spent most of my time in an office, in an airplane, or in a bar. It was the hardest place for me to meet anyone, anyone worth dating. Everyone wanted something there but it was more about what you could do for them professionally than within the realm of dating. I decided to take the leap and signed up. There is the difficulty of finding the right photos, the right screen name, and of course writing something highly edited never truthful enough or no one would contact you. You have to seem interesting, but not too interesting, smart but not too smart, funny but not too funny. You get it. It’s like a job interview online where you only tell people good stuff about you.
So the guy’s profile at least in DC had a formula, always pictures of travel, always pictures with kids, always doing something outdoorsy. Because that is what they thought women would wanted. I want someone who I don’t know is emotionally available, I want someone who returns my phone calls, I want someone who shows up when they say they will, I want someone who actually wants to date and not just a romp in the bedroom. Not asking a whole lot one would think. Yes, there were some dudes that had the audacity to put a picture of themselves in speedos rubbed with baby oil over their body- pass-or a guy who posted pictures with other women but blacked out their faces- pass again-, or the guy who could have been my grandpa- pass yet again. I started getting tons of winks (virtual of course) and some emails. I started to realize if you are halfway decent and don’t have an arm growing out of your head you will get attention. Kind of like the men who holler at you on the street since the ripe age of 12.
After some back and forth with some potential suitors, I decided to do something I have never did before. I did it because I could. I am glad I did it now. Because it might have been the only time I had the chance to do it. I double booked dates. Now this might seem worse that it seems, the guys weren’t in the same venue or across the street where I ran back and forth between the dates ferociously. I just booked a date for 6 and a date for 9. Maybe people do this all the time and I am not privy to this info. I booked the 6:00 o’clock date with the guy I didn’t think would be as interesting (some type of marshal artist) and the 9 with the guy who I thought would be (lawyer). So I wore something casual enough that could work at multiple venues, a café and a bar and I was off. Truth be told I thought I might have time, time to head home and change before the second date.
So the first date, let’s call him 6- went surprisingly well over coffee and sandwiches and although he was shy I had him talking to me. Maybe too much because I missed the start of my second date. Shit. Oh shit. So I had to promptly exit without being rude and making sure he knew I wanted to see him again. I was texting in the bathroom, oh shit I actually like this guy. And now I’m late for date# 2. So it ended gracefully enough for me to hail a cab. One of the strange DC cabs that stinks, reeks of cigarettes, booze, and b.o. in a car that was popular in the 70’s or 80’s and sometimes it pulls over to pick up randoms only if they are going the same way. Bizarre I know. One of the many DC quirks.
I am rushing to the date. To only get there before him. Well now I don’t feel nearly as bad. So as the 2nd date, 9 walks in, the date I was actually excited about. He he had seemed interesting and smart. But alas he is short-we can look each other in the eyes easily (note: I’m 5’3 on a good day) and tubby (not a few lbs.. but a little more serious). Now I can do one respectively maybe but both not so much. Note to self: People lie about their heights and their background and doctor photos or use old ones. The good news is as he sits on the stool, I begin to forget, begin to forget the short and tubby part until until he gets off that stool again. Stay on that stool. For some reason we decided to go to a 2nd venue, I am enjoying the conversation. But his compliments are a little too much. Trust me I like compliments but too much too many make feel uneasy as if they aren’t truth. You can’t only be called beautiful so many times in an hour.
So as we sit on our bar stools- because real life is better than fiction, because you can’t anticipate everything- because, because, because-none other than my x-boyfriend is walking up to us. Okay so I double booked date- I had two dates- and now my x-boyfriend is seeing me on my 2nd date. This is amazing beautifully crafted and even a romantic novelist couldn’t make this up. I hope 9 just stays on his stool. He does, because on the stool he doesn’t seem so short. Maybe still tubby. Soon after we left. And the call I got later in the wee hours was not from 6 or 9 but you guessed it my x-boyfriend. This is the truth no one will tell you, once you have moved on, once they have seen you moved on, they will come back, they almost always do. It is somewhat gratifying but it is somewhat like sneaking to see your Christmas presents before the correct morning, it isn’t enough, it feels shockingly empty but still feels good. Maybe oh maybe if he or they would have gotten the memo early. What ifs haunt us all.
I am still glad I did it. The matching I feel in SF it is much easier to do without the assistance of the computer. Match.com didn’t bring me a soulmate. You won’t find me on a commercial telling my story of how it all worked out. But does that matter? But having two dates in one night and running into your x-boyfriend, might just might be priceless.
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