My date with Kelly from Match.com

A while back, “Kelly” from Match.com contacted me and said she would like to get to know me better.

We talked a few times, and I learned a bit about her. Allegedly, Kelly is very good looking, thin, well dressed, and well-educated. She is black, but she only dates white men. She has a degree in computer science and is a software consultant for —-. She owns a house, two condominiums, and fifteen vending machines.

Kelly said she was twenty-nine. It seemed a little unusual for someone her age to have already accumulated this many assets, and the whole not-dating-her-own-race thing was a little weird, but she seemed interesting and friendly, so I figured I’d give her a shot. I invited her to go out to dinner and then see a show at one of my favorite comedy clubs in Boston.

I agreed to pick her up at a Barnes and Noble near where she lived, as she felt more comfortable with that than me picking her up at her home. I was fine with that. She was indeed very attractive, thin, well-dressed, and black.

Everything seemed to be going fine—until she started talking to me.

The conversation over the entire evening was steady stream of non-sequiturs so bizarre I began to doubt her sanity or grasp of the world around her. Every sentence she spoke was with ice-cold seriousness, (think of Hannibal Lector or the Robert Patrick T-1000 character from Terminator 2) so I think there is no way she could have been sarcastic or joking, especially since she kept this up all night, a good six hours.

We drove to the Alewife T-stop in Cambridge, parked, and got on the train. On the train, we saw an advertisement warning about the dangers of drug abuse. When we had emailed back and forth weeks earlier, Kelly mentioned several times that she was very against drug abuse and would not be involved with anyone who used drugs, smoked, or used chewing tobacco or snuff tobacco. Perhaps because of this earlier conversation, I mentioned that I saw something on television about glaucoma and medical marijuana, as well as that I knew someone who used marijuana to help with the nausea from chemotherapy when he had cancer. Kelly asked me what glaucoma was. She then asked me what chemotherapy was and what it did. It took me about five minutes to explain to her. It would have taken less time, but I kept having to explain that marijuana was *not* the drug that actually cured the cancer but rather the drug that helped with the side effects of the chemo. She continued to ask how the chemotherapy cured cancer, and eventually I just had to tell her that it (often) stops the cancer from spreading and eating away at healthy tissue. I then tried to change the subject.

When we got to the restaurant and were looking over the dinner specials and wine list, Kelly told me that she never had alcohol until she was twenty-five. She then gave me a detailed history about how her friend’s parents were alcoholics and that when they drank, they would move their cars out of the garage so they could dance in the garage and roll around on the floor. She then told me that on her twenty-fifth birthday, her friends tried to get her to try whiskey. Allegedly, on that occasion, she went into the kitchen, and “because no one was in the room to tell her how to do it,” she poured herself one red coffee mug and one blue coffee mug full of whiskey and drank them both. How someone who never drank before managed to drink that much whiskey at once without vomiting or spitting it out is beyond me, but I couldn’t get a word in edgewise most of the evening. She then said that she could not breathe, and her friends had to put a paper bag over her face. Her friends then packed her in ice in the bathtub and called an ambulance. I tried to change the subject again.

When we were looking at the menu, Kelly told me that she was unhappy with the food choices at the cafeteria in Buffalo. (I assume this is when she travels for work.) She told me that the oatmeal they had “freaked her out” because all of the “individual oatmeals” were much bigger than she was used to, and it was like “they had eyes and were staring at her.” Keep in mind, she is telling me all of this with a straight face. I explained to her that she was probably used to instant oatmeal, which shrinks after it is pre-cooked and dried, and that traditional, old-fashioned rolled-oats do appear larger and plumper when cooked.

Okay—no more conversations about food, drink, drugs, or anything else you put in your body.

Kelly asked me about my family, and I told her that my sister is changing careers and is becoming a nurse. I mentioned because of the shortage of health care professionals in America, many people often see a nurse or nurse-practitioner instead of an official medical doctor. This fascinated her, and she asked me how she could find a nurse to see instead of her doctor. I told her she’d just have to see who is available with her health plan. She said that she would research that when she got home. When trying to end this conversation, I mentioned that a lot of people see nurses for everyday problems but still might go see a doctor if they have problems with a more serious, chronic illness. Kelly asked me what a chronic illness was.

Thank God that show at the comedy vault was about to begin. I was able to relax for an hour and a half. It was a decent show. I’m glad that none of the comics gave us any basis for much conversation afterwards, though. We hopped back on the “T” to go back to Alewife. After we sat down, and the train started moving, Kelly abruptly asked me, “I wonder what makes people go crazy.” I said, “Huh?” She pointed to a man sitting less than three feet away from us and said, “That man is stretching out the material in his pants and is scratching patterns into it. I was wondering what causes people to go insane. Is it job stress, or maybe some sort of head injury, or something like that?” She wasn’t mocking this man at all—she was honestly very curious about his situation. Thankfully, he got off at the next stop.

As left Alewife, Kelly asked me if I knew how to “program” the new Charlie-ticket electronic exit-gates. I said, “No.”

On the drive back to Barnes and Noble, I made one last attempt to have a normal conversation. I asked, “So how did you end up with two condos, a house, and fifteen vending machines?” The next fifteen minutes were a high-speed blur of her entire financial history, complete with the complete balance of her checking and savings accounts, percent down payments, and interest rates. There was some mention of someone named “Lucile” that she “partnered” with in the middle of all of it. Also, apparently, if you’re a first-time home buyer, the government will pay for your down payment, and if you’re purchasing a condominium, you don’t have to pay your first month’s mortgage. I suppose this might actually be true under some very special circumstances, but I didn’t get any details of that.

We arrive back at Barnes and Noble, and Kelly hugged me and got out of the car. She didn’t mention anything about going out again, so a least we avoided that awkward moment.

I think the real clincher of the evening is that this women was very good looking, well dressed, articulate, and poised, and she allegedly lived an upper-middle-class, white-collar lifestyle. I could almost understand her behavior from someone who looked like an unkempt, “crazy” poor person who had trouble holding down a job at a car wash, but this was all coming from an attractive woman who wore a two-piece pant suit, high heels, makeup, and jewelry. I felt like I was in some episode of the Twilight Zone or “Alfred Hitchcock Presents.”

My conclusion is that Kelly was simply very, very sheltered her entire life and consequently didn’t know how to have a “normal” conversation with anyone. My other theories are that she was a space alien spy disguised as a human or a highly advanced but malfunctioning android—like in some episode of “Star Trek” where Lt. Data gets his memory wiped or something like that. Maybe she was Honey Ryder, the Bond girl from “Dr. No.” who was raised on an isolated island but had read an entire set of encyclopedias in her childhood. Maybe she was simply a compulsive liar.

I realize that I’m rather eccentric myself, and that sometimes, I take my own unusual interests, hobbies, and deadpan sense of humor a little too far for some people, but this woman was running circles around me in the world of weirdness. All I know is that I’m out $85, and I am now forever terrified of Claire Huxtable.

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8 Responses to “My date with Kelly from Match.com”


  1. 1 Bethany April 8, 2008 at 3:08 am

    Wow. I hear you have more crazy dating stories.. can’t wait to read them!

  2. 2 Kate April 8, 2008 at 7:21 pm

    Terrifying and fascinating at the same time…and while I know Match.com did end up working out for you, I’m still a little scared that I’m going to find the male counterpart to “Kelly”…

  3. 3 The Un-Kelly April 8, 2008 at 7:37 pm

    Kate, I don’t know. It seems like Kelly was mostly harmless. Just abso-freakin’-lutely off-the-wall crazy. 🙂 A date with boy-Kelly could be fun!

  4. 4 Dawn April 8, 2008 at 8:02 pm

    Your story is great…but I need to tell my husband about her assuming that poor guy was crazy because he was drawing designs on his pants with his fingers. This is something similar to what he does. When he is contemplating something or otherwise just distracted..he traces lines of poetry onto his pants or arm rest or where ever his hand may be at the time.

    On second thought..maybe she is on to something. (don’t tell my husband I said that)

    🙂

  5. 5 Jonathan April 9, 2008 at 5:33 am

    I’ve read some reviews about match.com…
    Id say one out of every 20 was anything good.
    Most of them seemed to deal with the imbalance
    in the male/female ration (in favor of women)
    and that some women take advantage of that fact
    and men and use them for free meal tickets.
    Everything ealse about this woman could purly be
    fabericated. But even most fabicrations are centered
    arround truths somewhere.
    Well best of luck and wishes with you and Rima 🙂
    -Jonathan

  6. 6 Bemused B. Monkey April 9, 2008 at 11:41 am

    Jonathan:
    You sound kind of bitter. It’s pretty unfair to say that most women do, well, anything. I’m female and I’ve more often than not split costs 50-50 or at a different ratio that wasn’t in my favor.

    I think your post says more about you than women, or the blogger, himself, who seems to have taken his bad luck a little better than you have.

    — BBM

  7. 7 anniewilson August 25, 2008 at 3:33 pm

    Hey, 85 bucks is cheap…it could have been a LOT worse!


  1. 1 NEUROTIN information. » NEUROTIN.US Trackback on May 11, 2008 at 2:19 pm

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