Inside My Head

the literary rantings of Angie Frissore

“Do not go blindly…”

After a few weeks of settling into single life (something I hadn’t been used to in years), I finally decided to take Amy’s advice and ‘get out there’…mainly by going on an internet dating site. I had done the internet thing back in college, actually achieving a long-lasting friendship as a result of it. I hoped that I could ride that success again after years of being out of the game.

I sat for what seemed like hours, staring at the computer monitor, trying to formulate an appealing profile. I wrote and re-wrote, trying desperately to find the perfect combination of words, until I realized that most of the responses I would get would be mainly a result of the photo, and not so much what I’d written.

I finally settled on a cute-but-witty little paragraph, uploaded a couple of (what I considered to be) my best pictures, held my breath, and hit the ‘post’ button. This was it. I was internet dating. I called Amy.

“So I did it,” I moaned, after Amy answered the phone.

“Did what? Kill someone? Eat a pigeon?” Amy said.

“Yeah, Ames, I ate a pigeon. Weirdo. Anyway,” I explained, “I posted an online profile on some dating site.”

“You did? Holy crap! That’s awesome!! I’m coming over so we can check out the selections.”


“Oh my god,” Amy gasped, “This one’s got a mullet!!” She collapsed in giggles on the floor as I examined the extent of the mullet factor. We were dealing with a full-on, mega mullet – this guy wasn’t fooling around.

“Aw, come on…go easy on him,” I said, trying not to laugh. “I’m sure he’s got the best trailer in the whole park!’

We erupted in laughter for a good five minutes before returning to the dating site’s search results. Things weren’t looking good for Single Abby.

After a few dozen profiles of overweight, role-playing, dateless rejects, we decided to scope out my competition and took a look at the profiles of other women on the site.

“Well, the good news is, you’ve got it in the bag,” Amy laughed, noting how one woman was proudly sporting the garden weasel – bangs frozen in the form of a curling iron and teased to such a degree that would add a good four inches to one’s height.

“Dare I say….”

“Don’t do it, Abs,” Amy warned.

“That I have….”

“Abs, stop it.”

“Some stiff competition?” I erupted in hysterics, more so over Amy’s reaction than to my own humor (which was convenient, considering there really wasn’t any).

“It’s like dealing with a child sometimes. Anyway, you can’t get discouraged,” Amy assured me. “Maybe the good ones just have to come to you. We should be patient.”

“We’ll see…I don’t want to have to resort to Captain Mega Mullet,” I moaned.


After a few days of little activity on the dating site, I finally got an email from a thirty-year-old single father – a Flight Medic, not originally from Boston. We exchanged several emails over the course of the week, finally deciding to meet up at Fins for lunch.

I realized upon pulling into the parking lot that I was dreadfully early, so I strategically parked behind the largest SUV I could find in order to not be seen. I had a storm of butterflies in my stomach – I hadn’t been on a date in years, let alone a blind date. Not that this date was particularly blind; we had both seen pictures of each other, and were both, most likely, praying that neither of us lied about it.

I saw him approaching from the distance, and a wave of relief washed over me. He represented well in person, at least from what I could tell. I got out of my car and headed over to him, smiling, when it finally hit me. I was towering over him.

It wasn’t a deal-breaker for me that I stood a good three inches taller than my date. I was, after all, wearing my stealth-sexy heeled boots (gaining their name from the outsider’s inability to properly see, under cover of denim, just how high the boots came up my thighs). I was a little disappointed in knowing I’d have to wear flats should we have a second date. I hated flats and always felt like a little kid shuffling around in them.

We had a great lunch, much to my surprise. He was handsome, articulate, young at heart, and had a great sense of humor. The service was slow, and we fully amused ourselves by making fun of other restaurant patrons and listening to his more amusing tales of life as a flight medic.

As the hour grew later, he hesitantly looked at his watch and sighed.

“I have to pick up Sophie,” he explained, looking disappointed. It was a good sign. “I wish I didn’t have to leave!”

“Well, that just means we’ll have to pick this up again, and soon,” I said, coyly, as he walked me to my car.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he said, laying a gentle and polite kiss on my lips. I began to think I could get used to the whole internet-dating-thing. Blind date #1: success.


December 27, 2008 - Posted by | No Messages - Excerpts from the Draft | , ,

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