It was November of 2009. I’d been in Buffalo for a couple months and I was giving the online dating thing another shot. I met The Ashtray online and we decided to meet for dinner at some dive she knew, over in the shitty part of Buffalo. (I didn’t know it was the shitty part of Buffalo, since I’d been in the burbs for only a couple of months.)
I parked my car, crossed myself and hoped to God my car would be there when I was done. She was waiting inside and seemed decent enough. We hugged hello and I noticed she had a strong scent of cigarettes coming off her.
Her profile said she didn’t smoke and during a phone conversation she mentioned she quit six months before. I figured a bunch of her friends or co-workers probably smoke, so that’s where the smell was coming from.
The food at this joint was OK and we decided to go out again a few nights later, this time in my ‘hood. We met at one of my local hangouts, to eat, drink and watch the Sabres. I went to kiss her on the cheek and she moved slightly to the side and proceeded to stick her tongue down my throat.
It wasn’t very sexy, trust me. A lot of that probably had to do with the fact that the light in this place was better than in the first and confirmed my feeling that she was not as stunning as her pictures indicated. Not ugly. But not amazing. The lack of sexiness actually had more to do with the fact that she tasted like she smoked a carton of non filters on the way over. Holy crap was it horrible.
She finally came up for air and I took a step back as I collected my bearings. I was afraid I was having some sort of reaction from all the nicotine, but I think I was just shocked. “I kind of like you,” she said in her gravely east coast voice. “No shit…” Was all I could think to say.
I don’t remember exactly what I was feeling in that particular moment, but I know terror was a big part of it. If she stopped smoking six months ago, what the fuck must her breath have smelled like when she WAS smoking? Oh. My. God!!!
Coming into this second date I was on the fence about going out with her a third time. She was OK as a person, but I wasn’t feeling much of anything. Actually, I wasn’t feeling anything at all.
The good news is I quickly decided that I would stay on my side of the fence. The bad is that I had to find a decent way out of the restaurant. I didn’t want to split right then and there. I mean, I did want to leave, but I couldn’t. That wouldn’t be cool.
I sucked it up and we grabbed a table in the bar. As soon as our asses hit the seats, she proclaimed, “You and Drama Queen are coming to our house for Thanksgiving.” Where the fuck is that waitress? I need booze. Pronto.
“Thanksgiving. Wow. Yeah. It’s almost here…” I was buying time as I tried to figure out something on the fly. “We can’t,” I bullshitted. “We’re going to Toronto to see a couple friends. We’re spending Thanksgiving with them. Actually, when we’re in Canada, it won’t be Thanksgiving, it will just be Thursday. But it’s still Thanksgiving here.”
I finished talking and looked at her. She seemed to be buying it, which made me feel relieved. “My kids will be so disappointed,” she said. “I told them you two were coming over. They’re so excited to meet you both.”
Whoa. Slow the fuck down, yo. All we did at the end of that first date was hug. I’m not sure where she got “tell the kids all about this guy and invite them over for Thanksgiving” from a hug.
I mean, I didn’t know if she had an A cup or B cup (but it was definitely one of the two). She had no personal knowledge of my religion. Hell, I hadn’t yet tasted ashtray when she made our holiday plans. I was having visions of the most dysfunctional family holiday there has ever been. Anywhere. Ever.
I forgot to mention something she and I talked about on our first date. Her kids. Her three kids. They ranged from 16-19 and the two boys have both been to jail. Well, technically one was in juvie, but same difference to me. An orange jumpsuit is an orange jumpsuit no matter what size it is.
On our first date she told me stories that would make Jerry Springer say, “Seriously? No way.” I don’t think the term “white trash” would be too harsh. She definitely wasn’t something I pictured as long term, but I figured worth a second date. But not a third. No way in hell.
I felt relaxed now that Thanksgiving was handled. All I had to do now was figure out how to end this graciously and without her deciding to send her two thug sons out to find me.
We tried to chat, but it was pretty awkward. Eventually it became obvious there would not be a third date and she apologized for sticking her tongue down my throat. I accepted and apologized too. “I wasn’t gagging when you kissed me,” I
lied said. I was shocked.”