Have you heard about the Craigslist killer?
I felt inspired. Lightening wouldn’t strike twice, and so I went on Craigslist and answered an ad looking for a funny girl. Contrary to most of my blogging, I’m usually smile-inducing corny. So we emailed about Monty Python, Michael Showalter, and Mitch Hedberg. We even spoke on the phone for two hours. He sounded normal. No, that’s a lie. He sounded ridiculous, but I’ve been bored, and somewhat cranky, and felt the need to be tolerated, if only for an evening.
I met him for bowling.
His hair looked like the product of a high voltage shock. He wore a Bon Jovi shirt and vest. As I approached, he looked relieved when he saw I was pretty enough. He beat me bowling, though not by very much, and we went for dinner. He told me about the time he wet his pants in the third grade, his history of childhood gymnastics, and his beloved motorcycle. I chewed thoughtfully. We walked along East 12th, and he crouched down beside every dog we passed, baby-talking, “Does the doggy want to me smooshed? I just want to smoosh you!” He danced down Avenue A, linking my arm and dragging me through a disco-like tango.
He asked if I liked hookah. Sure, I said. We smoked pineapple grape tobacco and watched belly dancers. We walked across 14th Street, and he pointed to a bar. “Ever go there?” he asked. “Just once,” I said, and th0ught of my exboyfriend who had bought me scotch and sodas in the corner.
“Ever go to to that karaoke bar on 12th? I love that place. I go there and sing I Believe in a Thing Called Love.”
I paused. “Like, you dance around in a wig?”
“Yeah, I love it. How did you know?”
Because I had seen him, in February, with my friends. We were in the corner sipping Blue Moons and watching a total nut job make a complete ass of himself. He seemed to have no inhibitions. He leapt up on a zebra print ottoman and air guitared himself across the room howling. We howled, too. The guy was a psychopath.
I was on a Craigslist date with a psychopath.
We continued on 14th Street when I saw my exboyfriend. He was wearing his headphones and didn’t see me. I touched his arm. I don’t know why. We had just talked about him, and here I was, on a date with the karaoke lunatic. His eyes looked browner than they had when I last walked into him, just this Sunday. We smiled, and I was immediately hit with the awkward conversation I had somehow unanticipated.
We waved goodbye to the exboyfriend and the date walked me home. On the way, he told me about his American Idol audition, his America’s Got Talent audition, and his motorcycle club. He walked me to the door and tried to kiss me.
Like a fool, I let his lips press up against mine. I pulled away quickly.
I had just come in contact with my very own Craiglist killer.