So Long, Cupid

22 Feb

A few nights ago, I went on a final OkCupid date before deleting my account.  I know this is a shocking blow for all two of my blog readers, but my patience had rapidly worn thin as I began to eradicate alcohol from the equation.  I have found that to be a sober serial blind dater, one must be extremely well-versed in the realm of current events AND have an everlasting reserve of energy and tolerance.  I’m just going to throw my cards on the table and say that I may be lacking in at least two of those categories.

I can’t remember the name of the guy I was meeting…I think it was John.  I had worked all day and was tired, but forced myself to give ‘er one last go.  Besides, John looked cute in his pictures, was thirty, allegedly over six feet, and didn’t use emoticons in his texts.  Who knows?  Maybe he was about to blow my mind and make me think twice about deleting my account.  He had invited me to a birthday party in Fort Greene, but agreed to meet me at my friend’s bar in the Village first to assuage any awkwardness.  It was the first time since being on the site that I had difficulty recognizing a blind date in person.  He looked like the gay older brother of the individual in the pictures online.  Thirty years old and six feet tall?  More like forty and five-ten unless you counted the gelled hair dollop nestled atop his glistening brow.

After I overcame my initial speechlessness, I led him to a booth and began the small talk routine.  I honestly can’t even relay what he did for a living because none of the words he used made sense to my brain.  It had to do with numbers and the government.  He had fangs, a lisp, and he made an “O” shape on one side of his mouth when he drank from his beer bottle, like the Tin Man receiving oil from his oil can.  After he spit on me several times while he was talking, I shifted sideways in the booth so that I was no longer in the line of fire.  He told me that he had just gotten a haircut from the Blind Barber, which prompted me to inquire as to whether his barber was actually blind.  Apparently it’s a barbershop/cocktail lounge, but the dollop was disconcerting and he had in so much hair product he smelled like a strip club.  I asked him how he liked OkCupid and he responded that this was only his second date.  His first date had been the night before and, afterwards, he had gone back to her place and slept with her.  “She isn’t attractive at all, but she’s filthy rich and her dad owns the luxury building where she lives.  Is this too much information?”  And I thought I didn’t have a filter!  I told him maybe he should keep her around for some free dinners, and he replied “Oh, it’s definitely still on the table.”

Escape plans began running through my mind as we got in a cab and he began a lengthy lecture on foreign exchange and short selling.  I stopped listening to him around the point when he was informing me that all of his stocks are in silver because that’s where the country is headed after the financial apocalypse.  After staring out the window for a while, I tuned back into his ramblings and he was ending a story with “and then an orange man crossed the street.”  I will never know if he was just checking to see if I was listening or actually talking about orange men.  I hope it’s the latter.  We arrived at the bar where his friend’s birthday party was and I told him I was just going to stay in the cab and go home.  He got out and leaned back in to lay his parting words and a tiny ball of spit on me: “Remember me when gold isn’t worth a cent and all of the country’s wealth is in silver.  John told you so!”



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