After my first experience (disaster) with internet dating, I was tempted to swear of the whole thing entirely. I thought about it for a while and decided to keep trying - besides, if one bad experience with a website made me stop using it altogether, I would not have all of this cool stuff from Ebay.

So I got back online and started searching.

Bingo! I found a girl who was potentially my dream date and sent her an email. She was five-foot-ten, had a semi-athletic build (by definition 70% feminine, 30% biceps), and each of her pictures showed a wonderful smile. She also drove a big truck, which I was thought was the coolest thing ever, second only to a woman who drives a stick shift. She had a few typos and misspellings in her profile, but that didn’t mean anything, right? Right. Plus we also didn’t have many common interests, but as the old saying goes, “opposites attract”, right? Right. So she replied, we chatted via email for a while, and then we decided to meet.

She picked a typical bar/restaurant for us to meet at. Again, I thought this was a phenomenal idea as it gave me direct access to an endless supply of liquid courage. Then she dropped the bomb on me: she wanted to bring another guy who was her “friend”. I replied, “Certainly! The more, the merrier!”.

Maybe I am too nice sometimes.

So I showed up at this restaurant about ten minutes late (you know, to look cool) and found them already sitting across from each other at a table, deep in conversation. This night was off to a great start already. I walked over and introduced myself to the girl (we’ll call her “Gina”) and to her “friend” (we’ll call him “Bonehead”) and sat down next to her. Two guys and one girl - I was going to have to play hardball.

Anyways, to say this guy was a complete waste of humanity is a serious understatement. Besides the sleeveless shirt exposing tattoos that were probably cool about a decade before, he absolutely reeked of some cheap cologne and talked at length about his favorite topic: himself. I was disgusted. It has been said that if you don’t have anything nice to say, you shouldn’t say anything at all. Five minutes into the evening I was in mime-mode.

After a short while we both noticed Gina sitting closer to me (yes!), so Bonehead (I think his real name was Derek… or maybe Fred) began to engage me in conversation. He told me he was 21, which was odd because he looked at least thirty, and then asked me where I worked. At the time I was working for a major credit card company, to which he replied he had worked there six years before. He then went into a long speech about how they were a horrible company to work for, that they would hire practically anyone (thanks!), and that if I were smart I would get out of there and find a “real job”.

Irony, you are my best friend.

There was one thing that Bonehead apparently didn’t know about me: I have a head for numbers. There was also one thing about him that I now knew: his math skills left a lot to be desired. I decided it was time to torpedo this moron. I pointed out that the company in question only hires employees that are over 18 and have roughly three years of experience in a related field (which puts the age requirement closer to 21). If he had worked there six years prior, that means they hired him at 15, making him the Doogie Howser of the credit card world. So in other words, either his math was off, or his receding hairline was telling the truth about his age.

Needless to say, he left somewhat abruptly and Gina and I had a great time. She told me about her family and her upbringing… she grew up in a rather expensive part of Scottsdale, she had never a full time job in her life, and her parents had just bought her the truck. All of these were the signs of a potential spoiled brat, but I liked to find the best in people, so I enjoyed the night and bid her good bye.

The next afternoon I called Gina to see what she was up to - I figured she was free since, you know, she didn’t have a job or anything. She seemed rather upset so I asked her what was wrong… that was a bad idea. She was angry at her parents because they were only going to give her five thousand dollars to customize her truck. The truck that they bought her. Unbelievable.

So now I was mentally checked out where this girl was concerned. I should have seen this one coming. After she calmed down a bit she asked what I wa up to the next day. Before I could say, “Learn-some-manners-and-don’t-ever-call-me-again-you-spoiled-rotten-brat”, she told me that she and her friends were meeting at a bar and she wanted me to come with them.

Her friends? Really…

Now I am not a player and don’t date multiple girls at the same time. In this case, I figured I was done with her so why not meet some new people? Besides, I was new in town and didn’t really know anyone. If nothing else, it would have at least been a chance to put this brat in her place.

So the next evening I headed over to this nice outdoor bar and sat down at a table with four beautiful women all doing shots and pounding fruity drinks. Needless to say, I had an optimistic idea of where the night was going along with a letter in my head that started with “Dear Penthouse”. But after a few minutes of chatting with them, something struck me.

These were the most awful women in the world.

Sure, they were drop-dead gorgeous, but they were arrogant, egotistical, self-centered, and outright rude to the waitress. All they wanted to talk about was how much money they got from their rich parents (barf!), how much they loved each other’s new purses and shoes (Lord, what did I do to deserve this), and the most recent episode of whatever mind-numbing show they watched on MTV (”My goodness, Richard, that drink is already gone?”). Worst of all, none of them had ever had a full time job and none of them had even the slightest idea what the “real world” was like, despite dedicating a large part of their lives to watching a show of that name. I decided to fall back on that old saying about not saying anything at all if you don’t have anything nice to say.

Five drinks later, I decided it was time for the gloves to come off.

It started when the girls began talking about dating and sex. Needless to say, my ears perked up. One of the more women in the group said these exact words: “I have standards when it comes to dating. I usually wait until the third date before I sleep with a guy unless we hook up when I first meet him.” With a line like that, the jokes almost write themselves. In my semi-intoxicated haze I went with the first one that came to mind.

“Wow, what a creature of virtue you are. I suddenly why you are still single, being such a prude and all. Let me guess: missionary position only until the fifth date, right? Right. We wouldn’t want anyone to think you are easy or anything.”

Silence at the table…

Finally one of the women blurted out the most intelligent phrase she could possibly come up with: “Oh my gaaawwwd, that was like, so meeeaaan!”

Undaunted I fired back with, “Mean? You think that was mean? Let’s talk about the way you ignorant trolls discuss everyone else including your parents, who pay exorbitant amounts of money so that you don’t have to hold a full time job but you can buy all the cosmetics you need to hide your true appearance. The end result is that your outward appearance resembles your personality: completely fake!”

I stormed (stumbled) away from the group of socialites leaving them in complete awe of my sudden tyrade with their mouths hanging open. They probably spent the better part of the evening looking up several of the words I used to see if they should be angry or not. I guess they figured it out, because I never heard from her again. I did happen to see her on the road two years later in her truck that was customized to the point of gaudiness. Either she got a job or her parents gave in (duh). Maybe temper tantrums actually work in this part of town.

Undaunted yet again, I decided to continue my search via the world wide web to find the woman of my dreams. I thought to myself that maybe the old saying is true (by the way, I am a really big fan of those old sayings), that the third time is a charm.

“Charm” was hardly a way to describe it.

Richard Chandler is a product researcher for an online business by day and a freelance writer by night. Check out his blog and leave a comment at http://computarded.wordpress.com