Operation Date – Fail.
Let me tell you about a recent date.
Or, as it should more aptly be called – an epic disappointment.
Let me set the scene.
This is a guy who came out swingin’.
He’s VERY funny.
And y’all know – that’s my jam.
It’s probably THE most attractive quality in a guy (to me), so this guy – (let’s call him “Brian”), was “in” right from the get-go.
Let me give you an example of his sense of humor.
We’d been chatting online for a while, and I’d given him my number.
Then, this popped up on my phone one day out of the blue:
Things continued like this for a while – witty banter and all that. Swoon… Right?
Then, the other day, he texted to see if I wanted to hang out. He said his buddy had a table at a nightclub for his birthday and he wanted me to join them. We texted back and forth a bit about details… I was hesitant, because the whole nightclub thing isn’t really my scene – even though I LOVE to dance and shake what my momma gave me…
Anyway, finally he called and we talked and he convinced me to come. He was so sweet! He said it was gonna mostly be guys and (I’d thought I might be hanging with a girlfriend that night…wasn’t sure yet) I was welcome to bring my friend(s) with me.
So – I went outside my comfort zone and said yes. Eeek!
No grabbing a drink first to get to know him a little better before going to a noisy club.
Nope – just right into the “ntz-ntz-ntz” of Houston’s nightlife with a cute boy as my lure.
It was then that I discovered, I have no idea what one wears to a club! I mean, I go salsa dancing and country dancing all the time, but that’s different. I knew this crowd would be young and skinny and hip (so hip, in fact, that they would probably die before using the word “hip”) and I wanted to fit in without coming across like I was trying too hard. Knowing what I know now, I went the wrong direction. Hindsight is 36/24/36.
But, …I was naive. So – I wore skinny jeans, heels, a black sleeveless top and a smoky eye. (See picture below) If you’re wondering why I’m telling you all this, it’s for two reasons. One – I want to set the stage for you – that I was OUTSIDE my comfort zone, but trying my darndest to be daring and bold and embrace the spontaneity – all for the sake of that great search for love. Two – since I write a blog about dating and I talk as if I know a thing or two, I figure it’s only fair to admit that I’m no different from anyone else – I have no clue what I’m doing! And I have insecurities and areas of ignorance just like everyone else!! Put me in a jazzy cafe with wine and cheese and I can charm the socks off of you with my stimulating and clever conversation, but meet me at 11:00 at a thumping nightclub packed with perfect-bodied 26-year olds, and I’m a little thrown…
Ok – so – here’s me breaking it down with a girlfriend I forced to come with me…
I think we’re adorable.
And – we DID have fun. I danced my TAIL off for hours. But…that’s not the point of the story. Let’s get back to Brian.
Brian was late. In his defense, he called me to tell me – and again, was very sweet and charming. He wanted to make sure we didn’t get there before him and then wonder where they were. Thoughtful, right? He gave me the name to use to get in (OH SO Sex-in-the-City) and my girlfriends and I decided to go ahead and get our dance on while we waited.
We arrived, paid the ridiculous fee to park in some crappy gravel lot across from the club, trounced through the grit with our heels and finally arrived at the velvet-roped entrance, only to discover that we were sorely underdressed. So, naturally – my level of nervousness plummeted another floor down. Greeting us at the door were men in sport coats and the most perfectly (and medically) sculpted woman in the shortest, reddest, tightest dress I’ve ever laid my judgmental eyes on. And they were just the beginning. The inside of this place was filled with the most beautiful people you’ve ever seen. It was like People magazine exploded into a room pulsing with sound and light. Jaw-droppingly gorgeous, well-dressed men and exquisitely manufactured women in the sparkliest dresses.
I’m pretty sure I was the only female in the room with only her God-given parts,
sans botox/extensions/implants/tucks/plastys and the like. But they all sure were glorious to look upon. The people I encounter when I go salsa dancing or 2-stepping are real people, out to have fun dancing. THESE people were like living mannequins and models parading their goods to sell to the highest bidder.
So – 11:00 turned into 11:30….turned into almost midnight before Brian arrived. And when he finally texted me that he was there, I assumed he’d come find me on the dance floor and greet me, show me to their table, etc. But no. I had to go hunt him down (always an ego boost), and when I found him (or rather, we sorta bumped into each other and then hugged),
he looked NOTHING like his profile photos OR the pictures he had JUST THAT DAY sent me on my phone.
He was considerably …um… more plentiful?… than his pictures had led me to believe.
So I had to put on a “yay! So happy to finally meet you!” face over-top of my more authentic “good glory, this guy’s a total fraud” thought crawler.
Now, I know some of you may be thinking – “isn’t that awfully hypocritical of you, Sarah? You’re imperfect and curvy. How can you expect a guy to be a chiseled demi-god when you’re so far from that yourself?” Well – maybe you weren’t thinking those exact words, but still – I hear your inner interrogation…I hear you and I raise you my answer.
Here’s the difference: I market myself AS I AM.
I put photos up that are recent and I include full-body shots to show the men on those sites what they’d be getting themselves into…
What they see is a true representation of how I look – flaws and all.
THIS guy was deceptive. He purposely duped me – and it left me feeling annoyed – almost angry – at the bait and switch. And the saddest part is (well – the saddest part up until THIS point in the story) – if he had shown me pictures of himself as he is right now – I still would’ve gone out with him. I still find him attractive! It’s his witty personality that grabbed me in the first place, and he’s got a great smile. So WHAT if he’s got a little cushioning – birds of a feather, right? But – he lied. It’s the false advertising that makes me so indignant.
Still… I was already there, I’d already ventured into the unknown and underdressed, so I wanted to spend some time with him…
you know… to preach the gospel of kale and other superfoods…
(oh, settle – I’m just teasing).
I wanted to either grab a drink or dance or sit and chat, but he was looking for a buddy and told me he’d come find me in a minute. So – I went back to the dance floor to get my shake on.
45 minutes later…
(yes – you read that correctly)
FORTY-FIVE friggin’ minutes later… I was getting peeved that I hadn’t seen any sign of him. I thought maybe because the place was so packed, he couldn’t find me. (I know, I know… I’m so naive…) So, I (once again), went looking for him. When I found him, he was being trailed by some 20-something smoking hot girl who’s body could only have been crafted by a team of specialists. There do not exist, in nature, breasts like those on a frame that skinny. I’m relatively certain she had some of her less-essential organs removed to get the full barbie ‘look’ she was sporting under her Oscar de la Renta knock-off.
WHAT? Who IS this girl? I stopped him and said, in my best “I’m just flirty and cool and zen and not at ALL annoyed that you’re ignoring me even though YOU asked ME to come tonight” voice, “Hey you! Come dance with me!” He muttered something about “in a minute…” while the eye candy behind him snickered and literally rolled her eyes. Again… WHAT? Who IS this girl? Is she some kind of club groupie? Is she part of some harem that I’ll eventually be asked to join (after multiple surgeries to completely alter my form)?
So – I went back to the dance floor. Again.
I danced for another 45 minutes and decided to leave. I texted him, “Gettin’ ready to leave…”
I heard nothing back.
As in – not then. Not later that night. Not the next morning or at all the next day. Not all weekend… nothing. Nada. Zilch.
Like I was never even there.
Like he’d never even asked me – multiple times.
Like we’d never texted AND talked multiple times.
So – this is my life now. I try to be edgy and enter into unfamiliar territory, for the sake of the cause… and I get too-many-burgers-jerk-store-special.
You’d think, at the very least, he’d validate my parking…
I’ll now be accepting suggestions for a well-composed, pithy yet snarky text to send to this guy in the coming week. Something that says, “you’re a jerk,” and “you missed out,” and “what happened?” and “no, seriously – what happened?” all in a neat little package with a “Bazinga” finish. Shouldn’t be too hard, right? After culling through the hundreds of entries I’m sure to receive, I’ll be awarding two prizes (I can’t say what the prizes are (because I haven’t thought of something creative enough yet)) – one for the best quip to ACTUALLY send, and one for the the zinger that makes me laugh the most.