"Check, please!" Dating Disasters: Part I of 777

For quite some time now, I have wanted to explain to my friends, family, and the world at large why I am so anti-dating. It is my deepest hope that these dating stories will clear up any confusion as to why I'm not eagerly attending any speed dating events nor enthusiastically updating my dating profile on a regular basis. Please be advised that all these stories are true, no matter how unbelievable they may seem. Furthermore, I have wisely changed names to protect the not-so-innocent. All zodiac signs, however, remain authentic.

1. My first and last blind date:  "Steve the Serious and Seriously Psychotic Sagittarius"

Living in a small town that offered lots of cow tipping and limited dating options, I found myself browsing a free dating site.The old mantra, "you get what you pay for" did cross my mind once or twice, but I stupidly ignored the warning. After vetoing some alarming profiles of men who seemed determined to impregnate one lucky woman by date #3, I found a seemingly normal, attractive man whose prerequisites did not include stellar culinary skills. So after a few encouraging phone conversations, I put on lipstick, packed my pocket knife in my purse, and headed to a restaurant to meet him in person. He bore a striking resemblance to his profile picture and not a 60-year-old creeper, so things were progressing well. It wasn't until the salad arrived that I realized the error of my ways. Bypassing any sort of safe small talk, "Steve" demanded my opinion on abortion. Dumbfounded, I thought maybe I had heard him wrong. Perhaps he had mentioned "portions" or something of that nature? I politely asked him to repeat the question and he went into a psychotic tirade of his view on the subject. Now, I'm all for some deep, meaningful conversation, but I was kind of hoping we might discuss work and our pet goldfish before entering this dangerous terrain on the very first date. So I did my best to steer the conversation away from this topic, only to be bulldozed with the issue of capital punishment. Really? You want to discuss the pros and cons of the electric chair over burgers and fries? So, as alarm bells rang in my head, "Steve" proceeded to gulp down wine by the gallon and ramble about euthanasia. Once he had downed half a bottle all on his own, he gazed at me thoughtfully and said, "Here--you take this wine home and keep the bottle. On our 50th wedding anniversary, you can look back and remember our first date." No signs of humor in this statement. No signs of humor in this man at all, for that matter. For whatever reason, I chose to finish out the date, although my hand did slide over the pocket knife resting in my black clutch numerous times. "Steve" went out with a bang when the topic of children came up (I'll let you decide who brought up the subject). When I told him I wasn't ready for children for a few years, "Steve" snorted and declared, "You aint no spring chicken!" At the ripe ole age of 28, I was equated with poultry.
I can only hope that today Steve has dozens of toddlers running around his 18-year-old wife, asking Mommy and Daddy for their opinion on immigration laws.

2.  Too in Touch with His Feminine Side: "Paul the Pathetic Pisces"
In the same said small town, I was still single (imagine that) and pleasantly surprised when I met a sweet and polite man at a coffee shop. When he struck up a conversation without mentioning his views on gun laws or the legalization of marijuana, I was encouraged. We met at the movie theater the next night to see that Will Smith flick "Seven Pounds." About an hour into the movie, I heard sniffling. The sniffling would not stop. I glanced at "Paul," wondering if the poor guy had a cold. Uh, not quite. Paul was crying! Not a subtle type of crying, either. We are talking full-blown waterworks here. I was stunned, to say the least. Was I some sort of heartless person since I wasn't feeling the emotional depth of this movie like Paul? After the movie, we parted ways and I thought maybe I was being a little too hard on him. Perhaps he was just an emotional person and death by jellyfish was particularly traumatic for him to watch. He could have been stung by one as a child or something. Anyway, the next day, my phone beeped and there was a text from Paul--It was ......POETRY. Terrible poetry. Misspelled poetry. My work cell beeped almost immediately (at the time I was sporting two cell phones; my work phone number was accessible on my company's web site). It was Paul again! With the same poetry. The same terrible, misspelled poetry. This happened about three more times that day. I finally sent him a text telling him that the poetry was kind of freaking me out. His response? "It was just food for thought. I sent it to my guy friends, too." RIGHT. So long, Paul. I can only hope that today you are curled up with your wife on a love seat, bawling your face off at the Hallmark channel.

3. Date Interrupted: Vinnie the Vicious Virgo

Fast forward a few years. I met a (seemingly) charming man at a karaoke bar and gave him my number. We met at a restaurant, and I immediately knew it was a bust. He rambled about himself nonstop, an immediate turnoff. I might have been able to choke down a burrito and suffer through his diatribes if not for his next comments:
"You know, I really think people should stick with their own yoke. I don't believe in interracial couples. The Bible says so."
No, he didn't! And no, I didn't end up on a date with a loser like this. What kind of narrow-minded, ignorant freak of nature even thinks like that in this day and age? He was sharing salsa with the WRONG woman!
I was outraged and spouted off some scathing remark. He ignored me and said, "Also, I wouldn't ever date white trash OR someone from Beverly Hills. I stick to my own kind."
That did it! I frantically summoned the waiter for my check, gave Vinnie a dirty look and hit the road. I have no fond wishes for Vinnie in the present day--My only hope is that someone of "another yoke" has punched him in the face a few times.

4. Lunatic Lester the Lovey Dovey Libra

Several years ago a strapping young man approached me at work and asked me if I'd like to have dinner sometime. He seemed very classy and I accepted his offer. When I arrived at the restaurant, he ordered wine and watched me sip it. He then said, "Your lips are gleaming from the wine!" Dead silence. In an attempt to combat the awkwardness, I made one of my dumb jokes, "No, that's actually  my new Bonnie Bell watermelon lip gloss." No response. Just gazed at my lips. Ok, so maybe the guy was just nervous, right? I mean, it's not like I was blessed with Angelina lips by any means; I could certainly use some lip plumping. During dinner he was extremely quiet, as I struggled to make conversation. Finally, I asked if he was alright, and he delivered this little gem, "I'm so sorry, but
I just have this feeling in my stomach when I'm around you. It won't go away."  Oh, Lester, I have a feeling in mine, too................



We have yet to scratch the surface of Dating Disasters. This is only the beginning...

The Grand Entrance

My premiere blog! It's about dang time.
 

Disclaimer or something like that:


 I'm an Aquarius, through and through. It is my belief that someone's astrological sign contributes somewhat to his/her overall personality.  I have no patience for people who want to slam astrology, my dearly beloved interest. You don't have to believe in its merit, but you also don't have refer to it as "stupid" or "bs." I don't bash people who spend their leisure hours on a pogo stick, a sewing machine, bent over a gin bottle, or mesmerized by a Candy Land board. Hobbies are personal and sacred, right? So if you don't want to read blogs with regular astrological references, take your judgmental reading eyes elsewhere. (Can you tell I've dealt with annoying, narrow-minded astrology bashers on quite a few occasions? Most of these fools know NOTHING about the hobby, which makes them even more aggravating.) Anyway, I'm not going to pressure you to spend your Saturday nights poring over Linda Goodman's Sun Signs. Nor will I ever encourage you to purchase an astrological bobble head or sport a Gemini t-shirt. However, I won't tolerate ignorant, hateful comments about one of my interests either.


Wow! That was more intense that originally intended. With that out of the way, here are a few fascinating tidbits about me, in no particular order:

1. I'm extremely, ridiculously addicted to Nicorette gum. While I haven't touched a cigarette in years, I chomp constantly on the nicotine-infested squares all day, every day. Nicorette gum is my number one vice. Foolishly, I announced to the entire world that I am giving it up in less than a month. I even took three days off work to conquer my all-consuming addiction. As February 20 looms over me, I've started having lots of second thoughts about this grand idea. See, I am absolutely enamored with this gum. It brings me great joy and relieves work-related stress (or so my warped mind believes). At least once a day I hear, "Can't you just chew regular gum?" My response? "Can't you just eat celery when you want a cookie? Can't you just drink water when you want coffee? Can't you just make yourself run 5 miles when you'd rather stay in bed under the electric blanket?"

My primary reason for quitting is the cost. I can no longer justify spending a couple hundred dollars a month on this gum. It is both the bane of my existence and my reason for living. If those Publisher's Clearing House people were to appear at my door, I would chew 30 pieces a day for the rest of my life. However, I'm a realist at heart, and the odds of my becoming a millionaire are about the same as my becoming a stellar athlete with oodles of coordination. Thus, I must bid farewell to my six-year-long habit. I do wish I had a support group; however, I am going to have to summon my inner strength and fall in love with Trident. Oh, and avoid all human contact for several days. It will not be pretty, I'm afraid. After I survive the detox, I'm going to demand that a warning label be placed on the Nicorette boxes: "Surgeon General's Warning: May cause lifelong addiction."

2. I'm almost 32 and....SINGLE. No husband, no children, no tomato garden, no family photos to mail at Christmastime. My fertility window is closing by the day. However, I'm on indefinite dating sabbatical. Depending upon the day and my mood, I might say, "I QUIT" when questioned about dating. (Don't we wish I could respond the same way about Nicorette.) Trust me, there are good reasons behind this. Please be advised that this blog will contain many snarky posts about terrible dating experiences. I can only hope that my experiences will bring laughter to others, as they have done nothing but annoy the crap out of me.

3. I'm madly in love with my dog, Zodi (yes, short for "Zodiac.") So I never sleep alone.

4. I have wonderful family members and friends...Okay, this blog is starting to sound like a Match.com profile. What next? "I'm very laid-back and easygoing....I love 80s music and hiking."

We shall skip the positive tidbits and just stick with the sarcastic, snarky blogging. :) Welcome to my blog and happy reading!