ODB seeks SYF {Guest Post}

ODB (old dirty bastard) seeks SYF (single young female)

Guest Post By: Liz, WeLoveDates.com
Be sure to stop by their site after—you don't want to miss My Scarlet Letter guest post!

I have a love/hate relationship with bad dates.

I hate them because, well, they suck.
I love them because man, do they make great stories.

One bad date in particular stands out from all the rest. It was an online date, so the normal first date anxiety was hightened...due to the fact that I hadn't as so much even facebook stalked this person. I had no idea who I was to be spending my Friday night with.

So begins the getting ready process. I pluck, straighten, exfoliate, bronze, curl all while downing a glass (ok, a few) glasses of pinot and dancing to Jay-Z in my apartment. This was actually the best part of my evening-should have ordered a pizza and called it a night.

I hurried out the door and battled L.A traffic, hoping I wouldn't be late. It didn't really matter though, because my date ended up being 45 minutes late. I stood outside of the bar on Sunset constantly checking my phone, and reading his "I'm 2 mins" away texts. I called my best friend who said I should leave, but I felt bad and didn't want to be rude. Um, lesson to be learned here? If he's 45 minutes late, LEAVE. He's rude, not you.

Moving right along...finally, he texted that he was parking. I started looking around for someone who resembled the many pictures he'd posted online. 25ish, brown hair, 6'0, athletic build. Instead, a 65ish, salt and pepper, 5'5 tall man with definitely an un-athletic build walked up to me. I was shocked. I'd heard about people misrepresenting themselves online all the time, but never to this extent.

Too stunned to say anything, we sat down at the bar. He immediately told me that the images he'd posted online were of him...literally 20 years ago. I was silently kicking my own ass with my Louboutin because something had seemed a bit off from the images...ya know, like maybe they were from the late 70's?! He went on to say that he was "young at heart" and was having a difficult time meeting younger woman when he posted his real photos online. Go figure. And he didn't even bother to take off his wedding ring!

I regained my composure and calmly told him I was going to have to leave. He seemed genuinely sad, and my softy side almost offered to have dinner with him anyway. Luckily, I stopped thinking crazy and gathered my things. As I was shaking his hand good-bye (the creeper had the nerve to ask for a kiss! I die), he mentioned that his son was single, and offered to "hook us up." No thanks, especially if the old adage "like father like son" bears any truth whatsoever!

Oh, the joys of online dating!

This is a guest post from:

We Love Dates is an online dating website & dating advice blog for singles in the UK, Ireland, US, Canada, South Africa & Australia. Liz blogs (and vlogs!) about all things online dating, love, sex and relationships. Follow We Love Dates on Twitter, and get friendly with us on Facebook. 

Don't miss My Scarlet Letter guest post on their site!

When honesty is NOT the best policy

Just like my moods, my dating life has its ups and downs. One thing that’s fairly consistent is that just when I think I have seen and heard it all, the surprises keep coming.

I went on a ‘date’ (using this term loosely) this past weekend with a guy that I met a few nights earlier at a bar. Granted, we met at the end of the night so we really didn’t get to know each other, but I did recall that he was pretty cute. He actually picked up the phone to call me to make plans instead of the typical texting back and forth. We decided to meet for a late afternoon rendezvous. I felt pretty optimistic about the possibility of a great evening.

It was a beautiful day so we went to a hotel roof bar to enjoy some time outside. There was no hiding that we were attracted to each other and both pleasantly surprised that we looked even better in daylight. We smirked and chatted a bit while I sipped my delicious mojito and he sat back drinking his beer. The conversation was a bit forced but nevertheless, it flowed. I’m not really sure how many red flags I encountered within the first 30 minutes because, well, I had to stop counting.

I quickly learned that this 27 year old fella had been laid off from his bartending job a few days ago. I could tell that it was all still very raw for him. He was bitter and openly expressing his concern about not knowing how he was going to pay rent (I started to feel a little guilty about the $16 mojito that I just ordered).  I gave him some words of encouragement and the conversation moved on (temporarily). 

Schmo—let’s call him Schmo, well, because he was one—went on to fill me in about how he grew up in Michigan until he was about 17 years old, after which he was kicked out of his parent’s house. Then he headed south to attend university. He went on to attend 5 different colleges, in 4 different states. Schmo didn’t manage to graduate from any of them, but he says he learned a lot. This Schmo also didn’t like to stay in one place for too long (maybe the law was following him?). Actually, he did mention an arrest when he was 16, for breaking and entering…I won’t get into it.  Next up is his family situation...Schmo doesn’t have a relationship with his parents—at all. “I might send my mom an email tomorrow to wish her a happy mother’s day,” are his exact words. What a doll. I decide not to judge and to give this Schmo a proper chance, he’s cute and I haven’t been on a date in a while.

We leave the fabulous roof bar to find something "cheaper" where we can watch the game. As we pass a nearby pub we see a sign for happy hour, he’s sold. Schmo asks the bartender about the specials. $10 bud light pitchers—he looks and asks me if that’s ok. Sure why not, I got this one, I say. “Ok” he (a little too) gladly says. I’m irritated but whatever, I’m a sport. Schmo starts chatting up the bartenders, I could tell he was not just being friendly, Schmo had an agenda, this Schmo wanted a job. A few minutes later one of the bartenders takes a break from behind the bar to enjoy his tobacco dip. Guess what?? Schmo likes dip, too. He even had his own tub with him—what a coincidence! Would I mind if he partook at the bar? Go for it. After about 20 mins of watching him spit into a cup, I ordered 2 shots of jack. I was already buzzed, what else was I going to do?

As I anticipated, a few minutes later, Schmo takes out a resume to hand to the bartender. It was a little awkward but I guess I admire his motivation, or at least I should. Mind if I take a look, I ask? Sure. The first line, his objective, says ‘seeking full time employment’. Here, take it back I don’t need to see it…2 more shots please! 

3 pitchers and 3 shots later, we were making friends all over the bar. Somehow 7 hours had gone by with this Schmo but now it was time to make a decision. He had told me earlier that he had to stop by a birthday party down the street and invited me to join.

Who’s the friend, I innocently ask? Oh, just a female friend of mine. Cool, I say…contemplating if I want to keep the night going or head home. Well if you are going to come, then there is something I should tell you, he says. There is an uncomfortable pause. I’ve hooked up with the friend who’s birthday it is. Umm…ok I say.  So then if I go, would that be weird for you…or for her, I ask?  No, he says…I just wanted to let you know so that there aren’t any surprises. Umm ok, I repeat. There is another long pause as I mull it all over in my head. Like how long ago are we talking about here, I ask? Umm…I don’t know…like last night, he says.

I look at Schmo in what I imagine can only be described as sheer and utter disbelief—I was dumfounded. The scene went something like this....WHAT?!?! Are you SERIOUS?? Are you really trying to take me to a birthday party right now for a friend who you just had sex with LAST NIGHT?!?! WHY WOULD YOU TELL ME THIS, ARE YOU AN IDIOT!?!  Schmo tells me that he’s mad at himself for being "so honest". Yea well you should be, I say! I’ve met a lot of Schmo’s in my time but never one quite like this.  Many, many expletives later I made him leave the bar and warned him to never call me again. At least he made my decision easy.

Moral of this story: Don’t mess with a Schmo, even an honest one.

   

Cougar or pedophile?

Two very distinct…and seemingly unrelated words—yet is it possible the line between them is blurring?

First let’s do a definition check…what exactly is a ‘Cougar’? It is almost universally defined as a slang term for a woman in her 30s or 40s (although it used to be just 40 and up) who seeks out, preys on and actively pursues casual sexual relationships (that’s what it says!) with young men (typically at least 10 years younger).

Now let’s compare that with the definition of a pedophile......An adult who is sexually attracted to young children.  

Do you see why there might be some confusion on the interpretation of these two terms?  This question came to mind when I met a friend out for a few drinks after work. From the outside, it was a seemingly regular happy hour spot but as soon as we walked in—we felt OLD. Now, I have to admit…we both look pretty young for our age and can easily hang in any circle—but looking around at this sea of underage boys, I felt like just even smiling at one of them would be committing some perverted crime. I mean, just HOW young could they really be because they all looked around 19 years old—and well, that could be a problem. Are we supposed to start proofing guys now before even making eye contact?

You may be surprised to hear this but we fled that bar like two cougars being hunted down and hope to never return! Yet a few nights later I was faced with the very same question at a swanky spot in the neighborhood. I walked up to the bar to order a few drinks for my friends and met a cute guy sitting next to me. He just got off his shift bartending somewhere else and stopped in to have a night cap—a scotch on the rocks.  We quickly immersed into a great conversation and before you know it two hours had gone by.  As we were profoundly debating the big bang theory—joking—but whatever it is that we were talking about it—it was pretty deep, not your typical first introduction conversation. Then...I’m not really sure how it came up but he made a reference to just getting out of school and I nearly spit out my drink. Just how old are you, I coolly ask? He replies –22--! Ok, not to be an ageist here...but do you know any 22 year old guys who would go out ALONE on a Saturday night and sit at a crowded bar drinking scotch on the rocks? There were just no warning signs about this one!  And by the way…didn’t he just legally start drinking last year (mental note: he would have a lot of catching up to do).

So in my head now, I’m wondering…what exactly is my cut off age—18, 20, 22? This was getting ridiculous. I was skeptical but I convinced myself that since we spoke for more than two hours upon meeting that he MUST be special and to just go with it. (Side note: This might explain why friends keep calling me a cougar).  I gave him my number and left.  He sent me a really sweet, perfectly worded ‘nice meeting you’ type of text the following day. However, if I had paid closer attention to my own rules…I would have been forewarned by his usage of ‘Miss <your first name goes here>’ in his very first text—as I previously outlined in my 5 sure signs that you are dealing with a douchebag post.

I have to admit, I felt a little dirty telling my friends that I was going out with such a youngin…and knew there would be no end in sight to the jokes that were about to come my way for this one. Nevertheless, we went on two really long, romantic dates. There was something really sweet about this lil fella as he tried to impress me with thoughtful plans and took me to hip and trendy spots. The problem, for me, was that he also tried just a little too hard to get me back to his place every time. With each failed attempt at getting in my pants his persistence finally wore off and alas, he was phased out—sparing me from crossing my newly defined personal pedophilia grey line (I may have to copyright this phrase).

In my opinion, the term cougar has become so mainstream and liberally used nowadays that it seems to simply refer to a woman dating a younger guy, regardless of age. It’s amusing that the general public subscribes to the notion that ‘cougars’ are out there hunting rather than being hunted.  In my experience, I have seen the opposite...so maybe everyone is just more open-minded about age when choosing dates, lovers and partners nowadays.  While age disparity tolerance levels are personal, that fine line does exist out there—it’s just different for everyone.  My lesson in this one is that while this cub was surprisingly mature, well versed and a GREAT conversationist…I’m trying to narrow my age gap just a little to something that works better for me. So while I’m still open to dating younger guys, I might not go quite so young (into the early 20’s) like some of the more certified cougars out there.

You can definitely bet on more postings on cougar topics to come…