“Photo above: 9/11 Memorial, New York. I took this photo with a Nikon D7000 and Tokina 11-16mm f/2.8”
I wanted tonight to work out. Really, I did, but karma just didn’t have my back. To be completely truthful, I was ecstatic for the first three minutes of our date. I played everything cool and gentleman-like: I picked her up, told her she was beautiful, and opened the car door for her. Awesome, right? As soon as we got the jitters shaken out of us, my date decided to pick up a phone call from her mom that sounded almost verbatim to this: “WHAT?! YES I HAVE THE KEYS. SHIT! OK, BYE.” Click. And yes, she was yelling. If there were to be a soccer referee close by, he would have immediately thrown this woman a red flag. If you think that’s bad, my date picked up yet another phone call a few minutes later that went something like this: “DUDE! I TOLD YOU I’M ON A DATE. I CAN’T PICK YOU UP.” Click. By the second phone call, I finally understood what it meant to be deaf. However, being deaf on the way to the Los Angeles County Fair proved to be a major plus on my part.
After entering the fair as a newly handicapped 24 year-old male, I instantly became mesmerized with the many booths littered around the lot. There were countless barbecue booths (Corn, ribs, sausages, burgers, etc.), fried food booths (Kool-Aid, Klondike Bars, cereals), and a ton of carnival games to be played. My hypothalamus kicked into overdrive as I began to salivate the need to eat everything on the menu. “What do you want to try first?!” I was incredibly hungry at this point. “Oh,” she replied. “I’m not eating or drinking anything tonight. I don’t want to gain weight.” You ass. That’s the most unfair thing anyone has ever said to me. To my readers, let me reiterate the point that tonight’s date to the fair was entirely HER idea. She picked the date, not me. “Wait, so you’re not going to eat at all tonight?” “No, sorry. But I’ll watch you eat if you want.” I don’t know what it is about my eating habits, but I find it uncomfortable eating alone in front of a woman that I barely even know.
After discovering that my date was on the road to anorexia, we finally had the chance to talk in the ferris wheel and escape the tormenting scent of charcoal and meat. Or rather, she had the chance to talk; I just listened, like a sad, unfortunate P.O.W. with tape over his mouth. I learned about her ex-boyfriend, who rides a motorcycle; her two ONLY friends, apparently both extremely boring; her need to cleanse her contacts with Visine every hour because of excessive dryness; her two tattoo’s of “love” and “serendipity”; and of course, the distress she was feeling over why a recent guy on PoF wouldn’t respond back to one of her messages (I think I understand why he didn’t…). This was our time spent in the ferris wheel. Classy, huh? No, not at all.
Starved, depressed, and in need of copious amounts of Serotonin, I took one last glimpse at the shimmering lights and smokey trails of barbecued food. As we finally left, I decided to ignore her bothersome requests to go back and play more games. I should have shut her down after the eighth attempt, probably with a “Well, go use that ATM over there and buy yourself some tickets. I’ll pick you up in an hour.” It was obvious that she felt a little distraught, but really, she had it coming. This was all HER fault. Who the hell picks the fair as a date and decides to NOT eat the fucking food? Isn’t that the specific reason for why people go? To experience relentless heartburn and cheat on their strict, hardcore diet? It seriously was a sad way to leave, but this woman just kept mixing apples with oranges. You just can’t do that.
As we pulled up to her house, I walked my date to her door, gave her a hug, and left with “Have a good night.” Now, looking back, I realize that she didn’t even say thank you. Not for the money I spent at the fair, nor for the sanity used to counteract her outlandish mindset. Although, and in pure honesty, just having this woman away from my sight was worth more than a million thank you’s. Still, my stomach was grumbling and I was nearly malnourished from mental exhaustion. I soon found myself gorging an entire Big Mac. Fast food never tasted so deliciously five-star. Thanks, McDonald’s, you’re a lifesaver.
At home, I still have this woman’s scent on my hand after accidently brushing her arm tonight. It stinks, like a Bed, Bath and Beyond crossed with a few frightened skunks. After I scrub myself down with Dial soap for a few minutes, I’m going to temporarily disable my OKCupid account. Its only been three weeks, but I’m already fed up with the three lousy dates that I’ve experienced. Why can’t people act like normal human beings for a change?! Or is normalcy in my books just too damn specific? Seriously, though, three dates and not even a compatibility. Fuck you, match percentage. Fuck you, faux-photos. Fuck you, girl-who-broke-every-single-rule-for-a-first-date. For those who are using online dating as resource, how long have you had your accounts for? And through the many bad dates that you’ve been on, how do you keep yourself from becoming too pessimistic and cynical? Or maybe OKCupid and POF are just horrible websites in general? Who knows.
For a fact, I know that true love is out there. But where oh where can it be?