Before I start this entry in earnest, I’m going to make a big fat disclaimer: I am not so cruel as to merely online date because I want to tell-all about ridiculous situations on my blog. I am taking this whole thing seriously insofar as I’d like to have a pre-law school fling, and online dating merely gives me another avenue by which to pursue that end. However, because online dating presents a myriad of unusual situations to which I think we all secretly (or not-so-secretly) relate, there’s no use depriving myself of the material. For would-be suitors: I promise not to use names or incriminating information. And for people who think I’m toying with men’s emotions for my own creative purposes: I haven’t gone out with (and I won’t go out with) anyone that I didn’t think had potential. And now: the main event.

It’s probably true that any girl who looks back at her high school days and remembers ostracism due to smarts rather than acceptance due to looks has a thing for Michael Cera. He’s the adorably awkward Clyde to our seriously nerdy Bonnie. Or, more appropriately, the Jim to our Pam. The Darcy to our Elizabeth. The Jack to our Meg? Ew, no, that’s gross. So when I got a message from a veritable Michael Cera look-alike, there was a lot of glazing over words in his profile (especially after I saw key nerd phrases like “math” and “physics” and “eclectic musician”) as I scrambled to come up with a witty enough response to deem me worthy to go out with the hero of Arrested Development and Juno. He must have liked it, because he quickly wrote back. And then we agreed to meet.

We settled on a coffee shop near my house for a post-dinner chai. When I arrived, the place was very full and very quiet due to the experimental Irish musicians sitting in a circle on a tiny stage, hammering away on their unidentifiable instruments (oh, Boulder). My date was sitting at a tiny table next to the coffee pick-up point, ensuring an on-stage-like experience as all patrons would have to pass by our table to get a drink or get back to the seating area or exit. And he looked much less like Michael Cera in real life.

I approached. As soon as he saw me, he shot up, veritably yelling.

“OH HI LAURA, NICE TO MEET YOU, SHOULD I SHAKE YOUR HAND OR GIVE YOU A HUG?” Heads around us turned in curiosity to see what the commotion was about, and I caught a few unmistakable sidelong glances amongst friends that said, “Online first date. We’re so lucky to be witnessing this.”

I half hugged him, chest pounding and vomit rising in my throat, and went to order my chai, mustering all the poise I had to recover from the awkward feeling that was creeping through my stomach and soul. My chai didn’t quite take long enough to make, and I soon found myself back at the table, leaning back in my chair, arms crossed, trying to compensate for his intense eagerness by talking as quietly and slowly as possible.

“SO WHAT DO YOU DO?”

“Wellllll, that’s cooomplicaaaatedddd. Iii woooork at the Kiiiiitchennnn and doooo soooome freeeeelaaaancccce maaarketingggg. I alsooooo wriiiiiite.

“THAT’S GREAT MY BROTHER WRITES WHAT DO YOU WRITE.”

“Ohhhhhh I daaaabbbbbblllle iiiin a lotttttt offfff thinggggggggs.”

This was a classic case of two nice people in the same room with absolutely no surface-level interest in common. He was former 9-5er who “couldn’t handle that environment” and decided to quit to try to become a drummer in an Indian jazz band. In school, he’d studied physics, but didn’t want to do anything with it. The farthest he’d traveled was Canada and Mexico. He was interested in food and wine insofar as it was a topic I could say ten words about before we faded back into awkward silence. We hit on music for a bit, and had a band-name drop party that lasted about 10 seconds:

“I JUST GOT INTO OF MONTREAL.”

“Oh, yeah? They’re pretty good. Do you like St. Vincent?”

“YEAH, I JUST SAW ST. VINCENT IN DENVER.”

“Oh, cool.”

“COOL.”

Siiiileeeeence

30 minutes into the interaction, and I was scrambling for an excuse to end the date. And then, because my life is really, really fun, an old friend walked by. I don’t know about anyone else, but when I’m on an awkward online date, there are a couple of people that I absolutely don’t want to see: a current fling, a former fling, and a cute guy from my peripheral group of college friends that I don’t know well enough to explain the situation. So when the latter of that trio approached my table, I knew I was in for a real treat.

I’d only seen Ben once since moving back to Boulder. He was a friend that I’d run into many times since college during friend reunion tours, but we didn’t know each other well enough to hang out on our own. He’s a charming type, very smart, and very cute. I’ve never had an actual crush on him, but I’ve always wanted to appear cool in front of him. Him seeing me on an awkward online date is not something I felt was going to up my cool points.

“Hey, Ben!”

“Hey, Laura! Wow! I forgot you’re living in Boulder, what’s up?”

“Yep, just live a couple of blocks from here. I’m working with Lacey on a project, we all need to get together. She’s up here a bit.”

“Oh, that’s awesome! Yeah, we need to do that for sure. Oh, I’m sorry man, I’m Ben.”

“HI MY NAME IS —-.”

It was about this point where I stopped paying attention to our exchange and started praying to some higher power that Ben did not ask how we knew each other. That higher power either hates me or has my exact sense of humor. Ass hole.

“So, how do you know Laura?”

I tried to interject. I really tried. “We just met…” I began.

“WE JUST MET ONLINE.” Fail. Fail. Fail.

To Ben’s credit, he kept his composure pretty well. “Oh-Ohh. Cool, well I gotta run. Laura, shoot me a facebook message.” And then he was gone.

I’m fairly certain my face was some combination of Christmas colors, fluctuating violently from red to green as my emotions tried to decide whether this was the most hilarious or most hideous situation in which I’d ever been. Things kind of dropped off after that, our awkward pauses and lack of eye contact lengthening to the point where we were simply two people sharing a table and doing our own thing. When I saw my neighbor (who also fits into the Ben category) walk in, though, I decided the party was over.

“Right, so, I’ve gotta go, I’ve got an early- thing- tomorrow. Thanks for coming out, though, it was nice to meet you.”

“COOL, WELL THIS WAS REALLY FUN LET’S GET TOGETHER AGAIN SOON.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty busy for awhile, but give me a shout.”

53 minutes after the date had begun, I rushed off to sing karaoke stone-cold sober, which was remarkably less awkward than my date, and didn’t stop laughing all the way down my street. Bad with the good, I suppose.