Sunday, August 21, 2011

1995 Called...

There is a phenomenon called “Time Dilation” wherein someone traveling at the speed of light stays the same age (or ages more slowly) than those who are left on earth.  I have found that marriage followed by divorce creates this same phenomenon.   
  • Marriage = Traveling at the Speed of Light
  • Divorce = Returning to Earth
Which has to be the explanation as to why I was only attracted to 25 year olds for the first two years following my divorce, right?  Poor Suave Magnet – she didn’t realize she’d aged. 
So you can imagine my elation when I found gorgeous “Guido” on “Plenty of Douche-bags.” (another doozie of a dating site I used to make fun of others for joining)  Not only was I attracted to Guido, he was MY age!  Unheard of!
Guido was seriously model-hot! Black and white photos of him on a beach, with a rock-hard body and a dynamite smile covered his profile.  And not just one picture – anyone can have one good picture.  He had about 15 photos posted.  Candid photos of him with friends and family laughing and enjoying life;  I could picture myself in his photos – I WANTED to be in his photos.  But before you go off thinking I’m being shallow again, his written profile was exceptional as well.  Not only was his ancestry rich and multi-cultural, he was very well-written and gave interesting details about his interests.  I don’t remember exactly how his profile read, but included phrases such as, “I know how to pair food and wine, I can properly set a table and my manners are impeccable” – a far cry from, “I like sports” (do ya, there, Slingblade?)
Guido and I began texting (again, how all deep and meaningful relationships start) and decided to meet for a happy hour. (to my surprise he did not select BJ’s)  He chose a very popular Mexican restaurant with a happenin’ patio, but did let me know that he would have to leave around 7 as he had a previous engagement.
Sidebar – for those of you who are not currently in the dating scene (bastards), let me explain how this works; you meet for a happy hour, but stress that you must leave at a specified time due to a previous engagement.  This way, if your date is a troll or requests to touch your feet, you can make a graceful exit.    
I knew this is what he was doing and I’ll admit I was more than disappointed that he gave himself an out – I was hoping to spend more than an hour and a half with this gorgeous, educated specimen.  But oh well.
Before I arrived I received a text from him that he would be inside at the bar as there were no tables available on the patio just yet.  I sat in the parking lot terrified to walk in.  What if he looks at me and thinks, “Ugh, she's way cuter in her pictures.”  I mean, you kind of know where you rank on the hotness scale and I was nowhere NEAR Guido’s level of hot.  But after a quick pep talk with a dear friend, (don't forget to pluck any renegade chin hairs) I made my way into the restaurant. 
I looked high and low for this guy.  Granted, the bar was packed, but all I had to do was look for the ethereal light shining down and the throng of women and there he would be.  But I saw nothin’.  So I shot him a text, “Where are you?”  And he replied, “I see you, I’ll make my way up to you.  Sit tight.”
I was so nervous I seriously thought I was going to throw up.  I tried to act casual, and felt myself TRYING to act casual.  I was going for breezy, but feared I was just looking constipated.  Not exactly the look I was hoping to achieve.  Just breathe, Karen.  Just brea - 
Guido - (in a voice not unlike Mike Tyson's) “Karen?” 
Oh.  my.  God. 
The look on my face had to be one of “Are you f’ing kidding me!”  Standing before me was a 5’ 7” Oompa Loompa with a generous smattering of bling, an overly-tanned face, a big barrel chest and I’m guessing to be around 15 years older than portrayed in his profile pictures.  His only redeeming aesthetic quality was that his Under Armour shirt was so tight it was smashing down his man-breasts.  Let's just say, a gross misrepresentation than that of his profile. 
I prayed that this was Guido's wingman sent in to scout out the date, but that prayer went unanswered.  For this was my Guido. 

Guido – “Shall we?” (his arm was extended toward the patio door…there was no turning back)
Now, as I said before, he was well-written, so I was hanging onto the hope that that would translate to well-spoken with a  good personality. 
Guido(total non-sequitur) You have excellent teeth – I notice teeth.  My last two girlfriends didn’t have nice teeth like you.  And the most recent girl I was with was a total psycho.  We stayed together way too long.
Sidebar - I can appreciate if you're nervous on a first date and just start rambling.  But rule number one - keep the mentions of previous dates/relationships to a minimum. (I get it, you're a hot commodity)  I couldn't have cared less about the psycho woman in his life, but I played along and pretended to show was short-lived...
Karen – Why did you stay with her if she was so psycho?
Guido - Because she had a bad-ass Mercedes and really great tits (verbatim)


Our date was approximately 27 minutes long.



  1. I'm ready to hear about some old school dating stories - circa 2010.

  2. Well, a good pair of tits does matter, Karen....


    1. Dammit - I'm still waiting for mine to come in!