Although I was indeed bemused from my online experiences with Chaz and Henry, I was not about to give up. I just needed a couple of day’s break from the whole mess of “shopping” for a mate in cyberspace. So, needless to say, days later, I plugged my computer back in and trudged on further into the online dating world. This time, however, I decided to sign up for more sites. This time, I would do it the right way and get religion involved. So, I signed up for CatholicSingles.com. At first, I marveled in the fact that everyone on the site was the same religion as I.

Since religion plays a large factor in how I was raised, this was indeed a bonus. Most guys, when introduced to my family, didn’t make it over that awkward hurdle of the first meeting with my family because they were a different religion. The question of, “Which religion would you raise your kids to be?” would always inevitably pop up and send the guy running for the door so fast, that he decided to just grab his shoes, rather than put them on his feet. As his car would peel out of the driveway, my family would innocently ask, “Whatever did we say? Was it the pot roast? Was it too dry?” Or, sometimes, in the rare instance when asked the question of what religion our kids would be, the man would announce that I would presumably convert to whatever religion they were, which would send my family running for their pitchforks to chase the poor lad away from their wonderful, holy daughter who was born to be Catholic and raise many Catholic babies.

That said, I was excited to find that there was a website that would do my “dirty work” for me. I am still convinced to this day that someone down the lines of my family invented this site after they found out I was single again. Anyway, this is where I met David, the Mexican cowboy. Does that say enough already to make you want to giggle? Although his parents were both from Mexico, he was born in Texas. Even though he had the ancestry of a Mexican, after meeting him, anyone would probably agree that the blood that pumped through his veins was red, white and blue, and his heart beat to the rhythm of our national anthem.

For starters, David, the Mexican cowboy, was in fact what he thought to be, a cowboy. I thought it cute at first and didn’t really delve into the fact that he told me the only hats he wore were cowboy hats, the only jeans he ever wore were Wranglers, and the only shoes ever placed on his precious feet were cowboy boots. His pictures on his site were very sweet and most were with his daughter, of whom he had custody.

After months of talking and getting to know him, I was excited at the many possibilities with David. I was excited that he had a daughter and saw the importance of having family values; also, that we shared the mentality that our children come first. I was excited that he was the spouse who was cheated on because I was, too. Because of this, I thought that we would perhaps both be loyal people. I was also excited that he was an air force pilot, could drive his own car, could read and write, and had very few spelling errors on his profile.

After chatting for about two months, we decided to have authentic Mexican food next to where I worked (This way, I would still have my time constraint if it turned out badly). As I walked into the restaurant, it didn’t take long to spot David. I saw his ten-gallon hat from across the restaurant. I approached the table a bit apprehensively because I had the strange gut instinct to bolt out of the door and never look back after seeing that hat. I don’t know why. All I could think of was how badly my brothers would tease me if I showed up at our parent’s house with a Mexican cowboy who was wearing a ten gallon hat and boots to match.

I approached the table and I looked down to see a man who didn’t once again, look at all like his picture. Well, he resembled it. However, David looked like someone that wasn’t incubated long enough in the womb. He almost looked as though he was a baby that was born early, with ears and eyes that didn’t quite develop. His ears weren’t quite formed all the way, and his eyes looked a bit sunken into his face. He wasn’t terrible looking. But, as we shook hands, I continued to look at him, and was a bit aghast at the difference of his picture and the reality of his appearance. I could slap the person that made photo shop now.

Before I go on, let me just say something quickly. How do people think that others won’t find out what they really look like? Who are they trying to fool, but themselves? If you put a picture on your profile that is ten years old, obviously your appearance is going to be different when you meet your date. So, what is the plan then? Does one admit to the other, “I’m sorry, but I lied?“ WHAT DO THEY SAY?! The audacity of some people just baffles me and the credibility of all of the rest suffers because of the few idiots who think they can hook a person from an ancient picture. Then, they believe, the other person will fall in love with the “real“ them. So, after years of online dating and dealing with people like this; you come to the realization that “average” means a bit overweight, “heavy” means obese and “a little extra baggage” means that your date will be lifted by a crane into the restaurant where you are meeting. Egads, these people.

After my rant, I must get back to David. As he and I sat there talking that day (no, I didn’t bolt, despite my desire to), he began to tell me how his mother indeed did have him early and that to keep him alive, pure alcohol needed to be pumped into her system until she had him. So basically, he was born drunk and wasn’t supposed to live. (For all of you who know anything about pregnancy and for those who don’t, alcohol can cause birth defects). As he told me this horrible story (but good story because he had survived), I was trying to be empathetic and react how I should. We happened to be eating particularly hot salsa while visiting, and I had tears in my eyes because of it. At this, David finished his story, sat his hand on mine and said, “Oh Helen, oh Helen, ohhhhh Helen“ as he shook his head and looked at me with adoration. “Don’t cry for me. I am survivor. Just because I was born with some health issues, doesn‘t mean that we should weep now. However, I do love your tender heart”.

I sat there a bit confused at first and then understood. He thought I was crying in empathy for him and his story. I almost wanted to laugh because although his story was a very sad one, it wasn’t what brought tears to my eyes. I was crying because I felt like someone had rubbed jalapeños in my eyes! I realize it makes me sound shallow to say that his story didn’t make me cry. There is no denying that his story should have brought tears to my eyes. However, and not that I am comparing our stories because this is not an apples to apples comparison, but I too, have had tragedies in my life. I have had multiple heart surgeries and have beaten ghastly odds against death. He had no idea how my husband had left, how my most important motherly figure died holding my hand, and how many other things have paved my way on this road I call life. Am I jaded now because of all of this? Nah. I just know that I have a different perspective than most, and also that I have cried enough tears for a lifetime. So, I think my tear ducts and emotions are taking a little break in order for my sanity to be re-instated.

But, back to my story about David. Rather than tell him the truth right away, I decided to play along and let him think that I was weeping for him. It was easier that way as I was sure I wouldn’t date David after this date again. Our date ended and for some reason, I agreed to go out with him again. I think it was the fact that he thanked me for not judging him based only upon looks and giving him the time of day to get to know him. I also loved the fact that he could speak Spanish and that he was a Dad. I mean, it wasn’t as if there were fireworks or even a small spark between us. Perhaps I was bored and tired of the humdrum of only shopping online for men and not actually going out with them. Who knows? Even though there wasn’t a spark in the beginning, he was old fashioned and he sure knew how to treat a lady. Allow me to digress for a moment and explain why I was excited at this.

For starters, I was raised in a very conservative environment, where women received flowers, had doors opened for them, and never paid for dates. Raise a girl for twenty some years that way and then throw her into the dating world that preaches egalitarianism (equal rights) and we have confusion. I have mainly been confused and a bit appalled at dating in our society today because in my mind, it is only common courtesy to do these things. However, nowadays when people sleep with each other after only just meeting, girls buy flowers for themselves and guys laugh at the idea of opening up doors for women, what am I supposed to be, besides confused? Was I raised wrongly all these years? Which way is correct? Was I raised in Mayberry or what?

So, it was refreshing when I opened up my door to a smiling David who arrived with a bouquet of my favorite flowers, lilies. Not only had he done this, but he opened every door for me, paid for the dinner bill without blinking and didn’t even expect a kiss on the second date. Instead, he sang along to a very sweet country song that we both loved while looking into my eyes. (Okay, admittedly, that part was sweet, but it was so hard for me to not bust out laughing while he was singing).

Although he did some goofy things like claim that I was “the first woman whom he had ever serenaded”, I knew better. However, that kind of knowledge is knowledge you shove to the back of your subconscious because you don’t want to admit that perhaps you see a red flag or two waving boldly in the wind, telling you this person isn’t right for you. So, he and I continued to date for about three months as more little red flags popped up here and there. Yes, that’s right folks, I said three whole months.

I can’t even tell you what in the world we ever talked about during that time besides our children from our previous marriages. We also did a lot of ex-spouse bashing, which I am sure was therapeutic for us both. I am certain now that I was so caught up in these uncommon, gentlemanly characteristics that David possessed and the couple commonalities that we had, that I didn’t see his flaws. He really was quite charming when it came down to it.

On our final date, we agreed to meet at my favorite Starbucks and go to a movie afterward. I saw Michael, my favorite flamboyant barista as soon as I walked in. He looked at me, looked at David in his cowboy hat (this time, it was a different one with confederate flags on it as he is originally from the South), and Michael almost lost it right there. Again, he compared the picture I had printed out from David‘s internet profile, wadded it up into a ball and let out a quiet giggle, as he tossed it into the trash can, shaking his head. However, he contained himself after I shot him a glance that told him I would beat him down if he let another giggle slip out.

We walked up to the counter and David paid for my coffee. I was still, even after three months, reveling at the kind gesture of him paying and Michael quietly gave me the thumbs up as he began to prepare our coffee. All seemed to be going well until we sat down in the familiar velvet, purple chairs.

I made the mistake of making a crude joke about George W. Bush. This sent our little cowboy on a public tirade that I have never seen from another human being. David quickly scooted to the edge of his chair, with a determined look on his face, as he began to wave his hands feverishly in the air telling me how passionate good ol’ George W. was about every single soldier that has died.

I tried to interrupt poor David who felt as though I had personally cut him down by insulting his beloved George W. (sorry, but I didn’t vote for him). His fit continued as he ranted on that I better not interrupt him and that he would take a bullet for that man if he were to ever be given the opportunity, and how dare I say such a thing, and didn’t I have any pride in my country; and on and on he went for about fifteen long, very loud, torturous minutes, until I thought he was going to begin foaming at the mouth.

I sat gaping at him with my mouth hanging wide open, not knowing what to say. After this long, I knew, because he worked for the government and how he spoke of our country, that he loved it. However, never did I realize that he would act like this. Especially not in public. I looked around embarrassedly with the tiniest of smiles that I could muster and kind of shrugged my shoulders at everyone else to kind of say, “Sorry about my loony date”. What in the hell else was I supposed to do?

At this, David was about to continue on his rant because he saw my gesture and didn’t think I had gotten his point. Everyone took a breath in as David began to unravel once again. Thankfully, however, Michael heard and saw the entire tirade and took a break from his hysterical, silent laughter from behind the counter to save me. He told me that he was sorry, but he had just received a phone call from one of my family members and that something horrible had happened.

I looked at my cell phone in mock disgust as if to say, “Damned phone never works!” and shook my head at David. I tried to think about the saddest thing that has ever happened to me to muster up tears; kittens dying, starving children, typhoons taking out entire towns, anything, but to no avail, and apologized to David for having to go. Damned tear ducts anyway! Where’s the hot salsa when you need it? Why didn’t I take those acting lessons that my mother had so badly wanted me to take in high school?

David offered to drive me back to my apartment, but I told him that family members were on their way to pick me up and thanked him for the coffee. I told him I would call him later with the details and that I would be strong and make it through this rough time.

Words were not enough to thank Michael that day, as I gave him a hug and we laughed hysterically with the other baristas after David left. Thankfully, David and I hadn’t yet gotten to the point of staying over at one another’s houses or anything like that because of our kids. Thus, it was an easy break that day as I told myself that I had to say adios to David, my Mexican cowboy.

I had a fleeting feeling of sadness that was quickly chased away by laughter as Michael continued on to say that he could have seen David killing me, stuffing me, and dressing me in full cowgirl garb and propping me up in the corner of his kitchen. Or, making me a sacrifice to his almighty George W. as a non-compliant U.S. citizen and using me for target practice.

The fact that I was unmoved by my break up with David should have told me that three months were too long to devote to someone like him. Again, I hung my head down, as I thanked my friends and walked out the door swearing that I was going to take a vow of celibacy and give up dating all together.

Despite the fact that I told David that I wanted to break up until I was blue in the face, he wouldn‘t accept it. He would call, end up leaving numerous voicemails, consecutively unanswered emails, sent weekly arrangements of flowers for months (which my son and I still very much enjoyed), and even showed up to where I work.

Finally, David’s job transferred him back to Texas where I am sure he has settled nicely with a Southern gal who loves George W. Bush as much as he does. They probably even have a plaque of his face hanging on their wall in their living room in tribute to our ex president….

Shall I go on to more disasters? Oh, how about the guy that drove all the way from Kentucky to stay and showed up at the door with ONLY ONE EAR?! Or, the guy who visited from Georgia who “forgot” to tell me about his ten year long cocaine habit? I have many more treasures in store for you in my next chapter, but you will have to wait until my son’s next nap, so I can out the words down on paper. Hey! Stop laughing! At least I am being productive with my time, by writing about my past, rather than surfing the web for dudes anymore…

To read Gigi’s Part IV, see The Adventures of a Thouroughly Confused Gigi – Part IV