100 Bad Dates: #35

Date #35 was a DJ. You know, like God. Except he worked at the local college radio station. That could be heard only on the internet. And for no money. So, really, less like God and more like the guy with the biggest vinyl collection and a lot of time on his hands.

February 1, 2010; 12:00 PM • by The Checkout Girl

Date #35 was a DJ. You know, like God. Except he worked at the local college radio station. That could be heard only on the internet. And for no money. So, really, less like God and more like the guy with the biggest vinyl collection and a lot of time on his hands.

We went out on a blindish date after meeting on MySpace. Hey, don’t judge. Whether or not you admit it, a good percentage of you have met someone online and prayed like hell while walking into a coffee shop/restaurant/bar that they looked at least enough like their picture that you would be able to recognize them but different enough that you might find them attractive. And they wished the same thing about you. The key is knowing the photographic tricks used in the online dating world so you don’t end up at Buffalo Wild Wings with a guy who looked like a cuddly, better looking Kevin James in his picture but more closely resembles a rude, cheese-sweating (and ultimately married) version of Fat Bastard from the Austin Powers movies. Yes, average is the name of the game with online dating, regardless of what Match.com would have you believe. I am the Queen of the 5’s and proud of it.

Date #35 looked ok in his pictures, though he wore a hat in every one. I assumed that meant he was thin-to-nonexistent on top, which didn’t bother me, but clearly did him. He was also sort of slight. He told me in one of his messages that he had recently lost 100 pounds and I almost called the date off. Hint: people who lose a lot of weight are oftentimes excited to talk about it and fat people are, also oftentimes, really not that comfortable. Their resemblance to your before picture and the fact that they are the person that you are so happy to not be anymore can really be a bone of contention and not conducive to the other bone that we are frequently trying to get to on a date. However, he seemed smart and nice and his brain was a library of obscure music information, so I agreed, knowing we’d at least have things to talk about.

When I got to the designated date location (a local coffee shop) I scanned the crowd nervously. I was 15 minutes late and sure Date #35 would be there. Nope. That was sort of a relief. Everyone knows it’s way better to be the first to arrive and have the advantage of scoping out the other person as they walk in. I checked my phone for messages and, finding none, settled in with the most intellectual-looking book I had sitting on my bookshelf. I don’t remember what it was but, suffice it to say, it was probably leather-bound.

I waited about half an hour, looking up every 30 seconds or so for Date #35 to come through the door. My nerves were a mess. It’s hard to suck in your gut while sitting down, anyway, but try doing it for a whole episode of Gary Unmarried. You’d die! I know, I know, it sounds preferable to having to actually watch that show, but I can assure you it’s not. I finally packed up and left, miffed about having been stood up and composing a scathing MySpace message in my head all the way home.

When I signed on to the site, a message was waiting for me from Date #35. It said, “You’re pretty.” I was weirded out. I ranted for a few lines about him having seen me but not saying anything and how I felt foolish. He wrote back very sweetly that once he had seen me he had chickened out because he didn’t think he was in my league. Aww! Even creepy, stalkeresque flattery can win me over. I told him that while I didn’t appreciate having wasted my time waiting for him, I understood nerves. I also told him that I studied in the downtown library every Wednesday night; he could come down there some time and join me if it felt like less pressure. He said he wasn’t sure but thanked me for the invitation.

I dressed a little nicer the next few times I visited the library, and wore a little more makeup than usual, but Date #35 never showed. Who knows what really happened that night? Maybe he saw me and decided I was too chunky to pet his monkey. Maybe he was intimidated by the leather-bound book I was pretending to read. Maybe I really WAS too pretty. Only he and God know the answer to that, and the DJs aren’t talking. I think I’ll go with the last one and put another record on.

The Checkout Girl is a recent transplant to Richmond, from San Diego. She is obsessed with celebrity gossip, good yarn, garish lipstick, and memoirs. She’d like to learn to play the ukulele, cook more than microwave meals, and master the French language. She writes her work and life adventures at thecheckoutgirl.net, as well as the advice column Ask The Checkout Girl for Belle Magazine. After more than 100 bad dates, she’s found a pretty good guy.

February 1, 2010 12:00 PM 0