Lesbian Dating 103

 

The harsh reality of online dating

 

Ok - here goes nothing.... it's been a while. Let me get you up to speed.

Boston Pride is always an amazingly good time. Some of my best stories are born somewhere between P-Town and Pride. Esmee is the largest lesbian block party on the eastern seaboard - it's like a Warsaw ghetto of dykes... once you are in, there is no way out. If the crazy religious zealots only realized we were walled in - they could sprinkle the area with mind altering, brainwashing chemicals that doled out the gay cure. Of course for us older single lesbians that don't do drugs - Esmee could be considered the gay cure. Don't get me wrong, it is fun, fun, fun... and girls just wanna...

Casting my eyes across the sea of drunk, Mardi-Gras bead wearing lesbo's, I wonder if my future ex-wife is out there showing her boobs for some plastic beads on a string and I seriously hope not.  I also hope she is not privy to ancient history of how we used to strip in the upstairs window for the crowd below and by we, I mean...you know.

I rode as a BOB in Dykes on Bikes for Boston Pride 2012. For those of you who don't know what that is... BOB stands for "Bitch on the Back". I agree , it really should be BOTB - but BOB is so much easier to say, especially when drunk.

Some women find the term BOB demeaning.  I, however see it more as an opportunity to wear silver snakeskin stiletto's with a lot of sparkly make-up and THAT my friends, is never demeaning.

 I had taken a recent hiatus from lesbian dating after my last relationship went up in flames with a mere shred of suspicion that perhaps my partner had a strong interest in Munchausen by Proxy.

( I figured it was probably a good idea to take a break from dating when my choices led me to believe someone I willingly entered into a relationship with, may 'currently be' or may 'currently have' the desire to poison me).

This stellar experience left me single and ambivalent toward meeting anyone. Not that I was against it, I just hadn't felt a strong enough desire to pursue meeting new people with an eye for possible dates. I may have murmured some typical complaints about the single life but c'mon - I didn't really mean them.

Back to Boston:

The bike, on which I am the lesbian "BOB",  belongs to the poster child for 11 years of lesbian domesticity who also happens to be one of my closest friends. Apparently our family values differ but we have the same sense of humor - so it works. She chooses this particular Pride to try to play match-maker, matchmaker, make me a match.

Let it be said that in all our years of friendship - never before has she attempted such a ludicrous feat. I'm not exactly the person most people would say "Oh, I know just the girl for you!". For the most part, Lesbians don't know what to do with me never mind set me up with their poor unsuspecting friends. I'm OK with that, I think...

Prior to my silver snakeskin arrival, she is grilling the newest member of her  - biker gang? - motorcycle club? - whatever, you call it.  The new gal is single, just moved back to the area and seems like she can hold her own. These observations lead to the enthusiastic declaration "Ooooohhh, you should meet my friend - she's single too".

That one statement leads me into a Summer that has been challenging to navigate and impossible to decipher. I'm still trying to work it out, I'll let you know how that goes.  Anyhow, a screaming exchange in my driveway (because that's always fun) after being told to STFU (Shut the fuck up) and my own screamed gauntlet of "I should date other people - that aren't you" gets the response that, yes - indeed I should. Not exactly what I was going for.

When are our more testosterone driven women going to realize that just because we SAY something, it doesn't mean we MEAN it?

So I about turn, huff into my house, slam the door, sit down at the computer and join a dating website. That was the appropriate response, right?

I have joined these sites before and whilst I have conversed with many people, I have never actually gone on a date. I was so determined that this time was going to be different and this time I would actually follow through... fuck her!  Aren't you glad you weren't on THAT site?

 

Website Date One:

A therapist wants to meet me for coffee.

I agree to the date in spite of varied friends feedback:

"Do you REALLY think that's a good idea?"  

"A therapist? A shrink? You? Oh this is not going to go well..."

"A WHAT???!!"  keels over in laughter, holding stomach, wiping away tears...

Granted it had the possibility of being really bad or, it could have been really good or even better,  I could have gotten some much needed free therapy and maybe dinner.

We meet for coffee at a Starbucks and situate ourselves in some very comfy leather armchairs. Her opening line is  "Tell me about your Mother".  If you have ever read anything I have written, you know enough to know that opener is as bad as the chick in P-Town that said "Tell me about your childhood". I saw the twinkle in her eye and she cracked up laughing. It was perfect!  To her credit, she was not in the least  "shrink" like and we talked for hours. There was no love connection but she is definitely a keeper and I enjoy her shrinky dink dink friendship very much.

I had finally broken the seal of dating in the digital age. Heartened that I made a new friend and she wasn't a serial killer or a bearded man from Virginia trying to save my soul for from the devil, I decided to continue my adventure with some confidence that this wasn't so bad after all.

Website Date Two

A dog trainer wants to go out for dinner.

A dog trainer? Now we are talking!! Could there be a finer match for me in cyberspace... really? With my love of all things dog? This is exciting... I can pick her brain, talk about my dogs till the cows come home without getting that glazed over look as someone checks their watch and says "Wow, is that really the time?"

This one looked really promising. We bantered back and forth, our insane irritation with people and love of animals almost had me convinced, in theory, she could quite possibly be my soul mate. That was until she showed up on our date in white (awkwardly mid thigh length)shorts, a denim button down and a t-shirt portraying a wolf howling at the moon. Probably sounds quite shallow - did I fail to mention the inch wide middle parting through the long black hair and the leather choker that made me gasp for air, simply by looking at it?

I excused myself to the bathroom.

I pulled it together and decided I could easily make it through dinner, after all weren't there ten thousand things about dog training I wanted to ask a professional? I kept the Sangria flowing and the conversation impersonal . I actually loved being able to sit there and discuss pack behavior, territorial alphas and dog-human evolution throughout the ages, that is, until she cried.

She didn't just cry, it was in the middle of dinner and she forewarned me. In fact, she told me in no uncertain terms she was going to cry. Mid sentence about dog nutrition I found myself confused and bewildered. I looked at her and said "You're really gonna cry? About what? I don't get it".  At that moment I was unceremoniously tossed into the middle of a Seinfeld episode and no-one had bothered to tell me the story line.  I thought perhaps it was a weird dog trainer joke and maybe she was about to howl at the pitcher of red fruity sangria I was trying to suck down through a straw. Nope, it was no joke.

My date dissolved into tears. She buried her face in her oversized floral cloth napkin. It was quite the performance and I, for once, was speechless. She did manage to spit out the following statement " You have no idea how many people pretend, but you are the real deal".

Now this may sound callous and perhaps it is but WHAT THE FUCK? That statement doesn't mean anything and if it does there's no reason to cry about it. Did she mean because I really like dogs or because I put real pictures online and described myself as best I could from my perspective? I didn't want an explanation, it was weird enough that talking about dog food made her borderline hysterical.  I did the only thing I knew how to do... I kept talking. Yup, just went right ahead as if it wasn't happening. Talk, talk, talk, talk, talk... Thankfully my tactic worked and her crying subsided before I ran out of things to say. Ha! Right? Like that would ever happen!!  The only thing I couldn't talk my way out of would be the crying Sirens from Greek mythology. I know enough to stay away from those bitches! The dog trainer had nothing on them.

Overall, the food was good and I enjoyed the topic of conversation, so all was not lost. That is until she tried to get me to go home with her. I almost escaped. I made it to the car, managed to get in AND close the door before any awkward embrace could transpire. She stood there, waiting - so  I had to crack my window to hear what she was saying... I'm not usually an ignorer of what is happening in front of my face - No, I'm more of an acknowledger, let's talk about it kinda gal. Oh no - not in this situation. This chick wanted to teach me to sit, stay, roll over and beg. In light of her alpha dog physical posturing (which admittedly - she was very good at) as she made her request that I stay at her place, I simply ignored it, talked over and around it, said thank you for dinner and drove away.

A barrage of text messages came through in an attempt to get me to turn around. There was one referring to my consumption of Sangria... Seriously? I'm usually a Scotch drinker but I opted for the Sangria to ensure I was more than capable of driving away after I took one look at those daisy dukes howling at the wolf... wait, no - never mind... those shorts were howling at something, I can only hope it was a wolf.

Disappointing as it was not to find my one true love, I plowed through it and responded only once to her cycle of eleven text messages.  In her desperation she was not displaying  a calm assertive energy, Cesar Millan would not have been pleased.

 

Website Date Three:

Betti the Butch

In light of my recent exposure, I'm now considering myself a pro at the online dating stuff. Hence I have decided to show a friend how to set up an online profile to meet other single women. As I'm sitting there working my online demonstration, a window pops up and someone is typing directly to me in real time. Whaaaaat? lost in my own density, I hadn't realized this site had an instant message capability. Cool!! So I start chatting with this girl back and forth. Boy, is she funny! Quick, witty, picks up on my jokes... This banter goes on for a couple of days, Betti asks for my phone number and starts calling and calling and calling. I don't really like to talk on the phone but Betti made it easy for me. She didn't stop calling till I answered and then she didn't stop talking until I hung up.

We made a date to get together mid afternoon on a Sunday.

In light of all that could possibly go wrong I suggested we each bring a gift for the other, a consolation prize if you will - since the first blind date could actually mark the end of our fun little friendship. I really had no idea how prophetic that notion truly would be. I had such a good time with my 'booby' prize gift bag. I included a garish glass ring, mad-libs, a magnetic cowboy drawing kit, dog cheese and a print out of curse words in sign language. Yes - I did say dog cheese.

I saw my date angel walking across the parking lot of the British Beer Company and I remembered just how doomed I was in the arena of dating. Most people post pictures of themselves 5 years younger and 50 pounds lighter - not Betti the Butch. No, I think since she put her profile together she must have been on a hunger strike for world peace or something similar. She was skittish, scrawny and had an inability to maintain eye contact. Trying to look on the bright side, I decided she was just nervous.

We settle at a high top bar table, order a couple of drink and peruse the menu. As I am trying to decide between fish n chips or a club sandwich I am berated with a line of - in your face - questioning. "So, do you think I'm hot?" "Are you attracted to me?" "Do I look like my pictures?" "I'm hot right, huh? huh? huh?"

My response? Well I know what it should have been. I should have said "I'm sorry but I just found out I have an incurable wasting disease that is communicable and I must leave the country for a desert island and terminate all contact with the outside world.... CHECK PLEASE!"

Instead, I said "Who asks that?" and "Am I asking you these things? Can we just get to know each other a little?" (by little, I meant - VERY little).  At this point I'm still putting her weird behavior down to nerves and am trying to make her feel somewhat comfortable. I redirect the conversation by giving her my gift bag, hoping we can at least move the focus. It didn't go so well. She seemed confused by the whole thing even though everything in the bag was connected to a conversation or joke we had previously shared. I mean, I know I can be confusing - so I let it go.

Side-note, I have a love of language and profanity. I believe you can take power out of words or put power into words depending on usage and context. My only holdback is children. No, not the word... you know those little people that will one day become big people? Yes, those. Children should really grasp the concept of language and learn the basics before they move on to make it a tad more flowery and colorful, kinda like walking before you can run.

The place was full of kids.  Betti was loud and getting louder, every other word was a screaming profanity. I pointed out the little ears around us and she made it very clear that she didn't give a flying F**K.

"Waitress, I'm sorry to do this to you - but would you mind terribly if we moved to an outside table?"

The waitress was a true delight and had no problem re-seating us on the patio. The only other inhabited table outside had 2 adults, 3 children and a baby... Great!! 

I asked Betti how long she had lived in the area, who her friends were, what they did for fun... She became defensive and wanted to know why I was interrogating her. I consider those getting to know you questions. However,  if she wanted me to demonstrate my interrogation tactics...

 I believe it was in that moment I realized just how dumb I was.

Betti, was wasted!

She had shown up wasted and she was getting more wasted by the minute.  How had I missed this huge glaring neon actuality? I had missed it by giving her the benefit of the doubt and by thinking she was nervous and may possibly be high functioning  aspergers or slightly autistic. How did I even think that??? It's insulting to all the people I know who have these conditions and it was way too kind of an observation, therefore I apologize wholeheartedly - it was a stressful situation.

As she ordered another beer, I asked her how many drinks she had had prior to meeting me. She vacillated between 1 and 3 beers, angrily declaring that it was justifiable since blind dates were anxiety ridden. I agreed, however a whole case of beer may have been overdoing it. She then asked me to go bowling with her after lunch. Um, ok. I had driven over an hour to meet her and figured a loud bowling alley would kind of be like a saving grace to the day. I was channeling Duece Bigalow the Male Gigolo when I realized I didn't have any socks. I spied a TJ Maxx across the parking lot and left bombed Betti to pay the check as I went in search of socks. One pair of coach sneakers later... I picked up Betti and drove the gas station.

To her credit, she attempted to pump gas for me. She dropped the gas cap, couldn't figure out the pump, barely got the nozzle in the car... I went inside to pee.  She was sitting in the passenger seat, radio on full blast looking a tad comatose. Picking my gas cap off the floor, I removed the pump nozzle and closed up my tank.

Slurring now, "What? You had to re-do it because I didn't do it right?"  "No, my sweet drunk skittish psycho angel - I didn't want to drag a gas pump behind us as the police tried to decipher which fumes were coming from where"

(It amazes me that people are offended by what I actually say - when the dialogue in my head is so much worse... You're offended by THAT.. Wow, you should hear what I'm really thinking....)

I smiled gracefully, shook my head and drove us right back to the parking lot.

She freaked. No, she really freaked...

"What? What are you doing? Are you leaving? Are you done?"

"I think you should go sleep it off and call me when you sober up, I need to go home"

Indignant "I am NOT sleeping in your car"

"No, that is correct. You are not sleeping in my car, you can sleep in your own car though"

"I'm not getting out of this car, I'll never see you again"

Ladies! There is some real tried and true logic, right there and apparently this has happened to her before.

"Betti, I'm not arguing with you, just go sleep it off and call me. I understand being nervous, but can we do this again, sober perhaps?"

She refused to get out of the car so I calmly rolled down my window, settled into my seat and started chain smoking. If you can't get em out.... smoke em out! just saying!!

She wanted to know the difference between her drinking and me smoking... seriously??

I put myself on repeat and refused to have any dialogue with her other than "Betti, get out of my car"

Then came the barrage of insults and name calling culminating in the one statement that will stay with me for a very long time "What do I care if I never see you again, you're so Jersey Shore anyway"

What? WHAT?  I had never even seen Jersey Shore but I knew she was insulting me on the grandest scale she could muster.

"Get the fuck out of my car"

She did. I drove away.

I drove to a friend's house on the verge of tears where I promptly disclosed that my date had called me Jersey Shore. They both keeled over with laughter and then one of them looked me dead in the eye and said "Oh honey, you are the farthest thing from Jersey Shore". They then poured me a glass of wine and made me sit through three episodes of Snookie on demand...

Butch Betti tried to contact me the following day and wanted to know why getting drunk and calling me names on the first date was a deal-breaker. I couldn't really explain it to her - I suggest she find the answers in a popular reality tv show... she didn't get the reference.

 

As I drove home that Sunday night the Disc Jockey was hosting a British Flash-Back hour. I sang along to cheesy bubble gum pop music, trying to blot out the day...  I turned up the tune 'Wannabe' and wondered what had happened to

Scary, Baby, Ginger, Posh and Sporty.

That's what I needed back in my life, a little girl power, at least the Spice Girls brought a message a little farther up the food chain that the cast of Jersey Shore. I day-dreamed that it would be awesome if the Spice Girls were waiting for me at home to give me a good talking to. That thought sent me into a fit of giggles at the pure ridiculousness of it. Girls, spice and otherwise, all I can say to that is... beware of what you day-dream about.

:)

Online dating etiquette: 

Don't looked surprised or shocked when that 35yr old gainfully employed hot chick shows up and is really your 2nd cousins inbred daughter of another mother. Oh, and always bring tissues to a blind date, someone is going to end up in tears.

Common sense rule #3

If you send 11 texts messages and get only 1 reply - there probably won't be a second date.

For the Record:

Sangria is not Scotch and should never be confused with a real alcoholic beverage.