Fish Lips and I met on OkCupid back in 2009. At the time, I was probably the heaviest I've ever been, but I was experiencing a surge of interest in fashion and jewelry that boosted my confidence enough to finally giving internet dating a go.
I was also completely immersed in my job as an English teacher and thought that my ideal mate would share my choice of profession. I imagined us sitting to grade together on weekends, bitching about "our kids" at dinner and chaperoning prom together. So when Fish Lips showed up as a high match according to OkCupid's cocamamy algorithms, and he was a math teacher, and he was a heavier-set gentleman, I thought--perfect! At the very least, we'd have something to talk about; we're both fat teachers!
Friends who talked like old pros about the unwritten rules of internet dating instructed me to try to ensure that the first date is as low key as possible. You wanted the first meeting to go one of two ways:
- You realize quickly that you don't like each other and end the evening politely after one drink, be it coffee, tea, beer, wine or even a glass of water before a meal comes out, or
- You realize you like each other and take the options of extending the evening somehow--add an appetizer, a meal, a dessert, or have the ability to easily, and safely, walk someplace else to keep the night from ending.
I took their words as gospel truth and chose The Gingerman as the location of the date. It was dark. I knew it well. And we decided to meet on a Sunday evening, so it was the least datey date possible, except if we'd gone to Sunday brunch or a funeral or something.
Since this was the first date I'd ever been on with a stranger, I agonized over what to wear. I didn't want to overdo it, but I didn't want to look like I didn't care. After trying on who knows how many outfits, I settled on a black dress, black tights, and what I referred to as my kissy boots. Looking back, this is the kind of outfit one wears to impress girlfriends, not the kind to wow a new potential mate with legs and boobs and booty. I'm pretty sure I looked like a nun wearing hiking boots--an Alpine nun.
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| I could have at least chosen some sexier boots... Photo Source: http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_luvkfmRVPe1qdz26to1_500.jpg |
One of the quirks of my personality, which I like to think my friends and family have come to view as endearing, is my punctuality incessant early arrival to any event. This especially becomes the case when I'm doing something out of my comfort zone--going to a new place where I have to find parking, going to a place I've been to several times but at a different time or day of the week, and meeting new people. Getting there early, wherever "there" is, calms me. It gives me time to stop sweating before people arrive because, let's face it, I'll be sweating. It allows me to be the one to choose where we'll sit, a place where I won't be distracted by TVs or a lot of traffic flow. And it allows me to do some nerdy self-talk and preparation on a date. The night with Fish Lips was when that habit started. The inner dialogue goes something like this:
Stop sweating. Stop sweating. Are there napkins around so I can dab the sweat? Do I need to go to the bathroom? Better go to the bathroom before he shows. I can check to see if the sweat is noticeable, too. Ok, you just look dewy...for now. Better sit still for a while. Breathe. Deep breaths. Ok, so what can we talk about? We're both teachers. There's that. I just saw insert movie title here. We can talk about what we've done over the winter break. That should fill a half hour, right? Maybe I'll get a beer before he shows... Is that him? No. Is that him? No. Maybe he's not going to show and I can just go home. Oh, look, that's him. Here we go.
By the time Fish Lips showed up, I think I'd actually ordered a beer already and was about a quarter of the way down the pint glass. I'm sure I appeared cool and collected, but inside my stomach was doing flip flops.
But the flip flops weren't the good kind that also make you tingly all over just a little. There was no first-meeting-sweatiness with Fish Lips. Nope, I was not attracted to him.
Here's the deal, though. There have been men in my life who I was not attracted to at all when I first met them and then became incredibly attracted to as I got to know them as people. And I'm a teacher, I'm bred to give people the benefit of the doubt and a bazillion chances before I really give up on them.
So I spent my half hour with Fish Lips, like my seasoned internet dating friends suggested, and we had some somewhat interesting conversation about teaching. We discovered we had a mutual acquaintance. He told me that most people assumed he was a mean guy because his lips were perpetually stuck into kind of a frowny face, and we bonded over that because people always think I'm angry or bitchy when they first see me.
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| In my head, this is what his lips were like. Photo Source: http://files.coveringthemouse.com/images/uts03.jpg |
So I agreed to another beer. And another. And after about an hour to an hour and a half, the conversation was coming to a slow and painful halt while my intoxication level was slowly making its way past the point of tipsy. By now, I knew I was not interested in Fish Lips. We were not a match, we just had a profession in common. But then he suggested we get food. My beer addled brain knew my sloshy stomach needed sustenance. And so I committed the unthinkable act--I went with him to a second location.
By the time we walked out of the bar and onto the street, I could tell that he was thinking this was going pretty well. I must have pretended to be interested in what he had to say pretty well--must be all the practice pretending to care about what my students talk about. In any case, based on his proximity to my side as we walked through the December cold, he was definitely interested in holding hands. I kept mine in my pockets.
He didn't have a place in mind (another sign that he was not the one for me; I like a planner), so we ended up at Jo's. We're probably three hours into the date at this point (All you internet daters are shaking your heads at me right now, I can feel it. I should have cut it off by now!). We split a sandwich and chips, another stupid move on my part. While we're sitting and eating, he starts making veiled comments about sex, which make me uncomfortable. Not because of the sex, but because I know now that I have definitely led him to think that I'm, like, super interested. And I'm not.
But it'd apparently been so long since any man expressed interest in me that by the time he walked me to my car, four hours after our date had begun, I was exhausted and full of beer and pastrami and when he asked if he could kiss me, I thought, why not?
That is no way to begin a lip lock, friends. Suddenly, I realized how much larger his head was than mine. And how huge and u-shaped his lips were. When his lips met mine, they didn't move. At all. But they were open, which for some reason, I took as a cue to French a little. So we stood there on 2nd Street: me, mashing my thin lips against his stoically frowning mouth. Thinking of it now, four years later, it still makes me shudder in horror. It was the worst kiss of my life, both because of the technical awfulness of it (the Russian judge gives it a 2.7) and because I felt so uncomfortable but just couldn't stop for some reason. It was like I was just hoping he would move those lips at some point, but he never did. It was like kissing this guy:
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| Photo Source: http://www.progressivekitch.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/03/sadfish.jpg |
The worst part is that he must have enjoyed it. He contacted me the next day to see if I wanted to meet up with him again. Finally, after all that, I did the thing I should have done 30 minutes into our date and politely told him that I thought he was a nice guy but that I didn't think he was the guy for me.
And that is how I started my internet dating experience. Reflecting on it, I think it went so terribly because I was not being myself. I was being the woman-who-goes-out-on-dates, trying to play that part. I was doing what I thought I should do, instead of what my guts were telling me. And, even though I let the date continue on that long out of my own fear of being mean by saying I wasn't interested, ultimately I was meaner by not telling him early into the date that I didn't think we were a match. I'd like to say that I learned my lesson the next time, but you'll see that that is far from the truth. It took me three years to give it another go. I made many of the same mistakes, and more!
Next installment: Hotel San Jose
