The BACHELORETTE Project (The Project: LESLEE Series) (26 page)

“Well, it looks like you have to type in your information first,” Karen says as she reads the screen. “You have to come up with a username.”

I clap my hands like a three year old opening up birthday gifts. “That’s great!” I say enthusiastically. “What’s that?”

“OK, a username is a name that you will use when dealing with the Internet community,” she slowly tells me. “It’s like an alias if you want to call it that. It can reflect your personality or your interests. You choose it yourself.”

“Oh, I see,” I answer. “What would be a good username for me, then?” We both begin to think just waiting for that imaginary light bulb to go off over one of our heads.

“Oh, I have one!” Karen exclaims and begins to type.

“What is it?”

“T-W-A-T-W-A-F-F-L-E-6-9,” she spells out as she types. I read the computer screen to see what it says. My mouth drops.

“Twatwaffle69?” I question and Karen bursts into laughter. I don’t find this amusing at all. It’s almost insulting. “I can’t use that.”

“Why not?” she asks even though she already knows the answer. “Twatwaffle is the new thing. All the kids are saying it.”

I roll my eyes at the idea of calling myself a damn twatwaffle. God, she must be crazy. “Anyway,” I start, hoping that Karen can take me seriously, “any other ideas?” Karen appears to be thinking hard about this one.

“Oh!” she says loudly. “I got it. D-I-Z-Z-Y-B-I-T-C—”

“Don’t you even think about it!” I snap. “That is not appropriate nor does it describe the fabulousness that is me.” In a split second, I come up with a fantastic revelation. “That’s it!” I say in excitement as Karen looks confused. “Fabulous. I am fabulous and I’m fashionable, so …” The wheels in my brain begin to turn. “My user name can be ‘fabulousitychic
214
.’” I say. I’ve finally decided. It fits me perfectly. I am fabulous, I am woman, I am
fabulousitychic
214
! “It’s great, right?”

“Sure,” Karen tells me. “Whatever you say.”

I begin to fill in the information and I know exactly what to say and what I’m looking for. It actually isn’t that much of a difference between my video for Lonely Hearts and my Plenty of Fish profile, except of course it’s written out. I search on Karen’s computer for a few flattering pictures of myself and I post them up. Finally, my profile is complete and now I am on to the ‘fishing.’

“Okay,” I start, “so I am a FEMALE seeking a MALE from ages …” I stop for a second. “Karen, is 25 to 38 too broad of an age span when looking for men?”

“Twenty-five?” she asks. “I guess I can see you as a cougar.”

“I’ll just put it in anyway,” I say. “OK, so MALE from ages 25 to 38 seeking …” I stop again. “Am I looking for just dating or a long-term relationship?”

“Dating,” she says. “Saying long-term makes you look desperate.”

“OK, so I’m seeking DATING in PENNSYLVANIA within 10 miles of me,” I say. I click the search button and an array of profiles pop up on the screen. My eyes widen. “Wow!” I say in amazement. “So many varieties of men. I had no idea how many eligible bachelors were in our area.”

Karen scoots closer to me in order to see the computer screen. “Not bad,” she says and clicks on a profile. A Caucasian man’s profile pops up and we begin to read.

“Oh, look!” I point. “He likes to read, he likes football, he has no kids, and he’s tall. These are pluses.”

Karen shakes her head. “Look at his picture.” I look at his picture with a football field behind him. He’s wearing a Philadelphia Eagles jersey and smiling.

“There’s nothing wrong with him,” I tell her. “He looks good.”

“No, you need to look a little closer,” Karen says. “He’s missing one very important element.”

“And what’s that?” I ask.

“His left arm!” Karen exclaims as she points to the computer screen
. I
didn’t even notice it. His entire
left arm is in fact missing from the picture. “So, if you’re looking for a man to cuddle with and give you a hug, he will not be the one. Next.”

“That’s just wrong,” I say. “You can’t just say no to a guy because his arm is missing. Maybe he has one of those bionic arms and left it at home.” I shrug.

“Leslee, I know you,” Karen starts. “And I also know that this would be a problem for you. Stop being nice and unrealistic, and move on to the next one. You feeling sorry for him will not bring his arm back, that is if he even had one in the first place.” I sigh. She is right. I am a jerk and it may be one thing that I could not look past. Moving on …

“What about this guy?” I ask as I click on to another profile. “He’s a good looking guy.”

“With three kids,” Karen points out in the profile, “and he’s legally separated which probably means that he’s just looking for some ass until his wife forgives him for whatever stupid thing he did. Next.”

“Karen, how can you be so brutal in this process?” I ask her. “I’m willing to have an open mind about things.”

“So you mean to tell me that you are willing to haul his three children to daycare or where ever they have to go all the while trying to keep a healthy relationship with this man?” she asks. “You and I both know that it will never happen. Plus, he’s not
officially
divorced. That to me is two strikes, and two strikes in the dating game means that you are out, completely out, totally out, there’s no chance in Hell, so like I said before, NEXT!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Earrings: CHECK. Tight jeans and semi-revealing shirt: CHECK. Hair straightened and flattened to the very core: CHECK. I’m officially ready for my date, another one. Yeah, I know. I can be ridiculous, but these goodies won’t be fresh and young for long. I have to get while the getting’s good. Besides, this is all for my experiment … or so I tell myself.

I take one last look at myself in the bathroom mirror to make sure that my lip gloss is popping, my eyeshadow is intact, and that I look irresistible. I want to make heads turn tonight, especially my date’s.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Karen asks me as she walks into the bathroom.

“I have a date tonight,” I tell her, “with Xavier.”

“Xavier?” she questions. “And where did you meet him?”

“I met him on that beautiful Internet Web site, Plenty of Fish,” I say. “I just might have caught a good one.”

“And how come you didn’t tell me?” Karen asks and I shrug my shoulders.

“I didn’t think you’d be interested.”

“Of course I’m interested. Every date you go on is an adventure
with
in itself,” she says. “So, where’s he from? What does he do? What does he look like? What size is his penis?”

“I’m not going to answer the penis question,” I tell her, “more so because I don’t know.” I do have an idea. I mean, we’ve been emailing each other for three weeks. He told me that his penis was the length of a remote control, but I don’t know what that means exactly. Remotes, just like penises, come in different sizes. “He lives in West Philly, he installs windows for a living, he lives on his own, he doesn’t have any kids, and he’s 25 years old.”

Karen nudges me playfully. “Twenty five,” she says. “You cougar!”

“It’s no
t that big of an age difference,
” I argue. “Plus, we’re meeting at Cuba de Alma.”

“Oh, I see,” Karen says and looks at me. “I’m going with you.”

“What? No, you can’t go.”

“Yes, I can. Why not? You know what they say about Internet dates. You should always bring a friend just in case he turns out to be some sort of psycho or if he’s ugly.” I don’t say anything. I apply more lip gloss in order to avoid her at all costs. “Why aren’t you saying anything?” she asks. I don’t want to tell her, but I’ll have to break some unfortunate news.

“Annie is coming with me,” I say. “I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want you getting mad because I didn’t ask you first.” Karen’s face of disappointment turns into mere jealousy. I didn’t want to ask Karen because then she’ll start interrogating him. She may even ask the size of his remote control then I’ll really be embarrassed. I love Karen to death, but she really has no tact whatsoever.

“Annie?” Karen questions and I nod my head. “You ask her but don’t bother to ask me?”

“Well, Annie doesn’t even know that I’m meeting a guy th
ere if it makes you feel better,
” I reply. Yes, this is true. I’ve become manipulative. All I did was ask Annie to go to dinner with me. I didn’t have to tell her that there was also a third-party meeting us there.

“Well, I hope you have fun,” Karen tells me. “While you’re out on your little threesome date, I will be going to the gym so I can have abs of steel by my wedding day and an ass like Kim Kardashian. I’m gonna become super hot.”

“I hope you have fun, too,” I say as I walk out of the bathroom. “I’ll call you if I run into any problems.”

“Oh, don’t bother,” she tells me snidely. “I’ll be too busy listening to Lady Gaga while I sprint on the treadmill and lose that extra fat that keeps me from my perfect wedding dress.”

“OK,” I answer not really knowing what to say to that. I can see that Karen has really jumped off the deep end with this one, but I know a lot of women do that for their weddings. I wonder if I’ll be like this when I get married,
if
I get married. At this rate, I’ll be lucky to have a half normal date. “Well, I’m leaving,” I say as I bolt through the front door and into Annie’s car waiting by the curbside. “Hey!” I exclaim. “You ready for tonight?”

“Are you kidding?” she asks. “I haven’t had Cuba de Alma in a long time,” Annie tells me as she begins to drive. “I have to ask, though. Why did you pick such a fancy place?” Should I tell her the truth now or wait until we get there? Unfortunately, we are in a moving vehicle. She can either turn the car around and say no or she can run into another moving vehicle out of anger and injure us both. I’ll pray that it’s neither.

“You promise not to get mad?” I ask squinting my face in fear.

“Oh, God! What is it now?” she grunts.

I take a deep breath.
Let it out,
I think to myself.
Let it ALL out.
“OK, so I met this guy online through an Internet dating site and I’m meeting him tonight … at Cuba de Alma … and you’re coming with
me
for safety precautions.” There, I said it. It didn’t sound so bad coming out of my mouth, but by the look on Annie’s face, I can tell she is not pleased … at all.

Annie breaks in the middle of the road and proceeds to make a U-turn. “Wait!” I yell. “What are you doing? The restaurant’s the other way.”

“I’m taking you back home.”

“Why?” I whine. “Come on, Annie. It won’t be that bad. I just need you there for support and just in case he turns out to be crazy.”

“You’re the crazy one. I don’t want to be the third wheel on your little Internet date.”

“But you won’t be,” I assure her. “You’ll be very much a part of the conversation. It’ll just be like three grown adults going out and socializing. Please, Annie. I really like this guy.” It’s not a complete lie. Yeah, I do like him, but I won’t know how much I actually like him until I meet him. Besides, people lie on the Internet all the time. He could turn out to be a complete pervert or scumbag like the rest of them or he could smell … really bad which is an absolute turn-off for me.

“OK, I’ll go,” Annie agrees, “but you’re buying me appetizers.”

“Deal,” I say as Annie drives toward the restaurant. We find a parking spot on Walnut Street and walk to Cuba de Alma in silence. “I can’t believe I’m doing this for you,” Annie says as she opens the door to the restaurant. I walk inside.

“I’d do this for you if the tables were turned,” I tell her walking to the hostess st
and. “Party of three for Leslee,
” I tell the hostess and she looks over her list.

“Your other guest is already here,” the hostess tells us as she walks us to the table. So this means that Xavier is good with time. That has to be a good personality trait, even though I’m late for everything I go to. Maybe if Xavier and I hit it off, he can teach me about time. That would be a good thing, right?

As we walk toward the table, I see Xavier waiting patiently for us. He smiles. I do have to point out that he looks a little off from his Internet picture. He’s so young looking and so chubby that I almost feel bad for him. He stands up from his seat to greet Annie and me, and I notice that he’s shorter than me. Not only was the picture a little bit of a lie, but his height seems a little off as well. Then again, I am wearing heels. The world seems so much higher in a pair of Louboutins.

“Hi, Xavier,” I say pleasantly as I give him a friendly, yet innocent hug.

“It’s nice to meet you in person, Leslee,” he tells me then looks over at Annie. “Is this your friend?”

Annie puts out her hand for a handshake and smiles. “My name is Annie,” she tells him.

“It’s nice to meet you, too, Annie,” he tells her. “I’m Xavier. I’m sure Leslee told you all about me.”

I laugh nervously. “Not as much as I should have unfortunately,” I answer. It would’ve been a lie anyway. He really looks off to me, and his hair is outdated, too. A young Hispanic man with a bowl haircut. OK, who in their right mind would wear a bowl haircut a
fter 1992? Really? SERIOUSLY?! In fact, h
e doesn’t look
like his profile picture at all!