A seemingly ideal guy, let’s call him JC, sent me a witty message on a dating website. Several exchanges later, I cut to the chase and gave him my phone number. I received a text message from him and as it turned out; his name and number were already in my phone.
But, honestly, I had no idea who he was. Was he a previous one night stand? A friend of a friend? I had no idea how to handle this.
So, I called him and of course I got his voicemail. The message sounded very familiar and his greeting mentioned his first name, last name and place of business. This was just enough information to cyberstalk him. I checked to see if we were friends on Facebook. Negative. He didn’t even have a Facebook profile.
So, I took things a step further and Googled him. There wasn’t too much information out there, as JC’s real name isn’t exactly uncommon. I concluded that I must have met him on the previous dating site that I used a few years ago. Yes, I had officially dated so many men in my five years in Los Angeles, I was now on re-runs.
I felt frustrated, confused and angry. Another date would be pointless. If it didn’t work out the first time, then obviously it wasn’t going to work out the second time. I should just erase his number from my phone, run for the hills and pretend this never happened.
At that point, I realized I was being super negative and that maybe JC was my future husband. No, this is missed connection of all missed connections -- this is definitely my future husband! Later that night, JC called me back and we spoke on the phone for over an hour. We had great chemistry. We even shared a mutual love for a not so secret vice -- Yogurtland.
At some point in our conversation, I mentioned he was already in my phone. JC casually responded that he didn’t remember me and that maybe we had chatted on the phone before. I tried not to overthink his response, which was good because I was about to overthink everything else.
Mid-phone call, he told me we should definitely get together. Unlike many of my prior date proposals where the guy asks me if I want to have drinks two hours in advance, 20 miles away from where I live, JC asked me out on Tuesday for dinner on Saturday night in my neighborhood.
Wanting to look as good as possible, the day before our date, I had my roots touched up and my hair blown out. They needed a touchup anyway, so this was the perfect excuse. A few hours before the date, I remembered I needed to pick up some mascara and I ended up having my makeup done. I gushed to the makeup artist about JC and she told me she once did another woman’s makeup before a first date and four months later, they were engaged.
At this point, the universe had convinced me 100% that tonight was the night I was going to meet my future husband for the second time. So, I made one more stop before the date to pick up something new to wear. I had a credit at that store anyway, so why not use it?
If I do say so myself, I looked hot that night. On our 10-year anniversary, he would certainly talk about the moment he met me for second time and how stunning I was and it was right then and there when he knew I was the one.
JC picked me up outside my apartment building. He pulled up in the kind of SUV I can only describe as a “Douchemobile.” I always imagined my future husband will know how important the simple things are to me, like getting out and opening the car door for me, which is why I was taken slightly aback when he did not get out to open the door or even try to open it from the inside for me.
The good news was he was ever hotter than how I remembered him.
This is not The Douchemobile, but it is a douchemobile. I’d need an elevator to get up into that car too.
I had a little bit of trouble getting into the car because the car was so high and even in high heels, I am not a tall girl and I was wearing way too skinny jeans. I mentioned that I see people pulling into handicapped parking spots with his same car and I wonder how someone with a disability could easily get in and out of this car, considering I am perfectly able bodied and I have trouble.
That's when he pulled out a Handicapped Placard. JC was not handicapped. He said it was a gift from a friend who had an extra one. He said that he doesn’t use it to park in actual handicapped spaces, such as at the supermarket but just for street parking convenience if there are no available spots.
Who does that? And if you do, who tells someone you do that to impress them?
The guy who drives this car has a giant wiener.
Despite the transportation snafu, he did pick the perfect restaurant. He knew the owner and it had a great cocktail list. He was obviously listening when I expressed my love of artisan cocktails to him. We sat outside at the perfect table, under a beautiful tree. It was going to be a lovely meal.
We split a goat cheese and beets appetizer. The dinner conversation went very well. Not too many awkward pauses. It wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t love at first sight, but it was an overall positive first date.
In the middle of the main course, his phone kept going off. I try not to keep my phone out on dates, because I like to remain fully present, but I know most people do keep them out and I generally don’t expect others to do the same. He apologized for the texting, saying his friend was sending out a large group text because he may have been in a car accident.
Our conversation continued. I excused myself to use the bathroom. When I came back, I noticed the bill on the table. Why would he get the bill already? The meal wasn’t technically over.
He said he had to go see his friend. I confess, I was disappointed because I thought the date was going well and also, I really wanted dessert. The food was so good and I was hoping the dessert would be just as good as the main course was.
I know this thought is horrible, but if his friend was texting and had the wherewithal to send out a group text, how injured could he have been? This couldn’t have been more than a minor fender bender. I was not getting a positive vibe. JC was nice or at least pretending to be and told me to take my time and finish my dinner, but I was basically done at that point anyway.
Looking at my watch, it was 10:00pm on a Saturday. Through my veil of disappointment and sadness, I felt a strange sense of deja vu. Suddenly, I remembered JC after all. And I was 95% sure our last date had ended the exact same way. JC had been lying about car accidents and probably faking a handicap for years.
He drove me home. I leaned in to say goodnight, hoping he would kiss me. I thought at least if he kissed me, it was a sign he was interested and that I was over reacting to everything. No kiss.
Being all dressed up (with my makeup done and hair blown out, no less) with no place to go, felt horrible. I had a glass of wine and started crying hysterically and feeling sorry for myself. What’s wrong with me? Why do I pick horrible men to date? Why didn’t he just offer me dessert, spend another 20 minutes with me at the restaurant, and say he had to be up early for something the next day and drop me back off at home? Am I that intolerable? Why did he have to lie and be an asshole?
I am totally OK with someone if they don’t want a second date with me. Just do it and leave it at that. This was a whole new level of douchedom I had now experienced for the second time.
This was about how saw I looked sitting at home after the Re-Run Date, drinking wine by myself.
When we were still at dinner, I asked him to text me to let me know his friend was okay. I was shocked when he actually did this the next day. I texted him back and asked him what happened. He never responded.
At least next time, if I ever encounter him online or in real life again, I probably won’t forget who he is.