The second date came with a second personality!  All through dinner, when I would ask her something about herself she would reply and then tack on “which is way different than I used to be”.  This happened like three times before I finally took the bait and asked “what do you mean, how you used to be”.  She let out a sentence full of troubling words but I zeroed in on just a few of them that made the rest blury.  The ones I picked up were “Lesbian-Meth-Addict”.

She went on to explain that she did used to have a real meth problem and that she’d only ever been in a relationship with a man once.  All the rest of her relationships were with other women.  As if that didn’t make me choke on my dinner, I got a little more info.  She and her ex-boyfriend used to fight a lot so they went to a past life reading (she’s also into that crazy stuff, which didn’t come out until this date).  Well they know this person that does cross-past-life-readings.  Meaning that anyone you’ve met in this life you have met in a previous life.  So she and her ex found out how they had known each other in their previous lives.  They had slaughtered each others families!  That’s right.  This is second date dinner conversation! 

I have no idea what to say. I’m just letting her talk while trying to come up with an escape plan that allows me to get out alive.  But she keeps talking.  So the person that gives the past life readings has a method that includes hypnosis.  And wouldn’t you know it, the great leader is in town and doing an experiment on group hypnosis the very next night.  She must have said “I know it sounds like a cult but it’s really not” about 10 times while telling me aobut all this.  My heart rate increases as she is seated between me and the door.

And then, of course, she invites me.  I tell her I can’t because I have friends coming to town but that’s not enough of a deterent.  She says they can come too.  My heart rate increases a little more as I invision leaping over her to get out the door.  Forget the car, I can buy another one.  I just need to leave!

Finally I confince her that I just really can’t at which point I ask for the bill.  I pay it and we leave.  She points out a bar to go to and I say that I have to pick up the friends early in the morning so I need to go.  I say this while actually starting to walk away from her.  Before she can say anything (and just before my fast walking turns into jogging), I tell her I’ll give her a call when the friends have left town. 

I got ot may car and checked my rear view mirror the entire way home to make sure she wasn’t following.  Even taking turns on side streets not on my way home. 

That was probably my 3rd or 4th online date.  I cancelled my subscription and didn’t try it again until two years later!

We decided to meet up for a drink after work one evening. I should have known by where she suggested we meet up that something was fishy, but hey, hindsight is 20/20! Since she had no photo up on her profile, she’d described herself so I’d be able to pick her out (of course – another thing that should have tipped me off!) so I was looking around the bar for short brown hair and a grey business suit, when all of a sudden I ran into my step-sister. I went up to say hi and as soon as she saw me, her face fell. I asked what she was doing there and she just stared at me, speechless… and that’s when I felt like someone had punched me in the gut. There she was, my “date” for the evening, short brown hair and a grey business suit – my step-sister!

I’m sure you’re thinking we should have figured this out way sooner – trust me, we were more shocked than you could possibly be about that. But get this, after we laughed and lamented about it, she looked at me and said: “Well, you know, we’re not actually blood relatives.” I knew what she was getting at, but I just couldn’t go there – too weird! I’ve tried to get past her saying that since then but there’s still something funny about the way she looks at me sometimes – it freaks me out!

Things were getting serious between us (i.e. I was starting to consider going to bed with him – something I’m not quick to do). One night, we went out for dinner to a great Ethiopian restaurant that my ex-husband’s sister told me about on the east end of town. Things seemed to be going okay until the server brought us our food and Bill wouldn’t eat his food. I asked him if anything was wrong with the dish, and he said that, the way the server had been holding the plate, her thumb was touching some of the food. I smiled and said “I didn’t know you were germophobic,” and he said “I’m not.”

Anyway, he lightened up and ate around the portion of food that the server’s hand had touched, and everything was going well until the bill came. We’d been overcharged on the wine we’d ordered, which is a common enough mistake, right? Well, Bill started going off about how they were trying to rip us off, and how they should even be charging us if they were going to be sticking their fingers in our food, and so on. I couldn’t believe it! He’d seemed so easy-going all along, and all of a sudden he was flipping out over one simple mistake? I was confused, and asked him what the big deal was and his answer explained everything about him: “I just hate how all n*****s think they can get away with stealing my hard-earned money.”

Well, needless to say, I now knew this guy was a racist scumbag and that I didn’t want to have anything to do with him, anymore. What I didn’t tell him, of course, was that I used to be married to a man of Ethiopian descent, and our sixteen-year-old son, Shawn, is half-black. So even though I am white, I took personal offense at what he said.

After the date, Bill suggested we spend a weekend together, away from it all. He said he’d surprise me with where we’d go. A few days later, Bill called me to say he’d bought tickets for next weekend to St. Lucia. He said he knew it was a splurge, but the money would be worth it. This was too good to be true, I thought: Bill was really going to get what was coming to him.

That weekend, when Bill came to pick me up, I showed him in to meet Shawn. Just as I’d suspected, Bill’s face when he saw Shawn looked horrified. He took me out of the room and started yelling: “What the fuck?! Why didn’t you tell me—” and I was like “What? That my son is half-black? It shouldn’t make a difference, you jackass!”

I was happy that he’d lose the cha-ching he spent on those tickets! And I tell you, nothing ever tasted so good on my lips as the smile I wore as I saw him huff and puff out of my house that day!

Gulp. Okay… I’m sure it’s not too bad. I see commercials for herpes medicines all the time. Lots of people have it. It’s easy to get it, no matter how clean the person you’re with is. So I’m thinking this doesn’t say anything about her. I mean it’s not like she’s some turboslut or anything, picking up diseases with every new guy she does. No, she’s a nice, normal girl who just had bad luck one time. But now what? Am I supposed to risk getting it myself? And I mean, I’m looking for a long-term thing here. What about our kids? Are they gonna be okay? How does it all work?

I told her I needed to think about things. She was obviously hurt but I had to be cautious!! I said I was sorry and that I wasn’t judging her or anything but she obviously was hurt. The more I thought about the situation, the more I was grossed out by it. I got home and read up about it on the internet. Sure enough it’s something that lasts forever. And you can get it no matter how careful you are. And it’s possible for your kids to get it. I even read on one site that it can make you impotent! It was just too much for me. I felt really bad but I had to call it quits with this girl. It was sad to break up with her over that, but I was happy she told me. Otherwise my buddy downstairs would be sorry!

As soon as we get there, the maitre d’ greets us and get this, he says to her: “It’s nice to see you again.” Okay, weird—I thought she said she’d never been here, before. Then once we’re seated, she starts stroking my arm, nuzzles into my ear and says we should get a bottle of Dom Pérignon to celebrate our first date. I’m not really into spending an arm and a leg for champagne, so I said maybe we should get some wine, instead. She looked at the wine list and chose one of the reds at the bottom of the list—where the most expensive bottles are! Weird, again. Then, when the waiter comes to take our order, she orders the steak and lobster meal—the most expensive thing on the menu! Now I’m thinking—okay, what kind of a girl takes advantage like that on a first date? Like I said, I’m all for spoiling a girl, but there’s a girl who deserves it and there’s a girl who pushes things way too soon. That was the third weird thing and the last straw, and I decided that’s it.

I also ordered the steak and lobster. I then ordered a fantastic French truffle mousse for dessert and a glass of their finest port, too. Before the bill came, I excused myself to go to the bathroom. I headed to the front of the restaurant where the bathrooms are, and instead of going to the bathroom, I walked straight out the door and left her with the bill!

But those times never last forever. After a few months into the relationship, I started suggesting we do other activities together—like going to a movie or staying in together. But very time we started to make plans to go to a movie or something, we’d somehow end up at a bar again. He was still going as hard as in the early days, and the more I thought about the future, the less I saw him in it.

Any time I brought up Steve’s drinking with him, he’d say that this was who he was when I met him, and what did I expect? Plus, he called me a hypocrite because I like to indulge in a little pot every now and again, but just because I didn’t drink as much as him suddenly he was the bad guy. I mean, I don’t think smoking pot once in awhile is a big deal at all, because it’s not like it takes over my life. And I’m not against the occasional drink, which I of course indulge in, as well. But Steve never wanted to do anything but drink!
It was a tough decision to make—deal with Steve’s hard-partying ways for the rest of our days, or start all over again with someone new (and finding a new relationship as good as your last is not always a guarantee). But I said so long to Steve and have since been back on the market.

After talking every day for over a month, I actually felt like I was in a relationship with this man, and possibly even in love. He said he felt the same way, and he couldn’t believe how wonderful it felt. I asked him if he was ready yet to meet me, and he answered with a question: “Do you really love me?” I said “Yes, I do.” Then he said: “Okay, then I think we’re ready for this.” Exciting!

I couldn’t wait, so we made a date for the next night. I knew he didn’t have a car so I went to pick him up at his place. I could hardly contain my excitement as I knocked on the door to his apartment. What’s worse is I could hardly contain my outburst when the door opened. There was my dream man, at the door, in a wheelchair.

My first reaction was surprise. But once I got past that, I was outraged! Now, I am a sensitive person and would never take anything out on a handicapped person, but I had been talking to this guy and falling in love with him for over a month, and he’d never told me this about himself, which I think should have come out in the very beginning! Plus, he said things that I think deliberately led me to believe he was not in a wheelchair. Like, I asked him if he was into rollerblading once, and he said “Yeah, I roll all the time :)”

I told him I was mad about him lying to me. He said he wanted me to get to know him before we met in person so I wouldn’t get turned off by the wheelchair, that it shouldn’t make a difference, and that I should still love him anyway. But I just couldn’t get past the fact that he’d kept this from me and led me to believe otherwise all along with no regrets! How was I ever supposed to trust him again? I’m still trying to meet people online, but it’s hard to believe anything anyone says anymore.

But that was only the beginning. With every new date we went on, I found out something new about her that added to the fishiness of her character. For example, I once suggested we go see the latest Austin Powers movie in the theatre. She said sure, and that she loved Mike Myers and all his movies. So I asked her if she’d seen the old classic, Wayne’s World, and she said of course. Then later on that night I jokingly said “Schwing!” to her and she seemed to have no idea what I was talking about, so I don’t think she actually saw it.

Sometimes she’d tell me one thing about herself and it would end up being a lie. (For example, she told me she was a staunch non-smoker but when we were out with her friends one time one of them asked her if she wanted a cigarette!) I had no idea who this girl really was, and she wasn’t giving me any clear indications. I’d told her that I was attracted to blondes, but the truth is, I’d take a real personality and a secure, confident woman over a fake (or real) blonde, any day!

Take Sandra, for instance. I met her on a dating website that had otherwise proved unfruitful for months. Smart, successful and gorgeous, Sandra had it all. Including a past.

A couple of months after we started seeing each other, and about a month after we’d started sleeping together, Sandra and I started talking about our preferences… you know, in bed. I’m like a lot of guys—lesbians turn me on, I’ve got the “naughty maid” fantasy and I’ve never said no to backdoor access. Judging by what I knew about Sandra so far, I was guessing she was similar to a lot of women I’d known—secretly wanting to be dominated and spanked, secretly wanting to let out her raunchy side but needing to feel comfortable to do so. Little did I know, that wasn’t even the half of it.

It turns out my sweet new girlfriend was into S&M. Sure, she wanted to be dominated and spanked, but I believe the correct terms for what she wanted are “hogtied” and “flogged.” Now, I’m an open-minded kind of guy, I understand that sexuality is not as straight-forward as my fairly mainstream porn collection would lead a person to believe. I wanted her to be satisfied, too, so I listened and asked questions, and as she got into more detail about the kind of stuff she was into, I asked “How do you come up with this stuff?” and she said “Oh, I’ve been involved in the community.”

“Community?” I asked. I had no idea what was coming next, and you’d never have guessed it looking at the successful marketing exec sitting across from me.

Ever watched the show “Kink”? Well, the stuff Sandra started to talk about was straight out of that horribly disturbing Showcase show. A whole S&M community operates out there, holding parties where people go to have complete strangers violate them in the most Story of O ways. “Submissives” actually fill out forms at the door, indicating what types of acts they are comfortable having committed to them (you know, like “penetration in any hole is permitted; clamps and whips of all sorts are fine; my ass is open territory but stay away from my nipples”) and then a total stranger (a “Dominant”) takes them into a room and does whatever he or she wants to them.

As if it wasn’t a total nightmarish fairy tale, even as an abstract thought, I was learning that my girlfriend, my sweet and beautiful Sandra with whom I was falling in love, was involved in this stuff. Sandra had filled out these forms. Sandra had been led into rooms, hogtied by strangers, blindfolded and had acts I can’t even bring myself to imagine committed to her.

And horror of all horrors: she liked it.

Ugh.

Since then, I make sure to ask the right questions when chatting online.

I met Alex on a dating website. He was a highly-paid software engineer with IBM, good-looking, funny, the works. He was in the same boat as me—older, divorced with teenaged children, and looking to find companionship. We got along famously and were both excited to meet each other. A few weeks after we’d started chatting, we decided to go out for dinner together.

I bought a new dress, new shoes and got my hair done. I dabbed on some of my favorite, expensive French perfume and headed down to answer the knock at the door. When I opened it, I found Alex, handsome as ever, standing on the front porch. But as the door opened up, it air it wafted in from outside smelled of the garbage my neighbors had left out next to their garage. What a shame, I thought, that it had marred my first moment with Alex. Oh well, I thought, and invited him into the house. As I closed the door, the stale garbage stink stayed in the house. I thought: Wow, my neighbors really have some old garbage that it could stink that strongly. Oh well, I thought, it’ll disintegrate and disappear soon enough. I apologized to Alex, but he said he didn’t really notice it so I felt more comfortable. I smiled and thought, what a gentleman, and invited him in for a drink before we went to dinner. As we walked into the living room, however, I noticed that the stale air from the garbage was actually following us into the house! Gross, I thought, maybe it latched onto Alex’s dinner jacket and now it was stuck to him. Oh well, I figured, if it’s not bothering him, I shouldn’t let it bother me.

Half an hour went by and the stench only got stronger in the house. I didn’t know what to think! My mind was going all over the map to ridiculous ideas: maybe I had forgotten to apply deodorant and was very, very nervous; maybe one of my kids had been sick upstairs and the smell was actually wafting down from one of their bedrooms; maybe when I opened the door, some dying animal scampered into the house and is now rotting away under the stairs!

It was only after Alex laughed heartily at a joke I’d managed to squeeze out in the midst of my paranoia that I figured out where the smell was coming from! His mouth! That rotten, skunky garbage-juice stench was simply Alex’s disgustingly bad breath! Wow, I thought, I’ve never smelled anything so horrendous, and it’s actually being produced by such a beautiful thing sitting across from me. I went into the kitchen and brought out some scotch mints. He had one, and for a brief moment, his breath smelled a little minty… but it was as fleeting as my hopes for a romantic evening. How did I expect a little mint to battle the forces of evil hiding in his gums and under his tongue? How was I ever going to stand being around this guy, let alone kiss him, or anything else?

Needless to say, things didn’t last far past that drink with Alex. What a shame that halitosis is not something you can diagnose through an online relationship!

I went out with this guy Shane (Shane, I hope you’re reading this!) We met online and started going out after only a week of chatting. He was a nice Catholic boy from a good Italian family… well-mannered, charming, good-looking. I was raised atheist by a Jewish mom and a Presbyterian dad. It never posed a problem, and we got along really well. We even got to the point where I took him home to meet my parents and they really liked him (of course they did, he was charming!) and obviously I liked him too. Then I brought up the dreaded question: So when am I going to meet your parents?

He might as well have punched me in the stomach: “Uhh… are you kidding me? My parents would kill me if they found out I was going out with someone who isn’t Catholic.”

WHAT?!?!? But we’ve been going out for awhile—you’re telling me your parents don’t even know you’ve got a girlfriend? He said no. I said what were you planning on telling them when things got even more serious? And can you imagine that he said: “What are you talking about? We’re just having a good time, here.”

I don’t get guys who are willing to have “flings” with girls who aren’t Catholic, but then can’t imagine the prospect of marrying anyone who isn’t Catholic. What made me good enough to sleep with but not good enough to take home to his parents? What kind of devout Catholic is he that he’s even having sex before marriage? Why do some of these assholes think they can follow whatever parts of their religion fits their lifestyle choices, but then choose to ignore the other parts that don’t quite fall into place with what they “feel like doing.” It’s bullshit. Shane was a total dillhole. I almost went to pay a “surprise visit” to his parents and show them what kind of sweet Catholic angel their little boy really was. But I didn’t want to go as low as he was, cause at least I can live with the fact that I’m not a total jerk.