Dating Horror Story #?

Online dating is for creeps. Who said that? I breathe deeply and begin my story.

So this story takes place awhile back. I'm telling this story just now, hoping enough time has passed that "he", the subject, will forget to look me up. All names, most places and gory details will be changed to protect the innocent.

I was contacted through an online dating site by a gentleman who is a few years younger than I. He had these piercing blue eyes, that shone even through my computer screen like pale blue spotlights. They were as large as saucers; like a beautiful doll in a very expensive toy store. He seemed very nice and super-interesting but yet didn't say much about himself except that he is a writer. A writer. Nice. Creative, thoughtful, insightful, intelligent. Love him already.

I googled him, saw his photo, saw that he is in fact a writer, read one piece of his, saw a video of him on a major TV show and knew it was safe to pass on my phone number. I had asked him to call me but he never did. He preferred email. Okay. He's a writer. Fine.

We made plans to meet for one drink in NYC. I worked a full day, showered after work and hauled my butt to the city. When I arrived in Manhattan, I received a text from him that he would be late. "Ok, no problem" was my answer. I went to the spot he had chosen to wait for him. It was a very noisy bar/club with a doorman, red velvet rope and filled with half-naked 20 year old kids. I walked in, pretended to see someone in the back and when the coast was clear I promptly darted toward the ladies' room.

My head was pounding from the Boom ba-boom-boom Super Bass after being there for 14 seconds. How would I get through an hour or more at this place? How would this guy be able to hear a word I said? I looked at msyelf in that ladies room mirror and said, "Self? You gotta get outta this joint and pronto, Bub. Ya hear?" So I ventured out onto the Manhattan street in search of a more suitable place, all the while, trying to conjure up a reason why I changed locations so as to lead him away from the thought that I'm not "fun" or "cool" enough to meet at a club.

He sent another text, another excuse, another half hour or more. He's really late now. It's been an hour. I'm already here. What to do? Turn around and go home or display my go-with-the-flow attitude?

I walked east in an attempt to find another place in the neighborhood we could meet that would say I'm a cool chick but I am a quiet, romantic chick. I stumbled upon a bar on 2nd Avenue and walked in for inspection. When I opened the door, like a vacuum, the smell of what must have been 47 years of dried, spilled beer and vomit sucked me in and filled my nose. Maybe a choice like this would prove that "I can hang?"I stayed for about a minute and when I found out there was a punk band setting up I decided to keep walking. And walking. Nope. There was nothing else around. I was wondering if I was in some kind of bizarre vortex. I was in Manhattan and couldn't find a place to meet someone? I walked downtown.

I meandered a few blocks down and came upon a fire house with an open garage door. As I neared the opening, I noticed a few firemen standing right in the doorway. I approached the group of strapping lads wearing tight t-shirts with a deep breath and a smile. Upon closer inspection, my jaw began to drop as it looked like they were in the middle of the meeting to decide which one would be chosen to be on the cover of the NYC Firefighter Calendar. Hunky, tall, strong and wow, to say the least.

I looked around their semi-circle, wiggled my way in and waited politely to say, ahem, "Excuse me?" They all stopped and stared at me like I was a baby gazelle with a wounded leg in the middle of the African grasslands during a drought. I asked them if they could recommend a place in the neighborhood to have a first date. "It's a blind date", I said, "and he's 1 1/2 hours late." One fireman, Mike, introduced himself. He told me he lives on Long Island and he was getting off in 20 minutes. If I could wait, he would be happy to take me anywhere I wanted. I sheepishly giggled and gracefully declined, stating that I had made plans with someone and wouldn't want to stand that person up. Mike said, "Well, anyone who leaves you stranded for this long can't be worth waiting for. If you change your mind, you know where to find me." Then Mike told me about a place just down the block that was a quaint a quiet, dark and romantic place to grab a drink. I went there, ordered a drink and made myself comfortable. Two or three more texts later, my date showed up. Almost 2 1/12 hours late.

He began by asking me if I knew who he was. I said no. His mouth fell open and his already silver dollar sized eyes grew even larger. He went on to tell me about how he is famous and kind of went on to say that I must live under a rock if I didn't know of him. Well, I do live under a rock. I own two businesses and I'm a single mom with 5 pets. When do I have time for TV, reading, going out, keeping up with pop culture, etc.? I'm lucky I have time to shower! This guy was very disappointed that I wasn't impressed with him, his celebrity friends or his phenomenal name-dropping skills so the date went nowhere and we cordially parted ways. He said I should start singing again and he would take me out for karaoke but I didn't think that would be the best idea and it never happened. Narcissism is a disease that can't be cured and I don't want to even co-chair a charity like that.

I want to thank Mike the fireman from Long Island for making an awful night so much better at least in retrospect and Mike, I should have waited the 20 minutes for you and told famous boy that I wait 2 1/2 hours for no one. Firemen are truly heroes.