The British are coming, and they come bearing horror stories. Dating horror stories, that is. A while back I reviewed lezzie dating apps, and was both devastated and irritated to find Dattch, a modern and sleek looking app exclusively for lesbians, unavailable for download. I was hella snubbed, and I let my ire be known. The women of Dattch, realizing that life without my approval is a life without sunlight, reached out with a delightful apology that you can read here.
Being a benevolent woman, I forgave Dattch for not (yet) expanding to the land of plenty aka AMERICA, and we are now the best of twitter friends. Running a lezzie dating app sounds like the coolest job ever, but I like to focus on the negative so I hit Dattch up for dating horror stories because those are my favesies. Straight people are pretty crazy, but lesbians can take crazy to dizzying new heights. Here’s what the woman of DATTCH have to say about when lesbian dating goes terribly, hideously, and delightfully arwy.
Don’t get us wrong: We still believe in love on the web but who wants to listen to their friends describe the amazingly perfect dates they’re having? Come on, just tell me about the girl who turned up to the restaurant with her hamster!
So, to reassure you that you’re not alone, here are some awful online dating stories from the team Dattch girls.
If you grow up in the middle of nowhere, you may think lesbians are mythical things like unicorns or fat free chocolate. But the internet keeps telling you that there are loads of them. So you go on and you start hunting around for them like you’re doing your shopping. As well as sending out messages and clicking through approximately 34,799 photos of girls, the people of the site were doing it back to me and I started to get some messages. The first message could/should have put me off internet dating for the next five years.
The girl, let’s just call her CrazyBitchFace, messaged me saying that her stars had said that she was going to meet a redhead online which was why she was messaging me. I mean, she was another girl who liked girls, and I was living in a village where I got hit on by farmer’s sons who wanted to know if I’d like a ride on their tractor.
Two days past and I saw that she had commented on my blog, followed me on Tumblr, sent me a heart on bebo and had requested me as a friend on Facebook. And not only that, had updated her status to “Met the woman I’m going to marry, who said online dating was dead hey? Hehehe.” I shit you not. And the “he he he” bit at the end sounded like a premonition of how she’d laugh once she had me locked in her basement.
I do love online dating but I think it should come with the fine print of: “Actual results may vary.”
I’ve never had any real horror story dates where I’ve feared for my life because a Jenny Schecter-type lady person has been sat across the table from me, but I have had a few dates that could be considered to have been less than great.
One in particular that stands out was a second date I went on with a woman called Lucy. She was nice enough, had a stable and pretty important job, and I thought there was promise there. So as the movie turned into a late dinner, obviously it turned into a taxi back to hers. It was only once we stepped inside that I realised how clean and tidy I actually am. Never before have I wanted to clean someone’s entire house so badly. I’m not just talking in need of a sweep, either. I’m talking industrial -strength-bleach-bad. Even going into her bedroom required her being in there for 5 minutes before I could go in too and I was STILL stepping over stuff to get to her bed. Gross.
But I still like to take the good with the bad as we all need a bad dating story to tell at parties. Or on the internet.
I met Brittney on OKCupid, which is where I did the most of my dating the year I lived in Florida, working at a popular tourist attraction and dating every other lesbian employee I could find. Brittney was 22, sweet, blonde and adorable. And engaged. I knew this from her profile and, don’t judge me, apparently I was totally fine with dating a lady who was bethrothed. I figured that she was experimenting, curious, or in an open relationship, which, as it turns out, she was. Halfway through the date, which was going reasonably well, I decided it was best to bite the bullet and ask her about her man.
“So when’s the wedding?”
“Oh, it was actually three months ago.”
“Yeah I forgot to update my profile.”
Then she proceeded to tell me that her husband was about six months out of the army as he was injured in Afghanistan. He was also bisexual and that’s why he was apparently totally cool with his wife being on a date with another girl. So I was now on a date with a married girl whose husband was a bisexual, injured war vet. She even took a phone call from him in the middle of our date. We didn’t see each other again. I had enough baggage to bring back to London without adding hers.
It was the first date that I’d had since breaking up with my ex of over a year. It was fair to say that I was looking for a light touch, some no-strings-attached bit of fun. I’d met her online and she’d passed all of the crucial tests – looked attractive and didn’t seem mental; I had strict criteria at the time. As with any dating experience, the thing you don’t know is whether the girl is in the same place as you are emotionally. In this instance, it turned out not.
My first three questions of the date were:
Her first questions were:
I’d only had half of a drink and was desperately working out whether it would be too rude to simply leg it. I decided that this was not appropriate etiquette so stayed for another drink.
“I’ve also got all the names of my children. Would you like to hear them?”
“Er.” *screams internally*
Her profile showed that she wasn’t really my type but her picture was hot enough that we moved things to real world phone numbers and actual names. The text banter was fun; our first date shrouded in mystery. She sent tantalizing clues in the lead up to it: “Dress up,” “We’re going to have the best view in London.” So it was either a fancy restaurant or a burlesque club. Either would do.
As it happens, it was the former. She took me to an expensive, classy and exciting rooftop restaurant, which rather paled into insignificance as she continually fell over herself to tell me just how expensive, classy and exciting it was. She hinted at how lucky I was to be there. She put on an accent when pronouncing the wine names. She ordered my wine for me, guys. As if this behaviour hadn’t already cemented her in my mind as a demented show-pony, her final performance on the viewing gallery certainly did. I looked out over the London skyline and smiled; she looked down at the line for the restaurant and smirked. She further congratulated herself on her ability to make a telephone reservation by giving me an ostentatious curtsey. Honestly, if she’d have patted herself on the back any harder, her spine would have fallen out. Safe in the knowledge that none of my bedroom skills could quite top the high that she was already on, I left her there. If all it took for her to get off was to talk about much things cost, I was sure that she’d sort herself out at home alone with a copy of the Financial Times.
We met in one of East London’s coolest, newest underground hipster bars. In my head, suggesting an absinthe bar was an infallible idea. Without a doubt it made me look “edgy,” like the kinda gal that knows how to show her date a good time. With hindsight, this was clearly one of the most ridiculous decisions I have ever made before a date has even started.
When you meet your date at an absinthe bar, there’s little choice involved as to what you will actually be drinking. And so the downfall began. When I recounted the story to my friends, they thought it so funny they decided to break it down and rate the night with points for crappy it turned out in relation to each drink we had.
I’m not saying I was a saint but, for God’s sake, she threw up and cried.
And finally, Jenny:
We all thought we had a variety of bad online date stories until Jenny came in and said, ‘I’ve got a few!’ After she was done telling us, we picked our jaws up of the floor and decided to bullet point them for you because otherwise you’d be reading for days.
Check out Dattch if you’re living and dating in the U.K. Hopefully you have better luck, or at least some stories to share.