A couple of years ago, I had just gotten out of a terrible, really fucking terrible, relationship and I went back home to NY to ease my troubled heart. On that particular trip, I couldn't find a rental car to save my life, and found myself stranded at my mom's house while she was at work. So as I was sitting there, channel surfing with one of my little sisters, an ad for eHarmony came on the tele. I looked over at her and said "Eh, what the fuck. With 20 million users, I'm bound to find my soul mate, right? I mean, RIGHT??" So, to beat the boredom of being trapped at Mom's, we decided to make up a profile, just for shits n' giggles.
Now I don't know if any of you have actually tried that dating site, but it is a pain in the mother fucking ASS. The questions were horrendously long and tedious. "Do you like to sleep in? How do you feel about Velveeta? Have you ever stuck a finger in your dog's ass to express its anal glands? Do you eat out, or would rather cook at home? How about toothpaste? Squeeze from the middle, or roll up the end? And, perhaps most importantly, which way do you put the roll of toilet paper on the holder?" And on and on and on and on. It got so fucking tedious that I started to question my sanity in choosing THIS to be how I'd spend my afternoon. But, I finished up and then came the exciting moment of truth: pressing the button that would now match me up with the perfect man. But right before doing so, they ask how close you want that person to be, geographically speaking. Well, seeing as how I lived in Fort Collins at the time, I figured 40 miles would be sufficient. So there I went, I pushed the button..... And as I sat there watching the loading circle-thing spin round and round and round, I was beginning to feel the excitement building. And Tada!!! My results!!
"We're sorry, but there are no matches for you within 40 miles of your location." What?? Are you fucking kidding me?? In all of Fort Collins, no matches?? Well, how about I pick 100 miles, because that includes Denver. And SURELY there's a match for me in DENVER, I mean, it's HUGE, right? Wrong again... "We're sorry. We have no matches for you." What the FUCK? FUCK THIS. Ok, WORLD FUCKING WIDE, THEN-- some French asshole with a really hot accent is sure to find my American charm totally irresistible. Nope. FUCKING, NOPE. My little sister thought that this was the funniest shit ever-- her big sister can't even find a date on the largest dating site in the world ("over 20 million members", after all). Well, that's just fucking bullshit. Either I'm the world's biggest schmuck, or I'm such a rare creature that no man can possibly measure up to me. In any case, I immediately deleted my account and demanded my money back.
Fast forward a few weeks later: This time, I saw an ad for match.com advertising a free three day trial. So, I thought: what the fuck? Why not try again-- none of these ass shits I'm meeting while out with my girlfriends are worth a damn (Roger That, Markus Balarkus, Fanny Pack guy, the puppet guy, and many more, believe me). Match can't be any worse that eHarmony, right? So once again, I make up a profile. I can't remember the questions, or the format, or really anything much about it. But I CAN, without a doubt, tell you about the one date that I managed to go on after meeting someone on there.
He was a tall, rugged-looking sort of fellow, a timber framer in the same business that my ex and I were in, so we knew some of the same people. His photos showed a broad shouldered jolly ol' fella of a guy, someone who looked like a lot of fun. Plus, he clearly loved spending time in the woods, given the amount of photos of him in them. I thought, sweet! Shows at least a little inkling of promise.
After some phone correspondence, which was witty and fun and more or less comfortable, we decided to Do The Deed and go on a real date. That night, I was working at Rasta Pasta (a real fun joint at the time) and told him that I'd meet up with him at a busy brew pub a block away from work, just as soon as I'd gotten off for the evening. And to make sure I knew who he was, I asked him how I'd know which fella he was. He said "I'm wearing a grayish blue polo with a red hat." Awesome. I scooted my buns right over there, excited at the idea of a date with a fun, cute guy.
So there I was, walking up to the joint (that has HUGE windows, by the way, perfect for people watching, both in AND outside the pub). As I recall, there was bit of a wait so I had ample time to look in the window and find the guy with the grayish blue polo, wearing a red hat. And, I did. Oh yes, I sure as fuck did. OH FUCK. Oh fuckity fuck fuck. Oh, fuck me like a pervert fucks a sheep. FUCK. That motherfucker clearly posted pictures that were a solid 75 pounds ago. OH SHIT! Goddammit, shit fucking shit balls! And he knows I'm on my way! What the FUCK??
After some self medicating (hopefully, I had a pile of some sort of drugs in my bag at the time, I can't recall), I hopped on the bravery horse and walked through the door. I walked up to the quivering pile of lard that was my DATE and introduced myself. His eyes, well, they lit up like fireworks in July. Mine, I'm pretty sure, were probably glassy as fuck by that time (the right kind of drugs work pretty fucking quick). I coolly smiled and offered my hand and said it was nice to meet him (LIES!).
So, we bellied up to the bar, where of course the bartendress asked us for our IDs, which we promptly provided. Mine was legit, duh, but his, I happened to see, had the big and bold RESTRICTED glaring across the top of it. He rather proudly, I think, told me he was on his third DUI but had somehow found some stupid loophole that allowed him to keep his license. Fucking SUPER. Red flag number TWO. Well, I let that go, because there was no way in hell that those sausage fingers would be making their way anywhere near my lady bits. No fucking WAY. In fact, I was so turned off by that guy that not even my Rabbit would come out of my drawer for fucking WEEKS. Ugh. I shiver to think of it.
But the best of that date was yet to come....
When one is on a first date, one generally tries to be on one's best behavior, am I right? One generally does not fart, or burp, or say or do much of anything that may be unattractive to a potential mate (even if only a one night sort of mate). Well. It became really clear, really fast, why this guy was using the internet to score chicks, this inner tube of pale and jiggly fat notwithstanding. After his second double Makers, he looks me dead in the eyes and asks me "Do you think it's weird to shit outside?" Me (in my head): "What?? What the FUCK? You're a fucking douchetard and I'm about to bounce this shit as soon as you tell me why you're asking me this" Me (verbally this time): "Well, I don't know. It depends. I mean, if you shit in the woods, that's fine. But I doubt the neighbors would appreciate you juicing a deuce in the front yard." He: "Well, what about the driveway? Here, I've got something to show you."
And much like a proud grandmother showing off pictures of the grandkids, HE PROCEEDED TO BUST OUT HIS PHONE AND SHOW ME A PICTURE OF THE SHIT HE LEFT IN HIS FUCKING DRIVEWAY!!!!
Friends, I'm proud to say that I immediately picked up my bag and, without saying a fucking word, got up and left. And I vaguely remember hearing him call after me "Does this mean we won't be seeing each other again?!"
Seriously. Fuck that guy.
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