I’m Not A Dude

In online dating you risk facing disappointment when the façade is revealed and an interaction is taken into reality. Sam, my date from last night, is an excellent example of this. I didn’t just have his OKCupid profile to work with; he even sent me a link to his Facebook page prior to meeting for additional stalking opportunities.

I liked his quick-witted answers and choice photos in his dating profile. Although I’ve heard of online daters choosing to check out FB before a date, I opt not to. I feel it takes out the last shreds of mystery that I prefer to maintain. I don’t want to see you in Jamaica with some girl who made the mistake of getting cornrows, I’m not interested in looking at you and your bros out celebrating St. Patrick’s day, and it’s too soon for me to know that you’re listening to Chris Brown this very moment on Spotify.

That said, I probably should have checked out his page before the date.

When Sam sent me a message on OKCupid that complimented my style and “vibe”, I liked the direction he was heading in. Go ahead, blow up my ego.

Last night was chilly so we made the romantic decision to bundle up with some hot toddies at a West Village bar. I know I sound like an asshole always knocking short guys, but my inner measuring stick rarely lies; this guy was at best 5’6. His profile clocked him in at a solid 5’9. I’ll say it, I’m shallow. If I’m bigger than you it’s going to be hard for me to be attracted to you. I like large men because they make me feel small, it’s my own body complex. No more false advertising. I’ve surrendered my Booty Pop and accepted my God-given behind (most of the time), men need to accept their height and move forward.

In his messages Sam came across super confident which is a quality that attracts me in a man. However, in person he struggled to make eye contact and referred to me several times as “dude” and/or “man”, which I assume meant either he was super nervous by my stunning presence or he thought I resembled a guy (perhaps because I outsized him) and it made him uncomfortable.

He stared straight ahead at the bar so I took it upon myself to get the conversation rolling. “Do you live near here?” He shifted, then stiffly nodded. “Where?” I asked.

“Just across the river, man.” His profile lists him as a New Yorker. Across the river is New Jersey, not New York, and certainly not the West Village. “Dude, I like it out there because I have a lot of space, a whole floor actually.”

That sounded kind of cool, I started picturing a high rise with Manhattan views, modern architecture, and slick marble counter tops. “Any roommates?” I asked.

“Just my mom, dude,” he said, “She lives downstairs, it’s her house. But I have the whole upstairs.” If I were in high school this would have sounded like a pretty sweet set up, but as a self-sufficient modern lady, this wasn’t the most appealing of living scenarios for a potential beau.

He told me he’s taken up aviation classes with hopes to fly planes as a hobby. I had to give him points for that; it’s an interesting passion to follow. “I don’t do it to score girls,” he told me. I didn’t suspect he did in the first place. Flight classes are cool but not exactly sexy. He then began to tell a story of a fight he got into with his instructor in the air. Unable to make eye contact with me, he yelled straight ahead of him, reenacting the scene with the same fury he felt in the sky. It was uncomfortable for both the bartender he was facing and me.

“Any other hobbies?” I persisted. He told me about playing the guitar, but also mentioned that his musical inclinations were not driven by the desire for female attention either. To bust his balls I brought up the fact that his profile picture is of him holding his guitar. He didn’t appreciate this reminder.

“I’m on the Youtube,” he told me, “But I don’t have too many hits, I’m mainly trying to keep my stuff on the DL for now, man.”

This dude/man was not for me. I wrapped it up after one drink and wished him luck in the air and stage.

He texted me after, “That was a good time dude.”