75 first dates: one woman’s journey into online dating

Couple years ago, I decided to take dating by the balls. I’d never before given it much of an effort, always floating in and out of long(ish)-term relationships that developed mostly out of friendships, but not this time. This time, I was going all in to see what the casual side of dating looked like. 

This was not a husband hunt. No no, this was a straight-up manhunt. 

I’d spent my entire life as a nerd and workaholic. High school was a chance to get into a great college. College was about building a résumé. My twenties were about killing myself to move up the ladder.

But my thirties? By George, my thirties were gonna be about fancy knickers and new adventures.

Within a 14-month period, I went on 75 first dates. That is not hyperbole. I met 75 new men on first dates. This doesn’t even account for all the screening I did. Can you imagine how consuming it is to talk to enough people to whittle it down to just the 75? 

I’d say about half of those led to a second, third, or beyond date. It had gotten to the point that I was going on two to three dates a week. I was getting conversations confused, getting actual men confused with other men (the boring ones all blend together), so I developed a system to help simplify matters. 

If I bothered to save your number in my phone, I saved a little fish, flame, or bee emoji next to your name to help identify which dating platform we initially connected on (Plenty of Fish, Tinder, Bumble, respectively). 

“Within a 14-month period, I went on 75 first dates. That is not hyperbole. I met 75 new men on first dates. ”

There was also a first and second date outfit. All dudes got the same first look outfit, and same second date outfit. There was one poor chap that I met up with three or four times, and I realized midway through our third meal that I’d worn the same outfit on all of our dates. He must’ve thought I was homeless. 

Look, a girl only has so many za-za-zing outfits in her very corporate wardrobe. 

You hear the online dating horror stories, and I definitely have a couple of those. But truth be told, most guys are pretty normal, and most dates are pretty normal. Some are boring, some are short, some are far too interested in anime. But on average, most guys are pretty average.

But who cares about that? It’s time to explore the weird world of dating.

I have prepared for you a list of my Top Three Favorite Weirdsmobiles. And before you ask, no, I’m not making this up. I’m not that creative.

He was a runner.

So, already we were hugely incompatible. But he was very flirtatious and funny, and he loved to grill. We spent a lot of time eating, watching movies, but he only ever wanted to hang out at his house. It was lovely, but just a little one-note. And that one note was a bird. He had this enormous bird that he let fly freely throughout the house.

Every time I went over there, all spruced up and date-ified, I’d get there and he would hand me a ratty old t-shirt to change into. Why? Because the bird would land on you either defecate or PECK AT YOUR CLOTHING! That avian nightmare destroyed a dress and two blouses. 

I hate that bird. It’s been nearly four years, and I still have thoughts about plucking that bird for a boa.

He was quiet and a little nerdy.

We’d been on several dates, and he invited me to come hang out at his house. I find shelves – plural – filled with empty mason jars. They each had a perfectly placed little label, carefully dated.

But again I say, they were empty.

I asked him about his project, and he said, “Oh, that’s not a project, that’s my collection!”

To which I responded, “Collection of what? There’s nothing in them.”

“Uh huh,” he said, “it’s my air collection! Each time there’s an important moment in my life or important world event, I scoop up some air and save it from the day. See this one? It’s my first. The day the Muppet Babies went off the air.”

“I’m confused, were you at the animation studio the day the last show was created, or…,” I questioned.

“Oh no. I was just at home.” 

And that’s when I realized, this fella was just scooping gulps of regular, everyday air into a jar wherever he was on 9/11 (not in NYC or DC) and the day he had his wisdom teeth pulled. What a pitiful, enormous, bizarre collection.

“So quick tip. I’m from Appalachia, where canning is a livelihood…” I hemmed and hawed. “You realize you haven’t sealed any of these jars properly. They aren’t airtight. Your collected air has floated away. That’s just today’s air in those jars.”

*Blink. Blink.* Crestfallen.

We bumped into each other about a month later. Major stink eye.

He was good-on-paper guy.

Incredibly attractive, an attorney (fun fact: I’ve dated more attorneys than any other profession), really good teeth, southern, funny.

His fatal flaw? Public nose picker.

Worse than that? Public booger eater!

I was so appalled that my face betrayed me, and he confronted me about it! He actually started ridiculing me for judging him. He ended his speech with, “Jesus, let me live.” I rolled my eyes and left the restaurant. Uh huh, we were in a restaurant. I’m not sure why that’s worse, but it is.

It was one of only two dates I walked out on.