The blurry picture should have been the first warning sign.

So this is a story about a guy named Dante*. He was the second guy I had a date with from match.com. Now, I'll admit that he had a lot to live up to. Although it didn't work out with the first guy I met, the date was really great. But I could hear my mothers' (both of them) voices in my head. "Don't judge a book by its cover". I had read his profile, seen one blurry picture of him and we had exchanged a few emails.  When he offered to come to Harrisonburg to meet for dinner, I decided to give it a chance. What ensued was what I like to call the "twilight zone of first dates". I spent the next 2 hours alternating between trying not to laugh and trying to figure out how to make it end as quickly as possible. It only took about 2 minutes for me to know that I couldn't wait to leave there and tell all my friends what I had just experienced.

The date was set for a Friday evening. Since Friday is my day off, I had a lazy day and then decided to start getting ready at about 4pm. When I got out of the shower at around 4:30pm, I had 3 missed calls from an unfamiliar number and one text message: "Hi Rachel, I know our date is not until 6, but I am in downtown Harrisonburg already and would like for you to come early so we can talk."

Umm... I thought that's what the date was for. To talk. What's this about a pre-dinner talk? Naw, Son.

And so, when I arrived at the restaurant (at 6pm: right on time), I assumed that he might already be sitting at a table. I headed for the hostess stand to ask if there might be someone waiting there, and she said no. As I turned around, there was Dante*, standing right behind me. He told me he had been waiting in the parking lot, and watched me walk in before coming inside. (OK, Creeper.)  Remember how I said the picture was blurry? Yeah. There were many things to take in at this point. But the first thing I noticed was not the fact that his version of 6' 2" is what the rest of the world calls about 5' 10". Also not the first thing I noticed? The fact that his version of "about average" is the rest of the world's version of "stocky" or "heavyset". I'm not that shallow- I can handle both of those things. No, the first thing I noticed was the scar on the right side of his face that ran all the way from lip to ear. Now, even though I was totally shocked (and now also understand why the blurry picture was not only blurry, but of his left side) I think I did a pretty good job of hiding it.

Until he opened his mouth.

The half-smile he gave me as he was shaking my hand was just enough for me to get a glimpse of his 4 teeth.

That's right- I didn't say "4 of his teeth". I said "his 4 teeth".

Take a minute, let that sink in. Have you composed yourself? Good. Because we're just getting started.

So, as we sit down to dinner, I'm starting to wonder if Dante* is interested in talking or just eating. He didn't even take his coat off.  After I asked a few questions followed by a few moments of uncomfortable silence, he finally speaks up and says, "So, you said you're a preacher's kid. How do you feel about tattoos?" (Now, to some of you, this might sound like an okay question. Except, he must have forgotten the part about how the one thing you COULD see in the blurry picture of his left side, was his full-sleeve tattoo.) As soon as I tell him that I don't really mind them, he practically RIPS off his jacket and spends the next 20-30 minutes showing me all of his tattoos, telling me about the tattoos he's going to get, and explaining that his goal is to have his body totally covered in the next few years.

He sounds perfect for me, right? Can't you just see me bringing him home to Dad?

I won't bore you with every detail of every tattoo (and YES, it is very boring). I'll skip to the best part. After explaining that his left arm symbolizes "Evil" and his right arm symbolizes "Good", he starts to talk about getting tattoos to honor people. And then, he rolled up his sleeves to reveal the tattoo he had just gotten a few weeks before to honor his mother. And there, on his right bicep, is a tattoo of a NAKED WOMAN. Now, said woman had wings, which apparently made her an angel. And his mother loves angels. Makes sense right?

Can anyone tell me why I didn't just get up and walk away at this point? I wish I knew.

The rest of the dinner passed relatively uneventfully, until I asked why he moved to Virginia from New York. He explained that he moved down here to "get away from the bad shit he was in to up there". "Bad shit" apparently includes street racing (getting t-boned at 90 mph with nitrous in the trunk) and street fighting. (Hence the scar. As soon as I told my roommate about the scar, she said "You should have asked him- why so serious?") He also told me that this was his first date on match.com. The other thing he was getting away from in New York? The fact that he went to propose to his girlfriend and found her in bed with his cousin. Ouch. And in the future, Dante*, that is NOT first date material. Just FYI.

And so, after making up some lame excuse about a friend with an emergency, we were leaving the restaurant. Fortunately, it appears as though he got the hint when he said "Maybe we can do this again sometime." and all I said was "...Bye!"

And the search continues. Thanks for the laughs, Dante*.

*Names have been changed to protect all parties involved. Namely Me. I'm not up for a street fight with a tattooed, toothless wonder.