Steph Not Stephanie

Alright, online dating: you win. I am no match for the crazy that you continue to throw at me, so I am packing up my bags and leaving.

Last night was another in a string of “Is this real life?” dates. I wonder if I’m being secretly recorded for some Punk’d version of The Truman Show. People gather round their televisions every Wednesday at 8pm to watch me slowly lose my cool during yet another ridiculous dating situation.

It started the week before last, and after quite a bit of witty back and forth, we had plans to grab drinks. I texted him to make sure we were still on, and about 45 minutes before we were to meet, he said he “just couldn’t go through with it.” Wait, what? Are you fucking kidding me? My hair is done, my makeup is done, I am ready to go. He said he was “just too nervous,” and “anything could happen.” Um, yes. That is sort of the point.

While I was out having a fabulous dinner with a much more fabulous companion, he texted me again. He was sorry for cancelling, he regretted it, and he really did want to meet. Could we try again, perhaps drinks at my place? I was willing to give him a second chance (this was supposed to be his first online date, and I remembered how nervous I was), but I certainly wasn’t inviting him to my apartment. I told him that if he wanted to plan something, the ball was in his court. He again pushed for my place, and when I shot that down, he said something awkward enough for me to question his dating history: “I know this is your first time online dating, but you’ve dated before, right?” Actually, wrong. Now his weird behaviour and extreme nervousness made a lot more sense, and while a 30 year old who hadn’t dated before is a major red flag, he had been really sweet thus far (cancellation aside) and I had a good feeling about him (sidenote, my intuition is clearly malfunctioning).

We texted more throughout the week, and rescheduled for drinks on Friday. He was still a bit cagey, and I was worried he would bail again, although in retrospect that would’ve been the better alternative.

When he arrived, I immediately thought he looked nothing like his picture. I tried as hard as I could to match the face I was expecting with the person I was talking to, and I couldn’t. However, I hadn’t checked his profile again before we met, and chalked it up to my terrible memory. I didn’t say anything because how superficial and rude would that make me? It did stick in the back of my mind throughout the evening.

The date itself was fine. Not much in terms of romantic chemistry, but far less painful than other dates I’ve been on (exhibit a). He was not very adventurous, and I didn’t see it leading anywhere, but overall, not a terrible evening. Yet.

When I got home, I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that the picture I had seen was not him. I checked his profile again, and sure enough, his profile picture was of a completely different person. He had the bad timing to text me for my thoughts and feedback just before I discovered this, so I asked him point blank who the dude with the guitar was in his profile. He said, “To be completely honest, that’s my brother, we’re both musicians.” Interesting, because I am way better at the internet than you, and I’ve already done a search on the image…pretty sure your brother isn’t an obscure UK session guitarist.

I gave him enough rope to hang himself, and he said they look enough alike that he didn’t think it would be a big deal, it’s a decent pic, et cetera. I told him my thoughts on the evening were different an hour ago, and asked how his brother’s guitar career in the UK was going. He finally admitted to being “busted,” I told him the whole thing was deceitful, and thought that would be the end of it. Of course it wasn’t.

My phone blew up with texts from him around 2am. “Did you report me?” “Hey, why did you report me?” “I know you reported me.”

Of course I reported him — it wasn’t his picture. I told him as much in the morning, and he asked if I “felt better.” I said I felt fan-fucking-tastic about being lied to, twice, and he felt the need to impress upon me that he’s not a bad person, he just looks bad in pictures. Oh, and he reminded me of how much fun we had, in case I forgot. I told him I wasn’t going to apologize for reporting him, and his response has to be seen to be believed:

I actually thought he was fucking kidding me. No one thinks this sort of shit works in real life, do they? With that, he finally got the point, and last I checked he had a real picture on his profile.

As for me, I disabled my profile and had a few stiff drinks. A girl can only take so much, and while this may not be my last effort at online dating, it’s definitely been crazy enough to make me steer clear of that scene for the foreseeable future. Hopefully I won’t run out of things to write about before I’m ready to give it another whirl.