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So I guess I was asking for this date to go badly.  I broke my own cardinal rule and contacted him first.  He looked hot.  And he seemed friendly. We actually flirt-texted periodically throughout time I was home for Christmas and I was pretty stoked for the date.

Let’s make that rule #1 of my impending online dating experiment.  Don’t actually get excited for any of these dates.  I will from here on out expect them to be interesting learning experiences, hilarious entertainment, and as a bonus side dish maybe a free meal/drink/skydive. (Hey, a lot of guys put skydiving as their ideal first date—a girl can dream!) Actually finding someone suitable to date from the POF pond is not #1 priority or expectation from here on out.

Ok—so POF date #1.

We didn’t know much about each other’s official personal information despite the prolonged text time period. Mostly we would text back and forth about our day-to-day, and although I generally would advise against too much chat before the first actual meeting, I was excited because he seemed witty and easy to talk to. [Typically if you’ve spent time conversing, you have already sucked down the usual first date topics of conversation that are so easy to fall back on when an unfamiliar silence sits awkwardly between the two of you for the first time.]

Ball one: he calls to say he is leaving his house (approx 20 min away) after the time we ha decided we’d meet.  I bust his chops, telling him how I knew he was more of a girl than I was, but really I wasn’t annoyed.  And, even as a girl, I put the phrase perpetually late to shame. I’d left the plans up to him, because well, he’s supposed to be the man.  Previously he had excitedly mentioned something regarding a fortune teller [in the fun and different way, not the creepy “I can’t see you unless the stars are aligned” type of way], but all he said was “lol, yeah, we’re in for a fun night ;)”

It was my suggestion to meet at The Roller Coaster which twinkles its lights more or less right on the sand that meets the Pacific Ocean.  The potential for cheesy romance is certainly there.  Except he is inside of his car when I arrive. And doesn’t get out ‘til he sees me, despite the fact that we are on the phone and he knows I am walking up. [So if I weren’t cute he could peel out in his big bad 1992 Lexus? I didn’t know I was fishing in that shallow of a pond…]

As a matter of fact, he actually isn’t as cute as his photos had suggested, is shorter and has a weird nervous laugh that goes off every couple seconds, but I want to be open-minded & give it a chance.

We stroll and chat for a bit until I finally suggest grabbing a drink at the bar across the street to plan our next move. He is a ‘VIP table host at 2 different bars’, but after I ask if he knows one of the girls at the second bar he mentioned, he admits he hasn’t actually started at the second one.

I don’t recognize the name of the first one he keeps bragging about, so finally I ask where it is located and he quietly responds that it is in Hillcrest, notoriously the gay side of town (which obviously means it is also one of my favorite places in the city, but I digress…). After talking about him, his job and his past for about an hour, I finally jump in and offer some information about myself.

His work is SO IMPORTANT that he books a table while I am sitting right next to him (from texting potential client right down to running his card via paypal), and I enjoy better conversation with the bartender.  The only interest I got from the guy was a little bit of a head perk up when I told him I was into girls, but not long enough to interrupt the transaction.

I guess he could tell I was uninterested from the beginning, from his misleading pictures and stats (hey little guys—stop lying about your height, and then I will wear appropriately sized heels) to his nervous, and unfortunately continuous Bevis and Butthead type laugh, to his interest in going to da klub on his days off despite working in the club scene, to his retort of “I don’t eat fried food” after my appetizer suggestion… all the way through his casual mention of cocaine usage.

Normally in a situation where my friends are texting at the bar next to me, I whip my phone out and do the same.  This time I purposefully sat and stared into space made conversation with the friendly bar tender.

Finally (AKA after about one painful hour) I asked for the bill while his hands and eyes were magnetized to his precious iPhone [Now I know why he was such a good text messager.], and when I dropped my card into the check presenter, he too dropped his and we both knew he’d signed his ticket out.

Clearly frustrated, in a fake overly cheerful voice, I offered: “I’m gonna stay and wait for my ride, but I’ll walk you out.” A few steps out of the bar, an awkward one-armed hug, a very sincere ‘nice meeting you,’ and I was free of a fish I should have thrown back the second I reeled him in! Phew.

Defeated, I walked back into the bar. The bar tender offered to buy me a shot.

The cab that scooped me up on my walk home contained 2 guys just leaving the Rose Bowl, having the time of their lives.  No cab fare needed. Giggling dudes decked out in sports gear with their faces painted were more gentlemanly than my date.

POF victim #1: Strike 1

0:1

Not Biting This Time...

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