Dont Stop Believin’

He was a singer and played guitar; the ultimate double whammy chick magnet. He was decent looking and personable. Where’s the church, right?

Not so fast. Like all the loser men I write about, I met him over the internet using a free dating site called Plenty of Fish. POF for short which could stand for plenty of…insert the f word of your choice. Let’s go with frauds this time.

Anyway, he lived in Annapolis and played the bar scene there and around the beltway. He mentioned a dive in Annapolis he was playing one Saturday after we’d chatted a bit and so I drug my roommate out to see him.

We walk in and it is dark, smoky and full of large, balding men drinking Budweiser’s and a man on acoustic guitar in the corner. The Journey song “Don’t Stop Believing’” comes to mind…a singer in a smoky room, the smell of wine and cheap perfume, for a smile they can share the night it goes on and on and on and on… But the man with the guitar in the corner is singing a decent Jimmy Buffet cover. I look over and through the haze; I can see it’s my guy. Great! We found him and he looks just like his picture.

I order a beer and sit at the bar. I get the playful idea I’ll slip him a note in his tip jar. Corny as it is I write: “Here’s a tip, give Lynn a call”, and walk over to the microphone. As smoothly as I can, I drop it in, make eye contact and walk back to my seat hoping he checks me out.

He takes 5 and comes and sits with us. He introduces himself to me and my roommie and we start chatting. Turns out he’s playing Ocean City the next weekend at a nice bar on the bay. I think, “I have been wanting to take a trip to the beach for awhile and here’s my chance”! He goes back on and we stay a little bit before waving goodbye.

During the next week we talk on the phone about it and he’s sort of non committal (RED FLAG number 1!!). I decide to go anyway because I really do like the beach. I call and text several times and he says where he’s at and to call when I get there.

I pull up and it seems a hell of a lot nicer than the last place he was at. Upscale but casual, right on the bay with the sun going down. I go through to the back patio, following the singing. Is it that same damn Jimmy Buffet song again?

I order a beer and grab a stool. He waves and continues singing. I request Brown Eyed Girl and he sings it for me. When he takes a break and sits down, he orders some dinner and we chat. He’s fairly quiet (RED FLAG number 2) and I am tired. The beer is making me fuzzy after a long, hot car ride. He goes back on and I walk around taking photos with my new camera. I’m happy.

So his set ended and I want to hang out, get some real dinner. He says he’s tired and wants to go back to his hotel and crash. He doesn’t invite me. Hmmmm. Odd. (RED FLAD NUMBER 3). I should have known better. As you know, three strikes and your out. 

I am now pissed. Literally and walk around Ocean City until my buzz wears off. Of course, I can’t drive home like that. While I fume, I take more pictures, have some dinner and contemplate my situation. Is he married? Have a kid back at the hotel? Already have plans with a prostitute? Why make plans with me…did I misunderstand, or his he just a jerk? That must be it and I go with the latter.

I give up trying to figure it out and resign myself that I will be arriving home well after 11 and start my journey. Three super sized Mountain Dews and a nap later, I pull into my driveway. That’s the last time I travel more than an hour to meet a guy unless he’s serious. And that requires a lot more than a visit to a dive to watch him play a Jimmy Buffet cover.

As always, I choose to view this story as a comedy rather than a tragedy. I hope you did too and learn from this chick’s mistake! Good luck ladies. And remember: always, always, always meet in a public place. Your Mom is right about this one.

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