The Weight to be Me

His Match.com profile reads “I’m just a spiritual guy out here living my best life in harmony with the Four Agreements.” It’s a little on the nose, but he checks all the important boxes: close in age-range, we live in the same area, ruggedly handsome, but not completely out of my league according to his profile picture. After some pleasant back and forth chit-chat, we decide to give it a go and meet for dinner.

Just getting on the other side of a divorce that brought me into staggering levels of sadness, grief, and loneliness – I’m becoming more willing to make an effort to get my groove back.

I am ready to dip my toe into the pool of online dating since my marriage to a fellow member of a 12-step program imploded – and dating guys in the program now seems too risky for me. It only makes sense to explore what’s out there, using a dating site, since I’m not a church goer, and I don’t frequent bars or clubs. The opportunities for me to meet men are few and far between.

I don’t have a lot of experience with dating. I’ve never been naturally flirtatious, and if I have any charm with the opposite sex, I don’t have any idea what it is. Interacting with men stirs up every ounce of insecurity and self-doubt I have – and without the “benefit” of alcohol to give me a false boost of confidence, it feels like I’m dating without any skin.

I know enough not to lead conversations with “I’m recently divorced and lonely,” but I’m also not sure I know how to show up and just be myself, without being a bundle of nerves and fear.

Nonetheless, I’m going to put myself out into the dating world anyway. I’m pushing 40, so God knows I ain’t getting any younger.

We are set to meet at a local restaurant for dinner. I tell him I have shoulder-length blonde hair, I’ll be wearing a red top, and I’ll see him in front of the restaurant at 7:00 pm. 

I make another quick appraisal of my face, apply a fresh coat of lip gloss, take a few deep breaths, and step out of my car to walk towards the restaurant.

As I approach the front door, I see a tall, dark-haired guy, who I’m fairly sure is the same face I recognize from his profile pic, but as I walk towards him, I see he’s slowly looking me up and down with a curious look on his face. A wave of self-consciousness hits me, but I’m in it now, so I say “Hi, I’m Mia” and we shake hands. 

He ushers me towards the host who will take us to our table for two. 

We take our seats, and the conversation gets off to a bumpy start. We both seem to stumble a bit with the whole “Tell me about yourself” part of the date.

We order our dinner, and he says “So…you don’t drink at all anymore? Not even a sip of champagne at a wedding? Nothing?” 

“Nope. I don’t drink or use drugs at all anymore. Clean and sober for over ten years now.” 

He starts to do the smize thing where his mouth and his eyes light up at the same time with a hint of naughtiness. Then his voice goes into sleaze-mode while his head bobs up and down, and with a nasty look on his face says “I bet you were a real party girl back then huh?” 

Does he think I should be flattered by this, or turned on maybe, by his appraisal of how he thinks I used to be, look, drink, or party? 

“Yeah, no, I was not so much a party girl, as I was a troubled alcoholic.”

From the look on his face, it’s not the response he was expecting at all. I take this as my cue that Mr. Four Agreements is full of shit and has no interest in connecting with me on any kind of authentic or spiritual level. I’m guessing that if he even has a copy of the book, he’s never actually read it.

Dinner ends quicker than I anticipated, we awkwardly hug goodbye, and the only agreement we make, is that this will be not only our first, but also our last date. 

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After sharing a few clever DMs with another guy I get matched with, we agree to meet in person over lunch. He is very tall, slim, and has a nice smile – I’ve always kind of had a thing for tall skinny guys, so this seems promising. 

When we meet, he’s wearing jeans, a t-shirt and bomber jacket and a baseball cap. 

In our conversation over lunch, we discover he lives in the Burien neighborhood, which is where my family lived until I was two years old, and our house burned down. He knows exactly where the area is, as the property became a city park. There is an ease and familiarity at least with having a little something in common. The day is a relative success, and we agree to meet again soon.

We have a couple of easy-going phone conversations before we agree to meet up again, and the next time we hang out is at a park on Lake Washington for a “let’s keep getting to know each other better” chat. 

I can’t put my finger on it, but I find myself curious about what he’s got going on under the baseball cap that he’s wearing again (and in every picture he has uploaded to his profile). I decide to be bold and ask – “I notice you like wearing a baseball hat, I’d love to see what you look like without it.” 

His mood abruptly changes as if I just asked him to take his pants off in public, and he’s quite offended by my request. “You know…it’s just my hat. I like my hat. I always wear my hat. If you have a problem with the hat, well then, you have a problem with me.”

I don’t have a problem with his hat at all. But I do find his reaction odd and uncomfortable. This is the last time I hang out with Mr. Excessively Defensive…and his hat.

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Then there’s the musician, who’s profile states he’s into music and travel, and with his fedora and sunglasses profile pic, he actually seems kind of cool and captures my interest enough for us to set up a time to meet in person. 

We agree to meet at one of my favorite Italian restaurants in Redmond, but the man that arrives looks absolutely nothing like his photo – there’s no fedora, no sunglasses, and he has zero cool. I am interested in men who make me laugh, are kind, interesting, cultured…what they look like is not a priority. But this guy has more than misrepresented himself. In person, he’s morbidly obese, about my height, 5’ 7”-ish, his clothes are unkempt, has messy gray hair, pock-marked skin, and a scraggly beard that will serve as a crumb catcher as the dinner progresses. 

He talks non-stop while chomping loudly on the food he can’t seem to shovel into his face fast enough, while telling me all about his life as a horn player, and all the ups and downs of living on the road with the swagger and confidence of Mick Jagger. While I’ve never been one to judge a book by its cover, his behavior on our date is more than unappetizing. I patiently and politely glide through listening to his endless stories until we reach the end of our date – unmoved by pretty much everything that Mr. Cool Jazz brings to the table. 

Check please!

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The most promising guy I met using a dating site, is a sweet-faced, slightly nerdy guy with glasses, through the e-harmony site. After exchanging several charming messages, we meet for lunch on a Saturday at a waterfront tavern in Kirkland. We are natural with each other, exchanging funny and candid life stories, all the while enjoying a delicious lunch of fish & chips. The best part is that I don’t even feel the slightest bit self-conscious eating in front of him. He picks up the tab and asks if I’d like to take a walk along the water. Why yes, I would Mr. Cutie Nerdy Pie. 

After we spend about an hour walking and talking, he accompanies me back to my car parked in front of the restaurant. I anticipate something good is bound to come out of what has been probably the best first date I’ve ever had. Then he leans in for what I think might be a first kiss and says “It’s been lovely to meet and get to know you Mia, but I don’t think we made a connection, so we won’t be seeing each other again. It was so nice to meet you though,” as he shakes my hand with all the confidence of a serial killer.

And in that moment, I give my best fake smile, and make a solemn vow to never, ever, use online dating to meet anyone, ever again. Forever. Until the end of time.

Immediately upon returning home, I delete my profile from every internet site I signed up with. 

It’s official. I hate dating.   

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P.S. I ALSO HATE BLIND DATES

I have only been set up on two blind dates. My first was when I was living in New York.  I was set-up with a guy who was a friend of a gal my sister-in-law Rosemary worked with at a magazine. 

We met over dinner in a casual Brooklyn restaurant. He reminded me of a cross between Richie Cunningham from “Happy Days,” and Little Orphan Annie, with his tiny spectacle glasses and super curly red hair. 

Although I was sober at the time, I told him I didn’t mind at all if he wanted to have a drink. I truly don’t have any issues with people drinking around me. Not one bit. But he proceeded to order and drink several bottles of beer back-to-back, while managing to get progressively less fascinating over our uncomfortable and unremarkable dinner. 

As he stumbled out of the restaurant, I hailed a cab for him to ensure he’d get his drunk ass home safely. I lived nearby, so I walked myself home, self-assured and relieved I’d never have to see Mr. Drunky McDrunkerson again. 

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My second, and LAST blind date, was arranged through this gal Jo, who I know through my good friend MJ. 

Jo called me out of the blue one day, to tell me she knew the sweetest, kindest guy with the most engaging personality – and she was sure we’d really hit it off. “Okay sure! Why not?”

I called and ran it all by MJ, and she was shocked that Jo would suggest I should go out with this guy. “Mia! He’s an old man! It doesn’t make any sense to me. He’s a widow for Christ sakes!” 

My conversation with MJ made me nervous, but since he’d already contacted me, and we’d already agreed to meet for dinner, I decided, what the hell, and went anyway, how bad could it be? 

Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to. 

I don’t know what Jo was thinking about the two of us making a good match. He was a very nice, well-dressed man, I’ll give her that. But what instantly stood out, was that he was still choosing to dye both his hair and eyebrows a garish shade of auburn, well past his prime. He was literally decades older than me. And while he was a perfect gentleman and treated me to a delicious and expensive dinner at a fine restaurant, I knew before it began, that this experience would pound the last nail in the coffin for me to endure any further adventures in blind dating. 

Thanks for thinking of me Jo. But it’s going to be a hard no for me and Mr. Seventy-Something.