Attack of the Cyberdates

jaggeh

As it turns out, I've roped in a fair amount of girls over the past couple of weeks with my claims of being a filthy rich telecommunications executive on dating site J-Date. Here is date number two, (almost) in its entirety. Names have been changed.

Y'all might remember this winner:


**************************
To: KnowTheScore
Sent: 06/09/2004 06:17:10 EST

Hi! I'm Janice. For our first date, you can take me out to Le Cirque or the Ocean Grill. Afterwards, it'll be a nice night, so we can take a moonlit stroll near the park. Then, we'll go to Coldstone Creamery for dessert, walk it off a bit more, and then your limo will drop me off at my place, where I'll kiss you good night..... and maybe more.......

Write me........

********************************

To: Janice
Sent: 06/14/2004 10:13:04 EST

Hi Janice! Thanks for your e-mail. You sound like quite the romantic, and I like that. What do you do? When would be a good time to meet up? Early next week? Let me know, and I'll talk to you soon.

Best regards,
Jared

***********************************

To: Jared
Sent: 06/16/2004 14:18:30 EST

wow, you waste no time, do you? lol! I'm a nurse. Are you busy next Saturday? You have a good sense of humor. My cat is crawling on my lap now. Where will you be taking me?

************************************

To: Janice
Sent: 06/16/2004 18:40:19 EST

I run my life like my business, so no, I waste no time. Next Saturday sounds fine. Where is your apartment? I'm planning on taking you somewhere surprising, not to worry.

You have a very lucky cat.

Best,
Jared

***********************************

To: Jared
Sent: 06/17/2004 10:19:02 EST

lol! My cat is a lucky cat. If you think he's lucky, then I have a treat in store for you....................................................................... *wink*

I can't wiat to meet you. You sound really sweet. I live on (ADDRESS REMOVED). I'm going to go find my cat, now. Here, pussy, pussy.......................

***************************************

*Interlude: She's a money-grubbing bitch, but she's also a horny money-grubbing bitch. There must be something I can do to score something out of this. Sadly, I can't afford a dinner at the Ocean Grill or Le Cirque. Time for plan B.


I meet her outside her apartment in the mid-sixties. She has a few extra pounds, but is otherwise rather pretty. Her long dark hair, dark brown eyes, and rather busty chest are enough to make me want to do... whatever it is she wants to do, as represented by all the periods in her e-mails.

"Hi Jared," she hugs me, "Where are we going?"

I start walking and she follows, abreast. "There's a great Indian restaurant I just discovered that---"

She stops walking. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold the phone."

"Hold the---huh?"

"Indian? Did you not read my e-mail? I wanted Le Cirque or Ocean Grill. I don't want to go to some filthy Indian place."

"You---what? But this---"

"Did you not read my e-mail?" Her once pretty eyes have slanted into piercing daggers of destruction.

"I read it, Janice. You might be interested to know that this restaurant is a joint venture between Emeril Lagasse and Jacques Pepin---the first of its kind anywhere, and either one of them is the executive chef on any given night."

Very cautiously, she responds, "Really?"

"Absolutely. I've been aching to try this place since I've heard that it was going to be opened."

She links her arm with mine, all previous trepidation forgotten. "Great! Let's try it!"

I bring her to the same little Indian restaurant to which I brought my other J-Dates. As we're walking in, she earns the Captain Obvious Award of the evening when she says, "This doesn't look like a Lagasse or a Pepin restaurant."

"It is! They wanted the décor to be all bright and shiny and---"

"No, this doesn't look like a good place. I won't eat here." She stops walking and folds her arms. "I want to be taken to Le Cirque or the Ocean Grill. I've been looking forward to it all week, and now, you're trying to get me to go into a filthy, cockroachy Indian dump, and that's just not going to happen. Call your limo and have it bring us to Le Cirque. That's where we're going to eat."

"How do you know I have a limo?"

She responds matter-of-factly, "You make over six figures a year. You have a limo. Call it and have it bring us to Le Cirque."

At this point, my frustration wins the better of me, and I say, "You know what, Janice? I don't like your attitude. I think I'll dine alone tonight." Stepping out to the curb, I raise my arm. "Taxi!"

She falls for my bluff. "No! Don't! What I meant was---" She grabs my arm. "Come on, just call your limo, and we'll have a nice evening. You just made a mistake, and that's okay. Come on---"

"My limo driver has this week off. Can we take a taxi, or is that too far below you?"

"Ugh, I guess a taxi is fine."

I hail a taxi, climb in, and do a quick mental calculation of where the food is cheaper: Le Cirque or the Ocean Grill. Then, all at once, I remember---I'm Jared, not some wussy-ass jerk that this girl can just walk all over. At once, a plan forms in my brain.

"Driver," I say, "Take us to Le Cirque."

Knowing that it's a bit of a drive up to the restaurant from where we are, I arrange it so that Janice and I are sitting close together. I put my arm around her and, as planned, she leans into me. She looks into my eyes, and I give her that warm, winning, suave, JMG114 smile. Her finger traces up and down my leg.

I whisper into her ear, "So, tell me about your pussy . . . cat."

She turns to me, and we kiss. Boy oh boy, is she a desperate kisser. I can feel the searing pain from her former boyfriends, the hurt of unrequited love, and the ache of hope---all from the way her tongue wags about in my mouth.

I break contact after four or so minutes. "Janice, what say we order in tonight? I'll do a run out to Coldstone after dinner, if you'd still like their ice cream. That sound good?"

She huddles close and nods, calls out her address to the driver, brushes my face with her fingertips, and we return to tonsil hockey.

As we're approaching midtown, she suddenly breaks contact again and says, "Hey, I have a good idea."

"What's that?"

"Where's your boat moored?"

I choke for a moment. Damn. I don't have a boat.

She continues, "Wouldn't it be hot if we got down on your boat? Let's have him take us there. You don't even have to untie it from the dock."

"Oh," I stammer, "It's um---moored upstate right now, at my cousin's. Yeah."

"Aw," she slumps back, disappointed. Close one, there.

We make it back to her place, take the elevator to the fourth floor, and start making out again in her hallway. She fumbles with the keys to her apartment, and as she open the door, we kiss our way in, just like in the movies! I've always wanted to do that! She throws her keys to the floor and kicks the door closed behind us.

Pulling me down to her sofa, we continue our fine, fine antics, when she slowly pulls away, looking meaningfully into my eyes.

"Wow," she murmurs, "This is---this has never happened to me before."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I---I just think---here, let's order dinner."

She hands me a stack of take-out menus. Imagine, after all of her crap about Le Cirque, she has menus from little mom-and-pop Chinese places. We order in, put on Finding Nemo, and cuddle while trading kisses for the rest of the evening.

I don't think she expected it to go that far, but once it did, she wanted to slow things down, which was fine.

It's one in the morning and I have to leave in order to catch the last train. That is, of course, unless she says . . .

"You can spend the night here, if you want."

Jackpot.

Yes, there was undressing. Yes, there was additional fooling around. No, I didn't go all the way (I don't think she would have, either) because there was enough decency in me to avoid hurting her, as I knew this had to end.

We woke up together and had breakfast. I was fully dressed, and she was in a pale pink nightgown with little embroidered turquoise palm trees.

"Hey Janice," I asked, "Would this have gone any differently if I wasn't rich?"

She shakily replied, "Um---I don't think so."

I inched a bit closer to the door. "So, if I wasn't rich, you'd still like me?"

She put down her coffee and her eyes narrowed. "Yes. Why?"

"Well, that's a relief, because I'm really not a telecommunications entrepreneur. I'm a writer, and I have no boat. I'm so glad that you accept me for---"

"What?"

"I---"

"What!?"

She stands up and advances on me, hot coffee cup in hand.

"Sweet Jesus!" I utter as I turn to her door, open it, and run down the hallway towards the elevators. I hit the down button repeatedly, but the elevator doesn't seem to realize that there's a crazy Jewish girl with a coffee mug running at me down the hall!

To my right is a staircase: DO NOT OPEN - ALARMED. To my left is certain death by coffee mug. I wait one more second for the elevator, then push the stairway door open.

There is no alarm. I run all the way downstairs, through the lobby, and to my freedom.

jaggeh

We communicated via e-mail, as she had something against AOL Instant Messenger. I shall demonstrate (names have been changed):

*******************************

To: KnowTheScore
Sent: 06/19/2004 10:40:18 EST

Hi! I'm Roberta. Your profile is really interesting and I'd like to maybe meet you. I grew up in the city so I know a lot of great places we can try out. Tell me more about your business. Talk to you soon.

Sincerely,
Roberta

**********************************

I checked out Roberta's profile. As it turns out, she likes going out on the town and staying in for a good time.*

*Interlude: One or the other. Make up your ****ing mind. I can't stand it when girls, in their profiles, write sentences that cover all the bases. "I like going out and staying in." "I like home cooking and fine dining." "I like penises and vaginas." Well, that last one can stay, but you understand what I'm talking about.

She also mentioned that she works at a big insurance company in the city as the second in command of a small department. Ah, not-quite-middle management. Sounds like a winner.

She also, in her profile, began far too many sentences with the word, "I" and used the one phrase that shoots up an immediate red flag: "My friends say that I'm . . ." Here's an example: "My friends say that I'm cute, attractive, and really sweet." That is the actual quote from Roberta's profile. Makes you nauseous just looking at it, doesn't it? If it doesn't, read it again. It will. It's like the profile of a Care Bear.

In any event, if you have friends who say that you're smelly, ugly, and fart like a rhino, then they probably won't be your friends for long.

I wrote back to young Roberta.

*********************************

To: Roberta
Sent: 06/20/2004 16:12:01 EST

Hi Roberta! I'm Jared. Thanks for what you said about my profile. Having read yours, I can honestly say that I'm intrigued. You mentioned that you work in insurance sales. How is that working out for you? What do you enjoy doing in the city? We can talk on AIM, if you'd prefer. I hope to hear from you soon.

Best regards,
Jared

**********************************

To: Jared
Sent: 06/20/2004 20:19:51 EST

Hey Jared--<3 You sound really nice. I have to tell you though I hate aim. I couldn't figure out how to take people off my buddy list for the longest time so all of my enemies stayed on there for really long. I had to uninstall it and now I just use msn. Are you on msn?

I like working in insurance. I feel like I'm faced each day with new challenges. Of course, it's not nearly as impressive as what you've done, but I feel really fulfilled and my bosses have told me that I'm going places lol. I'd like to meet you. Maybe this week?

Sincerely,
Roberta

**************************************

*Interlude: " . . . all of my enemies stayed on there for really long." Okay. Wow! A real superhero! I hate it when Juggernaut, Magneto, Doctor Octopus, and the Joker just waltz on in and plop onto my buddy list. I can totally relate.

" . . . my bosses have told me that I'm going places lol." My bosses told me the same thing two and a half weeks before they laid me off last year. As it turns out, I was going somewhere: UNEMPLOYMENT.

Roberta and I agree to meet up on the Upper East Side. From the subway, I walk to her apartment. It's in a ritzy part of town, a block or so from Park Avenue. I remember thinking that she probably has more money than half as much as she thinks I have. Chump.

Roberta is a short, slim blonde girl who looks like she goes tanning whenever she's not asleep. Also, her face looks... how shall I put this... horse-like. Her equine features especially stood out around her nasal and mouth areas. Her face was just really long and really... well, horse-like.

I spot her in her apartment lobby, half excepting her to whinny and neigh. She does neither of these things and gives me a great, big smile that I can somehow glimpse through her twelve pounds of makeup. After we introduce ourselves, we make with the evening's plans.

"So," she declares, "We're going to a great seafood restaurant a couple of blocks away."

"We are?" I ask, "I thought we agreed on starting the evening with coffee somewhere, you know, just to break the ice."

"Oh no," she says, "We're way past the breaking ice stage. We're going for seafood!"

"Okay. I'm a vegetarian, but I'm sure I'll be able to find something to eat there."

"You're a---what? Are you serious?"

"Yes, but don't worry. Those places always have pasta or salads. I'll be fine."

"I don't think this place has salads."

"Let's check it out."

She rolls her eyes. "Fine."

We make it to the restaurant---the exclusive, expensive restaurant. Of course, they have plentiful salads. We're seated, and she goes on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on about her job and how much her bosses love her. I can tell that she's nervous, and she keeps making statements such as, "Well, YOU don't have to worry about money, but . . ." and, "Of course, getting a raise must be such a foreign concept to YOU . . ."

Finally, the food arrives and she asks, "So, tell me what you do."

I feed her the fictional story about how I came up with an idea to resell used cell phones and how I realized that they could be on their own network for a fraction of the price and how foreign governments were interested as well as various multinational corporations, etc.

She seems pretty intrigued, but I didn't fail to notice that she had ordered an appetizer, a small salad, an entrée, and dessert. The bill arrives, and the total comes out to $93.86. My portion of that is about $18 for the walnut salad (which was rather tasty).

She doesn't go for her wallet. I do, and I put down $25, including tax and tip. Pushing the check in her direction, she gives me a confused look.

"What's this for?" she asks.

"It's the check."

"Oh. You're not---?"

I drop the bomb. "Nope. I go Dutch on my dates. Keeps me from being taken advantage of."

"Oh . . ." she whispers, reluctantly opening up her purse.

We leave the restaurant and stroll up the thoroughfare, towards Columbus Circle, near Central Park. There's an ice cream place! Yum!

I ask, "Want to go for ice cream?"

She shakes her head. "I can't afford it, now."

"My treat."

"No thanks."

"Well, I'm going to grab some."

Four minutes later, she's looking hungrily at my little mint cookies 'n cream sundae. I grab an extra spoon for her. "Here, let's share." She picks at it, as though doing me a favor.

I walk her back to her apartment, and she, unenthusiastically, bids me goodnight. Who'd have thought that she'd suddenly stop liking me because I wouldn't pay for her dinner? Gosh.


I had another date on Saturday night, one in which the girl actually asked to see my boat. More on that adventure later.

jaggeh

Return with me, won't you, as we delve into the soft, moist, pungent underbelly that is the Jewish dating scene. Submitted for your approval, I present you with little Beth.

JMG114: Hi! I'm Jared from J-Date.
JMG114: Hello?
JMG114: Well, if you'd ever like to talk, I should be around.
BethPicks111: guy keeps iming me omg, liek what shud i do????
BethPicks111: oops! omg!!! omg!
JMG114: What's wrong?
BethPicks111: im so sorry! wrong im!*

*Interlude: Okay, so you're a little dim. That's okay because history has shown that even some of the stupidest girls are great lays.

JMG114: That's okay. I'm Jared from J-Date.
BethPicks111: it's liek a guy from jdate... what if he's a freak? roflrofl!!
JMG114: Excuse me?
BethPicks111: OMG!!!!!!111
JMG114: Look, if you're busy with other IMs, then I can always talk to you later.
BethPicks111: OMG OMG OMG!!! i'm soo sososososososo sorry! don't go!
JMG114: Okay, then. What would you like to talk about? I'm Jared from J-Date.
BethPIcks111: ya u said that already lolol*

*Interlude: Isn't it cute when stupid chicks try to sound smart? I don't know, something about it is always so adorable, like a cockroach.

BethPicks111: i go to school in the city
JMG114: I went to school there. Where do you go? Hunter? The City University?
BethPicks111: columbia*

*Interlude: There is no way that someone with a flea's intellect is currently within one of the top schools on the planet. Something smells wrong here. Something smells like overcooked matzah.

JMG114: What are you studying at Columbia?
BethPicks111: guess!! rofllmao!!!!

*Fast-forward. We've agreed to meet up in the city, and I'm taking her out to that swell-ass Indian place in the east village.>>>


I'm waiting in Cooper Square by the big black cube statue. She's fifteen minutes late and hasn't called. I despise lateness, unless I'm called ahead of time to be told about it. Finally, a 13-year-old with a yellow backpack and light floral skirt approaches me.

"Jared?"

Life goes in slow motion only so many times, but this is one of those moments. A dozen questions flew through my head at once: Is this her? What if it is? Should you break off the date? Should you attempt statutory?

Nervously, I respond, "Yes. Beth?"

She nods and gives me a great big hug. "Hi Jared!"

I return the hug weakly. "Hi---er---Beth. You look a lot younger than your age."

"I know, I tell everyone that when I'm 60, I'll look like I'm 20, laugh out loud!"*

*Interlude: I had never heard the use of an online phrase in normal speech before. Did she just say, "Laugh out loud," and put her hands up like quote marks into the air? No, this can't be right.

"Beth, did you just say, 'Laugh out loud'?"

"Yeah, I thought that since we met each other online, it would be fun, but I don't have to do that if you don't want. All my friends do."

"Beth, please don't take offense to this, but how old are you?"

"I told you already, I'm 25. I'm working on my thesis at Columbia."*

*Interlude: My best working theory at this point was that perhaps she had been forced from her youth into a strict life of academia and now she was living up as much of her lost childhood as she could. I mean, I've always liked childlike girls to an extent... maybe this would become endearing...?

She grabbed my arm. "Let's go eat!"

*Fast-forward, at the Indian restaurant.>>>

She's making funny faces at me from across the table, then when I look up at her, she stops. Hoping to intellectualize the outing, I start with, "Beth, you told me that you're studying psychology and English?"

She puts on a serious face. "That's right. I'm doing a double-major and using the two together in my thesis."

"What's your thesis about?"

"Drawing parallels between the evolution of language and the evolution of psychology, because people tend to think based on the limitations of their own languages, like in Germany, they have words for abstract notions that we just don't have here."*

*Interlude: Yes! Yes! She's smart after all!

I ask, "Give me some examples."

"Guess!" she giggles.*

*Interlude: No! No! She's still dumb!

"I really don't know, Beth. That's why I'm asking you. To know."

She starts picking at the dead skin around her right thumb. Having done the same thing myself, I can relate. However, never having done the same thing while on a DATE, I find the act a bit more grotesque.

"Beth, what are you doing?"

She peels a good slice of dead skin off of her digit, then places it gingerly upon the tip of her tongue. She chants, "Tongue snake, tongue snake, grow for me! Tongue snake, tongue snake, grow for we!"

The sliver of skin does indeed expand as it moistens, she peels it off and sticks it into her pocket, then smiles back up at me.

"Beth---I---erm---are you sure you're ready to be out in public?"

"What do you mean?"

Our food arrives. At least I'll be eating some good Indian vittles today. She ordered the Bombay chicken, one of my personal favorites. Taking the cover off of her plate, she looks at the food and declares, "This looks like ****."

"Excuse me?"

"It looks like someone took a dump on my plate." She giggles.

"Would you like to order something else?"

"What are you eating? That looks good."

"I have the shrimp shag. Would you like to switch?"

"Okay. Yours looks like vomit, but mine looks like ****, and I'd rather eat vomit than ****."

I stare at her as if she's just unzipped her pants to air out a sweaty, hairy, three-foot penis. Time for damage control.

"Okay, Beth. We'll switch, eat, and leave. Does that sound good? I think so."

I joyfully eat the ****-like chicken while she picks at the vomitous shrimp shag, eating only the shrimp but leaving the spinach behind. The spinach, you understand, is about 95% of what shrimp shag is.

I pay the check. She says, "I don't know why, but I'm never full after Indian food."

"Maybe it's because you only ate four baby shrimp."

"No, I had the shrimp shag."

"Ready to go?"

"Okay!"

*Fast-forward. We're at the Museum of Natural History!>>>

We're browsing the gem and mineral exhibit. For those who don't know, the American Museum of Natural History's gem and mineral exhibit is in a brown-carpeted room with various stairs, passageways, and crannies. A great place to bring a girl to sneak an occasional kiss. As it turns out, I'm not attracted to girls who look like 13-year-olds who don't finish their Indian food.

Beth is talking to me about Scandinavian languages while picking crusty green boogers out of her nose. It's time for a plan.

Turning to her, I smile. "I have an idea! Want to play hide and seek?"

She flicks a booger away and nods fervently. "Yes! I've always wanted to play hide and seek here!"

"Okay! You hide first! I'm counting to a hundred!"

Giggling like a hyena, she bolts away. I leave the exhibit, hop on the subway, catch the train, and leave the city.


EPILOGUE:

BethPicks111: Hello?
JMG114: Hi Beth.
BethPicks111: This isn't Beth. This is her sister.
JMG114: Oh. Hi, Beth's sister.
JMG114: What's up?
BethPicks111: You haven't seen Beth anywhere have you? Recently?
JMG114: Why?
BethPicks111: She's gone missing.
BethPicks111: Her AIM password is stored, so I'm signing on to check with her friends.
JMG114: Oh. I'll let you know if I see her. I'm sure they miss her at Columbia.
BethPicks111: She doesn't go to Columbia. I do. She's in seventh grade.
JMG114: Oh. Heh.
BethPicks111: She's a pathological liar and has a hyperactivity disorder.
BethPicks111: She has to take her meds and she'll be even worse off if we don't find her soon. Thanks for your help.

<<<BethPicks111 has signed off///>>>

jaggeh

more tomorrow

the jew

good stuff, keep them coming.

HarryHoudini

I've been reading these for a while, there excellent....

Gilgamesh

me likey

jaggeh

harry you should take after your namesake
never give away the secrets..... i could have kept it going a few more days but now they will have the whole lot in one lump. tsk tsk

ionapaul

I actually knew a girl who used J-Date obsessively! She was my friend's flatmate, he lived in LA while I was living in San Francisco. He had some great stories about her obvious desperation combined with gold-digging tendencies. Imagine living in the States and only using Irish-Date or European-Date or such?

HarryHoudini

jaggeh wrote:

harry you should take after your namesake
never give away the secrets..... i could have kept it going a few more days but now they will have the whole lot in one lump. tsk tsk

Sorry man, didnt mean to ruin your secret, I'll edit my post...

bacon?

are these for real?

MooShop

you gonna post anymore jaggeh?? they're good

WizZard

bacon? wrote:

are these for real?

Supposedly. According to his (Jared) latest blog post he's met a nice girl through JDate... dunno will there be more of this same type of stories for a while. These are fairly old.
They're very, very funny though.

jaggeh

i have 4 more to copy over tomorrow, yes he did meet someone with his 'actual' profile not with his spoof one.