I’m a super busy, hard-working, single Mom. Not single in the classic, my-kids’-father-is-a-deadbeat sense, because he is the polar opposite of that; but single in the sense that I’m responsible for holding a full time job, keeping a roof over my head, cooking (hahaha), cleaning (hahaha some more), doing yard work, carting kids around (school/sports/social functions) when they’re with me. What I’m getting at here, is that I’m too busy to be out trolling for a partner in crime. The sad conclusion I’ve come to lately is I’m too busy to even HAVE a partner in crime. Being busy and tired of the bar scene led me to put myself out there in a more “global” way…for like, three weeks. Remember a while back I blogged about online dating and how I’d never do that again? I lied. This time, however, I’m SERIOUS (imagine my most seriousest face EVER. I’ve got the Mom-Face-of-NO-MORE-Online-Dating-on). After a whopping three weeks and two failed attempts at cyber dating, I’m throwing in my tagline. I’ve locked up my profile and thrown away the key. Why? You may ask. Why not give it more time? Meet more people? Try harder? You know why? I’m finding out that I don’t really LIKE people! I hate going through the painfully fake motions of getting to know someone, only to find out that person is a dick. This past Saturday I was set to meet a seemingly wonderful, successful, intelligent man for dinner (that country song “I’m So Much Cooler Online) is suddenly streaming through my mind. I had a bad feeling about things. Not bad, as in, “I think I may get murdered,” but more like, “I don’t think I’m going to be able to tolerate this pretentious prick.” So I cancelled, as eloquently as I could:
“Dear Asshat (who shall remain nameless, lest I get sued for stuff I don’t even have…like money, dignity, or class),
I was very excited and swept up in your intelligence and interesting stories. Today I’ve been thinking about tonight’s date from a more pragmatic standpoint. I’ve arranged a sitter to stay with my kids while I make an hour + drive to walk around the lake with a man I’ll likely never see again – not factoring in whether or not we actually LIKE each other; but from a logistics perspective. You’re planted successfully in West Milford, I’m a life-long (happily-so) resident of upstate. The best we can hope for is 70-90 days/year together (far less if I account for kid time – sports, outings, etc.). I’m sorry for having taken up so much of your time already, and hope I haven’t kept you from anything more eventful this evening. I’m going to bow out (graciously?) before I spend any more of our time. You are intelligent and sound extraordinarily interesting. I’m certain we could chat effortlessly for hours on end, however, I’m feeling fairly confident that’s all it ever would be. I hope your daughter has a safe trip today! I imagine it’s snowing in the mountains – it’s a rainy mess down here.”
I guess I expected him to be (at the least) a little bummed, (at the most) upset I’d interfered with him making other plans for the evening. I certainly never foresaw the barrage of messages I would receive! I was kinda pissed, but mostly laughing at how ridiculous this previously seemingly intelligent man turned out to be. Mind you, I messaged him late in the morning so he wouldn’t be waiting all day for a date that wasn’t going to happen. I wanted to give him plenty of time to make alternate plans and I certainly wouldn’t have just gone for a “stand up”.
The onslaught began, “You seemed, from your profile, like someone who could reach for the stars and adventure, with a sense of joie de vivre. My daughter is in Switzerland safely as of this morning, thank you, after a successful first half of her semester at the Globe Theater. (Ooooooh, my)! HER life is testimony to the benefits of partnering with me. Although as with the middle-aged women I meet, she argues the impossibility of my proposals for her, too. But after a while she sees the wisdom of my council, and the joy in reaching for dreams and conquering obstacles to their realization. In a few years, she’ll be at Yale, doing her MFA, (Mother Fucking Associates?) because I insisted it would be so. Unfortunately, I can only guide HER because she trusts me to know the truths of life. A pity, because if my powers were unlimited, there would be legions of women living happier more fulfilled lives than they can apparently imagine. (That’s where I almost shot coffee out my nose). Dinner alone would have been worth your effort (Someone thinks quite highly of himself). If you change your mind in a pique of the adventurousness that lingers in your soul, just text. (Because, yes, everything you’ve said to point makes me want to run right to my phone and beg you to help me see the error of my ways, you pompous ass)! That’s the problem with not meeting. You haven’t yet found out that I’m segueing out of downstate and into upstate, where I, too, have spent decades of my life. The capital from my sold downstate property will roll over into a house in the Charlevoix NE of Quebec. (Well now I’m REALLY kicking myself). The thing about divorced women (excuse me?!) is that they seem to have lost the ability to see anything more than their constricted lives and past men, who clearly disappointed them (I’d like to have a margarita with HIS ex wife). So, not trying to be discourteous, just disappointed you can’t let the real you out (a.k.a. “I can’t believe I’m not getting laid tonight! I OWN A PORSCHE!”). But you have lots of company. AND, you could just have said, meet me in romantic downtown Plattsburgh (was that a slam against my ghetto?!) and I would come to you. This categorization is the result of flaking out just hours before outset and confirmed meeting, which we agreed on before the weekend. I could have made a half dozen other plans, but I CHOSE you, because you seemed special and worthwhile. (Awwww…I’m gonna need therapy now. Rejected by a douche canoe.). You CHOSE to flake. Selling me on how you have your life in order (BAHAHAHAHAHAHA – I’d never bullshit anyone to THAT extent) and your many qualities doesn’t undo the flake out. I already thought you had potential, that’s why I committed my precious Sat night to YOU. (He oughta be committed alright!) The web is filled with flakers. I did not expect you to be one. So double the disappointment. (Is this how he gets his daughter through life? Reverse psychology and manipulation?)”
THEN IT GETS BETTER…if I’d been within arms-length I would’ve shown him how a real lady throttles a man…
“But, what do I know? I don’t know you at all really. I just got a good feeling from your sense of humor. (I MUST have an amazing sense of humor for even considering this dork.) For all I know the faux-meeting could be a useful ploy used to make some non-committal hockey Dad jealous. (Because, you know, I couldn’t have picked up an asshole around here for a one-nighter). Once it worked, well, date not needed. Hey, I’m a writer, I can conjure dozens of scenarios. And I’ve lived a few of them at the wrong end. Divorced women can be quite mercenary. And text is somewhat tone deaf. So now…what was to be a fun Sat night will be another unpleasant tidbit in the notes for my 3rd book.”
I’ll be watching for that one on the Best Seller List. “Trials and Tribulations of an Online Prick”. Ladies – learn a lesson from MY screw ups – stay true to yourselves. Love your children. Go see your Grandparents. Have a glass of wine with a friend. Don’t try to force what isn’t happening naturally. Above all…STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM THE FRUIT LOOPS!