Hi, my name is Meaghan and I'm an online dater.

I did it.  After a few weeks on hiatus from the site, I chose to reactivate my OkCupid account.  I created the account back in May at the recommendation of a coworker and a friend.  Both said that it could be a great way to meet people.  So, I set up my account, tried to answer the questions to the best of my ability while attempting to be adorable, intelligent, charming and funny, all in a few sentences.  I posted a few of the best pictures of myself, and set my location to Madison.  Within days people were “checking me out” and rating me with 4 or 5 stars.  A few message conversations began, but it didn’t take me long to become bored and turned off by some of the crazy country boys.  It was going to be another two months until I moved, and the few message chains I started felt silly. 

When I arrived in Madison I reactivated my account for all of 30 seconds, before realizing that life was a little too busy to be flirting online. 

A week ago, I reactivated again, making a conscious decision to take it seriously.  Lo and behold, I was asked on a date!  Monday night I went on my first OKC date!

Rory picked the bar and suggested we meet at 6:30.  When I tweeted about how early that was I received an informational email from my mother explaining “that is how dating works.”  She told me that two people will meet for a drink after work, and if it is going well, then the two can choose to continue the date and move onto dinner.  My mother hasn’t worked a full-time job in this century, so I had to respond to her email by saying that I usually don’t get home until 6:30, so yes, that would be too early for me.  Rory had no problem meeting at 7:30.

Luckily I ate lunch with a friend of mine that day and she was able to keep me from wearing the outfit I was planning, because she knew the bar better than I did, and I would have been very overdressed for the locale.  I left my house a little after 7 in a pair of wedges, jeans and a black top.  Does the outfit sound familiar?  It’s because that is all I own, and all I continue to buy for myself!

I made sure to arrive early because I didn’t want to do the approaching.  Instead, I wanted to be approached.  I sat at the bar and ordered myself a beer, wishing the bartender wouldn’t ask to see my ID.  My avoidance of eye contact must have come off as guilt, because she asked to see my ID.  The second I let out “shoot!  I was hoping you wouldn’t ask me for it!” I knew I had said the wrong thing.  I tried to recover as gracefully as possible, but my nerves began to pour out in my explanation, “I’m sorry!  I just got my Wisconsin license today, so I am carrying around a very embarrassing 8 ½ by 11 sheet of paper and a NY license with a hole punched in it!  I was just hoping I wouldn’t have to pull out all of this stuff because I look ridiculous!”

I did look pretty ridiculous.  Unlike New York temporary licenses that are printed on official DMV cards about twice the size of a license, Wisconsin’s look like an amateur Word document, printed off of a cheap printer in my basement.  The bartender didn’t seem fazed by the documentation, but the man sitting next to me was intrigued. 

“Ooooh!  New York?  Really?  Look at that name!  You have so many consonants in it! Gs and Hs galore!”

I bit my tongue to keep from telling him that all Megans have one G in their names, the same number of Gs I have.  And there is only one H, a far cry from galore. 

Our conversation lasted only a few more minutes before he ran outside “for a fag.”  I didn’t turn around to make sure he was going out for a smoke. 

I was about halfway done with my beer when Rory came up from behind and asked, “are you Meaghan?”

Oooh, you’re cuter than the photos!  Yay!  Stay cool.  Stay cool.

“Yes.  It’s so nice to meet you, Rory.”

Our conversation immediately morphed into a competition of who had been to the better Dave Matthews concerts.  I was happy to be able to hold my own in a music conversation, but by 8:30, I was done talking about Dave, Carter, Boyd, and Stefan.  I tried to talk about his dog, but that lasted all of thirty seconds.  We were on to talking about our jobs.  He is a chef.  I decided to run with the food thing, and mentioned my inability to cook, but my love of baking.  Then he said something that made me wince as soon as the words hit my ears.  He said, “oh, yeah, you wrote about owning a bakery someday in your profile.”  Yikes.  Maybe I shouldn’t have let it bother me, but it irked me.  While I sat there trying to have a completely natural conversation, he brought up my online profile.  Obviously he and I had both looked at each other’s profiles- we wouldn’t be having this date had we not- but it felt so wrong when he brought it up in a face to face conversation.  I let it go, and carried on describing my elaborate plans for my bakehouse. 

When we had both finished our beers, Rory suggested we try a different place.  I went along, grateful for fresh air and a change of scenery.  When we stood up I realized how short he was.  5’10”?  You must have lied on your profile.  Jerk.  Yes, my wedges are exceptionally tall, but I’m not going to stop wearing tall shoes, and he isn't going to grow, so this may be a problem.  As we left the bar he politely held the door for me and then put out his elbow for me to lock my arm in.  I did, but I wasn’t impressed.  Instead of feeling that spark when our skin first touched, I felt nothing.  Nada. 

We walked two blocks to another restaurant/bar and sat outside with all of the other couples enjoying a Monday evening date.  We each ordered fancy drinks and continued our increasingly awkward conversation as the pauses between topics became longer. 

When the waitress came around to ask if we wanted more drinks I immediately said no.  I knew I was done drinking for the night, and I was ready to call it a night.  When I saw Rory’s hesitation, I told him that he was more than welcome to have another drink, but I was done for the evening.  He asked for the bill and paid while I went to the bathroom. 

I came back outside, thanked him for the drink and was ready to get back to my car.  But Rory had different ideas.  He wanted to go for a walk.  I was feeling exhausted, but I didn’t want to be rude.  We walked down the street, to the terrace, and down to the water.  When we arrived at the lake Rory wanted to go out on the dock.  So as I attempted to get myself onto the rickety dock, without falling, I noticed the bird poop… everywhere.  Rory wasted no time and sat right down on the edge of the dock.  I stood there for a minute, before asking if it was wet.  When he reassured me it wasn’t wet but made no mention of the bird poop all over the place, I realized I wasn’t going to get out of it.  I reluctantly sat down poop.

We continued to chat on the dock before I finally decided to call it quits and be very obvious about it.  I glanced at my watch and made it clear that it was time for me to go home.  We got off the dock, he walked me to my car, and we said goodnight.  And that was that.

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