This summer I was lounging around a blazing lakeside campfire sharing stories of online dating with a man 13 years my senior. He was reminiscing over a first date fail with me.

He described the experience emblazoned with that same hope-filled first date feeling I’ve encountered many times before. The maybe this is the last first date I will ever go on feeling. The possible ending to the new beginning. The expectation that doesn’t seem unrealistic at the time but in hindsight makes you laugh. What was I thinking?

Instead it’s a night of pizza on her couch while she’s grabbing at his crotch. All he wanted was to take her out to a nice dinner. The search continues for that last first date.

I was filled with a sense of comradery for my fellow od’er. Offering up some chuckles of understanding. Relatable laughs with him not aimed at him and the scenario. I have been there. I could see me sitting on that couch. Disappointment throw pillows everywhere.

Counting minutes down to leave.

Those of us that delve into the deep waters of dating online share common ground and stories. The relationship misfits. The ones you see drinking a beer alone in the corner of your neighborhood bar on a fairly regular basis. Relishing in common bullshit dates. Common night terrors.

We could be a circus sideshow. Turn your attention to the right and you’ll see the elusive relationship misfits. You’ve probably passed them on the street and never noticed. They look like everyone else! See their hope filled eyes when we tell them they’ve scored a first date. Look to the corner of despair: her date is a married man looking for something on the side!

We all signed that deal with the devil at some point. Swiping into the devil’s playground. Never truly focusing on the small fine print.  I know I personally never read it word for word. That would be like reading all the terms and conditions when you update new software to your phone. Who actually does that? My fireside companions deer in headlights face causes me to take pause and realize:  I don’t think anyone else thinks twice either.

El Diablo. This fucker does not discriminate when it comes to dating. He wants to gather all he can into his Internet Infantry. Computer recruiting through pretty banners that promise love and prey on the lonely.

Ok Cupid?  Oh you witty devil. Pulling the wool over the sheep’s eyes. Pretending to be this tiny cherub who wants to bring love to all by having my best interest at heart. With his cynical smile looking down as he hovers above. You can’t fool me!  I am well versed in your tricky ways. Spotting you in the shadows as you loom over the drinks that I maniacally down when my date’s topic of choice trails into his time in jail. True Story.

And here we are, left dealing with the same shit. Fighting that same struggle. And trust me, this struggle is real.

There really should be a support group for people like us. Those who keep coming back for more. El Diablo with his little stick pushing me back into the fold. Holding my hands as I swipe left and right. Cackling to himself that he has me in his grip. And boy, does he ever. I always end up back in his arms. I mean, they are pretty warm.

Hi, my name is Kate and I’m an online dater. It all started as a method of ego boost in the winter of 2008. And then it spiraled out of control”.  

Staring out at a sea of faces in a church basement that mildly smells like mold and burnt coffee. Animatedly recounting my latest date to the other misfits. The laughter in the room filling my soul with belonging. I feel at home.

I may or may not have dated the devil himself.

Lets call him: Shawn. Shawn and I began that online chitchat phase via Ok Cupid early spring 2014. We both lived in Greenpoint and had tattoos. A relationship was in bloom!

Yet, Something wasn’t quite right from the get go. When someone makes a date by asking, “When are we having a date?” it’s probably not on a fast train uphill from there. What a charming way to ask! I like a direct and straight approach to most everything in life, but being asked out on a date is an exception. Maybe warm up to it a bit Shawn?  I don’t know, follow me on this one, as this could be rocket science here, why not start with: “Would you like to go on a date?”  Game changer.

The signs to shut it down immediately were blinding my eyes, but that persistent devil overtook my hands and typed: “I don’t know. When are we both free?”

The eighth lesson I learned: Lock down an actual time and place before committing to some elusive plan.

After some textversation, we land on Sunday for brunch. We have a day! We have an activity!  I’m not even worried or looking to the fact that a location or time has yet to be presented. I’m ok with that, right?  Not really, but I can’t push it now! In the world of textversation, this could take months. I am cherishing this moment. This means something right?

A text comes through warning me he’s flirty. Is sending a text that you’re flirty in itself flirting? Let that mull around a moment.

The day before the date my phone lights up as I’m enjoying a burger at a BBQ. It’s Shawn. This is it! This is where all the plans finally come into play!

“Whatchu up to? ”  Perfect, let the textversation begin!  OOOOOH, and maybe he’ll be a bit flirty! I respond as if Shawn really wants to know each and everything I’ve been doing with my day. My phone is dark as it sits on the table. My eyes dart to it periodically, half listening to the conversation flowing around me.  No response. That elusive date is still floating amongst the clouds. El Diablo’s at the grill laughing it up. Fuck this. 

Elusiveness drives me insane! Devils trickery. Hours go by. I send a text to myself to verify that indeed the text function of my phone is working and hasn’t decided to call it quits in the middle of planning a date. Yup, everything’s working fine. Except for Shawn’s fingers.

He gets them working again and a text comes through. “We brunching tomorrow?”  An air of relief washes over me. The anxiety of the waiting game diminishes as I respond with an enthusiastic “Yes”.  My mind is ignited. I wonder where we will go! What am I going to wear? Bloody Mary or Mimosa?  The important stuff. While my mind is in one place, Shawn’s is clearly in another.

“We might end up kissing”.  What does that mean?! Are we or are we not sharing a mid afternoon flirtatious meal. A girl needs to eat. That’s it. Time to put a stop to this ambiguous planning. I gotta ask. “Where are we gonna brunch.”  Zero response from Shawn. It’s not like an hour has passed since we first started texting. We were clearly textversating. Shawn is really killing this planning a date game.

That was at 7pm. At 1am I receive this text: “Are you out now?” 

Does Shawn want a jump-start on brunch?  I normally go at 1pm but all rules of normality fly out of the window in the wild world of dating. Maybe he wants to meet at the neighborhood deli and share a chicken cutlet sandwich? As tempting as it may seem, I pass and drift off to sleep.

I don’t hear from him again until 2pm the next day. I was out and about having made alternate plans with friends, resigned to the fact that the date wasn’t going to happen. Tricked again!

Three texts rapid fire on my phone:

1. “Hello”
2. “When are we brunching?”
3. “Put me to voicemail. Guess your flaking.”

OUCH. Now we have entered the text fight ring before even meeting. The challenge. The devil poking and prodding.

Shawn isn’t happy when I fill him in on my change of plans. I’ve caught him in his game.

“Well, you never texted me back. I texted you last night.”  HMMMMM a 1 am text, in my opinion, defies a last night text reasoning. “So yah, you’re flaking. Lame”.

OUCH.  Shawn calls it flaking. I call it having a life and self-respect. The anger within me is rising. Shawn knows nothing about me as a person. The devil is laughing in the corner. Giddy from the commotion he’s causing.

Lesson 9 I learned from online dating:  Know your worth and don’t back down.

Well, of course I didn’t realize it then. Maybe all this text fighting is passion? Shawn and I wind up meeting for brunch at The Lodge in Williamsburg.

Grant me the serenity.

On the walk over conversation seems to be flowing. The normal chitchat of what we both are doing with our lives. I relax a bit and let my guard down.

All of a sudden over brunch Shawn starts going off on his female roommate and women in general. Women are disgusting. Women are dirty. He’s not referring specifically to the one person he lives with. He’s speaking against the group at large. There’s fire in his eyes. My hands grip my veggie burger tighter as he continues to shit talk women. This is a new one.  I don’t know what to say.

There are entire message boards out there in the inter web world dedicated to bashing women who online date. Gold diggers. Free dinner seekers. Messages of misogyny. Is this Shawn?

And here I am with the best intentions across from a man who has nothing but disgust for the female population. It’s beyond me how this guy ever gets past an initial encounter and a girl into bed. Maybe that’s why he’s so angry. Maybe Shawn hasn’t gotten laid in years. I’m definitely not doing him any favors but spreading legs after sub par conversation.

Though that pesky devil would love that. Jumping around all over the bed. High pitched cackling and sneering. Side note: I picture my devil to have a voice like Bobcat Goldthwaite. Bizarre and annoying. Not ominous and deep.

That meal couldn’t end fast enough for me.

3 days later my phone lights up: “What’s up”. 

HMMM..Well, Shawn, I still have a vagina and you probably still hate women. This probably won’t work.

I give zero response. And my devil is pissed. He’s screaming: “This is not the deal you signed!” Trying to grab my hands to type a response. Attempting to persuade me to give a second date a try. Maybe he was just nervous the devil whispers in my ear. Pouring guilt through my veins as the unanswered text still sits there.

Where’s my support group? I could use a meeting right now!  A sponsor who will tell me what to do, remind me of my worth! I just want to be in the comfort of that circle where everyone laughs at my stories. Instead, I’m alone in my apartment. My phone begging to be held. I reach for it and pause. My hands suddenly feel warm again as the devil grabs on and helps me swipe right.