Anger Management

When last I left you dear readers, I had managed to shake off the tentacles of Stalker Steven* only to find myself on a date with a legit rage-aholic. "Out of the frying pan and into the fire" seems to have become my dating motto.

Malevolent Matt* seemed fine at first glance: reasonably attractive, well-spoken, and seemingly intelligent. We got off to a fine start, the normal pleasantries were accomplished without anyone sweating profusely or psychoanalyzing the other. Then Matt* reveals to me that he “used to have a rage problem” but was totally fine now.

At this point I have to tell you that I’m highly perplexed at what it is about me that makes guys decide to reveal so much on the first date. I mean I guess it’s a good thing and can save me some heartache and hassle later on but I gotta tell you, it’s a little frightening. I think part of it was that I made the mistake of actually appearing to listen to what they said. I’m pretty sure I was the first women to ever actually pay attention to them as opposed to just shrieking and running for their lives.

Far be it from me to put someone down who admits that he has a problem and attempts to fix that problem. Sadly for Malevolent Matt*, he seemed to have some more issues to work through as shortly after announcing his freedom from anger and rage, he screamed at the waitress for forgetting that he wanted his mayo on the side. I mean he literally screamed at her for at least a solid two minutes. I’ve never heard a grown man reach that octave.

Now, I get irritated when waiters and waitresses get orders wrong but I have managed to convey my disappointment without throwing a high-pitched tantrum. I took this outburst for the warning sign it was and managed to get out the door reasonably quickly - not quickly enough to avoid him flinging his business card at me but quickly enough that he couldn’t follow me to my car.

The next date would see my first repeat in the category of male names. Machine gun Max* was my next date. And I decided we should try out a new restaurant. At first I used this dating service as a means of trying out new restaurants and bars. It seemed a good idea to not only try to meet new men but also to try out places I had always wanted to try. I quickly found that given that the types of dates I had tended to ruin restaurants forever and leave me so mortified I may never return there again so I picked a few restaurants that I liked fairly well but would be okay with avoiding if I was sufficiently shamed by the performance of a given date.

When I called the dating service after Malevolent Matt* to complain about the crappiness of my dates and warn potential victims of Matt’s anger, I demanded that my future dates actually resemble the qualities I had expressly asked for when I signed up for this service. The voicemail I received about Machine Gun Max* seemed promising, although honestly all the descriptions started to blend together after a while – these paragons of male virtue hardly seemed to have times to hold down jobs they were so into sports, arts, wine festivals, poetry, long walks on the beaches, etc., etc. Max* reportedly was tall with brown hair and brown eyes, loved the outdoors, enjoyed wine festivals and art equally along with football and basketball, and worked out constantly.

What walked through the door the night of our date decidedly did not match that description. He was tall but was completely bald and while he may have worked out at one time, I’m guessing that time was sometime during the 1990’s. But I rallied and thought maybe--just maybe--he was a match personality-wise. Sigh. I should have realized this was just plain crazy of me. His version of loving the outdoors was four-wheeling and his major interest was collecting and shooting machine guns.

He also lived with his parents. There’s nothing wrong with living with your parents when you’re a baby, toddler, adolescent, teenager, or even for a few years in your 20’s. My extensive dating experience, however, has led me to believe that adult males who live with their parents tend to expect the women in their lives to take over the role of mommy and that is not anything I want. Maybe there are some single ladies out there who dream of picking up their spouse’s clothing and washing it, making his breakfasts, lunches, and dinners, and generally catering to his every desire but I was born missing that gene and would have ended up feeding him a casserole of his stinky gym socks and deodorant if he expected the royal treatment on a daily basis.

The straw that broke the camel’s back was sadly none of these things. I have a dog named Charlie who I adore. He is a 4 year old mutt that I got from this animal rescue shelter and I am borderline crazy about this dog. I previously thought most guys would dig a chic with a dog, but this was not the case with either of my Maxes.

After revealing his careers included bail bondsman and proprietor of a liquor store and talking in details about the weapons that were in his personal arsenal, I said I really had to get going as I had to go feed my dog. His response was that I should think about euthanizing my dog so that I could go out more. I sat there stunned and slack-jawed until he chuckled nervously and said it was just a joke and that I really needed to lighten up. I began then not only to question the wisdom of continuing on with this date but the wisdom of ever dating another man again. Ever.

I know the suspense is killing you but I'm going to hold out a little longer. At this point you're probably thinking, "How in the hell can they keep getting worse? At some point wouldn't sanity set in and she would become a recluse never to date again?" But I promise in the next post to explain how my date after Machine Gun Max* would be more annoying than any of the others thus far and exactly how the date after him would earn the title "Worst Date in the History of All Time. Ever." *Name has been changed