I'm not even sure I want to write about this date.  That's how strange I feel about it. 

Before I left for Ohio, I had been talking to Drew, who I had met through the Internet (where else?).

Everytime, without fail, when I talk to a guy who is an experienced online dater, I ask, "What did you think of the girls you met through the Internet before?"
The response is usually something generic about her personality, and then, "But she didn't look like her picture ..."
"In what way?"
"Well, she had gained about 30 pounds since her picture was taken ..." 

Guys are never fatter in person.  They may deceive by not showing teeth in their pictures or by wearing a hat in their pictures or by adding a few inches to their height, but it's never weight. 

Until now.

Drew, the good looking, in shape guy in the pictures was actually a plumper version in person.  His explanation:  "Well, I was in really good shape ... but then I turned 21 ... and beer tastes good."

We went to a bar with two other couples.  The other couples hung out on the dance floor but we stayed in the booth.  The dance floor wasn't working for me.  To dance with him, I felt like I had to make my stomach concave to accomodate for his convex stomach. 

Then, I don't know what got into me (I was designated driver so it wasn't booze), but I made out with him when we got back to my place.  And after he kissed me, he had this look on his face like he had just delivered the best kiss ever (which reminds me of a story I must tell later).  I, however, was unimpressed.  And yet, I still made out with him.

He took his shirt off at some point.  Why--I do not know.  My clothes were still on and remained on.  His large gut was now revealed.  And yet, I still made out with him (closing my eyes tightly and trying to pretend that I didn't see what I just saw). 

Then, he started talking.  He liked to hear himself talk.  In the car, he would say something in an unsuccessful attempt at being funny.  When no one laughed, he interpreted as us being offended at what he had said and he would then say, "You can't take me too seriously.  I'm just a goofy guy." 

But anyway, he started talking to the point where I finally asked, "Can you please stop talking?"  And yes, I still made out with him.

At the end of the date, he said, invoking the MTV show Next, "Well, Michelle, we've been on this date for 11 1/2 hours.  You can either take the seven hundred dollars or you can have a second date with me."

"I'll take the money," I responded.