And this is the moment, right here, where every single lady that I’ve had the fortune, misfortune or has had the misfortune of meeting me over the past 10 years or so are:
- Losing their shit wondering if I’m going to mention them (No worries, I won’t…by name)
- Buying a shovel and a bag of dolomite
Wouldn’t blame you, not at all. If I saw that someone I went on a date with posted blog after blog about their dating life; I’d be wondering how often they drag the Hudson. My guess, and this is just a guess, not very often.
However, allow me to say this…You ever notice how imperious that is? “Allow me to say this!” No douche, I DON’T allow you to say that. It’s like: “Let me ask you a question.” No, I’m not fielding questions right now. When I do, I’ll be sure to let you know.
Anyway, let’s pretend you’re allowing me to say this:
Ladies, don’t you worry. One thing I’ve grasped and appreciated over my years of “trolling” dating sites. FYI, it wasn’t called trolling in my day, back then it was called being fucking creepy. Or being my friend Steve from Proctor. Inside joke. Back to that one thing, you’re trying to do the best you can at this game we call life. And you despise the fact you’re on these dating sites as they are a “Hail Mary” in discovering the Holy Grail that is called eternal love. Searching for the unicorn that makes you smile while thinking about how much you miss them. The person, that when they look at you in a certain way, you stop breathing.
For you see, while I’m on more sites and/or apps than I care to mention. I currently reside in an area where my friends are limited. I don’t drink so the bar scene is eliminated. Lastly, dating is something that I have never excelled at. Whether it be a lack of confidence and/or a lack of understanding; relationships and I view each other as necessary evils. We don’t care for each other very much. But, we know we must co-exist on some level. Even though I view them, relationships, as soul-sucking creatures straight out of Mortal Kombat.
Whereas many of the ladies that I’ve come across are essentially out of options. How is a mother of one, two, or three, with a full-time job supposed to meet someone? The grocery store? Because a child having a meltdown in the produce section of Hannaford is the flame to the moth that is an eligible, and more so, attractive individual? So, what do they do? They subject themselves to the Amazon.com meat market that is online dating. That’s something that those who have never experienced this world will never understand: Dating websites provide nothing more than the online shopping experience for human beings. It’s almost, not the equivalent, but has the feel of modern-day slave trading without the deplorable world of slavery. Instead, this aforementioned hardworking, exhausted, and rapidly losing hope single mom is receiving photos of mens genitalia, threats, actual threats, because they didn’t respond to the 37 emails from some dude whose username is the same as the one he uses for World of Warcraft, and inquiries about a night of “Netflix and Chillin.” AKA: Sex. It’s a line the kids these days use to proposition a night of sex on Tinder; for those of you that use or used to use the archaic methods to meet someone such as a friend setting you up or actually approaching someone you found attractive at the gym.
Like that happens anymore.
But that’s not all of them.
Some ladies, not so much. There are some ladies who simply suck at life. And I’ll be sure as shit to write about them. However, the mass majority of you are safe…For now.
DATE# 1: THE PSYCHIATRIST
No, I wasn’t going to one. Actually, yes, yes I was. However, my very first date, after what I thought was my last first date 5 years prior, was a shrink. I’ll let you guess how skilled she was at asking probing, leading questions.
I’ll let you guess how skilled she was at asking probing, leading questions.
But, how exactly did we get there?
Raise your hand if this sounds familiar: You’re madly in love, or at least you were, you break up and the very first friggen thing you do is try to reclaim your freedom you so very coveted. How? By hoping to give it right the fuck back to the first piece of ass that blinks her eyes at you. What’s the old adage, the best way to get over someone is to get under someone new? Back in the day, that probably was the case… Back in the day, that was probably the case because alcohol was involved. Your friends tell you to get over her, so they drag you to the bar. Because you know you’re going to find the love of your life at a place called Magoos. You slam down one, two, a dozen drinks…And your reward, you roll over, your bed is warm, its cozy, the smell of passionate sex fills the air. You snuggle up next to the new love of your life and what is waiting for you:
Holy Mary, Mother Of God, I’m so glad I quit drinking.
Wanna know how many days it took me to get onto Match.com after she (the ex) told me that she not only wanted a divorce but, why?
Hours. Seriously, you could have counted the minutes from point A to mouse click point B.
I already had the profile ready to go. No shit. Your account is permanently in the system unless you totally eradicate its existence. So, all you do is log back on and decide whether or not you want it to be “public”. Or able to be viewed in layman’s terms. And to be totally clear, I met her, the ex, on match.com. So why not fish in the same pond that gifted me this glorious experience of failed love?
And you bet your sweet ass as I knew who was out there once I felt the tremors for this inevitable earthquake. Funny yet not, some were the same people that were on match 5 years earlier.
Why isn’t that funny?
Because it has been 3 goddamn years since that moment and here I am:
Anyway, I stumbled instantly upon this one gorgeous brunette. She was:
A psychologist…okay… But damn she looked delicious.
She looked either Italian or French, which for some reason I adore.
A couple years younger than me, which was nice since my soon to be ex was 5 years older.
She was shorter than me by 4 inches. Which I didn’t think was possible but was the sexiest goddamn thing ever.
This newly found, fine, female friend was totally smoke.
Does that sound like she was hot or fake? I’m trying to start a thing there. “Dude look, smoke.” My luck the friend will think I’m offering him weed.
And I fucked it up from the moment I said, “Hi I’m Keith”
It had been days, not weeks, not months, not years…Like you could probably figure out exactly how many hours without having to use a calculator or piece of paper since it was decided for me that divorce was the only option.
And for those of you not familiar with the story of my divorce, here is a docudrama called “Good Grief” starring Nick Marshall, Nicole Webster, and Katy Albert as “Natalie”.
Anywho, I’ll give you one good, goddamn guess what the topic of conversation was on this date.
Imagine this, seriously, put yourself in this place: You’re on a date. You’ve been dating for a while and you think you’ve finally met a “contender”. So much so, you’ve exchanged an absurd amount of emails and texts. So much so, that you take the chance of having dinner. Which, is a very risky proposition for a first date, especially online. Because, eating is time consuming whereas a drink, coffee, tea, or fresca can be minutes.
Well, somewhere in between ordering your meal and taking your first bite, you’re told on what you hoped would be the last first date of your life:
“Ya, I just found out a few days ago that my wife/husband was cheating on me. We still live together, but I’m totally over her. Can you fucking believe that son of a bitch cheated on me? Let me ask you, (God I wish she said, no, no you can’t…fucking shrinks) do you think what my soon to be ex did to me was normal? No, right? Fucking psycho, right. I mean how fucking crazy are they? Seriously, they’re crazy, right? I mean, I’m a catch, right? Look at me! I’m good looking, in shape, have a good career, right? I mean, come on, who does that? How’s your sandwich?”
To her credit, she hung in there longer than I did trying to watch the Lord of the Rings.
And even when I asked if she wanted to get together again, she said. “Sure”.
The moment I came home, you know the house that I shared with the woman that was still my wife, all I wanted, all I wanted her to know was that I was on a date!
So fuck you! Be jealous.
She couldn’t have given two shits.
I can’t remember if I…ya, I do. I reached out to the shrink on match a few days later. Her response:
And I’m paraphrasing here, “What are you doing?”
I should have listened. I should have had the courage to ask myself that very same question. But being the overreactive person that is Keith Hannigan, all I could think was:
“How much worse could it get?”
Much worse, so…much…worse…
While, some, many, if not all of the ladies that I wouldn’t have met if not for the world of online dating are still skeptical as to whether or not “our story” will be referenced; please stop.
Since I was first introduced to this alternative universe in which the shy are brave and the timid are sultry, I’ve had dates that have ranged from: a lady with a picture from years and 25lbs earlier, an absurdly expensive dinner while she did nothing but talk on her cell phone, a night of being “accosted” on a park bench in Troy on a Friday night with a heavy police presence only an hour after eating under cooked chicken wings and trying not to shit myself, a night of driving an hour to knock at the door of someones place that may or may not have been the person I was communicating with while holding a rose wondering if I was a door opening away from getting the ever living shit kicked out of me, and a day of kayaking that turned into a one night stand. That was:
I’m not a novelist, nor am I someone that thrives off of hurting others. These tales are nothing more than self-depreciation at it’s finest, while hopefully shedding light on the darkness that is not only dating in your late 30’s as a divorced man…
But shedding light on the world where the cowards are courageous and the meek are mighty.