INTERNET DATES FROM HELL Page 12

  “In that case would you be willing to give me a private tour?” Paulo asked warmly.

  “By all means,” I responded.

  After forty-five minutes of a bulging-eyed Paulo and countless “oohs” and “ahs,” we exited the church, this time through the rear door behind the altar.

  “I don’t know what is more beautiful, you or the church,” Paulo exclaimed.

  At that point his height was no longer an issue, for his words and sentiments were big enough to compensate. Enjoying ourselves greatly, we agreed to meet for dinner two nights later.

  We planned to meet at a restaurant of his choice, a trendy hot spot. This time, I wore stylish flats and a pretty sundress. We sat down, and he ordered some wine without even asking if I wanted any, and started to flatter me, Italian-style. We shared appetizers, and he fed me breadsticks. Right before the main course arrived, he told me that I had very cute cheeks.

  “Your cheeks are so cute, I would like to bite them,” Paulo proclaimed.

  “Are you serious? I don’t think that’s a good idea, Paulo,” I retorted.

  In the midst of questioning his motives, Paulo seized the opportunity, and actually bit my right cheek quite firmly! Shocked and a tad disorientated, I excused myself and made haste to the restroom.

  As I stood in front of the mirror, I watched my cheek turn a deep purple as teeth marks from both his upper and lower jaw appeared. At this point, the pain became quite intense and sharp. I rummaged through my purse to find the strongest painkiller I had with me. There it was: Extra Strength Excedrin. After washing it down with some water, I headed back to the table to inform Paulo that I didn’t appreciate his love bite. I demanded both an explanation and an apology. He neither apologized nor explained his behavior. Normally a pacifist, I was so incensed that I wanted to haul off and hit him with my handbag. He thought it was no big deal and actually laughed about it. I told him this was outrageous, and I didn’t know what they did in Italy, but in America it is unacceptable to bite your date.

  Riding home in a cab I wondered what I would tell my colleagues and students tomorrow. I also pondered if I still had any leftover penicillin from last winter when I had had a sinus infection. If I did, the first order of business would be to swallow two pills and then ice my face to bring down the swelling. How dare he! Who the hell did he think he was? Considering that his height was only five foot seven inches, I wondered if I should have told him about my three brothers who range in height from six foot two inches to six foot four inches, with weights of over 250 pounds!! Who knows, maybe Paulo might have bitten one of them on the kneecap, to make matters worse than they already were.

  20

  It’s a Small World After All

  November 2003

  Realizing that I had bitten off more than I could chew, I turned my attention to the beginnings of another school year. As I mentioned earlier, the beginning of most school years has more work than any other time in the term. As most teachers will tell you, they need a good two months to get comfortable with the new class, parents, and recently hired staff members comprising the school environment. Normally, this comfort zone arrived much sooner than the Thanksgiving break. However, this year was different because I was teaching the first grade! And this was no ordinary first-grade class; I was to teach children with developmental delays. Since my degree qualified me to teach in this area, the district invited me to take the challenge. Not only would I have to learn a new curriculum, but I also would have to relocate to another classroom in another wing of the building. To make matters more complicated, some of these students had not attended kindergarten the year before. This was the best time to focus on my career and a better time to leave Internet dating alone.

  Slowly but surely the winds of November blew the leaves off the trees. “My God,” I said to myself, “where did the last three months go?” Before long, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s would arrive. Great! It would be another holiday season without the festivities. I couldn’t remember when I had last enjoyed a truly Merry Christmas or a really Happy New Year’s Eve, and now I was facing another lonely holiday season. During my first six years of living in Chelsea, there had always been lonely-looking little old women living next to me. These old gals had survived their husbands by at least a dozen years, but I often wondered how they survived the holidays. Occasionally I would witness the token appearance of one of these ladies’ daughters or granddaughters or some other relative, giving me the standard, “Happy Holidays.” Come to think of it, I had noticed many other mature ladies frequenting the elevator and lobby of my building, to the point that I asked Ralph, the doorman (a New York historian in his own right) about this phenomenon. As he laughed, he told me that I needed to research the few blocks I walked each day.

  “Why should I, Ralph?” I inquired.

  “Don’t you know this is Spinster Heaven, Trish?” Ralph answered. “I hope you won’t be a member of the chosen few club,” Ralph added as he opened the door and smiled at an old woman with packages in tow.

  I watched this transaction in sheer horror! I saw myself coming through a similar door (if not the same door) in the distant future, with an ancient Ralph assisting me with my little Yorkshire Terrier and shopping bags full of unnecessary gaudy clothing. “That’s it,” I said to myself. “I am going back upstairs to my Internet dating habit. Spinsterhood is not for me!”

  After posting my profile once again, I researched the community now called Chelsea. I learned that back in the forties and fifties, before Chelsea’s alternative/ bohemian lifestyle of the seventies, eighties, and nineties, this was an enclave of professionals “on their way to the top.” In the forties and fifties, dentists, doctors and CPAs in the midst of their careers gravitated to Chelsea. Most of the buildings in the area were zoned professional and residential, including my apartment building. My apartment in particular had been a dentist’s office in the late fifties. I only learned this after tearing up the grotesque lime green rug and noticing on the hardwood floors the markings of what were once partitioned walls separating the examining room from the waiting room. After asking my landlady, who had owned my co-op, she confirmed my suspicion by telling me that her father was the dentist who practiced there. She also added that her mother worked as his receptionist and nurse. She spoke fondly of the apartment and reminisced about the many times she had sat on the floor of what became my galley kitchen. She rambled on incessantly about the innocent days where she would wait patiently for her parents to finish their workday, playing with her dolls and coloring for hours. What struck me while she spoke was the fact that people back then needed much less to get by. I came to the conclusion that I would never complain again to anyone about how small my apartment was.

  Ironically, the next day, as I boarded the elevator from the lobby, I encountered an odd-looking man smiling awkwardly. Introducing himself as Michael, and enlarging an awkward smile, he spoke of his newness to the building and expressed a yearning to meet people. He was either high on life or laughing gas, and his smile made me uncomfortable. I immediately categorized him as an out-of-towner, maybe from somewhere out west or even Canada. In New York people don’t smile at all, especially at strangers for no apparent reason. I politely said hello to him and attempted to end the greeting there. When he pressed the sixteenth floor button, I just knew that he was my new neighbor. I got off the elevator and proceeded to unlock my apartment door. To my surprise, he was standing next to me, still with an increasingly disturbing grin as he said, “I’m right next door, isn’t that funny?” Funny was the last thing I was thinking. It was scary maybe, but certainly not funny.

  Thinking about the way I looked, as most women do on a regular basis, I realized that my appearance was less than desirable. “Great,” I thought to myself, “this would have to be the day that I rushed home from the gym without my usual locker room shower, deciding to wait for the comfort of my own tub.” With my hair tied in
a severe ponytail under a foolish-looking baseball cap, I realized my appearance must have been ghastly. I wasn’t in the mood for any new encounters. Nonetheless, he seemed harmless. I guessed the little old lady next to me had either passed away or moved down to Miami, where they have bingo every Wednesday. It’s amazing that in New York City, one could live next door to another person and not even know his or her name, nor care to know it.

  After a relaxing bath, I resigned myself to checking my online dating site. By the time I had logged on, I realized the irony of my screen name, which read “Girl Next Door in NYC.” A few days later, while checking my responses, I surprisingly discovered an e-mail from my new neighbor, Mike. He didn’t write anything about recognizing me or knowing me; he simply sent a “form” e-mail that he may have sent to any number of women. Laughing out loud, I felt the need to respond. Returning the e-mail, I mentioned, “As my screen name says, I actually am the ‘Girl Next Door’!” “To refresh your memory, we met on the elevator just a few days ago.”

  At that moment, I could picture Mike reading the e-mail and saying, “Well, golly gee,” as his smile got even wider. He wrote back, asking if I cared to meet him for a drink. I thought about how easy and convenient it would be. But with added thought, I decided that I didn’t feel a connection, and it wasn’t just his excessive smiling. I wrote back: “Thanks, but maybe we can meet sometime down the road instead.”

  Like a bad cold sore, I couldn’t shake Mike for anything. No matter how kind I was, he insisted we meet for something. What puzzled me, however, was that his requests were always electronic. I never heard him knock on my door. I am not complaining, mind you. But this is the nature of cyberdating. Mike knew the rules. I developed a newfound respect for him in the way he allowed me my space. He could have been a nuisance, since we were living so close, but I must say one thing for him: he was a gentleman and knew his place.

  Mercifully, I didn’t see him in the building for approximately two weeks. Once again, on the way to the gym on a Saturday morning (just like the first time I had met him), he entered the elevator, but this time he was with a woman who could have passed for his sister.

  He greeted me with a great big, “Hello, Trish. This is Samantha.”

  “Hi, Samantha, nice to meet you,” I said.

  Mike proceeded to tell me that Samantha hailed from two towns north of Omaha—his own hometown. She had just moved to New York.

  “That’s nice. Where did the two of you meet?” I inquired.

  “We met while line dancing at the Gold Rush last weekend,” Mike proudly responded.

  What made me smile (but not as wide as they were smiling) was their outright similarity. Their smiles were identical! No wonder they grew up in the same area. What a wonderful thing it must be to smile for no apparent reason. Or maybe they had a reason. Maybe that old saying holds more weight than I thought: there’s a key for every lock. This instilled the strangest sense of hope in me. I had never felt so elated during my years of cyberdating than I did that morning.

  Part II

  Hope Prevails

  21

  Finally! My Internet Date from Heaven

  November 2003

  After what appeared to be a lifetime of miscues in the game of dating, I had nearly resigned myself to the thought that I was destined to be single. “Single, hmmm,” I thought to myself. That didn’t sound so bad. I could come and go as I pleased and not have to answer to anyone. If I wanted to eat ice cream for breakfast every day for a year, I could do so without an onlooker criticizing my mental health. I could miss my weekly housecleaning chores without reprisal from an overzealous, anal-retentive husband. I could date whomever I wished, without worrying about food expenses (missing out on, particularly, that wonderful experience of standing in line with all the other miserable housewives at the local supermarket). Single! It sounded better and better the more I said it. I wouldn’t have to deal with annoying in-laws and wouldn’t have to attend infinitely boring family outings.

  But then again, it would be tough during the holidays. Those damn holidays! I couldn’t seem to evade them. Just to think it had been only six short years ago that I had found myself reveling in holidays like Christmas with its mistletoe and yuletide cheer, New Year’s, with its noisemakers and silly hats, and Valentine’s Day with its pink hearts and candy assortments. After a year of near hits (if not near misses), I considered reentering the harried world of Internet dating one last time. I knew I had said “one last time” before, so this time, I would use the word “final.” Final!! There, I said it. My only problem with this word was its finality. I was never a final-type girl. I had always had hope for myself and for my fellow man. But before I would waste another six long years, I needed to draw the line in the sand.

  An odd sense of hope enveloped me while changing my old screen name to a more subtle screen name. My new screen name really spelled it all out. How could any red-blooded American male refuse? I changed my “Girl Next Door in NYC” screen name to “Nordic Angel.”

  Thinking of all the lessons I had learned regarding mistakes or miscalculations, I pondered using my newfound knowledge to keep from getting sucked into another hellish date or relationship. My next step was to make a list of how I would do things differently. Reviewing everything that had transpired over the last six years, I prioritized based on importance, to create my own little top five list. This doesn’t mean that I disregarded everything else I had learned. Instinctively I made sure that my potential date had a variety of recent photos attached, and I made sure that there was at least one head shot without a hat or sunglasses obscuring his true identity.

  Number one on my list was to not accept e-mails that were outside the tri-state area. As much as men from foreign lands intrigued me, both my budget and patience were worn out regarding the travel issue. Number two was that the guy needed to have been in previous long-term relationships. Number three was to select men who were neither flashy nor pretentious. Next was to select a family-oriented man with a future in mind. Finally (I know I already used that word), I would select someone who shared his love for the arts with others. The other lessons that I had learned based on my experiences would have to be tested via the telephone and the first date.

  Returning home from visiting friends in Philadelphia with my best friend Greg, I rushed into my apartment to a ringing telephone. Much to my chagrin, it was just another telemarketer hawking some useless product. Taking off my coat, I instinctively turned on my computer. As I signed on to my Internet provider, I heard the ever-familiar sound, “You’ve got mail.” Boy did I! I had fifty-two responses alone that day, and one-hundred-forty-one over the past three days! “Wow, I guess that new screen name worked,” I thought to myself.

  Recognizing the large number of responses, I slowly scrolled through them. One in particular caught my eye. It was from a gentleman named Tom from New Jersey. “Hmm, New Jersey,” I thought to myself.”That settles my first concern.” After this, I looked at Tom’s age. This guy was two years my senior. I read on, discovering that he was previously involved in a few long-term relationships, so the prior relationships concern was also satisfied. After divulging his nonmarital status, I felt most comfortable. While reading farther, I determined that Tom’s response was creatively personal, like no other that I had ever received before.

  Subj: WOW—What a Profile

  Date: 11/02/2003 10:00:40 PM Eastern Daylight Time

  From: uofatom88

  To: NordicAngel

  Hi,

  Your username and photo caught my eye. You mention in your profile that your legs are your best feature, but I couldn’t get a clear view in the photos, so I wanted to tell you that you have a beautiful face with incredible blue eyes.

  I read your profile… WOW, you sound like an absolutely amazing woman with an incredible appetite for travel and culture. There isn’t anything on the list that I wouldn’t enjoy doing myself.
Being born in Germany and moving 10 times during the first 11 years of my life, traveling was ingrained in my brain. I lived in Germany in the early 90’s and began traveling extensively through Europe. Now I make a trip every summer exploring a new corner of the continent. I’ve been to some of the places on your list including Zermatt, Venice, Pisa (one of your photos), and Tuscany.

  In fact this past summer, I rented a convertible and toured the wine country of Umbria and Tuscany for a week and then went to the Island of Sardinia for a week long biking trip with some close friends and family.

  I am extremely family oriented and have a great relationship with my immediate family and all of my relatives. I see my father, who lives 10 minutes away, at least once a week. Even though my sister and her husband live in Boulder, CO, I still get out there twice a year. In fact I’ll be there over Thanksgiving.

  What type of photography do you do? I always wanted to get into some serious photography after taking a class in college, but never took the time. Now I just use my digital camera with reckless abandon. I think I have a pretty good eye for composition, due to my architectural background. I earned a Bachelors in Architecture from the University of Arizona.