And finally....

I reactivated my IJL account. It's been a few months, probably because putting me on involuntary hold resulted in the installation of a massive activation energy barrier that had to be surmounted. For any women readers (men probably want to close their eyes and hum loudly), it's similar to the hurdle facing you when you try to schedule an ob/gyn exam. I made this attempt a few days ago, and when I reached the answering machine stating that the receptionist was out to lunch, I put the phone down and thought, "well, I'll try again in a few months." What awaits is a necessary evil, but so far from tantalizing that only a miniscule amount of effort can be expended in a given timeframe to try to make it happen.

I was a little bit worried when I reactivated, as my friend D -- unrelated to the elusive D of Date #3 -- informed me a couple of weeks ago that he had sent a letter to IJL suggesting that he had considered their services, but that the experiences detailed on this site as well as those of Velvet in Dupont (a delightful site describing surprisingly similar IJL horrors) had made him think better of it. He may have been lying, but the thought of what their wrath could engender still has me a bit wary.

Within a few days of reactivation, A of IJL (not the aforementioned non-service-oriented and difficult K who kept forgetting to make reservations) called me back to tell me of date #4, W. W has never been married and has no children. He is a 38-year old engineer who enjoys sports, outdoor activities such as hiking, boating, golf (she mentioned with nearly breathless excitement that he even has his own set of clubs). He enjoys photography, going out with friends, all manner of music & movies, museums, reading, and travel. He plays blackjack and the piano (I question the rationale of coupling these activities into a single sentence; use of the same verb to describe two activities does not a fellowship make). The director at IJL who interviewed W -- hence, take this characterization with a boulder of salt -- described him as intelligent, laid back, and confident, with a good sense of humor.

I called A back to give her my availability and to tell her I'd moved to Arlington from Rockville (a move that actually makes things easier, since IJL had told me that they had few Marylanders as clients -- perhaps a testament to the intelligence of the breed). I have to say that A was very nice and polite, and didn't sound at all like someone who had read my previous blog entries. So I am momentarily filled with hope, though I fully expect said hope to be dashed upon the rocks of IJL's next fuckup.

Date #3: Was He Really There?

The query presented in the title of my post doesn't refer to R, the saving grace of getting stood up at my last IJL date. You already know he exists. Instead, it refers to my IJL date, D. Was D really at Zaytinya that night?

The day after the date-that-wasn't, K from IJL called and left me a message. She was unable to immediately speak with me because, as a result of some deep-seeded phobia for which no therapist can identify a childhood trauma-related cause, I am unable to pick up the phone without knowing who is on the other end and why they are calling. So she asked me to call, and when I rang her back I fully expected her to chastise me for not showing up, as shifting of blame is one of K's specialties. How could she possibly be responsible for her clients not being able to find each other for their date, after she went to all the trouble of arranging the meeting in the most crowded bar in downtown DC with no reservation?

When I called her back, she asked what happened, implying that I hadn't gone. I explained that I had waited at the front door of Zaytinya for nearly an hour (a slight exaggeration for effect). I didn't mention picking up R while I waited for the date-that-wasn't, as that would have undoubtedly resulted in K inappropriately snagging credit for the meeting. I can hardly blame her -- she should take it where she can get it. She went on to claim that D was there, and promised to set us up somewhere quieter next time. And, perhaps, somewhere that takes f*#^ing reservations.

She called me back a few days later, but I was traveling regularly the weeks following and didn't bother calling her back, since I couldn't really find time for any dates. Admittedly, it was also probably a passive-aggressive attempt to demonstrate my irritation, combined with the dread that D was the unpleasant-seeming man at Zaytinya who had stormed off to the bar without even a glance at the people standing by the door. My bold ignoring of K led to a letter from IJL (literally within a few days of my lack of response), informing me that per my request I was "on hold" until further notice. I'm not entirely certain what this means, but I suspect they will manipulate the situation so that it appears as if my holding pattern is the result of a desire to exclusively date one of the fantastic eligible bachelors with whom they have matched me. This is the only rationale they gave me in my intro meeting for choosing to go on hold, though I suppose they didn't want to reveal that I was likely to reach a state where I'd rather be drawn & quartered than talk to my incompetent IJL contact.

So now I'm back from a long vacation, and I guess I'll have to give this another go. I dread calling K back, but I promised myself to slog through this, and I don't really want to have to admit to anyone that I shelled out $500 each for only two dates....

A Somewhat Elusive Date...

I apologize for keeping you in suspense for so long. R, the non-IJL man from Zaytinya, does exist, and as a result, so does my sanity. He emailed me a few days after we met on that fateful dark & stormy night. He jogged my memory by referring to himself as "tall R from Zaytinya" (aww, so cute), and asked if I wanted to get together. I was naturally delighted that my uncharacteristic boldness had yielded such a pleasing and ego-boosting return. I haven't been so smug since the evening at the Luxor when I was offered several stacks of poker chips if only I would join the owner in a bottle of champagne ("only" should probably be encapsulated in quotes, I'm just speculating here...).

Unfortunately, I had left for Vegas almost immediately after I met R. Well, nothing involving Vegas should really utilize language like "unfortunately"; in fact, my location contributed to my satisfaction when he contacted me, as the perception of any agreeable event is amplified when in Vegas. As a result of my absence, we arranged instead to meet the following week. Sadly (and also uncharacteristically), I had to cancel on him because of a work function. I tried to be clear that I was still interested, and proposed that we choose another date to meet up.

Then came Memorial Day weekend; I was in New York, he was...well...somewhere with a beach. My complexion forces me to live in great fear of the sun, so I'm not really sure which beach he was visiting. I regret this lack of familiarity a bit, as I imagine I could have discerned something from his choice of beach. Can beach selection quantify one's character in the same way as a Vegas vs. Atlantic City smackdown?

So now, the weekend after Memorial Day, we still haven't met up. We've been emailing back and forth, but haven't been able to nail down a time to meet. During this gap, I've noticed one thing about his emails that I find disturbing. Now, I understand that many people choose to employ the smily face :) at the end of (or throughout) emails, and occasionally the wink -- ;). These are fine; the inevitable outcome of the instant messaging generation, though I admit to a mild objection to the utilization of anything that has been pioneered by teenagers. However, I've noticed that at the end of every email, R takes the smile one step further and adds a bulbous nose, like so -- :0). For some reason, I find the use of this embellished emoticon alarming, particularly in a man. I liken it to constructing an bubble in place of the dot atop an i, or worse, a heart. In further support of my dismay, I noted that Yahoo IM, which elaborates each traditional shortcut smily into a funny artwork or animation, has chosen to transform :0) into a clown, a symbol of all that is evil and frightening about childhood.

Anyway, we'll see if we manage to meet up next week, which will undoubtedly reveal if my apprehension is justified.

Date 3: The Date That Wasn't

Though I promised an all-American Texan in my last post, he was apparently out of town this week and unavailable for a date, so K at IJL told me that instead I would be meeting D. As usual, I remember little of the laundry list of D's attributes, only that he is around 5'8" and African-American.

I arrived at Zaytinya 15 minutes early for our 7:30 date, and I approached the host, asking if he had a reservation under either D or KT. Take a guess at the response. Not only did he not have the promised IJL reservation, he told me that they never take reservations after 6:30. In lieu of another method that would allow me to identify my date, I decided to hover by the main door in order to pounce on lone men who fit the appropriate physical profile. As you might recall, IJL has never made the promised reservation, so this makes three times that I have had to utilize this tactic. I'm much less shy about it than I used to be.

I waited by the door for 40 minutes, leaving only once to nab a glass of wine. During my endless people-watching, I learned that there aren't many black men visiting Zaytinya, and even less walking in alone. I identified only two potential candidates. The first wasn't actually in the restaurant, but was standing outside the window near to where I was lingering. He seemed a bit too old to be D, and though he stood outside alone for at least 20 minutes, he never even came into the restaurant, so odds are low that it was him. The second potential stormed in at around 7:50, looking irritated. He charged up to the host, put his name in for two people (unfortunately I couldn't hear the name, though I desperately tried to eavesdrop), and then ran off to the bar. He was the right age, and about the right height. But I was scared of him. He looked unpleasant, and he didn't even look around at the few people hovering near the host. If he was meeting a woman he didn't know (and was late), don't you think he'd at least glance at the single woman standing by herself near the entrance? He also wasn't particularly attractive, so my motivation to be aggressive was pretty low.

At around 7:55 I decided to wander up to the bar, while keeping an eye on the door. I was not only bored of standing at the entrance, but I was starting to feel pitied by the hosts. I would have left, but unfortunately the sheeting rain outside was accompanied by winds gusting at approximately 600 mph, so I wasn't going anywhere for awhile. I stood at the bar and ordered another glass of wine, while glaring at everyone who had procured a seat. I glared equally intently at their shoes, because they appeared significantly more comfortable than mine. There should be seats in a bar analogous to those designated for the elderly on public transportation, except intended for people with inhumane shoes. The elderly don't go to trendy locales like Zaytinya anyway. My unfortunate situation stemmed from the fact that I was wearing my brown pants, which require a ridiculous pair of 3 inch heels because (a) I had the pants under-hemmed and require serious extra height to prevent them from dragging, and (b) the high and spiky abominations happen to be my only pair of brown shoes.

As my eye wandered around the bar, I espied a tall, attractive black man packed a few sardines away from me -- but no, I couldn't be this lucky, nor could IJL be this benevolent. Even if I disregard the IJL curse, I couldn't really convince myself that this guy was D, mostly because he was around 6'4". While men might add an inch of two to their physical profile, it seems unlikely that a guy would reduce his height by 8 inches. Unless perhaps he had a heart-rending experience where he'd been adored only for his height, and not for his soul?

OK, since that scenario requires an imagination stretch similar to that achieved by Ocean Eleven's Yen, I assumed it wasn't D. But I could still approach him and ask, just to be sure...oh! I just caught his eye! I remember reading about this in Vogue...but what am I supposed to do again? Maintain eye contact for some non-stalker-like period of time, then look away shyly? Should I toss a smile in there somewhere? Or is he only catching my eye because I'm in the way of him and the door, through which his girlfriend will be walking at any second? Give me a break -- I'm not keen on this whole bar pickup thing; that's why I'm doing IJL.

We caught each other's eye a few more times over the next ten minutes or so, and I convinced myself that I was going to approach him, because if nothing else, it would add much needed meat to my getting-stood-up blog entry. On top of which, thanks to the aforementioned perfect storm raging outside, I still couldn't consider leaving the bar. As I was meticulously plotting a route to slink closer, the two women sitting in the stools right near where he was standing got up to leave. My screaming feet took control and pedaled me over to one of the stools. As I was about to sit I remembered my other motivation, and I turned to him. "Were you going to sit?" I queried, gesturing at the other stool.

"No no," he said, "you go ahead." I sighed heavily at his cluelessness. "Well there's a second seat if you want it." He shook his head, saying "I've been sitting all day, so it's ok..." Then he stopped and I saw a flash of understanding in his eyes. "Oh, right, maybe I will." So that awkward maneuver on my part led to us chatting for about an hour, and he bought us both another drink. He was cute and nice, seemed smart, works for the government. I mentioned poker, and he didn't look alarmed; he even raved about how great Vegas is! Around 9:00, he tried to buy me another drink, while expressing sorrow that he couldn't join me. Apparently I'd already made him late to meet his sister, who was picking him up to head out to the eastern shore for a wedding. I declined the extra drink (i've had enough drinks by myself tonight, thanks), and said it was nice to meet him. He grabbed a cocktail napkin and wrote his name and number on it; I reciprocated with my card, and he said he'd be in touch after he got back from his trip. Oh, and he tipped $10 on the $12 bill -- a significant improvement over my first IJL date, who stiffed the waiter with my own cash! Anyway, who knows if this guy will call, but at least it was a great ending to another IJL failure.

When I got home, I was going to transfer the phone number to something more hardy than a cocktail napkin, to prevent a situation reminiscent of Serendipity (a movie that was the consequence of one of John Cusack's few serious errors in judgment). I pulled the napkin out of my purse and opened it, looking at it with puzzlement and then a growing alarm. Completely blank. Had he written on it in invisible ink, to test whether or not I am worthy of dating someone who works for Homeland Security? Or perhaps I imagined the entire interaction. Did I spend the evening laughing and chatting up empty space, à la Lost's Hurley?

As it turns out, I'm not raving mad, I just have a penchant for stuffing multiple cocktail napkins into my purse (not surprising if you've ever looked inside my purse). So after several minutes of questioning my sanity as well as my state of intoxication, I realized that I had a second napkin on which he had written his email address and number in ordinary, visible blue ink.

Or did I...? (to be continued)

In the planning stages: Date #3

Earlier this week, I got another call from K at IJL to arrange my next date. It's been a few weeks since I've had any contact with them, so I was starting to worry that I'd pissed them off with my rejections of their first two matches; given how quickly they work (imagine my voice dripping with sarcasm), my refusal to go out on a second date must be having a serious impact on their success rate. At the initial interview, I was told that 80-90% of their matches went out on second dates. I'm at 0%, so they really need to set me up with a few men that are neither too awful nor too fantastic in order to raise their batting average. If the guy is awful, there obviously won't be a second date, and if he is the cat's pajamas (sorry, I tossed that in because ... well, I love both my cat and my pajamas), then I won't go on any new dates, abandoning IJL and freezing them at a success rate of only 33%.

The new date, R, is a blue-eyed blond Texan (cheers from my SEC audience). R is 36, and K said that "it looks like he has several degrees." Join me in a sidebar: this deserves a brief discussion. Her phrasing suggests that she doesn't recognize the type of degree from the initials, which could indicate one of two things. First, it's possible that he listed out a bunch of boring certifications to try to boost his credentials (falsely believing that his potential dates have any control over their choices). The other option is that K might not recognize his perfectly normal degrees, which is the most likely possibility, given my general impression of her intelligence thus far.

Here's my favorite appellation used to characterize him, and one that I'm fairly sure I'm to blame for, given my previous feedback: he was described as "All-American." The American Heritage dictionary defines this phrase as meaning "representative of the people of the United States or their ideals." At first pass, quite a pleasing definition! Who doesn't like the people of the United States?

But then, who might K be motivated to describe with this phrase? Envision, if you will, a blond, blue-eyed Adonis who was captain of his high school football team, dated the head cheerleader, and was crowned homecoming king. Of course, after such an auspicious beginning, his life inevitably slid downhill. At 18, he married his knocked-up girlfriend, forgoing college to support his unwanted family. His charisma landed him a job as a salesman at the local car dealership, but the pressures of life led to the breakup of his marriage and a Willy Lomanesque aspect; a man lost amidst false hopes of improving his lot in life (IJL) and a steadily intensifying sense of despair. Most of his ever-diminishing salary (his charisma has waned over the years, as age and shattered dreams begin to encroach upon his once-handsome countenance) goes to alimony and child support. His disappointing offspring, now 18, is a high school dropout who tumbles in and out of trouble with the law.

Hmm. Actually, this guy might evolve into a fantastic blog entry ... the shattered American dream is so heart-wrenching. Do you suppose that blogs can win a Pulitzer?

Why I'm just as stupid as IJL: Part One

I've been knocking IJL for their inability to choose anyone even remotely compatible with me (n=2...a bit harsh, perhaps). However, recently I was reminded that I have not exactly made stellar selections when left to my own devices, and the consequences of those personal errors in judgment are greater. With IJL, the advantage is that I'm only committed to one date, and I don't have any preconceptions about the person I'm meeting. We have little information about each other, so all decisions going forward are based on that one date. Little time has been lost, so there's no compulsion to give it a second chance if it didn't go that well.

But online dating is more of a time waster. As those of you who have attempted it know, getting to that first date can take a lot of work. First, you wink at each other -- I assume this is so that you don't waste time composing a brilliant and witty letter, only to be summarily rejected because your target identified something objectionable in your photo. As an aside -- when I made such rejections, that "something objectionable" consisted of (these are only two examples -- there are many more): (a) photo taken sans shirt, while shiny and flexing, and (b) photo taken in bed, nude, with the sheet artfully arranged as low as possible on the hips (and yes, this last was a man...I mean, wtf?). Admittedly, I have also hesitated at photos that include children, as 2 of the 3 options regarding the origin of those children are deal breakers (he has children, or he molests them).

Then you progress past the winks, and one of you breaks the ice with the first email. You send artfully crafted missives for awhile, designed to paint yourself as a witty, brilliant, wealthy entrepreneur (or, you know, whatever). At some point, the guy suggests talking on the phone; the next logical infinitesimal step in online dating. I guess that a man doesn't want to appear too overeager to set up a date he met online, because the potential date might think he is an (anxious) serial killer. But let's be honest -- after you've gotten to a point where you've bothered to send a couple of emails, the phone is a stupid, irrelevant stepping stone. If he's held back his homicidal predilections on email, he can probably manage on the phone, too.

So instead, I generally suggest a date, and I pick a public, safe, convenient place to meet. I inform a few friends of my plans (in case one dies in a fiery car crash the same night that I am kidnapped by said date), and we see what happens. But think about it -- by the end of this match.com first date, I've invested a lot of time. All that winking and careful emailing on top of the date really takes a lot out of you; and don't forget all the time spent on potential dates that didn't make it this far. It's sort of like drug development -- it doesn't cost $1B to develop a single drug, but the true cost of taking a drug to market has to factor in the cost of all the drugs that made the heads of the healthy subjects swell to three times their normal size in Phase I safety trials. Further, if we've bothered to set up a date, there was something (contrived or not) that we liked about each other. So generally, I agree to a second date, even if the first didn't go that well. Just in case that witty, brilliant entrepreneur needs some time to come out of his shell.

Anyway, like I said, left to my own devices on an online dating site, I can waste a lot more time. I've rambled enough, so I'll wait until my next post to give an excellent example of this...

Feedback on Date #2 (AKA: IJL hasn't bothered to arrange another date yet)

After date #2, IJL called to obtain feedback on C; even though it was my second date, this was my first feedback call. I'm not really surprised that they didn't ask me about H, date #1; go back and read "Dumas and Diarrhea" if it surprises you. I suspect that every woman who had the misfortune to be set up with him has already said everything there is to say.

My feedback conversation was with yet another IJL staffer. So now I have someone who interviewed me (and then vanished); someone who calls to tell me about a new date and set up a time to meet him (or, more correctly, doesn't); and a third someone who takes my feedback. It's nice to have three people working for me, but I could also look at it as a complete lack of continuity. Given that they can't even organize my dates properly, what do you think the odds are that they are pulling all of this information together into a full analysis for each client? I'd wager it's about the odds of getting struck by lightning in my lifetime (is anyone else surprised that they are 1 in 3000? I might be giving IJL too much credit.).

Anyway, I don't think I did very well with the feedback on C. If you read that post, you would see that there wasn't anything WRONG with him, exactly. IJL: "So, did you find him attractive?" Me: "Well, no, not really, umm..." (not mentioning the eye, not mentioning the eye). IJL: "What did you find unattractive about him?" This is where I fumbled -- I really wanted to say that he was geeky (steering clear of the eye...did I mention the eye?). But I couldn't bring myself to say that, so I tried to dance around it. "Err...I guess, I mean, maybe he wasn't enough of a guy?" She latched onto that. "OK then, you want someone more manly." Me: "Umm...ok sure." IJL: "More of a guy's guy." Me: Oh fuck. Is that really what I ...I don't even like sports, really. "Right, exactly!" IJL: " And did you and C have anything in common that appealed to you?" Me: "Well, yes, he likes to travel. Though I guess he hasn't really traveled yet, he's just looking forward to it..." IJL: "So you want someone who has already traveled? More worldly, maybe?"

Then I just gave up. It's hard, when my company's director of finance is in the office next door, and we are separated only by paper-thin walls. I always know when his daughter is sick; how long will it take him to figure out what I'm talking about, and how embarrassing is that?

So this is where we end up for date #3. More manly, a "guy's guy." More worldly. Does anyone want to hazard a guess as to who I might encounter on my next date? On the positive end of the spectrum, he could be an Olympian. On the opposing, less desirable end, he could be a wife beater who was dragged from country to country in his childhood because his father was in the military. And yeah, he really resents that. Never had a chance to make friends because they never settled down, so he had to make his own friends. That's how he got to know Harvey, the giant rabbit who whispers homicidal suggestions in his ear...well. If you don't hear from me soon, you'll know what happened.