Diving Back In

Whatever it was, it was really funny and exciting. So, I know it might have been confusing that one minute I was sharing all of my sad, bizarre and slightly disturbing dating disasters with you all and suddenly, it all stopped. The truth is that I started dating a friend of mine. This is dangerous territory and in the end, we found out that we were better as friends than as lovers. So, I'm back in the game, back on the market, diving back into the dating pool of San Francisco. Ugh. It's such a mess out there. Really. I don't know if all women have this problem, but men just don't approach me. I've been told by nearly every male friend I know that it is because they are intimidated. I'm taller than most of them, reasonably good looking, funny, smart and confident. Apparantly men don't know what to do with that combination. It's like I'm wearing kryptonite perfume or something. Sure I have high standards, but it's not like they are unreasonable. Tall, funny, confident, smart and reasonably good looking. This is a good place to start. You'd be surprised (or if you're a single woman you may not be) how few men actually fit even this simple mold. Regardless, I am friends with enough men of quality to not give up the hope that not all the good ones are taken or gay. So, since they won't approach me in the supermarket or the bar or the park, off I go, back into the depths of insanity that is Internet Dating. Quite a few of my friends, while sympathetic about my recent break-up, are not-so-secretly thrilled that I'm dating again. This way, they can get their jollies by listening to or reading about my ramblings toward love. To prepare you for the sort of situations I will undoubtedly find myself in, I will regale you now with the #1 worst date I've ever had. Now, some of you may remember my post A Race To The Finish , wherein I recapped a date to the racetrack and said it was the worst DATE I've ever been on. It was. It still is. This is the story of the worst GUY I ever went out with. I now present, for your vicariously sick pleasure...Matt. When I was 20, I was really hot. Really. But even then I couldn't get a date to save my life. Back then, the internet was this sort of strange computer world, where chat rooms existed and not much else. The idea of a website wasn't even really much more than that: an idea. Back in the olden days, when you wanted to go out on blind dates with weirdos, you posted a personal ad in the paper. I chose The Guardian. Oh yes. The free newspaper where transvestite hookers hawk their wares...this is where I would find love. This was my ad, word for word, as it was printed for the world to see… Lost Some Marbles? Me too! SWF 6’1”, 20, brown/green, a few sandwiches short of a picnic. Creative actress, educated, honest, eclectic, romantic, adventurous, beautiful, funny, sensual and dedicated seeking SWM 23 – 27, 6’1”+ with similar qualities for laughter, love, lunacy, coffee, beer and fun! Dig it, Daddio? Let’s go! My ad garnered many responses, which came in the form of voicemails which were left in a mailbox provided by the The Guardian in order to protect my privacy from any strange or scary men who might want to stalk me. Unfortunately the voicemail box was no match for my own foolishness and complete lack of self control. A lot of responses were from guys who’d say really charming things like “Hey. I’m Rod. I’m 48 years old, five foot five, 246 pounds…” or “Hey Baby, it’s your Daddy…” or “Hello beautiful Fairy Sprite. It is I, your gallant Prince.” However, there were a couple of responses that stood out enough to warrant an actual date. When I heard Matt's message, and he sounded normal, I jumped at the chance and called him that night! We talked for about an hour and the conversation was great. He was funny, he liked to read (another side note...in case you're taking some...there are few things sexier than a man who reads. Continue.) and was seemingly quite sane. I took a chance and asked if he'd like to have a drink that night. Of course he did! Here is what I knew on the drive up to see Matt: - He was 6’4” - He had auburn hair - He had hazel eyes - He had just moved here from the Midwest I rang the doorbell and Matt answered the door, stating that he just had to run and throw on his shoes. That was the first, and perhaps only time in my life where I have literally prayed for the ground to open up and swallow me whole. I calculated the distance from the door back to my car to try to determine if I had enough time to run. I did not. Here’s what I learned when I arrived for the date: - He was 6’4” (he weighed about 350 pounds) - He had auburn hair (which began in these strange little coils of frizz about midway back on his scalp and grew into a long, frizzy skullet mane). - He had hazel eyes (one which looked at me and one which looked off into the sunset. They were also sheathed behind these strange glasses reminiscent of Jeffrey Dahmer.) - He had just moved here from the Midwest (I suppose this helped to support his choice to wear a San Francisco t-shirt, fresh from Fisherman’s Wharf, under his black and blue flannel. He also wore a pair of jeans that hadn’t been washed in like two months – most likely because they were too tight to get off. The outfit was finally glorified by white socks and Birkenstocks.) As the ground did not cooperate by swallowing me whole, I was had no choice but to go out with him. Into public. We went to a bar in his Outer Sunset neighborhood, which turned out to be an Irish pub. By that I mean that the only people in there were fresh-off-the-boat-hot-Irish-construction-workers. There they all were. And there I was. With Matt. For the most part, the Irish guys kept staring at us with this “Really? Him?” expression. I knew this would be a very short lived date, but the question was “how do I get out of this”? I had arranged for my mother to page me (oh yeah! Pagers!) but could not wait for that “out”. I decided that I needed to make myself undesirable to the point where he would no longer want to speak to me. “Think Amber! What will it take to freak out a guy from the Midwest? Oh I know! He must be super conservative, so maybe if I tell him I’m Bisexual, he’ll be disgusted!” Now, I wasn’t a bisexual, but I was obviously very sheltered and confused about what turned men off. I managed to slip this “fact” into our conversation with some very subtle tactics. I think it was probably as smooth as “Oh, yeah. My favorite color is green. Have I mentioned that I’m bisexual?” His response was more than one could hope for. “That’s so funny. Because so am I. I almost wore my ‘Pride’ t-shirt but thought it might be too much for a first date.” Thus began a very creepy, soul exposing 15 minutes where Matt described for me his experience and foray into the world of a bizarre, kinky and strange bisexual world that at the time, I was completely clueless about. I almost started to cry for lack of something better to do. I was at a total loss. I think I made some very sad excuse about having to study for some non-existent mid-terms, shook his hand and sped off, never to be seen or heard from again. So, here I go, about to plunge back into the very strange ritual of dating. Of course I am a little wiser and experienced than I was at 20, but no less curious as to who may be waiting for me on the other side of cyberspace. Wish me luck and stay tuned… Peace. Ugly

About the Author

Amber Milner is an independent lifestyle advocate!