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Monday, March 10, 2008


Friday night was another date night...or at least it was supposed to be until I got a cancellation email 15 minutes before the scheduled date time. We were to meet at a cafe five minutes from my apartment so I had plenty of time to screw around online before heading out to the date. As I read in my Facebook "Newsfeeds" that my 38 year old friend is most like the Cookie Monster from Sesame Street, and that another "updated her mood to 'sad,'" I heard the little Outlook beep alerting me that I had mail. It was a welcome distraction. Five more minutes on that site, and I might have signed up to attend the "Queen Esther Purim Masquerade Ball" that Facebook had to tell me a friend was going to. A Jewish singles costume party...I'd rather re-up on Jdate. At least on Jdate, I can be humiliated from the privacy of my own home.

When I saw the email was from the chick I was to meet, I was pretty certain it was a cancellation. I got that cancellation vibe from her when we spoke on the phone. She was nice enough, but she's one of those flaky people with whom you're never really sure you're connecting. I'd say something, she'd laugh, but I never knew if she even got the joke. I realized my instincts were on the money, as I read the email:

"Hi. Really icky out. Don't feel like getting all wet. I'll email you over the weekend."

My beef is not with the cancellation - I kinda knew that was coming - nor is it with her terse, yet un-fucking-believably tactless email (an "I'm Sorry" would've been nice). My problem is the cancellation 15 minutes before we were supposed to meet...VIA EMAIL. What if I wasn't home to check? I don't have a Blackberry or an iphone. Shit, I don't even have text messages enabled on my cell phone. What if my internet had been down? What if I wasn't at the computer? I'm not one of those guys that sits at Starbucks all day with a laptop and a Latte, pretending to do something important. I do that shit at home and at work...but she didn't know where I was. At the 15 minute mark, you pick up a phone. It's obnoxious enough to cancel that late because it's "icky out," but at least have the audacity to say it, and not email it.

I emailed her back a simple, "Don't worry about it," meaning for her not to worry about emailing me back. Given her flakiness and the vagueness of my email, I thought she'd think I meant for her not to worry about canceling on me, and that I was still interested.

Apparently, she didn't worry about it at all because I never heard from her again.