Wild Bill Loserville.

While I have stories about the last two weeks, I thought Id recount my first quality date of the year, starting in the wee months of December. Folks, I don’t know how many of you are familiar with the bastion of eligibility that is OkCupid, but its basically a playground for fatties, baldies, weirdos and otherwise undateables. So clearly, this is the place for me. Where do you think Vegan Baggage came from?

It started with a late night message about cast iron skillets. Since Im skilled with pick up lines, this seemed like the sexiest one I could muster: Are your skillets as hard as mine? Naturally he responded with some curiosity about my smokin’ buns, and the sexting just sort of tumbled from there. I know what you are thinking….why am I engaging in sexting with a total stranger? Ok actually I don’t have an answer for that one so lets move on.

I certainly do not have an answer for why I am engaging a fellow named BILL. I mean seriously who, not including characters in vampire shows, still uses the name Bill? That alone should have sent me running but instead we move on to real topics and eventually I give him my number. We continue to text throughout the night, finally ending with a date on Sunday.

Sunday rolls around. We are supposed to meet around 5pm. Around 2pm I hear nothing. Because Im a busy girl with plenty social options, I text him, “our date is going…going..” He writes back that he’s sick. Um..ok. I write back, “are you really sick or just trying to get out of the date.” He responds, “really sick.” So this alone should have made me a little suspicious to the ball of crazy that is Wild Bill. BUT me being the supreme optimist, I decided to give him another chance. We agree on the following Saturday to meet at a gallery for a day date.

Now its Christmas time and that means Christmas parties with plenty of whiskey filled ciders and other holiday libations. Needless to say the Friday before the date I get drunker than a fat kid in a candy store. Why is this relevant information? Well first off, I wake up to a good old fashion California earthquake rattling in my skull. Yet despite my massive hangover, I still get up to put on make up and wear my perfect day date outfit. Now that’s commitment! I text ole’ Bill around 12pm to confirm our date in a few hours. My friend and I go to brunch, while I await a response text. Meanwhile I go to relieve my breakfast in the toilet. I am not at my best.

However, I can’t let a hangover get in the way of true love! But here it is 8pm that evening and I haven’t heard a peep. Eww. By now I have started to drink off the last of my hangover and I let him know that he must have a huge facial disfigurement, or he is the flakiest person alive. Fine. Who needs a man named Bill anyway?

I get a text on Wednesday which says something to the effect of “damn I need a drink.” So enraged I write back, “you need to stop being a dick.” Clear enough.

He writes back with some pleading and apologies, but my silence gives him my answer. I mean are you fucking serious right now?!? This guy should be licking my asshole with apologies, not discussing his drinking habits!  

In hindsight I should have stuck to my guns and used this as a clear sign of his loserdom. This would be a perfectly reasonable time to end all contact. I guess I’m just not reasonable. Perhaps it was my curiosity. Perhaps it was the curiosity of my friends. Or even the seasonal spirit of giving, but when I get an Okcupid message from him the day after Christmas, I respond. My pride responds to his messages with “fool me once, shame on you…fool me twice shame on me..” But he sends witty responses and soon we are texting back and forth again. A week goes by and yet AGAIN we make plans to meet. Except I make some snarky comment to the effect of “I hope you actually show up this time.” Well wouldn’t you know, Wild Bill starts rearing up his pony in personal offense. Can’t forgive me for this he says. Why can’t I let it go he says. Maybe we should cut our losses and forget this whole thing he says. And wouldn’t you know I find myself on the defensive. I guess I don’t like losing, and I kept telling him to chill out, it was a joke. And let’s not forget whos the original flake. Nada. I can’t believe I’ve lost this argument!

Im so annoyed by the whole affair, I recount the whole story to my friend over dinner at my place. She’s curious about this Wild Bill, so I show him a picture from his profile. The problem with this is that as a user you can see everyone who looks at your profile and allows stalking to be completely out in the open. Immediately I get a text message from Bill. Again you know he is a winner because he’s checking his visitors on a Saturday night.

He wants to meet. Like in two hours. My friend says go for it, she gets me looking smokin’, and I’m off. I can’t believe I’m finally meeting this guy after a MONTH of back and forth. I’m nervous, maybe this crazy drama is the beginning of an incredible love story? I drink half a bottle of wine and a clonapin to ease my nerves. Damn my optimism.

I get there, and things are going pretty well, I don’t know that I would describe it as love at first sight but whatever. I guess he’s pretty nervous too cause he’s putting them away like they’re on sale. Me on the other hand, Im sipping my beers because a wise woman once told me: clonapin + booze = blackouts. Pretty soon he’s drunk. Strike one. Did I mention that he’s definitely fatter than his pictures? Strike two. I take him to a romantic wine bar, he takes me to his favorite dive bar with no one in it and does shots with the bartender. Strike three. So now that he’s nice and drunk, he thinks this is a good time to tell me about his DUI, where he drunkenly drove to McDonalds, got in a fight with the drive thru staff, gets angry, leaves only to drive back and hit his car on the way to the drive thru. Wow. Strike a million.

So as alluring as an overweight, angry drunk driver is, when he asks me to go home with him, I politely decline. No amount of alcohol or anti anxiety meds can convince me that this is a good idea. And when he calls me drunk a week later during my sacred Downton Abbey hour, its still not a good idea. The lesson here is that not every build up has a reward. Sometimes you get to places like Arizona that look pretty on the brochure, only to realize it’s a shithole. And I’m sure some women find alcoholism sexy, but I’d much rather spend the night with the British Crawleys (as if sex would ever take me away from Downton Abbey) than one more second with the Wild Bill Loserville.