Friday, December 30, 2011

Can bad dates get badder? Is "badder" a word? It should be.

Eric and I don't get too many opportunities as a couple to go out on the town and be goofy.  Normally we have a few limitations such as money and how long we can leave our boys together without one) killing each other, two) burning down the house, or three) remembering that there are two small animals under their care.  The first two concerns are critical, the latter - well, our poor critters are normally fed a healthy meal before we leave.  My husband and I also do our best to make reminder phone calls commenting on the unfortunate consequences that would arise should either mom or dad step in dog poop upon our return.

Today was one of those lovely opportunities.   Eric took a much needed day off from work and we played in downtown Denver.  We roamed LoDo, window shopped, took in a leisurely lunch, reminisced at a local coffee house, walked through art galleries, and got hopelessly lost in a dangerous part of town.  How is it with my GPS navigation that I still manage to get turned around?  Completely typical of me.

I've been on a lot of dates in my time.  At 44 years of age, I look back at some of them and can't believe I agreed to go out with a few of those dudes.  I know I've mentioned "How To" handbooks in the past, but one handbook which is critical before a girl starts dating is: "What Not to Wear" combined with "Whom Not to Date".  I'm thinking part two of this handbook would have saved me so much grief.

First of all, never, ever go out with someone because you feel sorry for him.  This is just a bad idea.  If you feel sorry for him, well duh - THERE'S A REASON!

I agreed to go out with a guy who used to hang out at one of the restaurants I worked at.  He'd sit with a group of strange dudes and out of all of these guys, he was the goofiest.  They begged me, "Bri, he has such a crush on you, just go out with him once."  Really?  What was I thinking?


Oh, lovely.  This guy (and for obvious reasons I can't remember his name), who had such a crush on me, was laying on his horn in my parent's driveway.  Hmm.  Thanks for coming to the door asshole.   Off we went  in a filthy, yellow Ford something or other stuffed to the gills with empty fast food containers and cigarette cartons. "Sorry, I'm late."

"Yeah, ok."  (Whatever.)

He picked me up at 6:00pm.  I don't know.  I was thinking dinner, a movie?  No.  He drove me out in Friday night traffic to Hollywood, California, parked five blocks away from our destination to avoid valet fees, and took me to the Improv Comedy Club.  Ok, the Improv was a fun idea.  Valet's expensive, I get it.  The club served dinner inside.  It was all good.  The waitress came by and asked what we'd like to order.

"Nothing."  (My eyes almost exploded out of my head.)

"I'm sorry sir, but if you're not going to order off the menu, you need to know that there's at least a 2 drink minimum per guest."

"What the fuck is this all about?  Nobody said nothin' to me about this when I bought the tickets.  You can't force me to buy drinks I don't want!"

Oh my God.  At this point all I wanted to do was curl up into a fetal position and hide.  It also occurred to me that he probably didn't have any money.  I had enough cash for the drinks but only the drinks and a tip.  Not enough for dinner.  This date couldn't get any worse, or so I thought.  "I've got it."

"Hey man, are you sure?"

"Yeah.  No problem."  Of course he ordered a couple of expensive beers, I ended up with cokes.

We got through the show with me pushing his hand off my butt only a few times.  Jay Leno was the headliner but I wasn't laughing.  All I could think of was going home and heating up a bowl of leftover spaghetti.  The evening couldn't end fast enough.  Unfortunately, I had one more hurdle to overcome...his filthy, yellow Ford something or other had died.  Kaput. We were stuck in a nasty back alley of Hollywood with no money and a broken down car.  He had no towing service and was at a loss as to what to do.

"Can you get your dad or someone to help you?"

"Are you fucking kidding me?"  Really?  Why would I be?  I don't know anything about you, and please don't start sharing your story now!  MORON!

"Hey, where are you going?"

If I had a gun, and I'm a pacifist mind you, I would have killed him.  "To find a pay phone, to call a taxi, to take my ass home."

"What about my car?"

I'm assuming by the look I gave him, he decided not to continue with his problems. Very meekly he asked, "Can I hitch a ride back with you?"

I owed my dad $85.00 for the cab back to the suburbs.  In the 80's, that was a pretty expensive fare.  I told the dude he could use the phone in the garage and arrange to have one of his friends pick him up at the restaurant where we met.  I would drop him off there - no further.  I didn't want to know where he lived.  And then, to top it all off, he tried to kiss me good-night.  Not a peck, mind you, but a full on wet, open-mouth, nasty tongue-down-the-throat kind of a thing.

Oh no, that was just not going to happen. 

"Are you fucking kidding me?!  I don't think so.  Would you get the Hell out of my car already?  Good night."

I'm so glad I'm not single anymore.  I had a really nice date with my husband today.  Thanks, Eric. 



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