Tag Archives: Dating

Drop a Pin, Yo: Self Preservation + Online Dating = Winning

There is a super special bonus to being single and dating that no one tells you about. So, I’m going to tell you, because I care.

You, my friend, are about to be the center of attention at every family get-together until you get hitched again. No, not the entire get-together; but for a long, awkward, craptastic portion of it – all eyes will be on you. Because somebody there (Grandma) is gonna pop off with this gem,

“So, how’s it going with [insert name of the last person they saw you with on Facebook]?”

…and every head in the joint will snap your direction, as every member of your family anxiously awaits your response. Because they aaalllll want to know, but only Grandma (who sometimes doesn’t even remember she has grandchildren but somehow remembers that jackass you posted a pic with in front of the Lincoln Memorial) has the balls to ask.

And you will answer, to get it over with, and because they are your family (although you’ll briefly consider unfriending every one of the fuckers to avoid future post-breakup embarrassment). And you’ll be really glad you brought your own car and didn’t ride with your mom because now you can bail.

I had a moment in the spotlight last night at a family dinner when my uncle asked about The Narcissist. Of course, my uncle didn’t call him, “The Narcissist.” That’s my nickname for the most recent ex because he – for real – has narcissistic personality disorder. Also, he’s a lying assclown.

The nicknames are a fun little trend that Bestie accidentally started when I began dating. The guys were all so bad that she couldn’t keep track of them except by their flaws. She’d end up asking me stuff like, “So, how’s Stinky Face?” Or, “Are you seeing The Lisper this weekend?” And, “Did you kick Gina’s ass yet for setting you up with The Tranny?” Since then, the guy-quality has improved a little, but they all still get nicknames (“Dog Park Guy,” “Memphis”) until they become an actual boyfriend. Only then do we refer to them by name.

Last night, I had to tell my uncle (and aunt, and cousin, and her husband, and their two kids who are both under the age of three but were clearly dying to hear the story) about how I dumped The Narcissist the day before Valentine’s Day because he was batshit crazy.

We really overuse the term “crazy.” If a guy calls too much, he’s “crazy.” If a girl is moody, she’s “crazy.” This is unfortunate because it desensitizes us to the term and we neglect to appreciate the seriousness of the situation when we start dating someone who is mother fucking crazy.

In two years (on-and-off) of online dating, I’ve probably gone out with ten guys from the site I use. Of those ten, The Narcissist was the only truly crazy one. So while the crazies aren’t in the majority (if you’re picky…and be picky…be all of the picky), they are out there. So as you go skipping off on your online dating adventures (people really should skip more), here are some nuggets o’ wisdom to keep you safe.

Nugget #1. When you’re meeting someone for the first time, document the date like it’s going to be applying for citizenship the next day. Get his last name. Copy the guy’s pictures from the dating site and send the pics to your BFF with his name and telephone number. Let a couple of people know where you are meeting the guy. Drop pins or text your bestie if you change locations.

Do not agree to a house date on your first meeting. Yours or his. For safety AND because a house date is a gettin’ naked date. Fact. Unless you just want to get naked with the guy, and that doesn’t make you a bad girl. Still, drop a pin.

Nugget #2. Much like every family get-together you attend for the rest of your single days, I strongly urge you to take your own vehicle when first dating a guy you meet online. Yes, it’s kinda’ sweet having the guy pick you up at your house. But you know what else is sweet? The freedom to fucking flee. I have only abruptly ended one date – and, because I’d disregarded Nugget #2, I was riding in his car. Abruptly ending a date is awkward. Having to ride home with the guy afterward…I can’t even talk about it.

I’ve been on some terrible dates, and I was always relieved to get back into my own car and go back to my home, the location of which he did not know. Bonus!

Nugget #3. If you get a bad vibe about someone, chances are good that something is off. Maybe he steals cable…or maybe he wants to put you in a hole and rub the lotion on its skin. Trust your gut. You may not be able to pinpoint exactly what’s off, but abort the mission anyway. There is no reason to stick around just to find out if it’s free Cinemax or free skin suits he’s into. This goes for the first date, or the twentieth. If you’re seeing red flags, get out of there.

Nugget #4. Adult beverages can make a bad first date much more tolerable. They can also drop your inhibitions to the point that “bad date” becomes “house date” and then you stop checking in and your bestie will freak because you haven’t dropped a pin in four hours so how are they gonna find the ditch you’ve been left in, probably with your panties around your neck?! Overindulging can have less-than-flattering effects on a date that’s going well, too. So whether you’re crazy about the guy, or you can’t wait to get out of there, don’t get sideways.

I once broke three of my own rules by having too much Merlot during a horrible date and letting the guy talk me into going by his house “to check on the dog.” I justified the rule-breaking because (a) the guy was a friend of a friend, and (b) he was awful and NO amount of wine was going to change my mind about his awfulness. Upon entering his domicile, I was almost knocked to the ground by the stench of dog urine. Apparently, the dog had peed on…everything. I stepped over dog pee on “the tour.” There were dog pee stains on the walls. I sat in dog pee on the couch. And because that wasn’t awkward enough, Merlot began hypothesizing that perhaps dog pee stench – once super concentrated – had the same effect as Rohypnol. Yes, she was certain she’d read that somewhere. In fact, we were feeling dizzy! We were having trouble breathing! And why else would a grown man let his home turn into a pee pit, then bring a woman there? Merlot was making valid points. Now convinced that I was being pee roofied, and because that awful dog had somehow managed to climb the back of the couch and was trying to hump my head, I quickly jumped up and yelled, “I gotta go!” whilst sprinting to his car…because I’d let him pick me up. I have literally blocked that car ride from my memory and couldn’t begin to tell you how it went. I imagine…poorly.

Really, just be the smart girl (or guy) you are and take care of yourself out there. There is never a good reason to go into a dark alley, the woods, a corn field, Pine Bluff, etc. You know this stuff, just make sure you do it.

And have fun. You’re out there, you’re dating, you’re meeting new people, and you’re taking chances. There will be horrible dates that you flee. There will be sparkless dates with guys that become dear friends. And there will be great dates that lead to relationships that are pretty awesome until you catch him on three dating sites (where he’s created three different identities) and now you have to figure out how to explain CougarLife.com to Grandma.

And there will eventually be that date that goes beautifully and leads to a relationship that goes exactly like it should. And that’s the one we are all looking for, and that’s why you’re gonna put yourself through all of this.

Just take your own damn car and you’re gonna’ be fine.


The First Date

My Bestie, happily married to an awesome guy, was the one who first suggested I blog about my dating “adventures.” Or “misadventures.” Or “experiences in terror and embarrassment whilst in the company of a man who is buying my meal and the alcohol required to get through this coupling catastrophe.” Whatevs.

Anyway, she’s always the first to hear about my awkward-as-ass dates, the first to give me the wide-eyed “He said WHAT?,” the first to cringe when I finally find the nerve to voice aloud the awfulness, like that my date showed up driving his grandma’s powder blue Buick and wearing a Members Only jacket – and not because he’s a hipster.

She loves the stories, and said I need to write them down lest we forget all the the cringe-inducing hilarity – like Buick boy taking me to a movie for our first date where we obviously couldn’t talk and said no more than seven sentences to each other but he didn’t let that stop him from from flipping his flowing locks (did I mention the flowing locks?) in the wind and leaning in – eyes shut – to kiss me goodbye.

(I’m really not a shallow girl. Yes, I judged the poor boy for his Meemaw mobile and outdated attire and shaggy mop o’ hair that he really enjoyed flipping in the wind. Ultimately, though, my gut said “flee,” so I did. And that boy is now a woman named “Rachel.” Well done, gut. You’re alright.)

It’s appropriate that Bestie was the first to suggest the blog since my first post-divorce date was her doing. (So, in a way, this is all her fault.) She set me up with one of her co-workers. “He’s cute,” she said. “He’s fun,” she said. “He’s 25,” she tossed in like a footnote…at the bottom of the page…in a really small font. I was 38.

At 25, this guy was a pup. I was hesitant to meet him, but she assured me he had no hang-ups about our age difference and was anxious to meet me. So, she handed over my digits, he texted me immediately, and we went out that night. She was right. Pup was cute, and he was fun, and our age difference didn’t faze him at all. But I knew that night that a relationship was not in our future. My issue – Pup was not terribly bright. I base this on his assertion that Chiquita bananas come from “Brazil or some other place in South Africa.” Pup’s issue – he was only interested in sleepovers.

I was with The Ex for twelve years. Prior to that, all of my relationships had been long-term, monogamous ones. The whole “no strings attached” thing was not something in which I was well-versed. Or even kinda’ versed. Geography fails aside, he was fun and attentive. So, several months after that first date, Pup and I were still seeing each other, and still having sleepovers, and I was still clueless on how to conduct myself in this situation.

Many more months went by. Pup and I saw other people. After each failed relationship – his and mine – we’d gravitate back to one another. We watched movies wrapped around each other on the couch. We went skinny dipping at midnight. We drank beer and trashed our exes and discussed important stuff like the Chiquita banana’s port of origin. We got jealous when the other had a date. We would bump into each other and ask how it was going with that new person. We would know it was over with that new person when we received a text from the other in the middle of the night that said, simply, “What are you doing?”

And that’s where we were when it all came together for me. We were each other’s hormone-driven support system. We knew from the start we’d never be a “couple,” but we successfully created this pseudo-relationship to fall back on when life was suckish. Break-ups are hard. Promising dates that go up in a blaze of Buick fuel are humiliating. People you care for treat you badly. But having someone around who wants you, despite the emotional mess you might be at any time, is badass. Is it frowned upon? Prolly. Is it ideal? Nope. Does it help rebuild what someone else knocked down? Almost every damn time. While “no strings attached” means you lack the ties that bind, you also lack the ones that choke the life out of you.

After more than two years, our fake relationship finally ended like many real relationships do – in a restaurant after a slightly drunken brouhaha set off by some ill-timed snark. There was chair slinging. As fake relationship break-ups go, it was a good one. Bestie was there.

He and I didn’t speak for five months, and I was okay with that. I didn’t need him anymore. By then, I knew my worth – I will even begrudgingly admit that he helped me find it between the terrible dates and a couple of bad break-ups that made me lose sight of it briefly. When we did bump into each other again, it was for a work project. We were friendly and spent some time catching up before I went down the hall to finish my job. The door had just closed behind me when a text popped up on my phone from him. It said…

“You look great in that dress.”

This is How it All Started

In October of 2009, I’d had enough. Exhausted, I went home from work, sat down on the couch, and said to my husband,

“I think I’m done here.”

We’d been together for twelve years, and I’d finally convinced myself that it was time to mosey along. The decision to leave evoked a grab bag of emotions – I felt empowered, afraid, happy, and lonely. Mostly, though, I felt like I was going to throw up.

Still, I forced myself on. I packed my things, rented a house, and loaded up my kids, in a whirlwind of tears and apologies and promises that everything would be okay.

And, as it turns out, everything was okay. Kids are tough, and they thought it was cool that they’d have two Christmases every year. Silver linings. I decided not to date for at least a year to make sure the kids were in a good place, and they needed me to be at home. Hell, I needed to be at home. I liked this new home. It was a happy place.

The first year passed, and – lo and behold – we were all in a good place. The kids had adjusted beautifully (two Christmases does not suck), The Ex and I were on decent terms, and my job was going well. I decided it was time to wade back into the dating pool.

Sweet Jesus, that’s where everything went sideways.

I don’t know exactly what I was expecting, but I do know it was not this hell bus ride that I seem to have jumped aboard. In the last three years I have met, and dated, and slept next to, and even loved what are surely the most flawed and just downright fucked up men to ever walk this planet. That’s right, ladies, they aaaaaall found me.

There was:

The guy who lisped;
The guy who laughed like a woman;
The guy whose face smelled bad;
The guy with long pinky nails;
The guy with a tic;
The guy who’d get drunk, forget he’d already called me, and call me again;
The guy whose dog humped my head;
The narcissist (do NOT date one of these);
The Jesus fish;
The ugly guy; and
The cross dresser.

There was also the broken boy, but we don’t make fun of him. He’s the only one of them I loved.

The rest, however, are fair game and that’s why we are here. Because if you’re going to put yourself out in the dating world, you need to be ready. I thought I was ready. I went to great lengths to make sure I was ready. But no one told me what was waiting out there.

Truckloads of flawed men.

Guys, I’m not saying women are perfect, so don’t blow me up with a bunch of hate mail. I’m a big fan of men; y’all are fantastic. I’m just saying that I haven’t found my fantastic one; apparently he’s caught in a bear trap somewhere because I can’t locate him. But whilst searching for Mr. Fantastic McBeartrap I found, instead, men who smelled their shoes in front of me…and asked me to send them pictures of my feet. (The latter happened more than once.) The ladies need to know these guys are out there.

I’m a cautionary tale, girls. Heed these nuggets of wisdom! Dating sucks. Seriously, you don’t want this. So try to make your crappy relationship less craptastic (unless he’s abusive, that shit is not cool). Try to save your failing marriage. Try anything before you try the dating thing.

To those of you already out here in this dating muck, I sincerely hope you have better luck than me. I mean, your chances are good since I seem to find all the really, really bad ones. You’re welcome.

You can repay me by keeping your eyes peeled for a fantastic guy caught in a bear trap. If you spot him, kindly set him free. That one is mine.