~Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Date #13

Last week Schmoozer and I were rained out of our scheduled run. Instead we met at a local pub that's sandwiched in between our office buildings. I found myself singing for my drinks in the form of bad dating stories. Schmoozer scored himself a deal; it was $1 well drink night.

He tipped his pint glass towards me in a toast. "You have the best stories."

"I'm giving up dating for Lent."

"No! But what about the stories?"

"Subscriptions to these dating sites cost money. You want my stories? Sponsor me."

Last night I went out on a date primarily for the story. When I stepped out of the shower and wrapped my hair in a towel, I knew I wasn't going to meet the man I would marry.

I had been on the fence for quite awhile regarding Date #13. His profile picture was a story in and of itself: he was wearing a blue Oxford and was sprawled across a plush leather chair, glasses lowered to the tip of his nose and an empty wine glass in his hand. It looked like an audition for Masterpiece Theatre. But men also post pictures of themselves in front of the bathroom mirror, so this was an improvement, right?

He wanted to talk on the phone before meeting, of which I'm not a fan. The phone conversation was littered with non sequiturs: I told him where I lived and he responded that he liked to go hiking.

"Let's meet for coffee. How about the Barnes and Noble in [metro suburb]?"

"What?" I shrieked exasperated. "You want me to drive 20 miles for a cup of coffee?"

"I thought you lived in [metro suburb]?"

I was very unimpressed. "No," I said flatly. "I live downtown. I said so earlier."

He doesn't acknowledge his faux pas and just keeps going, making plans. "How about Tuesday?"

"I think I have plans on Tuesday. My calendar is at work, but I know next week is a busy week for me. I have a 5k, hockey game and painting class all scheduled."

Meanwhile, he's talking over me, as in talking while I was talking. Just kept making plans even though I was clear I wasn't sure I was available. "At the mall? 8 pm?"

I've never been on a date at a mall before. Not even back in 1993. Our plan was to meet at Starbucks. And because this is a modern-day Starbucks love story, I was waiting at one Starbucks at the mall and he was waiting at another Starbucks at the mall.

I got in line and made my purchase: tall mocha frappuccino, skim, no whip. The guy behind me in line was attractive: early 30's, dark hair, khakis and Adidas jacket. My coworker encourages me to go out on all dates. "Who knows who you're going to meet while you're out? Maybe the guy at the next table..."

This was the guy she to which she has obviously been referring.

Could I? Could I hit on another guy while waiting for my date to locate the other Starbucks?

I turn around, "Long line, huh?"

"Yeah. I didn't think so many people would want coffee at 8 o'clock on a Tuesday."


"You normally drink coffee at this hour?" he asked.

I opened my mouth to respond when a guy approached and I crossed all of my fingers and all of my toes that it wasn't my date. He stood a little too close to me, invading my personal space, and waited a beat before introducing himself.

And this guy was hideous. I try to keep an open mind about people. I didn't say anything about the gross little turd who worked in sex toys, but there was no saving this one. I was a victim of the bait and switch again! It was like someone took his profile picture and ran it through one of those Photoshop style layers that swirls the head and I was left with the whorled mess.

Adidas Guy took one look, smirked and left. Oh god.

I opened my mouth to just say No, thank you and leave but I couldn't. Oh god.

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.The mall closes in an hour, I kept repeating in my head.

We sat at those crappy little Starbucks café tables. He leaned towards me with his arms outstretched across the table, his drink sitting next to mine. Even from the other side of the table, he was invading my personal space. I leaned back and crossed my legs at the thigh.

"This week is going by slowly," he said.

"Well it is Tuesday, so I guess."

He picked up his grandé frappé, extra whip with caramel drizzled on top. "I had Pop Tarts for dinner. I don't really eat well."

"I can see that. I guess that makes sense why your cats are named after candy."

"What did you have for dinner?"

"Steamed chicken with broccoli and red peppers."

He asked me another question but instead picked up something and started playing with it. I specifically didn't answer.

"Sorry, I'm not being rude; I'm just adjusting my insulin pump."

My stomach turned over. He's adjusting his insulin pump at the table on a first date. I don't know because I don't have an insulin pump, but I would think manners would have him adjust it in the previous five minutes before he met me, knowing he was going to get that beverage. Or if there was an indicator that needed attention, he'd get up from the table.

I stared at the wire and then my frothy frappuccino that I just spent four bucks on. I know enough about the mechanics of an insulin pump that I'm imagining it in my mind. I pictured the box pumping insulin through a catheter inserted in the stomach as the same consistency as my frappuccino through the straw in my mouth. My stomach flipped over again. I'm nauseated.

"So an insulin pump. You must be type 1," I said.


"It's a difficult disease. But the Pop Tarts and the large frappé—You say your favorite food is 'Pizza Hut'— is all that good when you're a type 1 diabetic?"

He chuckled. "I guess not, but imagine what I would look like with less fat." He pinched his skinny arm. "I need all the fat on the stomach I can get because I need it to absorb the insulin. Sometimes the skin on my stomach hasn't healed yet when it's time to move the pump."

Oh god. Considering I was nauseated before he mentioned that he had open skin wounds on his abdomen, I can't imagine him saying that to anyone and she'd still want to see him naked. I tried to sip my frappé but I was seriously trying to fight back the vomit.

I thought about a news article someone sent me in preparation for the date. Date #13 was an Auburn man, "So Auburn football. Armed robbery." Luckily we rode out the rest of the time talking SEC football.

As soon as the Starbucks in the mall flicked its lights off at 8:45 pm, I stood up. I had never even taken off my coat.

He nodded to my zebra-print stilettos. "Nice shoes. That's one perk to being a girl; you get to wear pretty shoes."

I wasn't sure how to take that statement. I thanked him.

"Tomorrow's Hump Day," he said.

I couldn't even hide my annoyance at that expression. I turned around. "Nice to meet you!" gave a shoulder hug and crossed the street to my car and spent the rest of the night gagging.


MissM said...

Oh, dear. Not even a date #2 for him. No. Not.

Dawn said...

Sweet Jesus. Out of what woodwork do these things crawl?

Tracy said...

Ugh. That's just nasty. It does make for good blog stories!!

Denise said...

Seriously? I think the dating site needs to put a rating system in place. Kind of like Yelp. Or a public service announcement. What a waste of gas and shampoo.

however happy said...

I felt nauseous just reading that. UGH.

Good for you for chatting up the guy in line, though. It's a shame pump dude interrupted.

Maura said...

I may have just shuddered at my desk.

EmilyinNYC said...

Wow girl, and I thought I had bad dating stories. That was just wrong.

Bathwater said...

I don't think I can sponsor you after reading that story. As much as I enjoyed it, and I did enjoy it, it just seems cruel to actually encourage you to endure such tortures.

AmericanBridget (Jones) said...

You really do need a camera crew following you around on your dates. This is better than any SATC episode.

Anonymous said...

I won't even give the time of day to a user that only has 1 picture. Or if they have a bunch of pictures they have taken by themselves. Don't they have any friends to take pics with??? I HATE dating sites.. Seattle area has gotten a stigma that women here don't date. There are tons of blogs and even newspaper articles about guys going up to Vancouver Canada because the women here are so stuck up.. Or will chat but not want to meet ever. So at least good for you for going on dates and giving guys a chance...


Prettylittletangents said...

I'm sorry, but I can't stop laughing!! I have to give it to you, Darling, you are a trooper! I hope your gag reflex is back to normal and that your stomach isn't sore from too many dry heaves. Sigh!

j said...

Oh my dear lord! I was gagging at my desk just reading this.

Breeza said...

Yuck. That's just sick.
And to anonymous, I think women in Seattle are more normal/approachable than the men here.

Me said...


The shoe comment. Awesome. :) Who knows. If you'd date him he might wear them.


Anonymous said...

Then if its worse for the women that really sucks. ;) Whats wrong with are area? How many match emails do you get? and reply to? Because from experience the % is not good for me and other guys I know.


Breeza said...

Anon-I don't do match or online dating. But I agree, our area does suck for dating. I think people are too cliquey and into their little worlds to be open to date or even make new friends. Good luck!

jo said...

omg! you had me cringing the whole way. the only good thing was that he noticed your shoes. zebra print stilletos sounds hot!

Queen of Crazy said...

Oh honey. I've been following you (does that sound stalkerish? so not intended that way) for so long and rarely comment. But this...this made me laugh out loud for the first time all day (and it's 10). Dare I say it has to get worse before it gets better? God speed, love.

La Femme said...

Just wow. I....just....there are no words.

Anonymous said...

Goof lord!

Great blog fodder though ;)

Syd said...

No, for real, the bile is rising in my throat.

Dream in Grey said...

Bleurgh bleurgh YUKKITY

Anonymous said...

I turned red and just about died when your date showed up in the midst of talking to the cute guy in line. The rest of it made me want to barf.

Anonymous said...

I feel bad for him. So embarrassed about his condition that he puts it in your face on the first date. No doubt he lacks social skills, but we should not look at with people with disgust as it lacks empathy. Just try and have some thought for someone who is socially awkward as he is, and is just looking for companionship. I really like you're writing and I've been following you for a while, but this post almost came across as cruel.

Sarah said...

Thank you for the gentle reminder, Anonymous. I did feel like I crossed the line at times.

J said...

What a horrible date!! I feel your pain. And, while there is nothing wrong or gross about having diabetes, whatever happened to not sharing your life story within ten minutes of meeting someone?! The dude needs to learn some social skills, stat. Also, I've learned that if I get weird vibes from someone's profile picture, that I should just listen to my instinct and not respond. I used to worry about missing out on someone great but now that I've been on dates with guys who have made my skin crawl, I've learned my lesson.

Anonymous said...

ooooh you just gave me the heeebie geeeebies. UNREAL.

I HATE the bate and switch! So. Annoying.

I agree with American Bridget Jones. you need your own film crew!

Anonymous said...

damn! go back next tues and look for mr. hottie in line!


Jen said...

"I feel bad for him. So embarrassed about his condition that he puts it in your face on the first date. No doubt he lacks social skills, but we should not look at with people with disgust as it lacks empathy. Just try and have some thought for someone who is socially awkward as he is, and is just looking for companionship. I really like you're writing and I've been following you for a while, but this post almost came across as cruel."

Thank you for so eloquently and gently saying what I wanted to say except I would not have been near as gracious.


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