Please Stop Talking About Yourself So Much...I'll Do That When You Leave
Online dating sucks, when you take it offline. Just kidding, it’s a blast – if you’re an asshole like me and love miserable dates because it provides material.
Thank you Match.com for once again not finding a suitable match.
About a week and half ago I received a message on Match – pretty straight forward – somewhere along the lines of, “Hey, I’m also from North Dakota, let’s get dinner – or drinks.”
Looking back, is the fact that this human being happens to be from my home state really enough to bypass all normal conversation, give out my number and meet up for dinner? Probably not. But it’s exactly what I did.
So, we had agreed on dinner.
Little did this human know I am the worst at making decisions so I left it up to him. This was a big moment – his time to shine – if he had read my profile he would choose Mexican to be safe, since it’s my favorite.
His text: “Sushi?”
At this moment I should have just cut my losses.
I explained to him I have an irrational fear of chopsticks and that he would need to choose somewhere else. He found it funny, I was annoyed.
T-3 days until our 8PM dinner date.
Within these three days I had appointments for a mani/pedi and highlights – this lucky bastard was getting me at my best. I should have worn a shirt that said, “This is as good as it gets.”
My Date - 35 - Male (I‘m beginning to consider switching teams) - Works for a computer company - From ND - Likes to raft and ride his bike
Things that should have concerned me: - I really knew nothing about him. - He likes to ride his bike. - The big WTF moment was when I tried to view his profile on the day of the date…I couldn’t. He must have blocked me. I should have bailed right then. I know nothing about him, I can barely see his face in his profile picture and he blocked me. Who in the hell am I meeting? Hannibal Lecter?
He text me around 3PM and said, “See you at 8.”
In this moment I had four responses come to mind: - What’s at 8? - No, you actually won’t. - Who is this? - Yes, see you then.
I obviously went with option 4, mainly because I needed something to write about. Yeah, I know, once again, I’m an asshole.
I think the most nervous I get is on my way to meet these people. What if they don’t look like their pictures? What if they think I don’t? What if I say hi to the wrong person? What if they don’t show?
As soon as the initial meet and greet is over, I’m fine. I’m in a public place what’s the worst that could happen? Oh, a boring date from hell.
I arrive at 7:58, two minutes to spare. I should have been 2 hours late and missed it.
Good thing he was the only one in the restaurant and by good thing I mean, awkward.
I’m instantly cool, he instantly shits his pants.
It was the most uncomfortable hug in my entire life. He stuck out his hand for a handshake so I did the same but then he apparently changed his mind and went in for one armed hug – my hand was now stuck in between the two of us as it didn’t get the memo to bail on the handshake.
Glad that’s over. He looks around the restaurant talking to himself, “We need a table for two. Can someone get us a table for two?”
Uh, buddy, all the workers are in the back, who are you talking to?
Like I mentioned before, I suck at making decisions. Big life changing decisions, I’m pretty good at – small things like which table to sit at? Not so much. I need a man who can make decisions.
Every question the waitress asked he panicked. Table or booth? Here in the front or in the back? High top or low top? Which one of these two do you prefer?
If he didn’t shit his pants when I walked in, he just did.
Completely flustered. I had to man up and make the decision.
You know what else is awkward? A 5’10” woman and a 6’6” man sitting at a table built for a four year-old. I had no idea what to do with my legs since his were taking up the area under the table. At one point I think they were both just flailing around in the air.
I was actually excited for the conversation because I didn’t know anything about him so there would be so much to talk about.
Topics of conversation: - The fact that neither of us had been to the restaurant and the quality of the food. - His obsession with riding his bike. - Vajazzling - Summer plans
The fact that neither of us had been to the restaurant and the quality of the food.
It was like this was his first time at a restaurant he has never been to. Therefore, I assume if he ever goes out to eat it must always be to the same place.
He was having a hard time figuring it out. It was a Mongolian BBQ. The two main ideas (other than basic dishes ordered from the waitress) were to fill a bowl and take it to the grill where the chef grills it up or order meat that is served to the table with a hot volcanic rock and you cook it yourself.
I figured this out by reading the menu. Apparently literacy isn’t a quality we share.
I ordered water. Clearly the waitress didn’t understand the, “and by water I mean straight vodka” look I gave her because she actually brought me water.
First we started with a soup or salad. He went with the soup, myself the salad.
He sat and wondered for about 5 minutes how the soup was going to taste.
In those 5 minutes I ate my entire salad.
Shut up and eat.
His obsession with riding his bike.
In no way am I exaggerating when I say 98% of our conversation was about him riding his bike.
Do you know how many shits I give about people riding bikes? None.
Most bike riders don’t need to be Lance Armstrong for me to want to punch them in the face.
I own a car and its how I prefer to get from point A to point B.
Want to race?
He rode his bike through the French Alps last summer.
I rafted the Colorado, the Eagle and the Roaring Fork while consuming more beer than any girl should be able to. I don’t remember some of it but I guarantee my summer was more fun.
He went to a bike class that day since he can’t ride his bike outside currently.
I went to a spin class once and I would rather lose my legs and the ability to sit than ever do that again.
We have so much in common.
Not to bore you because just thinking about it bores me – we continued to talk about him and his bike.
I might create a Match.com account for a bike and message him.
Just to clarify, yes, vajazzling.
Vajazzling: The act of applying glitter and jewels to a woman’s nether regions for aesthetic purposes.
During one of his rambles about his bike riding he mentioned that this summer he is once again going to France to ride his little bicycle. If I ever go to France it will be to eat myself from place to place, get fat and steal people’s bikes.
I then got to learn about everyone going on the trip this summer.
Ask me how many fucks I give about who this human is going on a bike trip with this summer?
Anyway, the one person he was most excited about was Travis Stork.
You don’t know what that is? Who are you? Do you live under a rock?
I had no idea who he was either.
Apparently he’s on the show The Doctor’s.
More importantly, he was the Bachelor.
I would compare his fame to Tara Reid.
I wouldn’t be excited.
Now, had he said Channing Tatum or Liam Hemsworth were joining him in France? I would have proposed our second date be in France.
Back to the famous bike riding human who will be biking around France with the most boring human.
Apparently my date didn’t know who he was at first.
Which is promising, because nobody should know him. So his friend calls him one day to have him catch the show.
All the sudden my date starts acting like a 5 year-old.
His hands are in his face. He’s mumbling. And rocking back and forth.
Is this where you go bat shit crazy and kill me?
He’s mumbling about what the show was about that day.
All I hear are little bits and pieces: - Jewels down there - Vagina - Bedazzling down there - Oh my gosh
Once he became an adult again and was looking at me I said, “Are you talking about Vajazzling?”
He almost jumps out of his chair, claps his hands – “YES, THAT’S IT.”
Jesus Christ. Is this real life?
He then reverts to his 5 year-old self and talks about how they turned the question back to the doctor and asked if he would ever bedazzle his penis.
He said penis so quiet I thought he lost his voice.
I made him repeat himself three times.
I think I just committed a form of torture.
I thought he was going to die of embarrassment.
Wait, you’re 35, right?
Penis. Penis. Penis. Vagina. Vagina. Vagina.
At this point I’m waiting for someone to save me. Anyone. Or for him to kill me, and put me out of misery.
Well we can keep this short.
His plans are to ride his bike. Every day. Everywhere.
I made it perfectly clear about 700 times that riding a bike sounds miserable and that I don’t own one. He didn’t care.
You know how I know he read my profile?
In my profile I state, “I drop the f bomb more than any girl should, my mother hates it.”
Now, I swear, a lot – I know it – but I would never, ever, ever walk into a first date and say fuck every time I took a breath. I actually make sure not to swear at all when I first meet someone. I’m such a lady.
Well, the Lance Armstrong wannabe across the table was dropping f bombs every 7 minutes.
The best was, I think it was the first time he has ever said the word.
He stuttered when he said it. He wouldn’t make eye contact. He used it in the most unnecessary sentences.
But I am glad after 35 years he has finally released his caged up f bombs, all in one dinner.
See you never.
The date is finally over.
He has talked about all his past and upcoming bike trips and has nothing else to say.
We walk outside and unfortunately had a repeat of the most awkward hug ever. I used both my arms because they both work.
As he’s walking to his car he yells, “See you soon.”
Uh, ok. I don’t know where, but if you say so.
I am thinking it’s midnight. I’m exhausted. Longest – Date – Ever.
I get in my car.
I was there for an hour and 17 minutes.
Are you fucking kidding me?
I thought it was almost November and I was going to get a free dessert for my birthday.
Please, let’s not ruin this with a second date.