After my 30th birthday, and once my disappointment of not hearing from Catcher had dissipated, I decided that it was time to get back out there. On to the next one, right? So back to CL I went. Another ad, another load of responses. While sorting through, I found a decent one. Cute picture, promised to make me laugh, kept it short and simple. So we decide to meet up. I was actually in the middle of studying for my Spanish mid-term, and I didn’t really need the distraction, but yeah, I kind of needed the distraction. So we make plans to get together on a Wednesday for dinner. For some unknown reason, I give this person my number within a day of emailing him. But when I did, I told him that I was studying and that I really needed to focus.
So, of course, less than five minute after I email him my number, he starts texting. And he’s one of those really annoying texters who sends three or four emails back to back. Like, completely separate emails, not just one long continuous one. I finally deflect him long enough to hit the books. This was Sunday.
On Monday, I kid you not, we exchanged 150 text messages. 150. I feel sick just writing that. He keeps going on and on about how we are so compatible, he really wants to meet up with me sooner. Okay, he wears me down enough to where I finally agree to meet him that night for coffee (my mid-term had happened that morning. And yes, I aced it).
So that night, we meet at my local Coffee Bean. He was incredibly cute – very Jake Gyllenhaal. Except, he was exactly my height. And I was wearing flip-flops. Alright, no biggie smalls (ha). We start in on the conversation. I’m having a great time, but there are some red flags. He’s been engaged twice, and with one of them, actually got married, but had it annulled about a week later. He has broken up with girls because they wanted sex too soon (within two months of dating). He lost 100 pounds about a year and a half ago, and he started dating voraciously since then, going on about 100 different dates with 100 different girls in one year.
And here’s where he lost me. Because, at that point, you’re not trying to find your soul mate, or even, really, a girlfriend. You’re adding notches to your belt. You’re going to all the hot chicks who wouldn’t look at you when you had the extra weight and saying “hey, check me out now. Don’t you wish you had this?” And hey, that’s all well and good, but 100 dates in a year is, on average, two dates a week. I would imagine that with that type of saturation, you probably met at least one or two ladies who were “right” for you, but because of this drive to run through everyone, you passed them by. Speaking of drive… we’ll get to that.
So the night ends, he walks me to my car, hugs me, says, “Okay, we’re still on for Wednesday, right?” I said sure. Of course, I never heard from him again. As I was telling all of this to Tripp, an ex who is now a good friend, he asks what the guys name is. I tell him, we agree that it is a good name, though not as awesome as Catcher’s, and we move on. Until two days later, when Tripp sends me an email with the guy’s name, and one sentence underneath – “Google him.” So I did.
O.M.G. Tell me why the very first thing I saw was a picture – actually, make that two pictures – of him, that look suspiciously like mugshots. I click on them, and oh yes, they were indeed mugshots. One from July, 2012 for public intoxication, and one from August, 2012 for DWI. So you’re a serial dater, who would have looked like a hobbit next to me in my heels, who can’t handle his alcohol or drink responsibly. Yeah, nice to meet you too.
My girl T told me once that “man’s rejection is God’s protection.” On this one, she was so freaking right.
We now call him “Mugshots.”