Back in the Online Dating Trenches
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Back in the Online Dating Trenches

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When he couldn’t remember how old he was, that was my first clue Mr. Contractor wasn’t all there. It was also another reminder why I take online dating with a grain of salt.

“So, how old are you, anyway? Your profile says one thing but your description says something else.”

“34, 35, 36?”

I was clearly dealing with a rocket scientist.

“So which is it? 34, 35, or 36?”

“35, I think. I don’t really keep track.”

“You smoke a lot of weed, don’t you?”

Despite the sheer genius of my potential date, I still made plans to meet him. Just because he couldn’t count didn’t negate the fact he had nice biceps and a job.

“You live in Encino?”

“Well, right now I’m staying in Sherman Oaks.”

The “staying” comment caught my attention. When someone asks where you live, you typically reply with, “I live in…” or simply state a city, right? Who says they stay somewhere. I wasn’t asking where he was visiting on holiday, I was asking where he sleeps at night and keeps his groceries.

After some going back and forth and me trying to figure out the truth about his living situation, it finally came out that he was couch surfing. While he still claimed to have an actual apartment, his father needed a place to stay and therefore he gave his father the apartment to live in while he crashed on his buddies couches for weeks at a time. No doubt, bullshit. He couldn’t count and he was homeless. I was two for two.

I decided to meet up with him anyway. Because biceps. I just made sure it was somewhere public. Very public. With bright lights. And security.

Two hours later we met at the DMV.

Ok, we didn’t actually meet at the DMV, not that I didn’t think it was a fine idea. It just closes too early and I wouldn’t trust their security to protect me from a butterfly.

In the parking lot of a restaurant close to his place, the Carpenter pulled up in his ’95 work truck. He would have actually been on time but he was home (aka, his buddy’s house) smoking a bowl (his words, not mine).

I gave him a hug hello and as I pulled away, he gently put his fingers behind my head and pulled me to him in an attempt to reach first base without having to buy me a drink first.

The fact I pushed his face away with my hand left him a bit perplexed. I had, after all, agreed to meet him. That must have meant I wanted to be penetrated. It’s a simple mistake.

“Honey, I move fast but not that fast. I just met you seven seconds ago.” He was crushed.

As if things weren’t awkward enough, and in what I can only ascertain as an attempt to impress me with his knowledge of trucks, he proceeded to lift the hood of his work truck to show me his new rebuilt engine.

“Oh, but you have to hear it!”

And with that, he jumped into his truck, with the hood up, and started the engine. Watching someone sandblast a driveway is only slightly more exciting than watching this guy get amped up over a used Chevy.

He made sure to let me know what a clean and tidy person he was. How he always cleaned up after himself and liked to cook. I could tell how tidy he was by the way he had to dig through all the trash on the floor of his pick-up to look for a chart showing me the Horsepower of an ’86 Mustang he was working on. My only guess is that he was hoping my couch was free for the next two weeks.

And still I stayed.

“I’d really love to cook for you. I make the BEST breakfast burritos! I use turkey bacon and –“

And that’s where he lost me; at turkey bacon.

The Carpenter would not be staying on my couch. He wouldn’t be getting to first base. And he sure as hell wouldn’t be making me breakfast burritos with turkey bacon!

The nerve of some people.

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