if you want to be in the Scuba Squad, you have to be smart

Sometimes you get a craving for something different... whether it is those killer heels instead of your usual ballet flats, matte red lips instead of glossy nude... the analogy can extend to most facets of life - there are times when you just want to put your toe over the line, test the waters so to speak and add some spice to the equation. Sometimes this can be rewarding and sometimes it can remind you exactly why you stick to the familiar. Unlike the wise decision to invest in Chanel's Fire lipstick years ago, my foray into the wide world of diving had me gunning for surface.

Scuba Steve and I texted back and forth for roughly a month before deciding to get together. Having found each other online (ah the modern equivalency of the bar scene) I was hesitant to actually bring the virtual to life. But after stalling and batting the idea back and forth, I finally decided "what the hell" and asked if he wanted to grab a drink. I picked a middle of the week date night figuring this would be innocuous and that I could easily excuse myself if need be. I also followed up with a very public meeting spot - figuring if it turned out badly I could just get lost in the crowd and walk away.

The day of the date approached faster than I would have liked, and I can honestly say readers; I did not want to go. Something in my head just kept repeating that this was a bad idea, he used all lower case letters in his emails, he made up words sometimes, he texted at odd hours, he sometimes wrote texts like he was tipsy at 12 noon... on and on this little voice kept persisting. An hour before the date I found myself in a diner on the east side with my longtime friend J. "Give him a chance." "I really don't want to. I know that sounds awful, I really only agreed on a date so it would break the monotony of the texts from him." "Well, give him the benefit of the doubt, you might have fun, and stop bogarting the fries."

We met at 6 p.m. on crowded museum steps. I was pleasantly surprised at first glance. Well dressed, polite, blonde, blue eyed, southern accent. Okay I thought easing my shoulder tension this could work. I should know better than to be fooled by pretty packaging. We decided on a walk through Central Park over to the west side. It became apparent rather quickly that we had absolutely no common ground, our interests didn't synch and he actually seemed bored when I brought up what I studied and what I did for a living. I suppressed the feeling and decided to chalk this up to a mismatched first date. We reached the other side of the reservoir thirty minutes later. He had practically ran out of that park because he desperately needed a cigarette. It would be the first of many; this readers was a chain smoker. When I questioned the habit (his dating profile had listed him as a nonsmoker) he explained he had lied so he could get more dates. Charming. After finishing his first and lighting his second, he glanced at his watch and asked if I was ready to grab a drink. I directed him to a small neighborhood bar that was crowded but had a fun atmosphere. We grabbed two stools right up at the bar and our evening officially got underway.

Within an hour of being there (I was still nursing my first drink), Scuba Steve had thrown back his own body mass in shots and had switched to scotch with beer chasers. The alcohol was coming off of him in waves and his true colors were starting to bleed through. The more intoxicated he became the more obnoxious, homophobic and racist he became as well. This was all the more concerning because the bartender on shift happened to be gay. I was embarrassed to be there, embarrassed to be near him. And quite frankly a little concerned over the anger of his mood. I made the choice then that the only way out of this date was the fake bathroom visit exit. While he busied himself finding the bottom of the bottle, I grabbed my purse and made a motion for the ladies. Instead I turned quickly and walked straight out of the bar, ran up two blocks and hailed a cab home. Safely in my apartment I looked down to see two missed calls and a slew of angry text messages that aren't worth retyping.

I turned all my locks that night even though he had no idea where I lived and tried my hardest to block him from my memory.

"The first time someone shows you who they are, believe them." - Maya Angelou

Safe to say I am done with online encounters for a good long while.

New York City (3)/ The Exit Strategy (0)