After my last date had ended up with a guy naked on my bed with absolutely no encouragement on my end, I was more than ready for a fellow that was a just a tad less eager to accelerate the dating process. My next date, Scott, though, could barely summon up the motivation to lift his hand up to shake mine when we met. I would say that he maybe smiled twice during our conversation but that would probably be overstating things. How exciting! A guy that had chosen to have a drink with me instead of jumping off the top of a building! Fantastic.

In our first couple of emails, I did not become aware of Scott’s wish for his own early demise. He was actually extremely smart and witty and he had me laughing out loud several times.  Scott was different than the average guy and I was getting excited. There was someone out in the dating universe that could hold a decent conversation, seemed very cute and used words that I had to look up in the dictionary? It was looking promising…

It was June and it turned out that Scott had just moved to Seattle from San Diego in March for a job. On our third email, he asked, “Is it always so cloudy and rainy here? Do you have sun in this city? Ever? I mean, really. If it is like this for much longer I am going to kill myself.” Uh, oh. I asked if he had been on an exploratory trip to Seattle before he moved and, if so, what had the weather been like? Even though I asked the question, I already knew the answer. “Yes, I did come for a weekend but it was back in July. It was beautiful. When does it get like that again?” I had to break the news to Scott that Seattle had about five nice weekends a year, and well, trying to be optimistic, those were just around the corner! It wasn’t long! The sun would come out in…late July!

I didn’t hear from Scott after that email for three days. I thought maybe the Seasonal Affective Disorder had gotten him but I finally got an email. He wanted to meet for a drink but he needed to wait for a week or so because he needed to buy a car. Apparently he had broken down and, even though he was dying inside, he realized he couldn’t have a motorcycle in Seattle. It killed him but he just had to face the truth. Hmmm…maybe the SAD was still lurking around after all but we did agree to meet for a drink the following week. I wasn’t confident that Scott wouldn’t drive his car off a bridge on the way to meet me but, again, I was trying to be optimistic.

I walked into the bar and there was a white blob of a guy in the back corner that perhaps, if I squinted, looked like the photos I had seen of Scott. The blob saw me and made an attempt at standing up and half-heartedly waving at me. Seriously???? Nothing like his pictures, he looked nothing like his pictures, but I couldn’t turn around and walk out even though it was very, very, very tempting.

“Hey, Kate, nice to meet you. Did you find somewhere close to park or did you get f*cking soaked on your way in here? Because I am f*cking soaked.” This was the first sentence that the ball-of-joy that was my date uttered to me. Charming, really, charming. I am no fan of the weather in Seattle, don’t get me wrong, but his opening salvo just seemed like the wrong way to start a date. Shouldn’t some note of positivity be maintained? Really?

It didn’t get better from there. Hating the weather in Seattle was only item #1 on the reasons why Scott wanted to end it all. The rain sucked, his job was a waste of his time, his hometown team the Celtics made him feel like a ‘Masshole’, he missed San Diego something fierce and he had hurt has back. Scott had gained 50 pounds and, even though he used to be a ‘bodybuilder’ (he had pictures!), he could now barely get off the couch. “I don’t know why I get out of bed, I mean, really, why bother?”

My feelings of empathy and sympathy were quickly outweighed by my overwhelming irritation at this guy for even dragging me out on a date. Ok, fine, I understood that sometimes there is a perfect storm of awfulness in one’s life but it was really not fair to load all of that on me, within the first 15 minutes!, and not pay me an hourly rate to be his psychiatrist. I was only one girl. We finished our drinks and I made up some reason on the fly that I just couldn’t stick around for another round. Scott told me that I was really ‘harshing his buzz’ but, really, at that point, I didn’t think that there was much that didn’t. I paid for my drink and made for the exit. I moved toward Scott to at least give him a hug goodbye but he didn’t even get out of his chair.

I got an email from Scott two days later asking me to go to a movie and dinner. “I was going to ask you to go on a ride on the ferry but, well, I think the rain and clouds might make me jump off of the side of the boat.” As tempting as that offer sounded, I couldn’t take another downer of a date with Scott. I wrote him back that, I was sorry, but I just didn’t feel a connection. I never heard from him again after that. I am hoping that he made it out of Seattle and didn’t stick around to keep going on therapy dates. A guy should pay an hourly rate for that, I mean, really.

Published in: Uncategorized on March 23, 2011 at 3:43 am  Comments (10)  

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10 CommentsLeave a comment

  1. Kate, this is one of the funniest blogs I have ever read!. You sound pretty freakin’ normal to me. Good luck, check out Ocho (in the hood) for pretty good tapas.

    • Thank you and, Ocho, yes, swoon. Love them and their drinks and tapas!

  2. You have this world class talent for picking the right matches. Please keep up the good work because I really enjoy reading about them.

  3. Seriously – If you cant find someone you like and enjoy being with out of over 100 people, you either really aren’t trying, or you’re nuts.

  4. I love your blog and I am 59 years old. It is hard to believe there are so many bizarre dudes out there. Incredible! And I thought I was strange! Woah! I guess I am much closer to having it together than I thought!

  5. So let me ask you some general questions about Let’s say you wink or e-mail a woman. If she’s not interested, fine, I can accept that. I think that the old “iggy” is hint enough for me. I frankly would rather a woman give me the “iggy” than the “polite no thank you.” I wonder how women feel about this very same thing when they send out winks or e-mails to men, or what other men think.

  6. I have some stories about Match. One woman winked at me, I wrote back, we went back and forth a few times, and she had a “change of heart.” I can accept that. Here’s where I saw the “writing on the wall:” Between me writing to her and her writing me back, there were times where she did NOT write, but was “online now.” She shouldn’t put all of her eggs into one basket of course, but that was very telling, and when she broke it off, it wasn’t shocking to me.

    Also, in a way, if I send a woman a wink or e-mail and she does the “iggy” as I prefer, I kind of wish she would “block me from viewing her profile,” because I send so many, I know that one of these days, I’m going to wink or e-mail a woman TWICE, and that’s going to freak her out.

  7. What am I to make of a woman who sends me a wink, but she has only ONE photo, and a lot of her preferences are “no preference” or “no answer,” and just too ambiguous?

  8. You called the guy a blob.
    Even in the realm of internet dating,
    that’s uncalled for.
    I am gorgeous but I still use respect and compassion when describing those who aren’t as blessed as myself.
    Respect and compassion can be entertaining too when you aren’t writing for seventh graders.

  9. From now on, I’m gonna try and sum up Kate’s date experience in 5 words or less so you won’t have to read through all that stuff, kind of a condensed Cliff notes. This one is easy:

    Scott – Seasonal Affective Disorder, Masshole. Next!

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