Gary

Part of the reason why I have subjected myself to the tortures of on line dating is for the simple experience of actually going on dates. Having never dated until my mid twenties, my Dad once assured me that dating was meant to be a "fun" past time. Since Dad was the ultimate bachelor, I figured there had to at least be some truth to his perspective.

"It's like you are 16 and just learning how to date" Evelyn analyzed one night as we sat on her couch, wine in hands.

"I know. I feel a little pathetic" I admitted. I was having to navigate dating etiquette, social cues, and awkward kisses for the first time. I had been in a series of monogamist relationships since I was 16. I could only recall the familiar feeling of falling in to a relationship, not the foreign thrill of falling in to love.

"I'm determined to just date a lot of different kinds of people" I told Evelyn. "I just don't know what my 'type' is. That is, if I even have a 'type'."

"Well we at least know your 'type' is not a meat head, now don't we?" Evelyn joked.

"Cheers to that!" I said, touching my glass to hers.

I had agreed to meet Gary for afternoon coffee. Having been on a few dates recently that lacked intellectual stimulation (to put it nicely) I was turning to my gut this time. Gary was tall, dark, and handsome but also seemed to be a touch nerdy. The truth of the matter is that I had always had a soft spot for men who had a little geeky streak in them. It may have had something to do with my creepy childhood obsession with Patrick Dempsey in the 1987 cult classic "Can't Buy Me Love" . Regardless, I found Gary to be endearing. I was looking forward to checking out Mr. Sincere.

I sat in my car touching up my lipgloss as I saw Gary walk in to the coffee shop out of the corner of my eye. I didn't get a good look at him, but I could tell it was him from his dark hair and preppy ensemble. I hopped out of the car and followed him inside.

It had been several dates since I felt the jitters that once overcame me before actually meeting someone in person. I had adopted a realist perspective after encountering so many bad matches. The reality of the situation was that I would perhaps meet a nice person who I could have an interesting conversation with. That was the extent of what I had hoped for walking through those coffee shop doors.

"Hi Gary!" I greeted him as I saw him standing in line. He smiled at me and said "Hi". His voice was timid and quiet. I instantly knew that my pre-date assessment was accurate.

"How has your day been so far?" I asked him in a bubbly tone.

"Fine" He responded quickly.

"What have you done this morning?" I continued. I uncomfortably focused my eyes forward. There were four people ahead of us and the line was moving at a snail's pace.

"Not much" Gary replied. I smiled and looked to the side. This was going to be challenging.

"Do you think you could make me a cup of French press?" A boisterous lady in the front of the line asked the barista. "But I want it to be really strong. What is your strongest roast right now?" She continued.

"Let me check on that for you" the barista replied and went into the back to search for the lady's request. I took a deep breath and slowly let it out through my nostrils as I bit my lower lip. Gary stood next to me with his hands in his pockets, slightly swaying back and forth.

"I'm just going to jet into the bathroom quickly! Feel free to order and I'll meet you at a table." I told him as I was already walking away.

I locked the door behind me and faced the mirror. I had never met someone who didn't at least try to talk to me. I had definitely been in situations where the conversation was one-sided, but there was usually at least a small effort being exuded from the other party. I clutched the sink and leaned forward, in pep talk position. "You can do this, L.A. It's just coffee." I ran over a list of conversation starters in my mind as I looked at my own eyes in the mirror. I took another deep breath before opening the door.

Gary was sitting at a small table in the corner. The line had died down and I ordered a small hot tea. I went over my mental list one last time as I walked to the table where he sat. "So where are you originally from, Gary ?" I asked as I sat down.

"Ohio" he responded.

"I'm from the midwest also!" I said excitedly.

"Oh" He responded as he sat and looked down at his coffee.

"So what did you move to this area for?" I continued, determined to get an actual conversation started.

"For my job." He pursed his lips together and bobbed his head.

It went on like this for 15 minutes. I quickly moved through pity to frustration. Did he understand how hard and awkward this was for me? While I had intended to make this as comfortable as humanly possible, I was slowly hoisting up my white flag.

So I sat. I stared at him. I waited.

What felt like the longest five minutes of my life passed in silence.

Mr. Socially Awkward sat across from me, clutching his coffee, staring at the chair next to him. He had made no attempt to utter a single word during my Gandhi-like protest. I wondered if 20 minutes was the shortest first date in all of history.

"Well Gary, It was great to meet you. I've got to get going now." I said as I stood up. He smiled at me and thanked me for coming to meet him as he stretched his hand out in my direction. I shook his hand and smiled, warmly.

I walked back to my car and sighed, this time in relief. I started laughing to myself out loud. It occurred to me in that moment that while Dad was indeed the ultimate bachelor, he was also notoriously a glutton for punishment.

Bradley

Apparently my encounter with Chad taught me nothing. As a youngest sibling in the family order, I am an expert at learning from the mistakes of others who have gone before me. Making my own mistakes, however, this may be completley new territory for me.

I found myself giddy with excitement about Bradley, mostly for the wrong reasons. Bradley was a former professional athlete turned business executive after an injury ending his career. Furthermore, he was a self proclaimed "family man" first and foremost now. Honestly, I couldn't help being a little impressed by his credentials.

I've never been the type of girl who swoons over the jock. I satisfied that fantasy long ago in high school when I made out with the quarterback of the football team. I quickly decided it was over rated, and that I just couldn't be with someone who needed more adoration than I did.

In the spirit of dating with an open mind, I decided I should get to know this guy. Just because he had a physique that made the actors in 300 look puny didn't mean there wasn't a smart, sensitive man hiding underneath. I mean, who am I to judge someone simply because he has a rock hard body? Sheesh.

Bradley showed much interest in me, texting me often. We would chat throughout the day and then I would hear from him sometimes before bed. He seemed sincere as he wished me sweet dreams and would tell me he looked forward to finally meeting in person. This text message courting went on for weeks due to our busy schedules. It was seeming almost impossible for us to find a time to meet in person. Would I ever actually meet Mr. Sexy?

"What if he's still married? That would explain why he's too busy to actually come meet me in person." I theorized over dinner with the girls one night.

"He's not married! You are being ridiculous." Napa asserted. "However, you really need to be cautious with a guy like this. Pro athletes have their own rules they live by." Having spent a significant amount of time around athletes for her profession, Napa really understood the mentality of men in Bradley's position.

"Right. I hear you. But LOOK at him!" I retorted as I held my phone out to show her a photo of him at the beach with his children. By now, my previous dating lesson had become a distant memory and I was right back to the ogling phase.

"Yeah, you've got to go meet that!" Napa agreed, wide-eyed.

Napa's words stuck with me, and made me feel restless. I felt annoyed the next time Bradley sent me sweet texts. He was working very hard to keep me interested, but seemed to have no intention of actually spending time with me.

"I'm honestly a little anxious to meet you in person." Bradley texted one day.

I rolled my eyes and humored him. "Why is that?"

"Well, you are so beautiful and much younger than me. And I have children. I am just surprised that you are interested in me." He responded.

I knew that I was supposed to be flattered by his "honest" response, but I still felt unamused. Maybe I would have thought it was cute of him two weeks ago, but at this point it was past endearing. I wasn't looking for a modern equivalent of a pen pal.

"Well I'm about to lose interest if I don't actually meet you in person soon!" I playfully responded.

"Alright. I hear you. Let's meet for lunch tomorrow." He offered.

"Done." I responded, relieved.

I was looking forward to meeting Bradley. I was quickly losing interest in a man who only existed though the little chirps my phone made at me when he texted. If I wanted to date an electronic device, it most certainly would not be my cell phone.

"What is your ETA? I don't have much time." He texted me as I was on my way to meet him the next day. I wasn't late at all, but he was making me feel anxious and rushed. I responded that I was close and that he needed to not get his panties in a bunch.

I walked in, and he had already ordered. "This is promising" I sarcastically thought to myself. I said a quick hello, grabbed a drink, and sat down to join him. He had an anxious energy about him, which did not put me at ease. I sipped on my diet coke while he worked on stuffing the biggest burrito I have ever seen in his mouth.

Bradley had a "20 Questions" style of interacting with me. Interestingly, he seemed to think that all 20 questions should be about him. "Ask me anything you want!" He said with a big grin as we worked through some small talk. He had beautiful eyes and an alluring smile. It was the type of face, coupled with his massive stature, that I imagine many people had trouble saying "no" to.

I spent most of lunch asking him random questions. Any time there was a slight lull in the conversation, he would impatiently encourage more questions. "Ask me anything, really. What do you want to know?" I started to feel like I was interviewing him for a job of some sort. Even when I would try to elaborate on a subject we stumbled on, he interrupted and instructed me to ask more questions.

He would sometimes take a break from the interview to look me in the eyes for a moment, smile, and then tell me how beautiful my eyes and smile were in person. He had the sort of obvious charm that made me instantly distrustful of him.

"Look at those weird people!" he laughed and directed my attention to the restaurant window. There was an eco-friendly local coffee shop right next to us. He was pointing out some artist-type hipsters who were walking in.

"What is weird about them?" I asked, growing offended. Clearly, he had not paid attention to me when I told him about my background as an art major in undergrad. While I had traded holy jeans and hemp for heels and dresses years ago, I still felt kindred with the quirky artist community.

"They just look....weird." He responded. I gave him a good look over, as he sat there in his boat shoes, cargo shorts, and polo shirt. He looked like he would prefer to never leave the upper-class suburbs he had grown accustomed to, except to grab a quick latte from the nearest Starbucks.

"Yeah, I bet you look weird to them too. " I responded and laughed. He rolled his eyes and smirked.

There is this thing that happens to me sometimes. Occasionally, I have an innate desire to be a rabble-rouser. I blame my Mom for it entirely. She was always a shining example of an independent, thoughtful, competent woman. After years of watching her out-talk salesmen who tried to take advantage of her, she became my hero.

Living in the South has not extinguished this part of me, rather it has helped me to refine the method in which I rouse rabbles. Southerners are beautifully subtle in their backhanded comments. It took me 6 months to translate the Southern version of "Oh bless her heart" to actuality mean "That poor idiot".

The rabble-rouser in me just couldn't keep my mouth shut. I had already determined within the first 10 minutes that this man, while as sexy as I had imagined, was not my soul mate. There was no reason I couldn't have a little fun with him, though.

"So, do you recycle?" I asked. Bradley looked at me as if that were one of the most pointless questions to waste his generous 20 answers on.

"Yeah. I guess so. I mean whenever I remember to. " He responded.

"I really try to be environmentally conscious." I forged on. "I hate that I drive a SUV, so I try really hard to conserve the environment in other ways." Bradley's eyes were glazing over in boredom.

"You know, I try to shut off the water when I do dishes, and I don't always flush the toilet." I continued. The glazed look on his face melted off as his brow furrowed and his mouth gaped open.

"That is so gross." He responded sharply.

"Wasting water is gross." I retorted. I drew a little tally mark on the table with my finger. One rabble-rouser point for me.

"Well, I've got to head back to the office" Bradley sighed.

He walked me out to my car. I felt his eyes on me, checking me out. I turned around and made some sort of joke, allowing me to slow my pace to walk next to him. He hugged me goodbye, gave me a sloppy kiss, and said he was looking forward to seeing me again.

As I drove away, I heard my phone chirp at me. "You get a 10 for looks, 9 for personality, 8 for humor, and a 10 for your ass" he texted.

Had he really just RATED me? To my face...err...my phone? Never mind the fact that my ass IS in the looks category, this was a little ridiculous. I replied a simple "Thanks" and went back to work scratching my head. Apparently my rabble-rousing was no match for Mr. Shallow. I erased my self determined point. Back to zero.

Chad

Chad seemed to be more physically my "type" than any other dates I had bravely ventured on thus far. After being disappointed by the men that were luring me in solely with their wit and charm, I thought I should give pure physical attraction a shot. After all, who needs dazzling conversation when your eyes are busy admiring the fantastic workmanship of a guy like Chad?

I pulled up some of his profile pictures on my phone as I grabbed drinks with Evelyn and Napa. "What do you think of this one?" I asked my consultants. I flashed them picture after picture of him at the beach, shirtless and tan.

"Whoa!" Napa responded with an appropriately animated eyebrow lift.

"Seriously?" Evelyn gasped, as she grabbed my phone from me.

"I know, right?" I responded, smugly.

"But what about that picture of him drinking a beer off of a garbage can? Don't you think he looks..."

"Ripped? Look at his biceps in that picture!" Napa interrupted.

"I was going to say immature." I responded with a smirk.

"You never know what someone is like just based on their pictures, L.A." Napa reminded me. She was always good about roping me back in when I had the tendency to write someone's life story based on a trivial observation. I once had determined that a man smiling at me from across a bar was racist simply because his belt buckle was a certian diameter.

"I say at least go meet him for a drink. You have nothing to lose!" Evelyn urged. "Besides, look at that cute picture of his dog! He seems sensitive too."

Having been on a series of difficult dates in the last few months, I was starting to feel like I had nothing left to lose. I had learned to keep it brief, by just meeting up for drinks rather than lunch or dinner. Furthermore, I always made sure to communicate upfront that I had an obligation later in the evening so that I had a flawless escape plan. After the encouragement from Napa and Evelyn, I confirmed a date with Mr. Studly.

Maybe it was the lack of pre-date conversation, or maybe it was the blind date practice I now had under my belt, but I walked in to the restaurant completley confidant. I sat down at a pub-height table (the kind that was not easily mistaken for a "let's have dinner" table) and waited for Chad to arrive. "Three minutes late" I noted.

I watched as Chad entered the restaurant. I think you can observe important characteristics about a person just by how he or she enters a room. For example, are his eyes glued the floor? Is he warmly smiling? Is he fervently texting? Is he nervously scanning the room to find me? In Chad's case, he was floating into the room, not quite smiling and not quite focused on anything. This first impression would, in time, fit Chad like a glove.

I waved my arm high enough to catch his eye and smiled warmly at him. As he made his way over to my "just drinks" table, I stood up to greet him. We hugged hello and he mumbled something about not having been to this restaurant in a while and giggled, nervously.

Nate, the server whom I had befriended months ago, had seen me on numerous first dates and came over on cue to take our drink order. I ordered a glass of wine and Chad shockingly got the beer special. Nate gave me a quick glance that I instinctively knew was his way of letting me know he would come chat with us if I needed to be saved from first date hell.

Luckily, I was in an outgoing mood. I told him all about my line of work and recounted the most entertaining stories I could remember. I had him laughing in no time. Chad had very sweet eyes. There was a child-like innocence in them as they would grow big at the climax of my stories, and then narrow as he began to chuckle.

It wasn't long before I grew tired of talking about myself. Chad had barely said anything all evening. "So you have a Master's degree in geology, but you work in IT?" I prodded.

"Yeah, totally random, I know." He responded.

I waited for some sort of explanation or follow-up. Nothing. He sipped the remainder of his beer and flagged down Nate for another one. Then his eyes fell back on my face, expectantly. It became clear that I was responsible for the entertainment portion of the evening.

"Have you done anything fun lately?" I was confidant that this was a simple enough question to elicit a mutual conversation.

"Yeah! I totally built some corn hole boards last weekend with a buddy of mine! They are pretty sweet if I do say so myself. Wanna see some pictures?"

If you are unsure of my definition of a "beer guy", please refer to my post on Derek which describes my stereotype. "Wow that is so amazing!" I doted. "I can't believe that you made those all by yourself!"

What was I doing? It was as if I began dumbing myself down to connect with this guy. Was I twirling my hair on my finger and chomping on bubble gum as well?

"So tell me how you would go about making something like that? I'm sure it is not as easy as it looks! I would guess that you would use plywood and a router, but what do I know?" I flirted.

"Actually, that is exactly how I did it!" He lit up.

"Wow!" I responded as I smiled and most likely fluttered my eyelashes excessively. At this point, I had fallen down the rabbit hole and could not find my way back to intellectual reality. I hadn't ever played this role on a date before, and something about it became addictive.

"What other things are you good at, Chad?" I asked.

I could feel myself snuffing my little feminist "Jiminy Cricket" conscience inside to play this game. "Shhh little cricket conscience....it will all be over soon, I promise!"

"Well, I'm pretty good at pool!" He said with a big grin.

"Really? I'm terrible at pool! Maybe you could teach me?" I said as we both gazed over at the pool table just feet away. I'm sure a little part of me died inside as I took my act a step further. My mom surely taught me better than this. At least we wouldn't have to pretend to have conversations anymore. Besides, how could I complain about having Chad closer as he taught me the proper way to hold a cue stick?

"So why doesn't the white ball have a number on it?" I joked. Anyone who knows me is aware that I can only, at maximum, allow three minutes to pass before I crack some sort of joke.

"Well that is the cue ball. You use that ball to hit the other balls into the pockets" Chad helpfully responded.

I decided it was easier to continue playing dumb than to make him feel like a moron for missing my joke.

After two games of pool and three hours of playing a ditz, I was ready to call it a night. Chad was smitten with this character I had developed, and I was starting to feel guilty as my conscience persistently chirped at me.

As he walked me to my car I wondered how many men out there really prefer women to be so oblivious. I could see the appeal of an easy, relaxing night. After all, Chad was nothing but easy to be around. I understood why he seemed to float in to rooms, he didn't allow anything to weigh him down. There were no threats of challenging conversations or differing opinions with Chad.

I decided that I would be terrible at keeping up with my ditzy charade. It wouldn't be long before I slipped up and spurted out something about upper class white male privilege being the crux of the problems in America. Mr. Studly, or Mr. Simple as I had renamed him, was not going to be my perfect match.

Just as I was about to toss my hat in the ring, Mr. Simple pulled me in tight for the kiss of a lifetime. In that moment, time stood still, I got the butterflies, and my knees went weak. Every cliche phrase fit what I was feeling. I opened my eyes in a haze as Chad kissed me softly on the cheek and told me to drive safe. He walked away, studly as ever.

"Shut up, cricket" I whispered.

"What was that?" Chad said turning around.

"You drive safe, too!" I replied.

Jason

The beauty of on-line dating is that a girl like me has the ability to try on different types of people that I normally would not meet in my daily patterns of life. I guess I would say that it has the same appeal of on-line shopping. You might find 1,000 styles of name brand shoes at the local shoe warehouse. Some of them trendy, some of them classic, others are just clearly not your style. And who can pass up glancing in the back at the bargain room? The appeal of such an establishment is that both my 93 year old grandmother and my 7 year old cousin could both walk away with their perfect shoe match from the very same store. It is a reliable way to purchase good, comfortable foot apparel.

When you open up your shoe search to the wold wide web, your options are endless. All of the sudden millions of colors and styles are at your finger tips. The amateur virtual shopper may find herself overwhelmed with the sheer diversity of choices. The exotic designs far surpass even the most bold options in a warehouse. They are just waiting for you to consider them for that perfect place in your humble closet. The only downfall: you can't try them on before inviting them home. Is the appeal of exotic style worth more than the familiar comfort of trying a shoe on in person?

Jason was my proverbial on-line exotic shoe purchase. His foreign accent made me giddy when he would call. We spent hours talking about life, work, and how to be happy spiritually in the midst of religious burden. He worked hard, drove a nice car, and understood social justice issues in our American culture. Furthermore, he was not intimidated when I broached controversial topics. In fact, I suspect he thought I was sexier for doing so. Had I found a man that was the "whole package" with an irresistible accent to boot? Jason would send me bubbly text messages throughout the day to see how I was, and to spread his positivity in my life. It wasn't too long before I deemed him Mr. Open Minded.

Napa and Evelyn were beyond annoyed with my incessant rants about Jason. I took any opportunity to squeeze his name in to the conversation.

"Speaking of frozen yogurt, did you know Jason is playing like 4 sports right now? He stays so busy! He should reward himself with some fro yo every now and then."

They would politely nod their heads in a "That fact is just as interesting as the first five times you told us" kind of way. Evelyn, being the natural sweetheart that she is, would often ask me some sort of follow-up question allowing me to indulge in my latest obsession.

The first date day finally came. Jason scored even more points when he suggested both a time and a location to meet. One would be surprised at how difficult it is to get a man to take such initiative now a days. Maybe that is a broad generalization, but my "research" shows that the on-line dating kind of guy most often struggles with this type of assertiveness.

Armed with my trusty Spanx and a flattering shade of ruby lip gloss, I made my way toward the restaurant we agreed to meet at. Even I was checking myself out. This guy didn't stand a chance. I walked toward him as he stood on a corner waiting. Something about the thickness of the summer air after the recent rain made the moment feel romantic.

As I got closer, I grimaced at the "dad jeans" he was wearing. The romantic moment abruptly faded. Heck, even my dad doesn't wear "dad jeans." Mom keeps him relatively up to date. Reminding myself that inner beauty was much more important to me than outward appearance, I trudged on. Besides, a woman can always influence the fashion faux pas of a man she truly loves, right?

Jason was just as warm and bubbly in person as he was on the phone. There was an instant comfort that I felt in his presence. As we walked to the restaurant, he filled the silence with his bubbly humor. I felt a certain ease around him, as if we had been friends for years.

As we continued talking over a late lunch and several drinks, I had mixed emotions about how the afternoon was unfolding. Jason was still incredibly energetic and bubbly....maybe a touch too bubbly. There were no lulls in the conversation as we sat and talked for four hours. Throughout the course of the date, he was already holding my hand right on top of the table, like a seasoned couple would do. "Should we go somewhere new?" He interrupted my thoughtful analysis. I was completely caught off guard.

"Somewhere new?" I thought. "We have been on our first date for four hours already!" My cheeks were throbbing from the courtesy smiles I had been giving to indicate the important social cue of being engaged. I was beginning to think that Jason was like a super cute strappy sandal: designed to flatter your foot while simultaneously giving you the worst blisters you have ever had.

Upon arrival to our new restaurant, I promptly texted Napa and Evelyn. "If you love me like you say you do, you will get your butts down here". Like any best friends would do, they were instantly on their way.

"My friends actually were in the neighborhood and they are going to stop by. I hope that is OK with you" I fibbed.

"That would be great" Jason gushed. He immediately grabbed my hand again when I sat down. It was if he was excited to move on to the "meeting the friends" portion of our five hour relationship. Little did he know I was sending in the artillery.

Napa and Evelyn arrived in no time, and we all decided to order dinner. That's right....I was now having a second meal with my lunch date. Jason continued holding my hand in plain sight, slowly stroking my thumb with his index finger. I blushed with embarrassment, as I knew I would get an earful from the girls later on. I was beginning to grow concerned that he perhaps brought a engagement ring along with him.

Napa has been known to boldly save me from awkward situations with men in the past, and this date was no different. She immediately relieved the pressure by asking Jason many questions about himself. I finally was able to breathe as the spotlight moved from me to him. Evelyn was a strategic invite as well. She calmly engaged me in conversation while Napa did her thing. I even found an opportunity to naturally disengage my hand from the death love grip of my potential suitor.

The moment Napa went to the restroom, Jason leaned over and whispered "I am going to nickname her the Spanish Inquisition". He giggled, clearly amused at himself.

"Yeah, isn't she just fabulous?" I said with a grin.

Ten o'clock finally rolled around. Had this date really lasted 9 hours? How could I have let that happen? The girls were perceptive of my exhaustion and wrapped things up for me. As we all walked out of the restaurant and said our goodbyes, there it was again: the death love grip. He walked me to my car, which happened to be in the opposite direction of my beloved Napa and Evelyn.

The moment was upon us. The awkward first date goodbye. As I went in for a friendly hug, Jason suddenly mauled me with a very open-mouthed kiss goodnight. "Is it over yet??" was the first thing running through my mind. Most often, it can be considered a bad sign if one recipient of a kiss is waiting in anticipation for it to end. It wasn't over yet. "If only he could close his mouth just a little bit...it wouldn't be so bad" I analyzed as I waited.

As soon as he released my prisoner lips, he thanked me for a great evening. I watched as he and his "dad jeans" walked away to his car. In that moment, I was certain that Mr. Open Minded was truly Mr. Overeager.

Derek

Derek seemed to be an ideal match for me, pun intended. He was a handsome doctor finishing up his residency at a prestigious hospital after attending med school at an ivy league. Clearly, I was on his level. After all, I myself had attended private school. So what if no one has ever heard of it? I paid an obscene amount of money for that education. I have enough student loan debt to compete with an ivy league graduate. That should count for something.

We exchanged witty and thoughtful emails back and forth and seemed to share common interests. The deal maker: he loved to cook. And I'm not talking flipping a few burgers on the grill. He made me salivate with tales of his intricate culinary creations. It was settled...I could not wait to meet Mr. Perfect.

Napa was less than sold on this particular suitor. Napa aptly acquired her nickname from her love affair with wine, along with the fact that she lived in California for a while. She had been known to order a glass of wine at dive bars when everyone else was drinking $2.00 beer specials. Needless to say, she is a woman with good taste. "I don't know, L.A." she cautioned, "I've dated doctors before...and I'm not sure you are going to be impressed. I really think you need to have a phone conversation with him before committing to a date."

"Ugh" I wined, "I just hate talking on the phone, especially to strangers! It just feels so superficial. I'm much better in person, where I can read facial expressions". I was like a 2 year old stomping my feet, but I knew she was right. After all, I was the one who decided to commit to meeting people on-line. I was going to have to get used to doing the footwork of screening my dates.

The next day, Derek called me. It wasn't long before I noticed that he sounded like a 21 year old frat boy instead of a 28 year old ivy league doctor. He seemed to struggle though the conversation and trailed off a bit on occasions. Maybe he was nervous, or maybe he wasn't the idyllic man that I had made him out to be in my mind. Had I prematurely titled him "Mr. Perfect"? At the end of the conversation, he asked me to dinner. I pushed my reservations to the side, and said "yes".

I broke the cardinal rule of on-line dating: I met him at his apartment (sorry, mom). I did, however, ensure my friends had the address and contact information for my whereabouts. They were prepared to call and check on me should I fail to provide them with hourly text message updates. I pulled up to a modern-looking apartment complex. It was the kind of place that had taken advantage of the warehouse trend and was able to charge twice the rent for exposed brick walls and metal ducts hanging from the ceiling despite the fact that it was new construction.

Derek walked outside to meet me. I immediately noted that he was about 20 pounds heavier than his profile pictures portrayed. "Was this going to be a trend?" I wondered. "Well, at least he is really 6 ft 1", I justified. As he ushered me through the hallways and into his apartment, he did not have much to say. He seemed a little uncomfortable, which did not put my nerves at ease.

"How about a glass of wine?" he asked as soon as we entered his apartment. I was relieved at his offer, and decided it would be a great way to calm my nerves. I noticed that he had several bottles of wine in a rack above his cabinets, a sign that he drank wine often. I have come to realize that there is a difference between a wine guy and a beer guy. A wine guy usually appreciates fine food and nice restaurants. A beer guy is typically fantastic at corn hole and shooting pool. My ideal match is a mixed drink kind of guy, classy and badass all tied into one little cocktail.

As we sat on Derek's leather couch and drank wine, he loosened up a bit. We mostly talked about the culture of the hospital he worked at, and why he tried not to date co-workers. He described the dating scene as a real life Grey's Anatomy. He seemed most energetic when talking about work and the social environment within it. It started to become clear to me that this man had been socialized in a hospital. It was difficult for him to relate to much else.

When we arrived to the restaurant, I took note of the swanky surroundings. "He has good taste" I thought to myself. This was a vast improvement from the sweaty walk I had been offered on my first blind date adventure. He sat down, and I excused myself to the ladies room, where I freshened up and sent "I'm alive and well" texts.

I returned to find him with a glass of wine and the menu in his hand. "They have a great special on a four course meal!" he informed me. "I think we have to do it!" he decided. I told him I wasn't sure I could finish an entire three course meal, but he continued to insist. I finally conceded, but with the agreement that he would finish whatever I could not.

As the bread arrived to the table, Derek grabbed the basket to take a roll. He buttered it and promptly began to eat it without offering the basket to me. "Well, he must be hungry" I thought. As we chatted about our family structures, our salads arrived. I cocked my head in awe as I watched him break the world record for fastest salad consumption. As a precaution, I ran over the steps for the heimlich maneuver in my head.

"Have you ever tried claims?" he asked as he interrupted his salad shoveling momentarily.

"No, I haven't. Remember how I told you I don't like seafood? I answered. The thought of slimy clams was enough to kill any appetite I had left. "I have a mental sea food allergy" I joked, making light of his question.

"Well they are fantastic! You really have to try them." He gushed, clearly not listening to me. Before I could protest, he stopped our waitress to add on yet another course to our meal.

"You know you still have three more courses coming, right sir?" She cautioned. Even she was concerned about his over-zealous food ordering.

"Oh yeah. I can handle it!" He proclaimed. It became clear to me where these additional 20 pounds had come from. Food had become his vice outside of work.

As his clams arrived, followed by our soup courses and entree courses, I realized that he was not simply competing in a food 5K, but a full marathon. After finishing the clams, his entree, and my plate, he tackled his desert with full enthusiasm. After all, isn't that when runners have to give their strongest push? At the very end? Following in the spirit of the night, he finished off my desert as well.

As we waited for the bill, he sprung a surprise on me. "I usually don't tell people this right off the bat" he said as he played on his iPhone. I began to think of all the things he might be on the verge of confessing to me. Had he been incarcerated? Did he like to dress in women's clothing? Did he have terrible planters warts? "I am on a reality show coming out soon" he said with a smug smile on his face. "They followed me, and some other doctors around while we were in our first year of residency" he said as he handed me his phone. There it was: an article with his picture and name describing his role on the show.

"Yeah right he doesn't show this to people he meets right away" I thought. "Wow that is fantastic!" I encouraged.

As we drove home in his batmobile, I listened to him tell me all about the filming process and his reality show experiences. He interrupted his stories to ask if he could drive me by the townhome he was in the process of building. I was sincerely exhausted by the "Derek Show". I was having a hard time continuing to seem interested in all of his pretentiousness. "Sure. That would be great!" I fibbed.

After listening to him describe, in detail, the custom finishes he was planning for his home I was officially zoned out. It is one thing to appreciate the finer things in life, but quite another to brag about your fortunes incessantly. I wondered if Derek thought I was impressed by his fancy meal, the Dr. in front of his name, his reality TV star status, or his flashy new home.

I will admit, I was impressed with Derek's resume. However, his interview showed a lack of humility, personality, and perspective necessary to fulfill my expectations. He simply would not be hired. As I drove away, I decided Mr. Perfect had been exposed as Mr. Pompous.

Rick

Rick was my very first on-line dating "experience". Rick seemed energetic and driven with a good sense of humor thrown in to the mix. His pictures were handsome and showed a manicured professional who could also be silly and down-to earth. Yes, I have the magical ability to discern all of these characteristics just by examining photos. Who doesn't?

Rick and I sent a few witty emails back and forth. Witt is one of my biggest turn-ons. Some people go crazy for roses, champagne, ear nibbles...not me. I prefer wooing of the mind. Don't get me wrong, I like those other things just fine. However, if you crack some witty jokes pertaining to current events or pop culture, you are almost guaranteed a goodnight kiss. (Just a peck of course, Mom.)

Rick wasted little time asking me to meet up in person. Since I was brand new to the etiquette of on-line dating, I had no idea if I should accept his offer so soon. After all, we had really only emailed a few times and we had never talked on the phone. Was I supposed to play "hard to get" a little longer? Should I ask him to describe his family tree and note any genetic anomalies that might be prevalent should this get serious?

As I quickly backed up the crazy train, I realized meeting someone in person from an on-line site was just about as dangerous as meeting someone in a bar. Since I have met several nice, interesting strangers in bars from time to time, I thought I should just put on my big girl panties and say yes. I was about to ditch the 15 inch computer screen I had been hiding behind, and put myself out there in the real world.

I confirmed the date and suggested we meet up for a drink or coffee. I got a response back informing me that he did not drink alcohol or coffee. Cringing, I agreed to meet him at a downtown park. (Note: If you know anything about me, ANYTHING, you know that I enjoy the occasional adult beverage and have an IV of coffee hooked to me at all times.)

I promptly conferred with my female team of experts about where to go from there. Armed with a plan, (two of my friends were going to discretely follow us to the park and observe from afar) I felt more confident about this first date. Rachel, being the expert google searcher that she is, began the background check while I tried on every outfit I own.

Turns out, Rick had a website. As we scoured his pages for more information, the exact same realization hit Rachel and I simultaneously: This is Lynn's Rick! Lynn had been on one date with this guy, feel hard for him, and never heard from him again. It was the classic example of why, as a rule, women shouldn't kiss on the first date. The date was only an hour away. With not enough time to cancel, I was trapped. "Well, we will call this a practice date" I determined.

As I walked the sidewalks of downtown on that 90 degree day, I was annoyed that this guy wanted to meet at a park. The slight breeze was blowing my hair into my lip gloss, where it promptly became affixed. My entire body was perspiring, and I could feel a sweat bead rolling down my back toward my Spanx. Regardless of the temperature, Spanx are worn on ALL of my first dates. I don't take any chances.

I could see him in the distance walking toward me, and lifting his hand to wave. Nervous butterflys took over as I tried to smoothly pull my hair out of my lip gloss and not sweat another drop. As we got closer to one another, I was surprised that he was not taller. Surely he looked that short only because he was so far away. I recalled that his profile said that he was 5 ft 10. What kind of guy lies about his height? Unless you plan to never stand up in my presence, you are going to be busted on that one.

As we met and said hello, we engaged in an awkward hug and some small chat about the weather and the live music playing in the park we intended to go to. I immediately decided that he must have enhanced his profile pictures in photoshop, because he looked nothing like glowing images I had seen. He suggested that we walk a little farther to another park. Fantastic, Rick. I'll just keep "glistening" for you while we walk another half a mile.

Meanwhile, Rachel and Leigha were being fantastic super secret spies. And by "fantastic", I mean that they stopped off for pizza and snuck in their own liquor for kicks. I was on my way to a secluded park with a 5 ft 7 potential axe murder, and they were BYOBing it at a pizza parlor? Fantastic plan, ladies.

As we walked in the park, I listened to his life story. He spoke about his glory days as a DJ, his recent break up, how he loved to cycle, in-line skate, and run. I am pretty sure he also told me the tale of his birth, his shoe size, and his theory on curing world hunger. He did not, however, ask me anything about myself.

I finally asked him why he chose not to drink alcohol. "I've just never had the urge to try it" he responded. "I'd rather spend my money on things like clothes. I am uninterested in wasting it on alcohol."

He acted as if that was a perfectly normal stance to take on the matter. No further explanation necessary. To me, his answer was flawed and lacked purpose. "You mean you've never been offered free alcohol at someone's house?" I rebutted.

"Well yeah," he admitted, "but it has just never appealed to me."

"How do you know something doesn't appeal to you if you have never tried it?" I asked. I was hoping he would open up and share that he had been negatively affected by someone with a drinking problem, or that he chose to abstain for religious purposes.

"Well I guess I don't really have a good answer to that" he confessed.

I could look past the false representation of his physical appearance, but I simply could not overlook this. Conviction without purpose seems dangerous to me. Were most people satisfied with Rick's rationalization for this life choice? It just seemed to be a decision that he made as a conversation topic. I am sure that he always won at the "Never Have I Ever" game. Regardless of why he didn't seem to have rationale for his convictions, it was strike three. I sadly wondered where Mr. Witty had gone. The only guy who showed up for this date was Mr. Windbag.

"Wow! Would you look at the time?" I muttered. "I promised my good friends Rachel and Leigha that I would meet them for pizza!"

Thanks, Mom.

I have been working to compile the stories of my on-line dating adventures since I began this journey. It took only about a month of my on-line profile membership to realize that this dating thing is pretty hilarious. I've been writing down my thoughts, and sharing stories with friends that leave us all with our sides aching from laughing so hard. Last weekend, I joked with my mom that these adventures would make a great blog.

Me: Yeah...on-line dating has been interesting, to say the least. I could probably write a whole blog about it.

Mom: Seriously, L.A.! You should do that! It would be hilarious!

Me: Mmmmm....Maybe I will (no arm twist necessary).

Mom: Are you going to just write about it on your other blog? What is it? The Willy Roster?

Me: No, Mom. My other blog is NOT named The Willy Roster. It's called Wiley Rooster.

Mom: Oh. Well what the heck is a wiley rooster any way?

Me: I don't know. It's just something random. It's a rooster named Wiley.

Mom: I don't get it.

Me. Me either.

Mom: Well... you could name the blog The Willy Roster.

My mom has no idea how hilarious she is. To her chagrin, I did not name the blog "The Willy Roster". So here it is, for your entertainment: My disastrous dating life.

*I have a lot of catching up to do, so dates and chronology will not be accurate.