At the urging of the groovy BeckySharper, I thought I’d share a recent dating encounter to offer the flip side of her skeevy experience last weekend. When I began dating again after my breakup, I joined an online dating site. Since joining I’ve been on a fair amount of dates with people I’ve met online, running the gamut from terrible, to boring, to actually quite terrific. About two months ago I got a message from a girl. The note was brief and pleasant and we struck up a dialogue. Due to scheduling, though, we didn’t get a chance to meet right away, but continued chatting. Occasionally I would get notes starting ‘Hey Babe’, which, frankly, came across as a teeny bit forward, seeing as how we’d never met in person.
As we chatted I learned that she’d been a contestant on a reality show. Breaking my rule of not Googling dates before we met, I looked her up. To put it bluntly, she did not come off well on the show: shallow, aggressively physical, and self-involved. However I read several interviews conducted after the show aired in which she said her actions had been grossly taken out of context. Knowing that reality shows often distort reality for entertainment’s sake, I decided to come to my own conclusions and give it a shot.
We agreed to meet up at a birthday party for one of her friends (also a reality show star). The setting—a trendy club—was way out of my usual element, especially for a first date. She was sitting on a few couches with her friends, all of whom worked in the fashion industry either as models or buyers. Nearby, laying on a table, was a naked man covered in sushi, more and more of his anatomy being uncovered as pieces were plucked off. Again, not exactly my usual scene, but so be it. We started talking, and it soon became pretty clear we simply weren’t right for each other. We didn’t have much in common, and when I asked if she’d read any good books lately, her response was, “I don’t read anything unless it’s on TMZ or Perez Hilton.” She was hoping to develop a new reality show about her dating life, and constantly brought up the man she’d dated on the show. I certainly don’t judge any of her professional ambitions or reading habits—to each their own—it’s simply not what I’m looking for in a partner. Despite this, I was having fun. Her friends were nice and outgoing, and it was a pleasant change of pace from my usual scene. However, I noticed that as she drank, my date got a little more, well, friendly.
Every time I went to the bar, within moments she would appear behind me, rubbing her hands all over my back and chest. I didn’t tell her to stop, but tried to make it clear through body language that I wasn’t exactly comfortable. When we sat down on the couch, her hand would migrate to my leg, massaging my thigh. After a few more drinks, she leaned over and whispered in my ear, “You know you want to fuck me.” To drive the point home, she reached down and grabbed my, um, genital region. On the couch, in full view of her friends. I took her hand away, told her in so many words it wasn’t quite appropriate. When the night wound down, I took her outside to put her in a cab. As we stood on the corner, she put her hands around my waist and said, “Can I be honest with you?” I told her she could. “I love you,” she said.
My reaction was to laugh. I told her she didn’t love me, that she was a little drunk, and though I had a fun night, I didn’t think we had much in common. Her response: “We’re both hot, Jewish and blonde. That’s enough.” (I am Jewish, whether I’m hot is in the eye of the beholder, and I’m more brown than blonde, but whatever). I told her those were relatively superficial things to have in common. “So you’re saying you don’t love me,” she said. I told her she seemed like a terrific girl, but no, I didn’t love her.
With that, she turned around, walked away and hailed a cab without saying so much as goodbye. The next day she sent me a text message apologizing for her behavior and asking if I wanted to go out again. I reiterated that I thought she was a great girl, but that we weren’t right for each other. She didn’t respond to my text. That was my last direct communication from her, but every now and then I log on to that website and see that she has viewed my profile. Oh, and I recently received a facebook message asking me to check out her first self-produced rap single. Much as it pains me, I think I’ll have to pass.