I told myself I would make an effort this week. A real effort.  I won't go on a date and ditch the guy after the first bizarre or inappropriate or uncomfortable thing he says and drive away as fast as I can.  I will give someone a real shot.  I would like to blame my dating nightmares on bad luck, but I'm smart enough to know there's definitely something else going on.  I have bad taste in men.
 
I tried to take fellow Neon Tommy columnist Paige S. Morrow's advice and not meet guys at bars, but this didn't' exactly work out so well.  I dated a guy from a library and it ended horribly.  I dated a guy from work, and found the Giver is only really good for one thing.  I know people say love is supposed to smack you in the face when you're not looking, but I think that's bullshit.

I'm tired of all the love advice and dos and don'ts.
 
I thought, naturally, that the next step on my quest for love, or at least someone to keep my interest for more than a day, was the Internet.  Online dating baffles my mind beyond anything.  I'll admit I harbor certain judgments, prejudices, whatever.  When someone tells me they met someone online I laugh, and automatically think of them as either really, really desperate or just sad. How can you honestly make a connection with someone online? Apparently you can meet a wife, if you're my uncle.
 
My uncle is a momma's boy.  He has lived with my grandmother for years--45 years to be exact.  He put himself on Match.com, found a really docile, quiet Asian bride in three months and married her nine months later. If he can find his true love, or someone desperate enough to marry him, the least I could do was find one date.
 
I decided to do a little online dating experiment.  I put myself on Match.com, eHarmony and changed my Myspace status to "looking." The personality profiles are kind of a drag and do take a good chunk of time, but I guess it would make sense to weed out the serial killers.
 
I got a message back the next day from someone on Match.com. I'll call him Hawaii, a 25-year-old guy who just moved here from Oahu. I stalked his pictures online and tried to do all the Googling possible. I found out that he was a filmmaker who did music videos and small shorts.  His favorite food was pulled pork and he moved to Los Angeles for his career.  I knew nothing more, and I still agreed to meet him for a date.
 
Ok, I'm not completely crazy.  I knew he could be a serial killer so I told him to meet some friends and me at Palms Thai in Hollywood - the one with the Thai singing Elvis and the thin Thai woman who sings Britney Spears and Whitney Houston covers. I told Hawaii to meet us there at 8 pm.  My friends and I got there at 8, ordered a bottle of wine and finished it by 8:30 pm.  We ordered another one and Hawaii was still a no show.  

I was beginning to think I had been stood up, but then I saw him walk in around 9 pm--an hour late.  I was pleasantly surprised when he looked exactly like his picture online -not fatter or shorter.  He had wavy dark brown hair, a stocky build and a sort of sexy swagger.  He looked confident and stylish in a blazer, jeans and button down.
 
I got up to greet him and he apologized profusely for being late.  He launched into a lengthy story about his friends dropping him off late because of something about a cat and some blinds. Great, he didn't bring his own car? How was he supposed to get home after?
 
He got to the table and poured himself an overflowing glass of wine, which he proceeded to drink, or gulp, in less than 5 minutes. During the entire dinner he ignored my friends, sat in the corner and drank wine until he got very, very drunk.  He talked to me, but only about himself.  I know everything I could ever want about his artistic vision and the way he wanted his music videos to look to the rest of the world.  He seemed a little boring and self-centered, but he was probably just nervous. I had told myself I would give someone a real shot this week, so I continued on with the date.  I stuffed myself with pad Thai, chili sauce and lots of cheap wine.  
 
After dinner, my friends decided to get more drinks at Falcon. I was really annoyed with Hawaii, but since he didn't have a ride and I was going wherever my friends were going, Hawaii came with.  By the time we got to the bar, Hawaii was completely wasted.  He was slurring his words, bumping into everyone at the table and falling down the stairs.  At one point he sat down next to a girlfriend of mine and went into a lengthy explanation of the Hawaiian language and how it's going extinct.  He showered her with spit as he spoke and spent the rest of the night talking in some weird language I had never heard.  
 
I tried to get him to drink some water but he just sat there and pouted.  He looked at me like he wanted to cry then he lunged forward and tried to kiss me, missing my mouth and ramming his mouth into my right cheek.
 
"Ouch!" I screamed at him.  I told him to go to the bathroom, get himself together and come back.  Instead of leaving, he stood up and began to cry like a baby.  
 
"I miss Hawaii," he screamed.  "I miss it so bad."  
 
I felt bad for him, but this was pathetic.  My friends just stared at me, questioning my sanity.  

The crying was too much for me to handle; apparently it was too much for the security at Falcon as well.  They politely came over and told us we had to leave because Hawaii was causing a scene, crying like a small, petulant child.
 
"Please stop crying," I begged him. "Let's just go outside and get some air."
 
He wouldn't listen. I had to have some male friends of mine drag him outside. It was only midnight and we were leaving.  I told him to take a cab and he managed to stop crying long enough to tell me he had no cash on him.  I went to each of my friends, hoping one of us had enough cash on us to pay for a cab for sobbing Hawaii but of course none of us did.  My best friend was nice enough to offer him a ride home.  
 
The three of us piled in the car.  I sat in the back with him, carrying a paper bag in case he got sick.  He kept mumbling about palm trees and pulled pork.  When we pulled up to his apartment 10 minutes later, I quickly opened my door, planning on getting in the front seat after Hawaii left. When Hawaii saw me get out he rushed out, thinking I was going to walk him to his front door. When I walked around the car to the passenger seat he stopped me and tried to kiss me again, this time jamming his mouth into the line in between my neck and my jaw line.  He slobbered on me, getting a long string of spit on my neck.
 
"Really?" I asked him.  I was so angry at his behavior that I felt I needed to tell him.  "This was absolutely the worst date I have ever been on by far," I told him. That says a lot.
 
He looked at me and started crying again.  I just shook my head and got in the car.  We met up with my other friends at a bar nearby, trying to forget about Hawaii and his spitting and crying.
 
The next day Hawaii sent me a long email, completely oblivious of what really happened on our date.  
 
His email:

"I had such a good time with you last night.  It was so nice to meet all of your friends, what a treat.  I would love to take you out again.  Please call me."

 
Seriously? Come on now! If I wanted to date a drunk with emotional problems I could have met him at a bar.  Thanks Paige S. Morrow! I know it's not her fault and I'm sure all online dates won't be as bad, but I'm not giving up the whole "meet my husband at a bar" thing--at least not for now.