Chapter 1

I was on my umpteenth bad date this month. This particular bad date was explaining to me how he really wasn’t “in” to dating, but he was “in” to having sex. Doesn’t that make my heart go all aflutter?

Why was I here? I knew this guy was so far from being right for me that he was in another time zone. What a total waste of time – that’s an hour of my life that I’d never get back. I was too nice to just get up and leave, but there was the added incentive of not having to listen to my friend Monica’s pestering if she found out I bailed on the date. I really didn’t want to go to start with, but when I made the mistake of mentioning the invitation for said date while on the phone with my best friend, she had gotten all giddy with excitement. When I said I didn’t want to go, you could almost hear her thought balloon pop over the landline.

“You’re too picky,” she had said, and I could hear her sigh. “You’ll be an old maid if you keep up these shenanigans.”

“First,” I said, “Who uses the word shenanigans anymore, and second, I don’t consider it being ‘picky.’ I considered it being ‘discerning’ or ‘not settling’ for what was best for me.”

“You’ve got your expectations too high with that damn list of yours,” She told me, yet again.

The list that she was referring to is a set of 50-or-so criteria for what I want in a man that I just happened to write down. I’m a type-A personality, I have lists for everything, but I’ve set down these, um, guidelines, in an ordered manner so that I can easily see whether a man would be perfect for me.

There were your standard items, which any self-respecting woman would consider necessities.

1. Chemistry – which is not definable by it’s nature

2. Attractive – See #1

3. Has a steady income (not rich, just not a moocher who expects me to pay his way)

4. Animal-friendly (Hey, the cat was here first)

5. Good sense of humor (Yes, all women really do want that.)

These are the basics. You can’t argue with the basics.

Then there are the other 45 items that serves as more of a filter for the bad eggs than anything else. (Don’t make that face – that surprised face when I tell you this. All the women I’ve talked to have a list of some sort. I’m just more – thorough.)

Some items on the list are absolute deal-breakers (white collar job, #7), while others are more nice-to-haves (not tone-deaf, #31). Come on, I’m not that strict with the list. I mean, I don’t expect that Mr. Right will have a perfect score with a check in each box.

A lot of the items on the list were added thanks to the bad date experiences of my past. I don’t have baggage; I’ve got a whole baggage department.

How did I manage to find such non-quality men? To quote Mr. Kenny Rogers, I was definitely looking for love in all the wrong places. Mostly the “wrong places” could be summed up as online dating.

I must’ve had a momentary lapse of judgment that led me into the online world, but it was hard to meet quality, single, not-crazy people. I lived in the ‘burbs of Washington DC, which was always listed as one of the best places for singles to live. I don’t know what criteria that survey used, but clearly no one on that panel had actually ever tried dating all those single people in DC. Yes, there were plenty of things for single people to do, but the singles were usually working 18-hour days to afford the $300,000, 700-square-foot condo they were living in and didn’t have time to date, or they were too self-absorbed in their “I-work-on-the-Hill-for-an-Important-Person” attitude to enjoy them.

Plus, I just felt that I needed to do something – help Fate out if you will. My dad is always telling me that Mr. Perfect was not going to jump out of my closet. And if he did, there would be bigger issues to deal with. So rather than just wait – which I’m not particularly good at anyway – I thought I’d give Cupid a shove.

Let’s me tell you about some of these Internet dates of mine. The first guy had a nice photo (I learned the hard way that these are often fake or old). He wrote literate emails (where he used capital letters when needed, appropriate punctuation, limited emoticons and none of those ROFL acronyms) and he had a pleasant phone voice when he called. However, when we arrived at my favorite little Mexican hole-in-the-wall restaurant, I thought I was being directed to the wrong table. This man couldn’t be the one whose picture had been so clean-cut. He looked like something out of a bad episode of I Love the 70s on VH1. He reeked of polyester. He was wearing a shirt with lapels bigger than my arms opened mid-chest to reveal a pile of hair that would’ve made Austin Powers take notice. (Hair in the right places in the right amounts is #6 on the list). On top of that fur patch lay several gold chains (Doesn’t wear more jewelry than me is #36). When he wasn’t impersonating Saturday Night Fever characters, he told me that he dressed up in chain mail and went on fake medieval battles. Believe me, the waiter couldn’t serve dinner fast enough. I’d never eaten a burrito so fast in all my life. When he offered to walk me to my car after dinner, I politely declined and tried not to run while trying to get my keys ready as fast as possible.

Monica, who never calls any man we’ve ever dated by their actual name (as a matter of fact, I don’t know if I can remember any of their real names), dubbed this fine specimen “The Pimp,” and we have referred to him as this ever since.

The next guy I went out with also came across very well online. He had a cute picture that I confirmed was a recent and accurate one, barring a total lie. He was also articulate and was 5’7” and 160 lbs. He turned out to be very sweet and complimentary when we spoke via the phone. He was the same in person – minus the 5’7” part. Why do men always lie about their height? I’m 5’2” and I was looking down at this person. (Taller than me was #10 on the list). Pardon me for not wanting to date Frodo.

Monica dubbed this man “The Shrimp.”

I thought I’d hit pay dirt with the next online date. His picture was cute and he was really down to earth. He told me how he was at the gym all the time, and how he was living with his parents until he found a place. (Now, this alarmed me, as rule #24 expressly demands that he not live with his parents, but in the spirit of trying not to be too picky – and heck, he was great in all the other areas – I decided to let that one slide.) He’d just moved from the Tar Heel State of North Carolina, so he had a decent reason for living at home.

For our date, we went to a restaurant that had trivia games that you can play and challenge all the other across the country who were also eating at restaurants with these trivia games. I thought that would at least give us something to talk about – or give me something to do if it turned out badly. To say I was disappointed when I saw the man was an understatement. There was just no spark, no chemistry and no attraction whatsoever. As a matter of fact, I found him to be a bit on the large side. Now, before you go saying what a big meanie I am and how you should look past these things, I’ll add that he was a total bore. Yawn city. I consider myself to be a people person and a conversationalist. After about 20 minutes, I just had absolutely nothing to speak with him about. He might’ve turned out to be a nice “friend” to hang out with, and then maybe I could’ve gotten past the fact that he wasn’t the most toned individual on the planet – aside from the boring part. He called a few more times after the date, but honestly, I just couldn’t bring myself to put out the effort. I know I’m a bad person.

Monica gave this man the honor of being called “The Blimp.” (Boo, hiss. I know. I think she was just trying to get a rhyming thing going.)

Online dating wasn’t the only way I got into these odd dating situations. One of my co-workers had tried to convince me to date one of her friends. She told me that he was very handsome, 42 and had two almost-grown kids, which was not a problem. By their late teens, I couldn’t have screwed them up any more than they already were. However, she then mentioned that one of his kids had just had a kid. She wanted me to consider being a step-grandmother in my mid-30s? Um, he’d have to be George-Clooney hot for that to even be a consideration. That’s how #28 got on the list – no grandkids.

Then there were the first dates that weren’t bad first dates. There were some first dates that led to second and third and fourth dates. These were the men that I had fallen for – I mean really fallen for. As an interesting side note, I didn’t meet any of them online. All of these relationships had taught me something – usually bad – that ended up being a part of the list as well. For example, all three of the men that I had felt strongly for in my life had all been on a serious rebound when they met me (over their ex #18) and I was rebound girl.

The most recent, and the most painful, relationship had been doomed to fail because of the distance, because he lived in Europe. I’d been willing to try, to endure the long periods of being apart, but in the end, I still got the “it’s not you it’s me” speech and the desperate plea that we “still be friends.” It’s been six months, and I’m mostly over him, unless I see something on TV about Europe, or unless I hear a song I knew he liked, or unless it’s a day that ends in “y”.