Maybe He's Born With It...

I've recently delved back into the world of dating... head first. Over the past few weeks, I've been on quite a few memorable dates, which remind me as to why I hate dating in the first place. There is something about all the time and preparation that goes into a "first date" and it usually ends in bitter disappointment.
For example... last night I went on a date. I'm not going to lie, it was an online date. I signed up for jdate about a month or so ago when I broke up with my boyfriend of 5 months. It felt like a decent way to meet some nice, jewish guys in the city. And for the most part, they have been normal. That is until last night.
I show up early, which is unbelievably rare for me on a date. I'm usually the one who has to apologize a million times over because I show up 5-10 minutes late. I just never account for enough travel time. and the trains suck. But last night, I was early, a whole 15 minutes early even! (I took this as a good sign) And eventually the guy showed up, just about on time, maybe a couple minutes late, but it was no big deal.... until I noticed that he was wearing makeup. No. That's not right. I look again. Yeah, he's wearing makeup. But not like makeup in a "goth" way, black eyeliner and the like, which isn't my thing, but it's more socially acceptable I guess. My date, we'll call him Pretty Boy for privacy and anonymity and such, was wearing cover-up over some blemishes and skin imperfections on his face. As a woman, I know that it can be hard to find the right concealer and it can take years of mastering the art of makeup to really be able to wear makeup without looking like you're wearing it. Pretty Boy had done no such thing. The concealer was completely the wrong shade for his skin, and in certain lights, made the parts with the coverup on look a pinkish tint. Strike one for Pretty Boy.
I'm not superficial. I'm not going to let a little makeup deter me from enjoying what could be a good date. And who knows, maybe there is something deeply disturbing underneath all that makeup. So, Pretty Boy and I go to a large corporate coffee chain, and each get our own coffee. I'm glad he doesn't offer to pay for mine, because I think on a first meeting, no one should be obligated to pay for someone else. We get our coffee and walk to central park because it was such a great night. We're strolling up Broadway towards the park on busy Saturday evening. It's still light out, it's warm, the streets are crowded. I was talking about my job as a teacher in a low income area of Brooklyn and telling him some of the "street" things my students say, and how I could never pull it off. My mistake. Pretty Boy starts commenting on how "the blacks" (his words not mine!) talk, and how white people shouldn't try to talk like "the blacks" and how "the blacks" shouldn't talk like the whites. There were people around. A lot of them. I tried to walk fast and pretend I wasn't with him... I actually thought at this point I might throw up. Strike Two for the makeup wearing racist. I should have turned around. I should have left right there. But I didn't. I some how managed to spend 3 mind-numbingly painful hours on this date. He talked, I yawned. He talked some more. I think I took a nap somewhere in there. 3 hours of my life Pretty Boy stole from my existence. And then had the audacity to tell me how well the date went, and that he wants to go out again sometime.

Pretty Boy IMed me today. He wanted to see how I slept. He must have thought I was really tired because I was yawning so profusely. I didn't answer.

Dating Lesson Learned: If your date shows up wearing more visible makeup than you, and makes vulgar racially inappropriate statements within the first 10 minutes of the date.. Run. There's nothing worth salvaging there.

Next Scheduled* Date: Thursday with "The Lawyer"

*This could change due to impromptu dates