The Ugly Cryer

So I thought things were starting to look up in the old dating scene. I began chatting with a guy online and he seemed totally normal. We had some good witty banter going back and forth so I decided to take it to the next level: the meet up.

When we met up in a loud, crowded bar, I was surprised. This guy was actually cute. I mean cuter than his pictures even. (In online dating land I have learned this doesn't happen. Ever.) So I was pleasantly surprised. We spent the night dancing and yelling mumbo jumbo at each other over the blaring beats of Kanye. Ahh, romance at its best. And when we left the dark bar and hit streetlight I was reassured that even with my drunk goggles, he was still cute. Thus leading us to date number two.

Date number two took place at a much quieter location at a hip lounge. We were sipping on martinis and I was revelling in how well the date was going, when it happened. He brought up the dreaded ex-factor. I quickly learned that his most recent break-up occurred three days prior. I thought that was strange, considering we'd been talking online for weeks at this point. I was about to question him on this time overlap when I was faced with the most horrifying display from a grown man. The ugly cry. I'm not talking about one lonely tear trickling down his cheek. I'm talking big, loud, wet, sobs combined with full body convulsions and head thrashing.

Other people in the lounge started to stare and I honestly didn't know what to do. I awkwardly tried consoling him with an arm pat, nodding my head empathetically like some mother duck caring for her wounded duckling. The ugly cry lasted a solid ten minutes. People moved to the other side of the bar. And I sat there wondering how the hell I ended up consoling my blind date.

We said goodbye and I told him that I was sure things would work out with his ex. They'd better, cause there aren't many girls who would put up with an ugly cryer like this one. I started to wonder if maybe this was the cause of his break-up, and now he would be caught in a vicious ugly cry cycle for eternity.

Anyway, I'm fairly sensitive, but I'm not looking for some broken-hearted, two-timing cry baby.

So, once again.... back to the old drawing board.

The Potty Mouth

Okay, so I did it.

No, not that perv... I went on a blind date. And it was all that I could have hoped for and more. As a writer that is, because there will never be a second date with this guy. For sake of privacy (for all the guys who I encounter) I will change his name. So let's call him Kyle.

Kyle suggested that we meet up for our first date at a Mexican restaurant in between where we both live. I agreed, as I'm a big fan of spicy food and this place is known for some epic guac.

We sat, we did the pleasantries, I noticed he was 10 lbs heavier than the photo I'd seen, and he hadn't had a haircut probably since that picture had been taken four years ago. I decided to stay for the guac.

After I'd ordered myself a fishbowl margarita and some chicken burrito thing I asked him where his favorite place in the world was. He said it was his cottage and I was thrilled- I also have a cottage and it's my favorite place too! Yay, bonding.

But as I dug a teeny bit deeper, he literally dug a lot deeper and told me in great lengths about how he and his father took on a project of building an outhouse for their cottage. I tried to smile politely through my mouthful of refried beans.

Okay, cut to 45 minutes later, my food was mostly uneaten (as it now reminded me of the bottom of an outhouse), and I was three fishbowl margarita's deep. I kept desperately trying to change the subject.... the weather, the Blue Jays, anything really other than outhouses, but this guy was passionate about poop.

When I finally realized that another stinky story or ounce of tequila was going to make me yak, I not-so-convincingly faked a migraine and booked it.

He's texted me a few times to set up another date, but I've told him I'm a lady, and I didn't appreciate the dirty talk.