By Donalee Wallace
After a lengthy and successful career as a barfly I decided to change my wicked ways and put my ass on the wagon. This meant changing literally everything starting at ground zero with the places I hung out, the types of people I met and the choices I made. A year after my do-over began I decided it was time to climb out of my cave and start meeting some new people, but where?
Online dating has been around since the dawn of the computer era and I, like many, have heard my share of horror stories, nonetheless I was intrigued. I checked out some sites and discovered it was literally an international smorgasbord out there, whatever gets your freak-on rest assured it’s available at the tip of your fingers. Whether you seek a relationship, casual dating, gay and lesbian flings or cross-dressers and swingers, there’s a site for your appetite.
I chose to join Yahoo personals and Lavalife as they seemed normal in comparison to some sites and the testimonials were good. As master of my own domain I was up front that I was not looking for sex, or a sugar daddy, I wanted to meet people to talk to. Sounds simple right? NOT!
Immediately after becoming a member the emails started rolling in from every scrub in cyberspace, men (and women) who obviously just looked at the photo and wanted a little piece of Donalee. I discovered that people with identity names like hung-like-a-yak, mustache-ride4U and captain harder were not here to make idle chitchat with fearless-butterfly.
Take the guy from Lake Cowichan who responded to my profile; older than what I was expecting, he had that Richard Gere charm, so what can I say, I bit. He was a wealthy land developer who reeked of taste, he was handsome and he was smooth, I’ll call him Mr. Right. For the next 3 months we chatted
on the computer and by phone, and became quite well acquainted, he was smart, romantic and intoxicating. We decided to meet in person so he booked my flight to Victoria and we split the fare 50/50 to keep the ground neutral.
The best way to describe my feelings on that flight is this, if the pilot suddenly handed me a parachute and said, “exit the plane,” that might have been close. I tried to focus on the evening ahead, Mr. Right promised a romantic sushi dinner and according to him, an incredible weekend.
My plane landed and he met me in arrivals all sauved out in a black sheepskin jacket and snug Levis, a fine specimen indeed. A quick peck on the cheek and he grabbed my bags and led the way to his Mercedes. That’s when the arctic chill set in and I thought a warmer sweater would have been a good idea, and perhaps my own car.
The plans for the evening changed as we drove off into the night, the conversation was strained and uncomfortable. Mr. R. suggested we scrap the restaurant and pick up some snacks at the store and eat in. So we stopped and picked up cheese, crackers, pickles, olives and so on and carried on. I started making best friends with Tess, the border collie in the back seat: at least she showed signs of a pulse.
After an hour of awkwardness we arrived at his bungalow and went in and unloaded the groceries. Mr. (now) Wrong said, “Would you mind making us something to eat while I do some work in my office?” Shocked I replied, “I guess,” and complied like a good little maid. Later he put in a movie and proceeded to watch it without saying a word.
By now I was kicking my own ass for not arranging an escape route.
I survived the weekend on crackers and cheese with him paying little or no attention to me, so Tess and I spent a lot of time going for long walks in the snow. Sunday didn’t come fast enough and when it did my bags were on the hood of his car before sunup. Instead of driving me to the airport he dropped me off at a hotel in downtown Victoria to catch a shuttle. Mr. Wrong said, “You’re probably going to write about this aren’t you?” To which I replied, “Of course not.”
The shuttle bus driver and I had a good belly-laugh when he asked me how my weekend was, I think It made his day to hear that someone else won the crappy weekend award.
There are sincere people out there, though, and I really had to wade through the pervs and Viagra junkies to connect with the ones who were on the level. I still talk to a few people that I met five years ago, one being my dear friend Bear, a 75-year-old gentleman from Winnipeg whom I’ve never met, but we know each other’s stories very well. Bear finally met his ladylove two years ago, and not online.
