The Fake-Out Artist

I am currently embittered and salty, and if you speak to me this week about how in LOOOOOOVE you are, you should count yourself lucky if you leave our conversation without a bitch slap.

Why am I justified in my temporarily bitchy ways?  I am suffering from the burn of a fake out. 

What's a fake out?  If you're a woman (and perhaps a dude... I can't speak from that experience) who online dates, you probably know the fake out.  Here's the general schema of a fake out:

You are contacted by a gentleman friend who seems to have a lot of the qualities you'd like in a mate.  He seems attentive and ideal.  You exchange numerous e-mails and then maybe some and/or a lot of texts.  He asks you out and takes you to a nice place for dinner, which he pays for.  The conversation goes really well, and you genuinely enjoy yourself.  Plus, he seems to have a great time, too.  Sure, he may have talked about himself a little too much, but that's OK since you liked what you heard.  In particularly toxic fake outs, he walks you home.  There may even be some making out before the faking out.

And then...

He drops off the face of the earth.

It may not happen immediately.  He may text you here and there, but with pointless, self-involved statements for which it is impossible to think of responses (e.g., "My bike ride was awesome.  46 miles!!!!!" "I missed the earthquake.  I always miss cool events like that.  Mother nature hates me.") and MUCH less often than he did before your date.  He may make vague plans to hang out again but never actually follows through.  He may "warn" you of an upcoming trip, wedding, etc., that will delay your eventual second date.

Ultimately, however, he is full of crap.

This weekend, when I was just starting to realize that I was getting shafted, I was lucky enough to hang out with a few good girl friends, one of whom thought she was in the same exact situation.  Things MAY have worked out for her, but this apparently happens all the damn time.  It is EXHAUSTING.  I'd much rather go out with a loser who uses a Groupon than a fake-out artist.  At least I don't get my hopes up for a date from hell.

But c'est la vie.  One cannot go about life assuming the worst in people.  And I predict an improvement in my mood given that Halloween is just around the corner.  You cannot be sad while dressed as a sea creature.  It's like a law of science or something.