Well, it’s been an interesting (read: weird and dull) couple of weeks with my latest Match.com escapades. (This is post number gazillion in my Match.com misadventures.) I’ve noticed a similarity between almost all of the interested men on Match.com: They will make an attempt to schedule a date, including one specific date and time with their request. In the event that ONE date and time don’t work with my schedule I return an alternate date or set of dates.
They fall off the face of the Earth and I don’t hear from them again.
Here’s the latest update on my Match.com Misadventures…
Zen Biker Guy: He showed up for date number two, lunch at a decent restaurant, wearing THE. SAME. OUTFIT. from date number one. (Faded blue jeans, a light blue chambray shirt, and black biker boots.)
But at least this time it was clean.
When lunch arrived he proceeded to shovel food into his mouth as if he’d been raised by wolves. And THEN talked with his mouth full. Every. time. Eeeeww.
Never mind the outfit, poor table manners alone are enough for dismissal. My family, while not necessarily having the most impeccable table manners, does lean towards the more proper end of the scale. (Yes, that makes me and my tacky blog The Black Sheep of the family. I prefer the term Blond Lemming.) Were I ever to bring him to a family function, they would be mortified and I would never hear the end of it.
But then there was his car. The first one I saw was apparently only a work/dirt-bike-hauling truck, a mid-sized black pickup. Nothing of note about it, business logos on the side. It would profile well-enough with the FBI.
The second car, however, was one of those flashy Chrystler 300 “I wannabe a gansta” cars, complete with super large chrome rims, and skinny tires. This would NOT profile well with the FBI. It has “insecure and immature” written all over it. Not to mention “Mommy and Daddy issues”.
Oh, but wait there’s more! (said in the tone of the infamous Ginsu Knives commercial announcer). As I walked closer to the car I noticed two spikes, like the kind punk rockers wear on studded leather cuffs, only much larger, sticking out of the back of the car’s trunk. They looked like they were meant to hold a sign or something so I asked what they were for.
ZBG: ‘Nothing. Just decoration.’ Then he added with an air of importance, ‘I’m a car guy’.
Me: *blink* oh. Mentally running for the hills.
We continued walking towards the front of the car and I noticed the over-sized grill had something on it, too.
A rhinestone-studded skull with a crown on it.
I could not make this shit up, people.
Remember, this man is fifty years old. Not seventeen. Fifty.
When I told Chickenbone about the car, she asked without skipping a beat, ‘Was he wearing Ed Hardy, too?’ (she really should blog)
I can only assume his Ed Hardy shirt and jeans were dirty.
Coast Guard Guy is among those who never responded when I suggested a different date for our hiking date (this would have been date number two). He never struck me as that interested to begin with, so on to the next match.
Hiker Guy: Our first date, a dinner date, was at a nice restaurant. He dressed well, chose the very nice restaurant, and had great table manners.We both had a great time, and he even let me talk a little, too. At the end mostly.
He got a big brownie point for waiting with me for AAA. (I tend to lock my keys in my car. AAA is on speed dial in my phone. Remember, folks – the hair really is blond.)
Over the next couple days we emailed several times and talked on the phone to schedule a second date, and then just like Coast Guard Guy and a few others I’ve come across, Mr. Enthusiastic-about-the-date just disappeared.
For a week.
Then he tried again.
We scheduled a date where he would come up here, have lunch and visit a museum or something after.
The night before the date he called to cancel. But it wasn’t just a simple cancel – he whined to me for 30 minutes about his terrible life: “Having to hire employees who will help with his increase in business (apparently being rich is tough from his point of view), dating, buying real estate investments (more of that ‘it’s so hard to be rich’ thing), dating, his health (while not fun stuff, it was fairly minor and not life-threatening), dating, and a week of general mopeyness”.
Even though he’d mentioned ‘dating’ as one of the reasons for his anxiety and general “mopeyness”, I didn’t ask him to elaborate. I really didn’t care at that point. I suggested we remain friends.
A few other guys have written to me on Match, but I’m completely out of the mental stamina required to wade through the freaks. It really is so much easier to be single, with cats.