6. Meet Mr. Right Through Brunch With Friends

            My church is always trying to get me to exercise.  They find clever ways to make me get out and about on foot.  One way is downright sneaky; they promised brunch in the middle of a two-mile walk.  I will exercise if the food involved is actual food and not some gluten-free, vegan, tofu thingamabob. I don’t mind “bobs”, per se, I simply prefer them to be at the end of a “ka”, as in KA-BOBS, which is Persian for “meat stick”.  I think.

                Anyway, I was tricked into walking and it was August so I dressed appropriately.  August in SoCal is like August in Mississippi with a barely noticeable difference in humidity.  In other words, it is hot as a firecracker, y’all.  It is the only explanation for my ensemble which set an inaccurate precedent for the budding relationship that would come from this serendipitous brunch.  My ensemble was plaid walking shorts, a navy polo shirt, tennis shoes and a ball cap.  I looked like everyone else near the beach, well everyone that was wearing actual shoes and a shirt.  Yes, I know, I was disappointed but too hot to care.

                Once we completed our trudge in the heat, I was pleasantly surprised to find someone I didn’t know had joined our little group.  He was the friend of a friend and was just the nicest man.  We had a great time laughing and talking and I had planned on exchanging numbers before we left but I was sidelined by the goodbyes.  When a group of gay men depart, it’s like Bid Day at a sorority; hugs, tears, the occasional song.  Before I knew it he was gone and I was numberless.  Thank goodness for Facebook.

                After a little Facebook stalking on his part, he found me, messaged me and we agreed to a brunch date.  I knew he hadn’t seen my normal wardrobe and I know my clothing style is more than some people can handle, so I attempted to dress down as it were.  I paired a fuchsia polo with navy chinos to lessen the drama and hoped he would fall madly in like on our first date and I could then bust out the brighter colors in the casual pant section of my closet.  He didn’t seem to notice, which is unusual for a gay guy but I wasn’t mad at him, people.  I like my guys to be guys.

                Our date lasted 8 hours (including a sand-castle building competition) and we had a blast.  We made plans for the following weekend but he called me on Tuesday to ask me to dinner with friends and I agreed.  I mentioned I would be wearing clothing unlike he was used to but he said he didn’t care what I wore.  I arrived in teal chinos and a navy polo and he didn’t bat an eye.

                We then proceeded to date for several months.  You can tell I really liked him because I voluntarily agreed to ride bikes around Balboa Island and didn’t even scream, cuss or kick the bike when he caused me to wreck.  He had suddenly pulled in front of me on the street and when I went to use the hand brakes, I realized there weren’t any; the brakes were on the pedals, old-school style.  We ended up in a heap with me bleeding and repeatedly telling him I was fine even though I lost about 11 gallons of blood.  When I told my sister what happened, she said, “Did you throw the bike in the water?”  When I said no, she replied, “Wow, you must have been trying to impress him because I’ve met you before and you would’ve stomped or thrown that bike.”  As if.

                Although we had fun on all our many dates, nothing ever seemed to move into the romantic realm.  We hadn’t held hands and it was date 10; not even on a harbor cruise which is supposed to be very romantic.  Apparently being Vietnamese caused him to be more uptight about PDA than even me.  When you are so conservative you make me look seem Sandy at the end of Grease, you may have a problem.  I attempted to hold his hand once in the movie theatre and he took my hand and put it under his leg and sat on it.  I didn’t quite know how to respond so I left it there for a few minutes while I processed the fact a grown man was sitting on my hand. 

                Needless to say, it wasn’t looking good for us.  The final straw came when he invited me to a potluck at his church.  I thought it might be a good idea.  Maybe he was getting more used to dating and would eventually get over his issues with PDA.  In selecting my outfit for the occasion, I decided to go with a more subdued palate as he attends an Episcopalian church and their clothing choices are more Dame Maggie Smith than, well, me.  He met me at my car and when I alighted wearing light gray chinos with a pastel plaid button-down, he said, “Oh thank God you didn’t wear one of your outfits.  I was scared of what you’d look like.”  I was so offended I could only make it down the buffet line once, plus a dessert run.  What?  It’s free food at a church.  You don’t pass that up.  You just don’t.

                On to #7 - Meet Mr. Right at Work

5. Meet Mr. Right at a Sporting Event

            There are times when I surprise myself and agree to activities I normally would not.  On Valentine’s Day weekend (2016), I was asked by some sportier friends if I wanted to attend a  N.A.G.A.A. (North American Gay Athletic Association) softball tournament in Palm Springs.   While I am almost never a participant in sports, I can sometimes be convinced to observe, based mostly on the quality of items at the snack and peripherally on the attractiveness of the athletes.  Softball is reasonably un-boring and this particular location had an air-conditioned restaurant with great views and a menu filled with all things fried.  I acquiesced. 

                Unsure of how to dress for such an occasion, I decided to wear my sportiest article of clothing – a V-neck (tennis) sweater vest in aqua blue.  I paired this with a white polo, navy chinos with a very subtle, tone-on-tone micro-dot and my white leather Coach tennis shoes.  The literal topper was a jaunty baseball cap I received as a gift from the US Senate.  And by gift I mean I bought it at the Hart Senate Office Building Gift Shop. 

                We arrived and I found the snack bar very much to my liking and most of the players were attractive and talented.  Quelle surprise!  We watched one game while I savored my basket(s) of fried things (pickles, potatoes (both fry and tot), chicken).  After the feast those who actually wanted to watch the games wanted to move outside.  I acquiesced again as I had agreed to this activity and apparently you have to watch sports from a seat near the field. 

                After a bit, my multiple iced teas came full circle and I had to get up and find the restroom.  On my way back to the snack bar (the location of the restrooms, not to eat more food) I noticed an attractive gentleman of Asian descent wearing a softball uniform, looking at me and smiling.  Unused to being “checked out”, I returned the smile but felt I needed the input of my more worldly friends before I actually instigated a conversation.  When I returned to my seat I was delighted to know my friends were as delightfully nosey as necessary and had witnessed the events.  They assured me I was indeed being checked out.  I love me some nosey gays, y’all; in context, of course.

                Normally I am disinclined to believe someone is interested in me but before I could talk myself out of it, I walked over to this gentleman all bold and whatnot and said, “Hi”.  He smiled and introduced himself.  He complimented me on my aqua blue sweater vest, stating, “I noticed you as soon as you walked in.”  This is the reason I am dressed well no matter what I’m doing.  It gets you noticed, people; a little tip from your Uncle Dusty.

                We talked for a bit and he told me he was “into 420”.  I didn’t know if this meant his team was doing well in the tournament or some other athletic thing so I said, “Oh, that’s good.  I’m not a huge 420 fan, but you should do what makes you happy.” 

                We had our first date later that night at Starbucks and had the most wonderful conversation.  Initially he wanted to meet at a bar but, you can’t talk at a bar, especially after an athletic tournament.  There are far too many people yelling, singing, Woo-Hooing.  Have you ever witnessed a quietly chatty intoxicated athlete?  I didn’t think so.

                I discovered he lived in Las Vegas and our second date was planned for the following weekend.  As I am 45 years old, I thought it would be a great adventure, plus it’s only a quick flight from Long Beach.  I had never spent the weekend with someone but since I was at least 4 inches taller and had about 40 pounds on him, I felt I could protect myself should he decide to try to murder me.  However, I left all his info with my friend Jamie just in case I disappeared.  I mean, it is Vegas.  Why do you think they based the original CSI there?  It’s not because of their awesome police force.

                The weekend was very revealing, to say the least.  As I am not a fan of gambling or buffet eating, I find little reason to go to Vegas, but I actually enjoyed myself.  To my dismay, I discovered 420 meant marijuana.  As you know I am fiercely anti-drug, even marijuana.  Don’t worry, he has a prescription but apparently under Nevada law a prescription for medical marijuana allows you to grow your own marijuana…in your garage.   

I’m sorry, but dating a marijuana farmer is not the narrative I have written for my life.  Sadly, I had to bid him adieu and we said goodbye forever, at the airport, standing beside a slot machine, in a cloudy haze emanating from a nearby elderly gambler squandering his Social Security check and exhaling smoke from the hole left by his tracheotomy.  Ah, romance.

                On to #6 – Meeting Mr. Right through Brunch with Friends.

4. Meet Mr. Right Through Volunteering

             Even though OKCupid was 37 kinds of ridiculous, I still held out hope because, well, I had paid for hope.  The last straw came when my profile as liked by a gentleman who was a newly married bisexual man with a bisexual wife and they were in an open marriage and he wanted to meet me.  I am unsure what in my profile gave him the idea I would be interested in that type of interaction, but he had clearly mis-assessed the situation with little old vanilla me. 

                So, I returned to my list, saw Volunteering as the next avenue and decided to wait and see what would present itself.  I volunteer at my church and with the Transgender program in Orange County but those had offered no options for husband material. 

Now, I have always been someone who has an altruistic nature; I have long volunteered for all sorts of organizations and of late have been focused on trying to be the person I needed when I was younger, which led me to PFLAG. 

                PFLAG is Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays.  I first heard about it while watching the movie Reality Bites and never thought much else about it as there were no PFLAG chapters in Mississippi until very recently and even now there are only three chapters in the state.  There are three chapters within 10 miles of my house in SoCal, so I have an opportunity to get involved and be part of the support network for gay, lesbian and transgender youth. 

                I was invited to my first PFLAG meeting by an activist I met at a screening of a fantastic documentary called Equal Means Equal.  It’s about Women’s Rights and you need to see it as quickly as you can.  Get thee to an art theatre!  Ms. Activist is an active member of many, many organizations and PFLAG is but one.  When she asked me how I gave back to my community, I told her about some of my volunteering but she told me I could do more.  When challenged, I always rise to the occasion and when I arrived at the first meeting at the Jewish Synagogue, I realized this would strictly be about volunteering and not match-making.  There was not one single soul near my age.  Most were a bit older than me and more than a few were significantly older.  They were old, y’all.  Old like The Pope. 

However, this works for me on a number of levels.  I am a frog’s hair shy of 46 and am no longer anywhere near the youngest person at work, as I used to be.  I don’t think I look my age but it doesn’t mean I don’t often feel my age.  Being the youngest person in any location makes me feel younger, at least on the inside.  Why do you think I like Palm Springs so much?  I mean, other than they’re the only people who dress like me that aren’t actually playing golf or being rude to staff at a country club.

                I have no problem dating someone ten or even 12 years older, but I have my limits.  I am not looking to become someone’s home health aide.  I went into healthcare administration because it offers the opportunity to indirectly help those who are in ill health.  I don’t like me when I’m sick, much less someone else.  Realizing I was not to find my intended betrothed at this particular function, I spied someone very near my age, a lovely Japanese lady named Moss and moseyed on over to say “Howdy”.  Well, I said howdy metaphorically.  I don’t actually talk like that, at least not anymore. 

We immediately bonded and have become fast friends, spending lots of quality time enjoying the numerous things we have in common.  I even taught her how to make shrimp and grits, using a recipe she gave me.   She is the Asian Grace to my Southern Will.  What?  I could be a Will, multiple similarities to Beverly Leslie notwithstanding.  As we are both in search of a proper gentleman companion, we have decided to help each other find the right person.  And, who knows, maybe we’ll spend so much time together we will realize we are right for each other since everyone else is straight running crazy these days. 

Stranger things have happened, right?  Offhand I can’t think of any…

3.5. Meet Mr. Right Through Online Dating, Part 2

              Having tired of the lack of success with Match.com, I remembered a friend had found success on OKCupid.  The same evening I was stood up by the boat trash, I signed up and immediately upon completing my profile had interest from one guy.  He met many of my criteria: seemed nice, was a Christian, lived within 30 minutes of me, had no shirtless photos and didn’t refer to himself as sexy or boi in his OKCupid account name.  For the record my account name is Brooks BrosPrep.

                We talked through the site and then through text for over a week and decided to meet for a lunch date which offers both specific end time as well as plenty of witnesses should he have murderous intentions.  What?  I saw that documentary about the Craigslist Killer.  On the day of the date, he called to say he was running late because he had been involved in a wreck in his mother’s car while taking her grocery shopping.  There were several ways to interpret this scenario but I decided to go with dutiful, but unlucky, son.  We rescheduled for later the same day for Starbucks, where he proceeded to spend most of the time talking about all the sugar daddies who wanted to buy him things.  He assured me he wasn’t looking for a sugar daddy but when I made a point to significantly downplay my assets, he stood me up for our following date even though he stated he was a Christian.  My offer of a date was, and I kid you not, an invitation to my Bible Study.  Just like the Spice Girls said, “If you wannabe my lover, you gotta get with my friends…and Jesus.”  Can I get a Zig-a-Zig-Amen, y’all?

                And speaking of Jesus, can I tell you the alarming number of very attractive Atheists in Long Beach and LA County?  I jokingly refer to California as “Land of the Heathen”, but I thought I was kidding.  However, I have come to find Sheldon’s Mama was right all along.  I have read profiles of at least twelve men who caught my attention only to find they are Atheist.  I’m not even counting the multitude of Agnostics out there.  And if you are looking for a non-smoker, they are just as hard to come by as Christians, or at least authentic Christians.  You’ll pardon me if I fail to find authenticity in your faith when you are posed shirtless in your photo and your account name is GitUSum2Nite.  Methinks you have something on your mind besides sharing your journey toward redemption.

                The next 65 people I “winked at” (which is something you do on this site), emailed or otherwise showed interest in had no reciprocal interest in yours truly for reasons known only to them.  There were two gentlemen, and I use that term loosely, who found my profile, communicated, set dates and then stood me up.  I don’t know why.  Honestly I wasn’t invested enough to ask.  I just finished my appetizer and left the restaurant.

I decided to simply stop looking at people’s profiles and let those interested contact me when I received this message last week.  I’ll give it to you in its entirety.

 

Random Dude:  “Hi.  I’m looking for someone who can treat me like a baby.”

Me: “I don’t understand that sentence.”

RD:  “I wanna be a baby.”

Me:  “I am not interested in whatever this is.  Thank you.”

 

Yes, dear readers, from amongst these people I must find my future husband.  I know Meaghan Trainor wrote a song about her future husband and while I don’t remember what it said, I think maybe I’ll ask her out on a date.  Men are starting to get on my nerves and I do like a sassy girl; unfortunately, my favorite Sassy Girl Emily is, alas, happily married in the Magnolia State.  I can’t do the splits like that big dude in Ms. Trainor’s video but I can rock a sweater tied around my shoulders, like an Old School Prep.  That’s got to count for something, right?

 

On to Suggestion #4:  Meet Mr. Right through Volunteering.

3. Meet Mr. Right Through Online Dating, Part 1

                I have a number of friends who met their spouse through online dating.  I, myself, have not had much success.  In 2009, I tried Match.com and Compatible Partners (eHarmony’s gay dating site they created after they were sued).  Match.com got me exactly one date with a guy who blatantly lied about not only his weight (which he underreported by at least 80 pounds rendering him practically unrecognizable when I got to the restaurant) and his drinking; one of the things we supposedly had in common.  When we placed our dinner order, he chose a beer to go with his eggplant parmigiana.  Even I know you don’t drink beer with Italian food unless it’s pizza.  And he drank four over the course of the meal.  This experience has taught me to pick the restaurant for dates so even if they are disastrous, the food will be good.  No flies on me, y’all.  Compatible Partners gave me no dates whatsoever.  Methinks Dr. Neil Clark Warren’s heart is not really into perfecting the algorithm for this site. 

                When I moved to California in 2011, it was to the San Francisco Bay Area, which is, as we were taught in The Southern Baptist South, Sodom to Los Angeles’ Gomorrah.  Gay Central.  I can find a date here, surely.   Again I turned to Match.com but this time there were no dates.  Again, I turned to Compatible Partners, because they match you on the inside with ever how many categories you can fill out in the two and a half hours it took to complete.  They are thorough, people.  Thorough like a strip search in jail…or so I’ve been told.  They literally had no matches for me.  When I called to question how this could be, they admitted they were stumped and they actually offered a refund, which I accepted.

                I know what you’re thinking because a number of you have asked, “Dustin are you being too picky?”  And I assure you I am not.  All I want is to find a man who is a Christian, isn’t a career criminal or gold digger, doesn’t want to have sex on the first date and isn’t currently starring in a reality show.  I know, I know, Je suis delirious.

                While I still lived in the Bay Area, I even tried the personals section of Craigslist (it worked for a friend) and all it got me was a weird invitation to someone’s house with a request to wear track pants from the 70s.  No thank you, serial killer.  And I am well aware of the nastiness that is Grindr and I will have none of that.  I am a man of quality, people. QUALITY!

                When I moved to Long Beach I decided to try Match.com once more for reasons I have long since forgotten.  Surprisingly, I met a few people.  The first resulted in a date where he quoted the mediocre movie ‘Sordid Lives’ at me, as if it were his original thoughts.  When I grew weary from the onslaught, I said, “You know, I’ve seen the movie.”  At which point he abruptly stopped talking for the remainder of the meal.  Afterward an awkward but tasty Mediterranean meal, we went to Sweet Jill’s bakery to get an amazing cinnamon roll because I was having my complete date.  When he told me he found the cinnamon roll to be mediocre, I told him I was taking both my leave and the leftovers. 

                The second guy was great.  We had an incredible first date.  We texted each other throughout the week and then made plans for the next date.  It seemed to be going very well.  He then said, “I’m not feeling chemistry” and abruptly left me sitting there thinking, “Why did he leave?  Was it something I said?  Would it be rude to finish his brownie?”

                The third guy and I had some great conversations via text and e-mail.  Apparently, he was too cheap to buy a full membership because after a week and a half (I was on work travel and couldn’t meet) he asked that we exchange photos.  He sent his and while he was a little more leather biker murderer than I normally like, I wasn’t going to be rude.  When he received my photo he abruptly stopped texting and I have not heard from him since.  Now, I know people aren’t composing sonnets or love songs about my beauty, but C’MON!  Surely I’m cute enough to look at while eating free food for pity's sake.

                The last guy I met at least introduced me to new vocabulary; specifically the term “boat trash”.  It’s like trailer trash but in the water.  However, at this point he was simply someone who seemed very excited to meet me and with who I had several interesting conversations.  We made plans for a late lunch first date.  I was on a weekend trip to Palm Springs and was to return early for said date.  I called him to confirm the day before and we decided on a time (3:00 pm) and a restaurant (Seville so we could have tapas with a side of flamenco dancers).  I put on a great date, y’all. 

I arrived slightly early because that is how I roll.  When the time came for him to arrive, he did not.  When he was 15 minutes late, I became concerned.  I called and left a message and heard nothing back.  I went home and around 9:00 pm received a phone call saying, “I’m so sorry.  I fell asleep on my boat.  When I woke up I forgot about our date.  You should have reminded me.”  At this point I don’t know if he has a yacht, something akin to the door from Titanic that selfish girl floated on or something in between.  And at this point it doesn’t matter.

I replied, “I reminded you yesterday and I left you a voice mail when you didn’t show.”  He replied, “I don’t have a cell phone.  It’s a landline.  And I’m so sorry.  I owe you lunch.”

I said, “Yes, you do” thinking who doesn’t have a cell phone in 2016?  The Dad has a cell phone.  Granted it’s a Jitterbug with ridiculously large buttons, but it’s not a landline.  He replied, “When do you want to meet?”  I answered, “Oh, I don’t want to meet.   I just agree you owe me lunch.  I am no longer interested but you have a great day.”

 

So, it is on to Suggestion #3.5:  Meet Mr. Right on OKCupid.

2. Meet Mr. Right at Happy Hour

                 I am not, nor have I ever been, a drinker.  I simply don’t like the taste.  Having no experience with alcohol prior to tasting my first beverage at the age of 16, I had an immediate, reaction stating, if I remember correctly, “You paid money for that?  It tastes like a horse peed on a peach.”  And this was of course a Peach Melba Rum Wine Cooler; such was the drink of my peers in Tylerpatch.  Beer, when I eventually tried it, was much, much worse.  Luckily, I did not feel any peer pressure to drink.  My friends said, "You want a beer?  No?  Good, more for us."  So you see I wasn’t overly confident I would find my Mr. Right at a bar at Happy Hour.

                One thing I have discovered is Happy Hour isn't necessarily only for drinkers.  A good HH has really great appetizers at really great prices to entice the drinkers to drink.  I have spent many a night happily munching away while my alcoholic friends imbibed to their hearts content.  Let’s face it, I will eat with just about anyone when the food is good.  I have trudged through bad dates solely because the restaurant was a favorite.  Full disclosure, I would share pulled pork nachos with Charles Manson, y’all.  Just saying.  However, once the food is gone I am ready to be, too. 

                The main reason is I’m not a big fan of bar people to begin with; I barely like some of these people sober, much less drunk.  And If I am jostled by one more bro wearing flip-flops and jeans, high-fiving another bro I AM AFRAID I WILL SAY SOMETHING REMARKABLY UNCHRISTIAN!  I’m kidding of course, but what is it with Southern California people and their insistence on foot nudity?  I have attended a number of Happy Hours with my friends until I realized almost all of my friends are straight.  How am I to find Mr. Right in a straight bar?  Don’t get me wrong, there are definitely gay guys in these bars; I have seen them.   However, they are usually (1) comforting a girlfriend who has just been dumped by one of the naked foot high-fivers or (2) not comfortable enough to be hit on in such a setting.  How do I know they’re gay?  We can spot each other, of course.  Yes, gaydar is real and mine is finely tuned, people.  It couldn’t be more finely tuned if Benedict Cumberbatch had invented it to defeat the Germans in WWII.  True story.

                This presents a quandary.  I have spent more hours than I care to admit in gay bars and I have discovered several realities with which I am unhappy. 

1. Rare is the gay bar with decent lighting.  I will not eat food I cannot see, strobe-lit or otherwise. 
2. 99.9999999% of gay bars have strippers who dance on the bar itself.  I have a very strict rule about eating food that is either prepared or presented in the vicinity of someone who is currently, or has in the very recent past been, squatting while nude.
3. 83.4672935% of patrons at Happy Hour in a gay bar are obnoxious straight girls having a bachelorette party, typically bogarting the karaoke machine.  There are few things more annoying than a tipsy bridesmaid wanting to recruit you because they’ve watched too many movies and suddenly realize their life isn’t as filled with enough bitchy bon mots (delivered sotto voce with a look of disdain and a flick of the wrist), so they need a new ‘best gay’ to provide these services. 
   

I don’t drink but I don’t care if Mr. Right drinks.  Plenty of non-sketchy people drink.  Full disclosure: I make an assumption that all sketchy people drink.  However, I would rather not share the adorable story of how Mr. Right and I met if it begins with the line, “I was searching for my hot wings in the dark and at the exact moment the stripper stepped off the bar and the strobe light malfunctioned because some drunk bridesmaid tripped on a feather boa, I saw him, looking adorable, standing next to the pool table just outside the bathroom, bathed in purple light, talking to a drag queen.”  I will not have that.  I simply will not.

As you can see, the experiment with Happy Hour came up short, which is ironic because I think short guys are cute.

             So, it is on to Suggestion #3:  Meet Mr. Right through online dating.

1. Meet Mr. Right Through a Friend

     When I came out of the closet the first time (there were ultimately three comings-out), it was my senior year in college and I had no idea how to meet anyone.  I was attending college in the bustling metropolis of Columbus, Mississippi, which even today is not a hotbed of liberal thinking.  Not knowing where to turn to find proper companionship, I took the advice of a friend, let's call her Maude, and agreed to meet her friend who was gay.  In 1993, living just to the left of the buckle of the Bible Belt, the commonality of sexual orientation was enough to at least agree to meet.  As far as I knew, he was the only other gay guy in the state, much less the city.
     After Maude's introduction via phone, we made plans to meet the next weekend.  On a subsequent call, I discovered he did not have a car, which is not a good sign in a city with non-trustworthy public transportation options.  Arriving at the address given, I found he resided at a nursing home.  I assumed he was the manager as Maude had assured me his age was somewhere in the nebulous 30s, while mine was a fresh-faced, and adorable, 22.
      When he answered the door I was happy he wasn't elderly but disappointed he wasn't very cute or well-dressed.  I had been lead to believe, by watching Steel Magnolias, that all gay men are blonde and pretty and wear sweaters and are also named Mark, Rick or Steve and have track lighting.  But I wasn't going to judge this man.  I was just thrilled to be going on a date!
     When he asked where I would like to eat, I mentioned Harvey's, a favorite place for celebratory occasions.  A first date is such an occasion, n'est ce pas?  His reaction told me of his financial situation so off to Captain Ds we went.  For those who don't know, Captain Ds is like Long John Silvers but not as nice.  They don't even have good cole slaw, y'all.
     Masking my disappointment, I asked him about his work.  He made some vague murmurings about "things" and "stuff".  When I asked if he worked at the nursing home, where he resided, he smirked and said he did not.  When I asked how he came to live in a home for the elderly when he didn't seem to be a cast member from Cocoon, he looked at me, rolled his eyes and made further murmurings about "you know" and "situations" and such.  He was making me as tired as his Members Only jacket. 
      We arrived a Captain Ds and he criticized my choice of entrée as being too expensive and questioned my need for a beverage.  When I explained the beverage came with the Meal Deal, he acquiesced but only after I stated I was paying for my food.  He then asked if I was going to pay for his food and I begrudgingly agreed, but only because my mother raised me right and, although I was supposedly going to burn in eternal fire for dating a man, I was determined to do my Christian duty and be kind to those less fortunate.  I mean, the man lived in a nursing home and was too poor for Captain Ds, y'all.  I believe he met the criteria to be deemed less fortunate.
     While I pretended to enjoy my beer-battered dinner, he openly ogled several men at the register, which was not only rude but dangerous.  This was Mississippi in 1993, people.  Was he insane?  I wolfed down my food and dragged him to my car to return him to the old folk's home.  He asked me in and due to what I can only surmise was naiveté covered in tartar sauce, I accepted the invitation.  However, when we sat down on the couch, he immediately picked up the phone, dialed into a chat line and began talking to people he obviously knew well; they called him by name!  At $3.95 per minute!  No wonder he couldn't afford to buy his own food, Meal Deal or otherwise.
     He then offered to put a movie in the VCR.  I naively accepted his offer without questioning the title.  What filled the screen was not fit to be viewed by man nor beast. It was a dirty movie!  Well, I can assure you I left in hurry, filled with righteous indignation, about 15 minutes later.  What?  I had never seen a dirty movie and I needed to know what I was supposed to be upset about so I could judge him with the appropriate amount of condescension.  It was research, people, and you are rude to insinuate otherwise.
     The experience was so bad, I didn't go on another date for two years.  Of course, mainly it was because I graduated from college and not having made any post-collegiate plans for a career, I had to move home to Tylerpatch and go right back into the closet from whence I had so recently, and timidly, emerged.
     And exactly zero of my friends up to and including my newest friends in Southern California, have introduced me to any eligible men.  Not one time.  Not one man.  This is why I'm talking about the past, like someone who lives at a nursing home for no reason.
     So, it is on to suggestion #2: Meet Mr. Right at Happy Hour.