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Thanks, Sass God

Ironic Twists of Fate in My First Foray into Online Dating

By Emma CastorPublished 6 years ago 6 min read
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My college friends and I often speculated about the existence of a god. It was one of our go-to drunken philosophical debates, a pseudo-intellectual exercise born out of a need to feel like the shitty things happening to us in our early twenties were happening for a reason. The consensus was that there was a god. We called him Sass God, and he was not a benevolent deity, yet also not cruel. He just kind of enjoyed playing cruel tricks.

Sass God was at work when my friend's car was T-boned in a parking lot at 20mph, and the axle was bent just enough to total it. But the woman who had hit the car gave her a hug and drove her to school so she didn't miss her midterm. We blamed Sass God too when I sprained my foot walking across the living room (completely sober, I might add), 10 hours before my dance team was being paid to perform for the university's board of directors, our most important gig to date. The routine had lots of partner lifts where I didn't need to be on both feet, so I could manage to dance, but not walk. Despite my injury, we nailed the performance, and I celebrated at the after party from a seated position, and was on crutches for the rest of the week.

Sass God's ironic twists of fate were setbacks: not so painful you couldn't recover from them, but reminders nevertheless that although things could be worse, they could also be better. Mostly, we believed he was just saying to us, Are you paying attention? Yep, I'm still here.

So when he started interfering in my love life, I was exasperated, but I can't say I was all that surprised.

In November of 2013, the last thing I expected to do was begin online dating. To me, it seemed awkward, sketchy, and desperate. Eventually I realized, I WAS desperate.

I was six months out of college with little to show for it: an apartment I could barely afford, a tedious job with an hour-plus commute, and a bunch of friends who were still in college and couldn’t understand why I was so depressed. What’s more, I was single for the first time in my adult life. After nearly five years, I’d finally realized that the relationship that had carried me through the end of high school and most of college was holding me back. In a period of tremendous personal growth in my life, my ex was unwilling to seek out new experiences. I had tired of every date alternating between eating out and binge-watching Netflix from bed. Everything about him represented to me a future that I didn’t want, and I never for a second regretted ending it. Still, I couldn’t help but yearn for the companionship that the relationship had provided.

So, one Saturday morning, I registered on OkCupid and spent several hours poring through the profiles of countless available men in the Los Angeles area.

It didn’t take long for me to establish a set of rudimentary standards: He had to be under 30, correctly answer a basic logic problem, and have no spelling errors on his profile. There were all kinds—intellectuals who listed favorite works of literature, fratty finance professionals who “worked hard and played harder,” indie musicians whose perfect first date involved craft beers and underground shows for artists I’d never heard of. Deeply intimidated and yet totally exhilarated, I sifted through the “hey whatup”s in my inbox and unabashedly sent off messages to the guys that came across as tangibly different from my ex.

Then, I found a profile that intrigued me.

Instead of describing himself, he claimed that he could tell everything he needed to know about a woman from what she said on her profile. He had a formula for figuring out if a girl was worthy of his time, and created measures for intellect, personality, and sex appeal. How brazen!

Noting the green “Online Now!” dot on his avatar, I dashed off a quick message:

“I like that you have standards. Does my profile pass your test?”

The response came after a few minutes, presumably once he’d perused my own “About Me” section:

“It would appear so! The real test though is if you’d be willing to meet up in person for drinks tonight?”

Acting in some sort of destitute nonchalance, I agreed. I sent him my number and he picked the place, a bar I’d never heard of and he’d never visited. Bewildered at myself, I called my mom during the half hour drive to tell her that I was going by myself to get a drink with a stranger I’d met online in a place I’d never been. She was deeply disconcerted. I suppose I was hedging my bets—if this guy did turn out to be a crazy murderer, I at least wanted someone to know to look for my body.

I arrived early, and people-watched uneasily from the front door. What was I even doing here? The place, at least, seemed classy enough, and oddly familiar.

Finally, he walked up. My first thought upon seeing him was, “Oh good, I don’t think I’m going to get raped tonight.” His first date apparel underwhelmed me; he wore a sweater with a zipper at the neck that made him look too thin and reminded me of the way my ex used to dress. He even looked a bit like him. But I shook off the comparison as we were seated inside.

Unfortunately for me, and for him, the parallels did not stop there. He studied law at UCLA; my ex had planned to go to law school all his life and would apply there next year. He was an avid comic-book nerd; my ex had brought me to Comic Con with him no less than five times. His family background was similar, his philosophical and political beliefs comparable. The mannerisms, the turns-of-phrase…the resemblance was uncanny. And a major turn-off.

I excused myself to the restroom to text my friends in horror, and tucked myself next to the sink as I read their responses:

"HAHAHAHAHA"
"lol guess you have a type, huh?"
"Thanks, Sass God"

Of all of the men I could possibly meet in Los Angeles, I had happened across a perfectly nice one who had all of the qualities of a boyfriend I definitely did NOT want. Suddenly, I recognized that I'd been in this bathroom before, and realized why the bar had looked so familiar. About a year before, my sorority had hosted its winter formal there. And I'd brought my ex as my date.

I rolled my eyes at the text messages of my unhelpful friends, and as I walked back to the table, I sent a prayer, or thought, or something, out into the ether.

Message received, Sass God. Being single is weird and dating is hard and no one gets what they're looking for on the first try. Yes, I know you're still here. Yes, I'm paying attention.

The conversation dragged on a bit longer, and as topics for discussion dwindled with my interest, I realized that I ACTUALLY had to go to the bathroom. But I felt weird about leaving againI didn't want to make it obvious that I had left the first time to gossip. I decided I could wait until I got home, and we parted with an awkward hug and a halfhearted (on my part) “Nice meeting you!” Driving home, I called my mom to tell her I was alive and would not be reaching out for a second date. But Sass God wasn't quite done with me yet. The cherry on top of the shit sundae of my #WorstDateStory? Construction had closed the 405-S, and it took me a full hour and a half to get home to pee.

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About the Creator

Emma Castor

Dinosaur lover, dog mom, domestic goddess.

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