I need to open a restaurant and market it to gays on first/blind/awkward (aka social-media-app-facilitated) dates.
TONIGHT’S CHEF SPECIAL
Perhaps I’m doing something wrong. Perhaps I should start doing background checks or requiring a last name or Facebook profile so I can do my homework before I meet up with someone for dinner. I mean honestly…I’m the king of Facebook/Google stalking. The other day, my best friend (check out her blog) told me about how she’d talked to a guy on the airplane on her way back from Indianapolis. He was from Canada, played hockey, and worked some fancy job with numbers. Within five minutes, I’d tracked him down. How? I’m just that good. Perhaps I should have been a private investigator.
Anyways, I’m starting to think that I need to set some prerequisites for meeting up with me.
- Must agree to pay for dinner if you ask me to dinner.
- Must provide full name, date of birth, social security number (just kidding, but really, hand it over if you’d like), link to any/all social media pages, references, credit report, etc.
- Okay, I suppose those two will suffice.
So back on track…I’d talked to said individual who shall remain unnamed the other day when he was out walking his dog and I was heading to the beach. Not one to meet right away, lest I choose to do my homework on said individual prior to meeting, I said I had stuff going on – which wasn’t a lie since I had much more important plans to uphold at the beach with me, myself, and I along with my good friends Bronzing Lotion and Pinot Grigio – and wouldn’t be able to meet up. He suggested dinner Wednesday in the neighborhood, I said fine. If you’re asking me to dinner and it’s not a payday week, you can bet your fat wallet I’ll be attending – just like a sales rep luncheon at the office…it’s one more meal I don’t have to buy/cook/clean up after so you can be sure I’ll be there.
ME: “Sure, I have nothing going on. Tonight sounds great. I’ll be in khakis with a blue cardigan.”
HIM: “Great! See you at 6:30. I’ll meet you on the corner outside. I’ll be in jeans and a green t-shirt.”
Now let’s recap. I’ve seen two pictures of said individual. Looks to be about 32-35, says he’s 31 and 6’0″, 175, blonde hair, blue eyes. Okay, you have some pretty solid potential.
Get to dinner and, sure enough, jeans and a green t-shirt. Annnnd that’s where the description stops holding true. I’m going to guess 38, maybe 5’9″, about 175 (at least that’s the same), used-to-be-blonde-but-is-now-thinning/bald hair, glasses. Ummm…yeah…I think your mirror and glasses need cleaned, sir, because you clearly have a warped impression of yourself.
So not being the complete bitch that I can tend to be after a few drinks since I was coming from the office and sober as anyone at the dinner party before Jesus turned the water into wine – and also because there wasn’t anyone else on the corner in anything close to the same outfit as me, and I’d already been spotted – I stick around and have dinner. Partially because I expect it to be a free meal, and partially because I’d never been to this joint before and had heard good things.
An hour (and a delicious meal of blackened tilapia with mashed sweet potatoes and spinach, and a cocktail of course) later, the check comes…and he waits patiently for me to pull out my card and split the bill. Ugh. After all this, I either need a few more drinks or for you to pick up the tab so this was worth my while.
All in all: the food, most excellent; the conversation, sub-par; and the eye candy, completely missing from the picture.
MORAL OF THE STORY: Do your homework. Know exactly who you’re meeting for dinner. Otherwise you’ll be ordering a not-so-delicious order of Grindr-Style Catfish off the menu. Oh, and guys? Don’t lie about yourself on Grindr. If you do, you better hope I haven’t had a few drinks yet because otherwise you’ll be left in the dust on the sidewalk a la Wile E. Coyote staring longingly after Roadrunner.