"Bait and Switch" or "Why I Fired my Love Coach"

I like a girl with a good body.  There, I said it.  Does that make me shallow?  I don't really care.  I keep myself in good shape through hard work, and I'm looking for someone who does the same.  Besides, not having a physical attraction to your sig other is a recipe for disaster.

Most online dating sites have a "Body Type" section, but the majority of girls just select "Average", "Curvy", or "A Few Extra Pounds". 

You see every body type fall into this range.  There may be an anorexic woman who has selected "A Few Extra Pounds".  You might find a morbidly obese girl that has just "Curvy", when they should be searching for the "Round" option.  And there will be a modest 34-24-34 who selects "Average".  Basically, what I'm saying is that you can't trust the body description.

Therefore, profile pictures are the only way to get an idea of what a potential date looks like.  For this particular date, the profile pictures looked pretty decent.  The gal had great hair, a decent smile, a nice tan, and a full-length self-shot that showed off a fairly trim body.  I'd guess she was probably a size 6-8.

We did the usual online message, then text, then agree to meet for drinks.  There was a little flirting that suggested there may be a happy ending to the night.

This happened over the space of a week and a half, and there was another week before our date.  This is when things started to get strange.

I can't really put my finger on what was giving me the willies.  There was nothing specific, I just got a really odd vibe from this PD (potential date).

I brought this up to my Love Coach.  Yes, a Love Coach... actually, I have two (and I'm going to throw in that both are superhot- I actually dated one in high school and I asked the other one out once-she turned me down, but nicely). 

I take their advice because I trust their judgement more than my own when it comes to dating.  Why shouldn't I, really?

I talked to the one I dated first.  Our online Instant Messenger session went something like this (and I'm paraphrasing):

Me: I'm thinking about cancelling my date.
LC: Why on earth would you do that?
Me: I don't know- something feels off.
LC:  You're trying to sabotage this thing before it even starts.  Give it a chance.
Me:  OK, I'm going to trust you instead of my instincts.  I have to assume you have my best interest at heart.
LC:  I do.  Have a great time!
Me:  Will do- want to find a supply closet for a quickie?
LC:  Sure!
Me:  Really??!!! :D
LC:  No, go fck yourself
Me: :-(
I had a similar conversation with the other LC, but for this one, I wouldn't try the last five lines.  She's a bit more... cosmopolitan.  Plus, I don't have a history with her, so I can't get away with that sort of shit.

So Thursday night, post-haircut, I found myself getting ready for my date.  No work the next day for either of us, so we agreed to meet for drinks. 

Random aside... never agree to meet for drinks- no one ever has just one adult beverage, and if you don't like the person, you're stuck with them- do something with a very finite and short timeline, like a cup of coffee.

I had asked my PD what to wear, and she insisted on jeans, a t-shirt and "flippy-flops".  An adult woman acting like a child is not attractive to me.  I almost called it off again, but I had promised my Love Coaches to give it a shot.

She insisted on meeting in her hometown, which was a solid 35 minute drive away.  I had suggested a place about halfway in between, but she informed me that she wasn't going to drive "All the way out there."  If we hit it off, I had a feeling I was going to be putting some miles on the car.

I sent her a text informing her I was about to leave, per her instructions.  She immediately texted back, insisting we talk on the phone before we meet.  This having not been part of anything we discussed, I again felt that tug of unease.  I called her. 

"Is this YOU?" her voice was high, reedy, girly.  Sort of like Jennifer Tilly without the hint of sexiness.
"Sure is- you getting ready?"  I realized I had no idea what to say.  I should have waited five minutes and planned something out.
"Are you really asking me what I'm WEARING?"
"No, I was asking if you're getting ready."
"Oh.... yes.  Are you leaving?"
"I left already, on my way- it's a hike." Before you worry about my safety, I use a Bluetooth built into my car dashboard.  It's awesome.
"Are you saying I'm not worth the drive?"  At this point, she's pissed me off.  I decide to get a little snippy, just to cut off the BS.
"I have no idea what you're worth- I haven't met you yet.  Gas IS getting pretty expensive though."
Click

Yep, that's right- got hung up on during our first call.  Didn't bode well for a future relationship.

I continued on to the bar.  Sent a text to the date saying "I'm here.  If you care to join me, fine." 

Sat down, ordered a beer- this place had about 500 choices, so I had the bartender pick out an IPA.  It was delicious. 

I was actually kind of enjoying the pleasant atmosphere, when...

"Why did you hang up on me?"  There was that reedy, girlish little voice again.  I turned around.  The owner was neither girlish, nor little.

Standing in front of me, swathed in black and leopard print accents, was a very, very large woman.  Body type comparable to... Grimace, from McDonalds.

And the smell... my God, the smell.  Rotting flowers and baby powder.

Deciding not to be completely shallow, I figure I'll wait and see what she's all about.  I pull out her chair and ask her what I can get her.  She orders some sort of blueberry-flavored beer.  Figures.

We sit and drink for a bit.  She immediately brings up Religion, which is my least favorite topic.  Things are not looking up.  I slam my beer and order another.  And another.  Things don't get better, they just keep going.

This girl is not attractive, she smells funny, she's talking about shit I have zero interest in, and her tights (that's right, she wore tights on a first date) have holes in them. 

She asks if I'll go with her to a karaoke bar down the street.  She starts serenading me.  I agree to go, hoping that will make her stop.  She shuts up and I'm happier.  I pay the tab and leave.

We walk to the other bar.  She keeps accidentally-on-purpose running into me, mashing her not-inconsiderable boobs into my arm.  I want a tetanus shot.

When we get there, I almost turn around.  There are MAYBE ten other people in the place.

We sit at the bar, and immediately Grimace begins peppering the bartender with questions about karaoke.  The bartender looks at her with annoyance.  She gives me a questioning glance, which quickly turns to pity. 

Grimace goes up to select a song.  She claps and cheers wildly for/at the poor girl on the stage, who was having a good time up until that point.

The mood in the bar has gone from quiet yet upbeat to subdued and edgy.

Having made her selection, Grimace sits back down.  She orders food.  A lot of food.  She makes me order food.  I tell her I don't want to eat.  I watch my calories.  She orders food for me, to go. 

The bartender hints that the kitchen closes in 5 minutes.  Grimace is glad that they're still open.  The bartender hates Grimace.  The kitchen staff hates Grimace.  I am just embarrassed to be there.

Grimace goes to the bathroom to "warm up" for her performance.  I apologize to the bartender about the food- I pay the bill and give her a hefty tip.  The bartender brings me a shot of Jaeger, on the house.  I notice that the bartender is cute. 

Grimace comes back starts to sing "Like a Virgin"... poorly.  The bartender remarks that it's a good song choice for her.  She tells me there's a backdoor by the bathroom.  I laugh.  I wonder if the bartender is single.

I smile politely at Grimace, who hops off the stage and starts making her way to the other table to serenade them.  Suddenly everyone there becomes really interested in what may be floating in their beer.

Grimace finishes.  Mercifully.  No one claps.  She comes back to the barstool and sits down.  She's pissed I didn't clap for her.  I tell her I'm shy. 

She tries to kiss me.  I back off. 

I tell her I'm really tired and that I think I should be leaving.  Here comes the quote of the night in 3, 2, 1...

"Why don't you come home with me instead?  You can choke me like I've been a baaaaad girl."

I do choke, on my last gulp of beer. She pulls her shirt down, exposing her bra.

"That sounds nice.  Let me hit the restroom before we go."  I walk to the back of the bar and out the door.  I run (sprint) to my car.  I throw it into gear and I'm on my way. 

I stop about 5 miles away at a coffee shop.  I go inside and grab a black coffee and a table.  I'm pretty sober, but I want to be sure I don't get a DUI.

As I sit there, I block Grimace from my phone.  Then I send a text message to my Love Coach, telling her what happened.  I tell her she's fired.  I don't have my other Love Coach's phone number, so I can't fire her ass until I get back to work on Tuesday.

I post a note on Facebook, intentionally vague so only my true friends will know what happened.

I finish my coffee and leave the bar.  I go home, take two showers, and fall asleep.