I admit there are times I’ve seen a mug shot on the news, or more accurately, posted by a news station on my Facebook feed, and been totally convinced I had seen the guy on a dating site. You have to figure the odds are probably something like 2.89% of Match.com members, 11% of Plentyoffish.com members, and 37.5% of ChristianMingle.com members are serial killers. I base my unscientific results on the membership figures and profile references to collecting human hair and having a mother who still irons your underwear. If they are wearing a ski mask in one of their pics, that is a total giveaway.
I once received an email on Match from a decent looking guy who met my qualifications of being younger and slightly Nordic in appearance. He wasn’t much for small talk, which is usually a prerequisite for me to meet a prospective online date in person. I need a few emails to sort out the ax murderer vibe. Fortunately, I was born on the Libra-Scorpio cusp, so I am naturally both indecisive and suspicious. My mystery man claimed to be in law enforcement, which is usually a red flag because I don’t date cops. My liberal tendencies naturally distrust cops. Rest assured, he said, he was a bounty hunter. Now, I didn’t realize this was actually a legitimate profession. Was there really a big demand for bounty hunters? Could you make a living doing that, without a reality tv show? I wasn’t sure I could date a bounty hunter. I figured Miss Daisy (aka Mom) would not approve, unless I managed to convince her he really worked in a paper towel test lab. My friend tried to tell me I was overreacting and just inventing excuses not to get back out in the dating pool. I couldn’t help but think I would come home one day to find my dogs shot in some weird Fatal Attraction homage. My Spidey senses paid off, when, after pulling the online dating disappearing act on him, he texted me one day while I was at work. I tried to be polite and said I was working and couldn’t talk. He asked when I would be home and I said around 5:15. From 5:15 to 5:30 I received seven texts consisting of “where are you?” “why aren’t you answering me?” “what’s wrong with you?” “you fucking bitch, this is why you are still single.” Thankfully he never tracked down where I lived, so not only was he crazy, he kinda sucked at being a bounty hunter and finding people.
There was another guy on Match who was a very polite guy, but I just didn’t feel a real physical attraction to his pictures. Something about the slicked down center part convinced me he would suck in bed. He asked to add me on Facebook, and I figured it would be good to poke around his page and check him out. I could always unfriend him later. His wall consisted of mostly family photos and inspirational posts, peppered with some Bible quotes. Could I date a super-religious guy? I wasn’t sure. Lucky for me, it was around election time, and that usually weeded out the totally incompatible for me. When he started with the rabid “pro-life” posts about how Obama voters were going to hell, I stopped responding to him. I basically forgot about him until over a year later, when I saw a post from someone using his account. She wanted to thank Mike’s friends for supporting him, and encouraged everyone to send him cards or letters…..at the nearby correctional facility. Being a lawyer, I immediately jumped on the court website to find out he was arrested for two counts of home invasion. A search of newspaper articles revealed he broke into a home in the middle of the day when there were teenagers there, and he stole $300. Not only was he a felon, he was a stupid ass felon. And a bad Christian. I guess he missed the whole part of the Bible about “Thou shalt not steal.”
In a delicious, Armani-smelling bit of irony, I have made out with a felon. Although he was not a felon at the time, he is serving a sentence now on corruption charges. The ironic part is that he is a cop, which goes against my aforementioned rule about cops. [But we never actually dated, so not really. Legal loophole.] After a bizarre evening that involved a stop at a skanky female strip club, he walked me to my car, and we started kissing in the middle of the street. Where, after 8 bottles of Beck’s and a handful of French fries over the course of 5 hours, I dropped to the pavement. Totally passed out without warning. Fortunately, he was a stand-up guy as future felons go and didn’t leave me lying in the street to be run over by a car. Or gang raped. Or eaten by a pack of rabid inner-city raccoons. I quickly regained consciousness, sadly with no memory of my make-out session, and called my friend to come back and drive me home. As felons go, he was quite charming and chivalrous.
In retelling these stories I’m starting to think there is a market for a website that cross-matches online dating photos with police mugshots. This would really suck for Gary Busey and Lindsay Lohan. I might need to pitch this idea on Shark Tank.