One Pill, Two Pills, Red Pills, Blue Pills?

I know I whine an awful lot about online dating but there are some advantages. You can keep people at a distance. You can block people who annoy you. And until, if ever, they send you a real picture of themselves they can be as good looking and romantic as your mind can imagine. But realistically the more time you spend on line talking to people the more you hear the same old story. Over and over and over. Sometimes, you just have to turn the computer
OFF

I decided that this was exactly what I was going to do one evening. I gladly exited Cyber Space and waltz my fat rump right into my local hole in the wall bar. I was immediately hit with a wall of smoke and bad karaoke. It was perfect. Exactly what I needed to get my mind off the stresses of my life. I was there to hang with friends but I have always got an eyeball out for a good looking man. Or maybe a blind one or just really drunk one.

As the evening wound down I decided to just sit at the bar and chat with a friend from work. She and I were in the middle of chatting when I notice a man sitting at the end of the bar so I ask her to go get his story. My friend Shannon comes back after giving him my “business card,” announces that he’s in fact single and thinks I’m pretty. (So nice to have a great wingman) So we all start to talk and Shannon slowly makes her way out of the conversation so the two of us can chat. “Mac” seems like a nice, funny southern gentleman. We make small talk, tells me he’s about 10 years older than me, which I’m excited to hear when somehow eventually the topic turns to oysters and he mentions that he’s got him some at home. How can I say no?

I follow him home, we walk through the front door where he immediately goes to a door that’s open and shuts it. I shoot him a look. He tells me that he doesn’t want to disturb his 80 year old parents. Nice. He then tells me he’s glad that he’s finally home and getting something to eat because he needs to take his high blood pressure meds. And his high cholesterol meds. And his anti-anxiety meds but not to worry he’s still got some kick left in his 55 year old body. WHAT? What the hell happened to the mid forties that we discussed earlier? I’m starting to sweat.

We eat the oysters and he offers me a Coke Zero. I tell him I’m a Diet Coke girl myself when he mentions he can’t drink that because he’s diabetic. Man, it just keeps getting better doesn’t it? We eventually (despite all the red flags) head to the bedroom where things head from bad to worse. Apparently all the high blood pressure and cholesterol have got stuff blocked somewhere above the waistline because the goods below don’t work. Despite great effort on both of our parts that sucker wasn’t moving. Mac, quite embarrassed at this point, decides he’s at least going to try to make my night worthwhile. He’s been talking all night so I know his tongue works, now I just hope he’s good at what he does. Well he wasn’t but I figured I would let him be until he thought he was done when he announces “Oh crap, I can’t find my teeth!”

Let me just tell you, in this situation, there are NO words that can be said that can fix this. This is NOT a statement that can EVER be taken back. He eventually does find them. He tells me he took them out before he started which makes me feel slightly better but I don’t really want to know many more details than that. I make some quasi-plausible reason to leave and get the HELL out of there.

I get a obviously drunk dialed message about a week later from Mac about how he would love to take me out be he has to have surgery on his eyes and it’s really hard to save the kind of money he’ll need while he’s not working, and then some nonsense about a pre-nup, and then after about two minutes of rambling and slurring he ends the call with I love you.

Let me tell you my friends, the internet has never sounded better.