Catfished

I don’t even know where to begin, and I’m aware that what everyone is about to read sounds highly fictional. I promise you, it is not. This is non-fiction, and a true account of my experience. For the first time ever, I am going to use names and pictures, in the hopes that I can possibly save other women from my mistakes.

Hold on to your seats, kids!

How ironic that the very first post on my blog was about The Lawyer, Eric Pryor. Remember him? “Don’t I get some tongue?” Refresh your memory here, here and here. That was back in 2006, when I was new to the online dating world, and excited about the possibilities. He was one of the first people I met, and I’ll admit that I have occasionally wondered what happened to him in the years since.

Now is when I will admit to you who the mystery guy from the last post was: Marathon Guy, Matt Lauder, also known as the Stage Eight Clinger. Back in 2010, we chatted for a long time, and connected very well online, but he was too pushy during/after just one date. He also reminded me a LOT of Eric Pryor, and I couldn’t shake the nagging sense of déjà vu, so I just walked away.

When Matt found me on OkCupid two years later and sent me a message, I decided to give him another chance. Like I said, we connected so well online and went right back to easy, comfortable conversation, like we never stopped talking. He handled my sarcastic sense of humour well, and wasn't a pushover. I’ve been told by friends that I’m too cutthroat and too hard-assed, and sometimes people deserve a second shot. Matt and I could talk for hours about anything and everything, and I felt like he “got” me. I knew he wanted to meet up again, but he told me we could take things at my pace, and he was willing to be just friends, if that’s all we ever amounted to. So, I took my time, and we eventually met up. I was torn after that meeting, because I was never super attracted to him, but I was willing to keep figuring “us” out, and over time, we went out on a few dates, and then there was cheesecake and sex. He began to talk about us in a very serious way that, surprisingly, didn’t freak me out. He mentioned marriage within a couple years. Kids. A life together. I finally allowed some of my walls down, and began letting Matt in.

Knowing things were a little tight for me financially, he offered to help pay for my laser eye surgery, but I refused. He sent me pictures of the “man cave” he was building at his house, and talked about watching movies there together. He was going to teach me to drive. Each day, I let him in a little more. We talked every day, and often at night, too. I finally allowed myself to lean on someone that wasn’t a member of my immediate family, or Stef. He talked me through the bad days at work, which were many, and offered his support in any way I needed. He told me about ex-girlfriends, his family in Kingston, his hobbies and friends, and I realized that I was slowly but surely falling for him.

As you read in my previous post, he suddenly left to take care of his ailing father, and vanished from the face of the earth. I was left confused and hurt, without any closure, but also worried about what had happened to him. Had his father died? Had something happened to Matt? I checked obituaries, but no one in Kingston with the last name Lauder was the right age. Had it all been a game? Stef called me crazy for even considering this, because who would go to that much trouble? Matt had chased me for two years, and there was never a reason to doubt his feelings. Had I done something terribly wrong to scare him off? I’m not the easiest person in the world to handle, I am the first to admit. I am stubborn, honest to a fault, terribly sarcastic, and put my foot in my mouth on a regular basis. I ran through every possible scenario in my head, but nothing made sense to me, and with a heavy heart, I had no choice but to finally walk away.

A year later, I was still at a loss, thought sadly of Matt from time to time, and wondered if I would ever have answers to my questions. I hadn’t dated anyone seriously since him, and I still struggled with it.

Yesterday morning, my alarm went off at 5:30am and I turned my phone on (I often suffer from insomnia, so I put my phone in airplane mode at night). As my WIFI connected and e-mails started coming in, I saw one that stopped my heart for a second:

From: Matt Lauder

25 February, 2013 1:41AM

With trepidation, I opened the e-mail, and realized that his alternate yahoo account had been hacked, probably because it had been sitting idle for so long, like his Gmail address that bounced back to me as undeliverable. The link in the body of the e-mail took me to a page to make money online. Junk.

That’s when something caught my eye, and I could not breathe. The second name on the list of people the e-mail had been sent to:

Eric T. Pryor

Eric Pryor was the lawyer I had gone on a date with in 2006. Eric was the person Matt reminded me SO much of, it gave me nagging déjà vu. In that moment, I knew that Eric and Matt were one in the same, and I’d been had.

You might wonder how I didn’t recognize someone I’d been on a date with before, especially when I have a good memory for small details. Fact of the matter is that it was nearly five years later, and things turn grey and fade over time. Matt had grown a beard, possibly to throw me off of his game. He was using a different name, and never once let it slip that we had met before.

This is not to say I didn’t question my déjà vu. I remember Matt mentioning his birthday in early April, and it triggered something in my brain. I went to my Hotmail account, found some old e-mails from Eric, realized that they shared a birthday, and couldn’t help but start asking questions.

Redhead: So, I’ve figured out who you remind me of.

Matt: Haha, the déjà vu that keeps bothering you? Who?

Redhead: Yes. I went out with a guy from POF years ago. You two look similar. You talk similar. You’re both lawyers. Both only children.

Matt: Whoa. Seriously? Haha, no wonder you had the déjà.

Redhead: Here's the kicker: you guys have the same birthday!

Matt: What? Are you kidding? Okay, you’re starting to freak ME out, Redhead!

I convinced myself I was crazy, that sometimes a coincidence is just a coincidence.

Shame on me for not listening to my instincts, as they have always proved right.

Oh, but it gets better.

I spent yesterday talking it out with both Stef and my co-worker, Stacey. We all agreed that while it answered a lot of questions, it also raised many more. Had he left because he knew I would eventually figure out that he and Eric were the same person? What did he have to lose by just telling me the truth? Did it start as a game, and he got in too deep? Was this vengeance for my running from him…twice?

After dinner and a drink with Stace after work last night, I got home and proceeded to call my mom and my brothers, to tell them what I had discovered. My youngest brother and I are both fans of the interesting documentary Catfish, and he immediately started doing some digging online. That’s when he sent me this:

That, my friends, is Eric Pryor/Matt Lauder/whatever his real name is. Apparently I’m not the only victim of this lying, cheating, manipulative shitbag, and this profile was created in an attempt to save other girls from falling for his lies. I hope this blog post might do the same, but he’s likely trolling the internets using another pseudonym by now.

The “married with a daughter” part makes me sick to my stomach, and I’m horrified with myself for sleeping with him, not that it’s my fault, because there is no way I could have known. This guy is GOOD, and he’s obviously been playing this game with a lot of women for a very long time, and has done an excellent job of covering up his tracks. The years of elaborate lies just blow my mind. I did send a message to the owner of this POF page, but it was probably created years ago, and I may never receive a response.

I needed to write this out, in an effort to process this, and purge the shock and disgust from my system. I keep laughing about the whole thing, I think because of the blindsiding, but also because if I don’t laugh, I’ll cry. I thought I’d experienced it all when it came to online dating, but apparently I was very wrong.

How do I trust anyone online, after this? I’ve just reinforced my high and mighty walls with rebar and concrete.

Thank you, hacker, for the e-mail that blew this open, and thank you to the “anonymous angry lady” (as little brother put it), who created that POF profile to warn others. I now have answers to my questions, and finally, closure.

Into Thin Air

Something big was going on late last year/early this year that I never mentioned on here, but I think it’s time to get it off my chest.   Not long after signing up for OkCupid (one of my LEAST favourite sites, to be completely honest), someone I had been out with once and wrote about in this blog contacted me again (no, I’m not telling you who). It had been so long that when he told me who he was, I had trouble placing him, but it eventually came back to me. We chatted for a bit, and he informed me that he had never stopped thinking about me, and wanted another shot.   I was hesitant, as it’s not generally in my nature to give someone another chance, but I couldn’t avoid the fact that we had really good chemistry online. It was ME who walked away the first time, and maybe I hadn't really given him a fair shot? He offered to take things as slow as necessary for me, and even remain just friends, if that’s as far as things progressed.   So we talked, talked, and talked some more. We talked pretty much every day, for hours, about anything and everything, and he continued to grow on me.  I began to consider him a good friend; someone I could laugh with, vent to, and ask for advice.   Finally, he asked if I would consider meeting him for a quick coffee when I was working from home one afternoon, and I agreed.   I was standing outside a Starbucks in my neighbourhood, when I saw him crossing the street. He was just as I remembered (too skinny for me!), but he walked up and wrapped me in a giant hug. “You’re so fucking hot,” he said, and I pushed him away and rolled my eyes.   “Shut up.”   “No,” he grinned at me.   We sat at a table on the patio, talking and making fun of each other for the next hour.  We were both a little weirded out when some grandma just pulled up a chair and sat at the table with us, and we took that as our cue to end our little “date”.   He pulled me into another big hug and whispered, “I’ll let you off easy this time, but next time, I’m going to kiss you.”   I remember walking away feeling completely torn. I wasn’t crazy attracted to him, but there was chemistry I couldn’t deny, either.   We talked via Google Chat for a couple more weeks before I agreed to an official dinner date with him, and he picked me up at 8 on a Saturday night. We headed over to Yonge St. for Mexican food, but the popular restaurant was so packed that we came back to an amazing little Mexican restaurant in my area of the city. During dinner, I realized that he had really, really grown on me over the course of a few months, and I was willing to give him a chance. Maybe not ready to be his girlfriend, but I wanted to figure us out.   He paid for dinner, we headed out of the restaurant, and he grabbed my hand.   I responded with “the look”.   “Redhead, I KNOW you’re not a hand holder, but I really fucking like you and I want to hold your fucking hand. So just DEAL with it.”   I kept my mouth shut and let him hold my hand.   Our plan had been to watch a movie at my place, and he asked me to come to his car with him so he could grab something. He opened the back door, leaned in, and handed me a white bakery box.   “What is this?” I asked warily.   He just smirked at me, so I opened it.   Cheesecake. He brought me cheesecake. Cheesecake is my most favourite dessert in the whole world. I gaped at him, and he shrugged and said, “I know you love cheesecake. Best in the city, apparently.”   We headed into my apartment, sat down on the couch, and he jumped me. I didn’t fight it or freak out or anything else that sometimes happens to me. I liked him and he was a good kisser and it just felt right, so I went with it.   Next thing I knew, we were in my bedroom and clothes were coming off, and then he was on top of me, hesitating.   “Okay, what?” I asked him.   “Are you sure?”   “What? Are you kidding?”   “No. Seriously. Are you sure this is what you want?”   I groaned and said, “Jesus. YES this is what I want. You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t, I assure you. Now can you just fuck me already?”   And he did. And it was amazing. I mean, let’s be serious here: you bring me cheesecake, you get laid.   On Monday at work, I was all happy and everyone noticed (happy at work is a rare thing for me these days…like a unicorn). I still wasn’t ready to put labels on what he and I were, but I was enjoying the process.   We continued to talk on a daily basis, went out for dinner a few more times, and he admitted to developing serious feelings for me. One night in bed, he propped himself up on one elbow and said to me, “Redhead, I know you’ve had a lot of guys treat you like shit, and you have walls up, but I promise that you can trust me. Let me in. Let me be that guy for you. I WANT to be that guy. You're beautiful and crazy smart and incredibly witty. You make me want to be a better person, and I’m so happy when I’m with you. I can’t imagine a girl more perfect for me, and I’m ready to commit 100% as soon as you’re ready. I ADORE you.”   I was at a complete loss for words…what does one say to a declaration like that?   He and I had plans to hang out one Friday night, when I received a text that he couldn’t make it because his father had had a heart attack, and he had to go home (about 3 hours away).   Upon his return, he said his dad was doing okay, but he didn’t want to talk about it much. As an only child, his parents depended on him heavily, and I knew it would only get worse with his dad ill.   My birthday was coming up, and he asked me to spend a weekend at his place in the following weeks. We made plans to cook meals together, and he said it would be difficult, because he knew he wouldn’t want me to leave when the weekend was over.   At the end of January, I was heading to London, Ontario for the weekend to attend a TOOL concert with my brother, and celebrate my birthday with my family. I boarded the train at Union Station, set up my laptop, and logged onto Google Chat as the train pulled out. He immediately sent me a message:   Him: Babe, we gotta talk. Me: Sure? I’m on the train, so be warned, signal sucks. Him: Oh shit, I forgot you were going to London this weekend! Me: What’s up? Him: I wanted to talk to you before I left. My dad is not okay, and my mom can’t handle it alone. She’s freaking out. I need to go. Me: Of course you need to go! For how long? Him: I don’t know. I don’t think it’ll be too long, but I’m taking a leave of absence from work. Me: Wow, okay. Him: You’re handling this really well. Me: It’s family. My family means the world to me, so of course you have to go, it’s not even a question. I mean, it sucks that just as I want to spend more time with you, you have to leave, but it is what it is. Him: I’m sorry. Me: I am the queen of bad timing, honestly. So, what does this mean for us? What changes? Are you ending this? Him: No, I don’t want to end this. We’ll just continue as we have been…figuring “us” out. Me: I haven’t said this to you yet, but I feel I should now: I have developed serious feelings for you. Him: I know, babe.   We continued to talk for the next couple of hours, but I kept losing signal and getting frustrated. I was really upset, and I almost cried a few times, but I didn’t know why, and I chastised myself for being so silly. As the train pulled into London, I told him I had to go and that I would talk to him soon.   That weekend, in a completely freak change room accident, a metal-tipped string from my hoodie snapped up into my left eye and tore out 25% of my cornea (two months after laser eye surgery, I might add. I am horribly clumsy and accident-prone, but thankfully, I'm all better now!) Missing him, I sent a text message:   Me: So, I smacked myself in the eye with my hoodie string, tore a chunk out of my cornea, am wearing a bandage contact lens and my vision sucks. How’s your day?   Nothing.   My birthday came and went.   Valentine’s Day.   Nothing.   Co-workers and friends would ask about him, and I would shrug it off as no big deal. I hate it when people know that I’m hurting inside, because I don’t like to feel vulnerable or weak.   Four weeks.   Nothing.   I left for a month in Thailand, very confused and heartbroken, but glad for the distraction.   I remember swinging on a hammock on the porch of our little hut in Koh Yao Noi, drinking a Singha, and just pouring my heart out to Stef. I didn’t understand how he could have vanished from the face of the earth, the boy who had chased me for over two years. Had it all been a game? Did he just get what he want and move on? Had me met someone else and forgotten about me? We were sure that eventually I would hear from him again, but I returned from Thailand, and still…   Nothing.   I called the company he worked for, expecting to get his voicemail and hear an out-of-office message, but his name wasn’t even listed in the directory.   I checked OkCupid, and discovered his account had been deleted.   I tried another text:   Me: WTF? Are you alive? I’m worried about you :(   Nothing.   I Googled his name, fearing an accident of some sort.   Nothing.   Finally, I had to do something, for my own sanity and to have some sort of closure. I sat down and wrote an e-mail:   From: Redhead Subject: I give up. Date: Sat, 12 May 2012   Hey,   I'm writing to you because I don't know what to do with this anymore. During our last conversation, I completely understood your reasons for leaving, but I had no idea you were going to drop off the planet for months, and ignore my messages. I have been very confused and hurt; I considered you a friend, first and foremost. I have considered every possibility...maybe something terrible happened, maybe you're dealing with a lot, or maybe, just maybe, this was all a game to you? Maybe you got what you wanted from me? It's harsh and I hope NOT the case, but I have nothing to go on and I’m at a loss here. I mean, shit, I even Googled your name to make sure you weren't dead.   I sincerely hope everything is okay. I've made the decision to get back out there and start dating again, because I can't wait around for someone who has completely shut me out. You told me I could trust you, but apparently that wasn’t true.   Take care of yourself,   Redhead   I exhaled and pushed send.   Not a minute later, I received an e-mail:   From: Mail Delivery Subsystem Subject: Delivery Status Notification (Failure) Date: Sat, 12 May 2012 To: Redhead   Delivery to the recipient failed permanently.   Technical details of permanent failure:   Google tried to deliver your message, but it was rejected by the recipient domain. We recommend contacting the other email provider for further information about the cause of this error.   The email account that you tried to reach does not exist.   I put my head in my hands and I cried. Months of confusion, hurt, anger, and sadness had all built up inside me like a volcano, and it overflowed and spilled out.   My phone rang, and I answered, blubbering incoherently.   “Oh my god. What’s WRONG?” my brother asked, and I explained the delivery failure. He sat in shocked silence for a minute, and then said that all he could think of was account suspension due to inactivity.   I knew, in that moment, that I needed to be finished with it. Should he eventually resurface, no amount of apologizing or excuses could fix the damage that had been done. It would have been easier if he had just ended things with me, so I could have dealt with it and moved on, but to leave someone with absolutely no closure? That’s a fucking dick move.   To be honest, I do feel like he will reappear at some point in time. Maybe it will be in a few months, or maybe in a few years, but he can take his friendship, his promises, and his cheesecake, and shove them up his ass; I don't give third chances.

When Good Dates Go Bad

I know, I know, I suck at updates. It’s summer, what do you want from me?

Onward and forward.

The week after I met the wannabe cop, I made a drinks date with another guy I’d been talking to on POF.

As we both worked in the same area of the city, we agreed to meet up at a local restaurant for drinks around 5:30pm. It was a very warm day, and I stood outside, nervously passing time on my iPhone while I waited for my date to arrive.

Suddenly, someone was standing in front of me, and I looked up. He was maybe an inch taller than me (I’m 5’7”, and finding a dude taller than me is more difficult than you might imagine), with ears that stuck out a little, and a great big smile. He was very clean-cut and a little preppy, but still very cute.

“Hi!” he said.

“Hi!” I said back.

“Want to go in?”

“Sure.”

He held the door open for me, and we walked into a VERY crowded bar. As there were no seats available, we decided to try the more casual restaurant next door.

The Prepster and I slid into a booth in the bar, and he suggested we split an appetizer.

“Nachos?” I asked.

“No. Anything but nachos. Why does everyone pick nachos?”

“Because it’s easy to share. Okay…spring rolls?”

He made a face, so I said, “Well aren’t you difficult, Mr. Anything-But-Nachos. Chicken fingers?”

“Yeah, I could do chicken fingers!”

“Deal.”

We ordered chicken fingers and beer, and spent the next hour talking about everything from baseball (if you follow me on Twitter, you might have figured out that I’m a huge Toronto Blue Jays fan) to our worst dating stories. He even cracked a joke about how the first date is actually a job interview, and the second date is actually the first date, which is what I say all the time!

“So, this might be a little forward, and I’ll understand if you say no, but I have some errands to run, and I was wondering if you wanted to come with me so we can continue talking? I’d be happy to drive you home after,” he said.

I felt that the two of us were really hitting it off, I wasn’t ready for our “interview” to end, and I wasn’t getting any serial killer vibes from him, so I agreed. He paid the bill (one point for the Prepster!) and led me out to his car.

First we drove to a local mall so he could pick up hats for his office softball team, and then we drove to a park to pick up the team kit (schedule, softballs, etc.) He said we were supposed to find someone named Mike, driving a dark car.

“Wait, whoa. Parking lot? Dark car? This sounds like a drug deal.” I said.

He looked shocked and said, “What? No! We’re just picking up the kits!”

I laughed, “Yeah, I’m from the ghetto. I know a drug deal when I hear one. Those balls are going to be FULL of drugs, my friend.”

“You’re from the ghetto?”

“Yup.”

“You don’t seem like you’re from the ghetto.”

“Just wait until I get mad.”

“You’re going to get mad?”

“If we get busted for a drug deal I will.”

He laughed, shook his head at me, and suggested we go for a walk, since “Mike” with the “balls” didn’t appear to have arrived yet.

We walked past the busy baseball diamonds and along a paved path, where a rabbit hopped across the path ahead of us.

An older woman came jogging around the corner and down the path with her earbuds in, screeching, “DID YOU SEE THAT BUNNY?!”

I smiled and said, “Yes, we did!”

“IT’S SO NEAT TO SEE THINGS LIKE THAT IN A CITY PARK!”

The Prepster said, “Yes, it is!”

Once the woman had jogged ahead of us, we gave each other the “crazy” look, and started to laugh.

Back in the parking lot, we met Mike with the balls in the trunk of his dark car. There were other people picking up kits, so the operation was either legit, or Mike has some seriously stealthy distribution in Toronto’s west end.

We stopped at a sporting goods store to check out bases for his softball game, and got into a heated debate about the new Toronto Blue Jays logo (what? I’m a graphic designer. I’m very passionate about logos!)

The Prepster drove me home, and walked me to my door. “Do you want to go out on a real date?” he asked.

“Yes, definitely,” I replied, and gave him a hug.

“I want to kiss you, but I’m being a gentleman,” he said, smiled, turned, and walked out the door.

Damn.

The next afternoon, my phone buzzed. Text message.

Prepster: Whatcha want to do on Wednesday? A nicer dinner place perhaps?

Redhead: Sure. Have somewhere in mind?

Prepster: Hemmingways perhaps? Good place for drinks.

Redhead: Never been. Works for me!

Prepster: Perhaps I’ll convince you to wear a dress out w me? I could even drive you home from work before we go out if its easier.

Call me crazy, but the dress thing rubbed me the wrong way. Dude had been out with me once, and was trying to dictate what I wore? He had mentioned that I should wear a dress for our first meeting, but I had assumed it was a joke. Apparently not. I smelled a fetish.

I took a poll among my co-workers and friends, and it was like the great divide. Half of them didn’t see anything wrong with it and told me to wear a dress, the other half thought it to be controlling and a little creepy, especially after ONE date. One brother thought it was really weird, the other thought it was no big deal.

Redhead: You seem to have a thing for dresses.

Prepster: Haha yeah I like dresses, think they’re flattering on girls

Redhead: I’ll think about it, but I’ll be honest, I’m more of a jeans and hoodie kind of girl.

Prepster: Yoga pants and tank top is fine too. The opposite extreme.

That was NOT what I said.

Prepster: Or dress :)

Prepster: So, we’ll have some drinks on Wednesday. I suspect you get all touchy feely when drunk like most girls. So I look forward to it. Hehe.

Wait, what?

Redhead: Hahaha. I’m not “most girls”.

Prepster: You laugh because I know you already…because I am right.

Prepster: I like a girl who goes for what she wants though and makes the first moves etc

Redhead: And I like a guy to be bold and make a first move, so stalemate, sir.

Prepster: Hmmm…we may never be intimate!

Redhead: Look at you with the assumptions!

Prepster: An assumption that you like to kiss boys you enjoy being around. Well its bold but a high percentage assumption. Id kiss you.

Red flag. This cocky douche was NOT the same guy I’d met and liked, and I was starting to have serious second-thoughts about another date.

Prepster: Haha sooooo….how many drinks until you invite me to your place?

SERIOUSLY?

Redhead: Hey now, what kind of girl do you think I am? We just met, and this will technically be our FIRST date.

Prepster: Bah, everyone has needs.

Oh, I don’t fucking think so. At that moment, I knew I didn’t want to see him again. He was making me feel like a piece of meat he just wanted to get drunk and bang (in a dress), so I ignored his messages for the rest of the afternoon.

The next morning, my phone buzzed. Text message.

Prepster: Hey! Nice disappearing act yesterday :)

I wasn’t going to reply, but then I decided to take his cocky ass down a notch, and sent a reply.

Redhead: Yeah, I disappear when I’m no longer interested. I’m not the girl you’re looking for. Good luck.

Prepster: What? Just like that? What did I say/do?

I never replied, and that was the end of that, until one night a few months later, when I asked Siri to call my mother.

Apparently my mother’s name sounds like Prepster’s name, and I realized too late that Siri was calling the wrong person. Frantically pushing every button I could possibly find to end the call while screaming, “NOOOOOOOO! NO, SIRI! BAD FUCKING SIRI! THAT’S NOT WHAT I SAID!” I finally just powered off my phone and leaned my forehead against the wall with my eyes squeezed shut, praying that I had ended the call in time.

Because I am obviously being punished for something really horrible I must have done in a past life, when I turned my phone on, I received a text message.

Prepster: What’s up?

Fuck, fuck, FUCK.

Redhead: Accident. Sorry.

Prepster: Too bad, thought maybe you had a change of heart.

Ugh. I didn’t reply, and Siri has not been allowed to dial a number since.

Po' Boy

I’m going to interrupt the story of Asshole (again), to tell you about a date I had recently. Better to tell you people about these things while they are fresh in my mind, and believe me, a break from Asshole is a good thing. That’s what she said!

Sorry, I’ll be good. Ish.

After a long hiatus from online dating, I began talking with a few guys on POF about two weeks ago. I immediately hit it off with a tall wannabe-cop (currently working as a police dispatcher), who looked really cute in his pictures. We e-mailed back and forth a bunch, and then switched to iMessage. It didn’t take long before he sent me this:

WC: Just getting a read on your wit. I believe it’s a finely honed defense mechanism as well?

Well, shit.

Redhead: Why do you think that?

WC: So nobody fucks with you.

Fair enough.

The Wannabe Cop and I had already discussed meeting the following week when my work schedule would be a little less hectic, but out of nowhere on a Thursday afternoon, he asked if I would consider meeting him for a coffee that night. Against my better judgment (and my hatred for all things last-minute), I agreed.

A few hours before meeting, I made the mistake of asking him the million dollar question:

Redhead: So, you seem like a decent guy. Why are you single?

WC: I had my heart ripped out. My fiancée got hired by a police service and decided that she didn’t want to get married and it freefell from there. Eventually I had enough of her antics and told her how I felt, so she dumped me.

Fuck. Why do I ask these things?

WC: I played misogynist for about a year then signed up for POF as a way to socialize myself and then said to myself that I’d had enough and wanted to date again.

WC: It had to happen eventually. To be fair, you ask yourself, why is this guy 35 and single.

WC: For the most part ive come to terms with it, just need my cat.

Overshare alert.

Redhead: She has your cat?

WC: My roommate is allergic to cats.

WC: Yeah that’s right. I have a roommate.

WC: I owe him a wookie life debt.

Oh good, a Star Wars reference.

My enthusiasm about our coffee date was beginning to wane.

Walking into a Tim Horton’s in my neighbourhood, I realized why all his pictures were taken from a distance; he had large, distracting moles on his face.

He had a large cup of coffee in front of him, and since he knew I didn’t like coffee, I spotted a large container of chocolate milk on the opposite side of the table for me. Not what I would have picked at 7:30pm, but I certainly appreciated the gesture.

Over the course of the next hour and a half, I discovered a lot about the Wannabe Cop, like the fact that he was allergic to beer (hops, specifically), and for years he had considered becoming a cop.

“So why don’t you?” I asked.

He pointed at his wrist, and I looked up at him in confusion. “I don’t know what that means.”

“I’m white. It’s a lot harder if you’re white,” he said.

“Oh. Uh, okay,” was all I could think to say in response.

He told me that he had taken some online courses about human behaviour, and as I was in the middle of telling him a story, he suddenly cut me off and said, “See, what you just did there? That was memory recollection!”

“Excuse me?”

“First you looked up and to the right, because you were recalling the memory, then down, because you were drawing from emotion. If you had looked up and to the left, you would have been lying,” he said.

“Oh.”

“Sorry, I really shouldn’t do that, but I couldn’t help myself. Please go on!”

Talk about a conversation killer, and I was incredibly self-conscious about everything I did and every direction I looked from that moment on.

“Are you ready for another chocolate milk?” he asked me.

“No, it’s okay, I haven’t finished this one.”

He snickered.

“What?” I asked.

“That’s what she said!”

Uhm, not really, and there is nothing worse than a “that’s what she said” abuser.

The topic of his roommate came up again, and he told me he had very little disposable income, as he was saving up for his own place.

“I’m po’,” he told me.

“I’m sorry, po’?”

“There’s poor and then there’s po’. I’m po’.”

Right. I was born and raised in the ghetto, and even I don’t use ridiculous terms like “po’”. Time to pull the chute! I looked at the clock and said, “Wow, nine o’clock already? I should get going.”

“Sure. I’ll walk down the street with you.”

We gathered up our things, threw out our cups, and headed out the door. At the corner of my street, he stopped and said, “So, can I see you again? Or did I totally screw this up?”

Avoiding eye contact, I shifted awkwardly and replied, “Uhm, sure. We can…hang out again.”

He smiled and leaned in for a hug, then I turned and walked away.

Not ten minutes later, my phone buzzed. Text message.

WC: It was really nice putting a face to the personality. I’m impressed.

An hour later, my phone buzzed again.

WC: So my roommate has his gf over. If you’re around…help!

After brushing my teeth, washing my face, and changing into my pyjamas, I put my phone into airplane mode and went to bed.

The next morning, I was boarding a bus when I received another text message.

WC: There’s a story on CP24 about rock climbing. Made me think of you. Morning.

Slightly annoyed, I made the decision to nip this one in the bud, and sent him a response.

Redhead: Morning. Hey, I have to be upfront about something. I think you’re a great guy, but I just had a friendship vibe last night…not sure if a friend is what you’re looking for.

He was silent for a few hours, and then:

WC: Now that you mention it, and that I think about it, you’re right. You’re still seven and a half shades of awesome though.

Hahaha. Whatever you need to tell yourself, dude.

I thanked him, and he proceeded to send me a bunch of chats and “funny” pictures from the internet throughout the course of the day.

Eventually, I just stopped responding. I’m not looking for friends online, so I’d rather devote my energies to someone with greater potential.

Next up? When good dates go bad.