Zach went on a date.

Ahh the joy of dating!  Those of us that have either :


A.  Divorced
B.  Unmarried


Who also fit into the category of :


A.  Over 30 years of age
B.  Don't enjoy being a hermit/hermitess ( Hermitess?  ahh hell, just go with it. )


May or may not be able to relate to the stories that are mine, but I can bet at least once you have feared of the following happening to you.  You see, in my opinion dating is one of God's best jollies.  He has just got to get a kick out of watching us do it.  After talking to a few others that are suffering from the stigmata of being single at my age-ish I know I am not alone in my pain.  One friend made my mouth hang open just reading what she typed in a chat window.  I actually wanted to drive to her house, and hold her tight whispering in her ear that yes Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. 


One of the things that I get a kick out of are all the dating websites etc. that exist these days.  Here's a tidbit of truth for those of you that aren't in the know.  These sites are bad mmmkay?  They truly are.  Sure you may have a friend that you know about or whatever...  I don't care.  What I am about to tell you is the truth as I know it.  One fellow I know, whom shall remain nameless has used a particular website a few times.  And sure, if he had found true love there I wouldn't be telling this story now would I?  Well, he didn't find love there, but yes, he did find sex.  He found it several times.  That meaning more than 5 times.  The kicker?  From what I have been told, it's an understood thing.  One woman didn't even care to go through the pretext of dinner and conversation and just said she had a place, and they could go there.


Well now that's just plain scary.


And the details of these encounters.  You post a picture, you describe yourself in whatever words are deemed needed, one of which is what build you are.  The choices were something like this :


A.  Athletic
B.  Fit
C.  Average
D.  A little junk in the trunk
E.  Pleasantly Plump


I know what I say now needs not be said but...  People on the internetz LIE.  They lie about being married, they lie about their education, they lie about anything that they feel like lying about because seriously?  Who cares when all you are wanting is to hook up with some random stranger and have meaningless relations.  What makes me die a little inside is the fact there there are some real people out there trying to find real love on these sites.  God bless you if you do.  But be honest to yourself about what you are going to have to sift through in the meantime.


I of course have not used a dating website, tho I have joked a time or two that perhaps I should, just to be able to tell the story of how it went.  The reason that I would think this is the same reason that I have a story about just about every single date I have had since I got divorced.  People are damn crazy. 


The 30-something dating scene is perhaps the most bizarre thing I have had the chance to experience in my life.  I'm not going to compare it with dying, or getting divorced, but it's a lot more like being strapped to a gourney and someone lighting your left ass cheek on fire while you are fully conscious, putting it out, relighting it, videotaping it and sending copies to every member of the opposite sex that you secretly yearn for in the no one can know part of your brain.


Well no, it isn't that bad...


It's more like having yourself strapped to a gourney, having both ass cheeks set on fire, doused with chili sauce, re-lit, videotaped, and then published on Youtube.  Throw in a posting of said video to your facebook profile and you're close.


Ok ok... So there's some good parts.  I have had the luck to date one woman for an extended amount of time, and it was pretty fun.  It ended in no small part to my own actions, but it was good.  But I'm not here to tell that story, I'm here to tell these stories...


Date #1  The Midget.


Not to make light of anyones physical deformities.  There's nothing wrong with being short.  Honest.  However, me and mine (meaning the jackasses that I call friends) have a tendancy to refer to members of the opposite sex by a nickname.  This is allowed.  I know it's allowed because I also know that girls do it also, I can cite sources from numerous girls I know, and don't know, but did  fact-finding mission and asked complete strangers just that.


So yes, she is referred to as "The Midget".  As those that are in the vertically challenged lifestyle react to me the next time I see you, please understand that this girl wasn't just short.  She was a damn monster.  A short little monster woman.  With the ghost of Hitler, and other bad ghosts inside her.  Really bad people.  Icky people.


I had spent a meal scooched up to the counter at a local restaraunt (yeah right... like the truckstop is a restaraunt)  trading single life woes back and forth with an old girl friend.  A few weeks pass and I get a text message from her saying that she had a friend that wanted to know if she had any single guy friends that perhaps she could be set up with.  Now... I would have said no anyways, as I had not yet even been on a date since getting divorced but she railroaded me.  I was to meet this girl at 10:00 p.m. at Denny's for "coffee".


Wow...  now this should have been a warning, I know... But I know what it's like to be stood up, and honestly, I didn't want to be "that guy".  I was told that she was "short" and "blonde" and that was all I had to go on.  Not much I know, and inside I know that my old friend is still lauging her ass off at my expense, even tho she has assured me more than once that she meant nothing by it.  So there I was...  Sitting alone, waiting for short blonde girl to appear when out of the corner of my eye I see this little person.  She introduces herself and my gut said "Hey Zach, this is your gut...  BTW you are so not going to enjoy this" and I should have ran.  I should have ran fast.  I should have ran so fast that I had a cardiac episode that recquired the administering of some kind of mind wipe drug.  But I did not do this, and instead like a gentleman made nice and chit chatted with this little hellspawned demon thing.  In her defense, maybe I am that bad too, but damnit this is my story, so you will hear my side.


First I was informed of the 140,000 dollars that she had made illegally street racing cars.  This made no sense whatsoever to me.  How does someone make that much money street racing cars and be ok with driving a 1990 Mitsubishi piece of shit?  Mystery number one!


Second she asked me why I bought the motorcycle I did with the added proclomation of "You should have bought a Ducati, those are fast, I used to race them!"  It was at this magical moment that alarms began to ring, lights began to flash, and I started to get all sweaty like a fat kid caught stealing candy at the store.  Now honestly, how does someone who isn't as tall as the average 4th grader manage to even hold up an Italian racing motorcycle?  Did she mount the thing like the Lone Ranger?  And if I am that stupid why did I bother to show up on the fastest production motorcycle ever made?  ( I bought it for the color, serious )


You mix these things up a few times, throw in numerous "F-Bombs" that she used to accentuate juuuuust about anything that she was talking about and needless to say I needed to make an exit.  I don't know what I said to finally draw this date to a close but I walked her out to her car and said goodbye.  After she left the parking lot, tourettes manifested.  I must have looked like the villiage idiot there in the Denny's parking lot muttering to myself just about every obscenity I have ever learned, and a few that I must have made up on the spot.  I tossed a leg over my slow ass motorcycle and proceeded down Lindsey Boulevard towards Broadway.  Midway to Broadway I lost it.  I snapped.  There I was, staring at the speedometer on my bike making sure I wasn't speeding since I was downtown and I started to scream.  I screamed like both asscheeks were on fire.  I screamed a few words so loud that I know if there would have been a pedestrian on the sidewalk they would have ducked for cover. 


This date was so painful that I couldn't even sleep.  I was so disgruntled and disenchanted altogether that I couldn't find the will to function until I shared the story with someone.  I'm pretty sure that my brother was the first, but after telling it a few times it got easier.  The Midget even somehow conned my friend into asking about me, and after meeting him for a beer after work on the pretense that "Someone here wants to meet you" the very next day.  I was horrified.  It was like a zit you can't manage before a prom date.  The 4 foot nothing demoness was playing pool in a tube top, with 4 inch-ish wooden platworm sandals strutting around giving me lascivous looks asking me, "What do I get if I win?  I want a kiss!"  Well, I replied "You win!  No kiss!"  And finally, I think it ended.


Weeks later her friend that set me up shared what The Midget had gleaned from me.  "He is so still not over his ex, that's why he hasn't called."


Yep.  That's why I didn't call.  You nailed it demon midget lady troll thing.