Worst Date #2

So I needed a while to recover from reliving the horrors of going to a buffet on steak night. Anyway, so a friend of mine had briefly met Idiot #2 at a party and had gotten his number because she decided in her drunken state that this guy and I were made for each other. So really, this date is kind of my fault because I trusted her inebriated judgment and agreed to go on this blind date. Fortunately for me, he chose a Mexican restaurant close to my apartment and we met there so escaping was a viable option.

So I have barely gotten settled in my chair, when Idiot #2 says: “Just FYI, I got arrested this summer so I have a pending court date. But it wasn’t my fault. See here’s the thing: my buddy got some really good weed from this chick he was banging, she was like from Florida or Mexico or something. Anyway so like we’re gonna smoke it, you know? But then I realized I’d left my bowl at my other buddy’s house and we weren’t speaking because he punched me the other night when we were wasted. Like I almost fell in the bonfire so obviously I’m not going to speak to him. Anyway, so like I’m not gonna roll a joint because I didn’t have papers and besides my fingers are too big to tightly roll one. So like, we decide to drive to that gas station in Smyrna that those Indians run because they sell bowls. Well, they have to say glass pipe but we know what’s up. Right? So like we get the bowl and we’re heading back and my friend gets pulled over for speeding. Well, wouldn’t you know they had the drug dogs with them?! So of course they sniff it out and like because the bag was within my arm’s reach I get charged with possession as well! And it wasn’t even my bag of weed! And I mean, my friend drives a mustang, have you ever seen one of those?! EVERYTHING IS WITHIN ARM’S REACH IN A MUSTANG WHEN YOUR ARMS ARE AS MUSCULAR AND LONG AS MINE. So I get arrested because of my friend’s mistake! I just thought you should know.

Me: “Okay so let me get this straight: your friend gets some marijuana from this Floridian or Mexican and so you have plans to smoke this weed. So you go to the store and buy a ‘glass pipe’. Your friend then gets pulled over and you both get arrested for possession of the marijuana that you both intended to smoke and for the paraphernalia that you had bought with which to smoke it. And so you feel you have been treated unjustly because your arms are long and mustangs aren’t very spacious. Okay, so I see why this would not be your fault. Completely.”

Idiot #2: “YES. okay thank you! I knew not all women with big boobs were stupid!”

Me: “And I knew all men with mustangs and pending court dates weren’t trailer trash.”

He then spends the rest of the date cutting me off whenever I tried to answer a question that he asked and when it came time for the bill, he asks for a menu to look over the prices again and then states, “well, what you got wasn’t that expensive so I guess I could pay for it.”

As we’re leaving he gives me a hug and goes,”wow! This really wasn’t as terrible as I was expecting!”

Worst Date #1

So it’s a new year and I’m going to try and update this more often. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about horrible first dates I’ve been on and I think I’m going to do a series of entries about these bad dates because it’s time for a highlight reel of the best(worst) first date conversations. We’ll start with not completely terrible and end with the worst. Idiot #1, you’re up!

Idiot #1: “okay so I thought we could eat at Ryan’s, I have a coupon and it’s steak night.”

Me: “like the buffet? Honestly, I’d rather not. Buffets kind of make me sick with all the people around them, sticking their fingers in stuff and sneezing. I don’t need to go anywhere expensive, but I just really don’t want to go to Ryan’s. I mean, Applebee’s isn’t bad plus they have that three course meal for 11 dollars and one of the choices is steak.”

Idiot #1: “okay so you won’t eat anything if we go to Ryan’s?”

Me: “more than likely, no.”

Idiot #1: “okay cool. I just wanted to know before I paid for you to eat and then you didn’t eat anything. Let’s go there then! This is gonna be a cheap date!”

This is what I wish I’d said:

“Okay, first of all, what the hell? Have you never been on a date before in your life?! I’m not saying I need to be taken to the fanciest restaurant in town, but don’t take me to a buffet. You could even take me to Chili’s as long as I didn’t have to eat food that had been picked at and sneezed on right in front of me! I don’t care what they do in the kitchen, but when I see a 400 pound man with no shirt on under his overalls, licking the soft serve machine I’m going to have a bit of an issue making my own sundae. I mean, it’s our first date, do you really want to eat 4 plates of cobbler right in front of me?

Secondly, I don’t even know where to BEGIN discussing the fact that you flat out told me you were using a coupon. I don’t even like coupons! I don’t have a good reason but somewhere between the ‘omg I saved 49 cents on green beans by buying 7 cans of them!’ and the treating the grocery store like it’s a flea market with your, ‘well I know this coupon is expired but surely I can still get the dollar off of this milk of magnesia.’ couponing has rubbed me the wrong way. JUST STOP IT. and for God’s sake, please sort through your freezer bag of coupons PRIOR to getting in front of me in line. If I hear, ‘Sorry I’m taking so long, but I know it’s in here and after all it’s 50 cents off of Cheerios so I don’t want to miss out.’ one more time, I’m going to burn all the red plum coupon books in Tennessee. I’ll just give you the damn quarters! Ugh. But whatever, I suppose I’m not completely against being economical, but I mean if you had to use the coupon, at least wait until I’ve gone into the bathroom to call my friend and then let the server know. Call me old fashioned, but I think meal coupons are better reserved for family and friends.

Finally, did you feel like this was going well? Did you feel like a star when you ate two steaks in front of me and a ‘lobster’ tail while chewing with your mouth open? Did you think you’d aced the date when you said, ‘ugh…looks like my roommate’s gonna be pissed when I plow the bathroom later!’? Answer me honestly: when you go to bed tonight, in your heart are you genuinely going to believe you made good choices? I thought so. You know what? Ryan’s is only 10 miles from my apartment, I’ll just walk it. No big deal.”

This is what I said instead, “um, yep, I suppose it will be a cheap date.”

Pick a better dying wish!

So I’ve been watching a lot of the show Cake Boss on Netflix and while part of me is absolutely amazed at all the stuff he can make out of cake, there is an even bigger part of me that just dreams of smashing all of his cakes. Not because they’re not beautiful, but because I have this deep urge to make everything awkward or horrible. He just spends so much time making all these objects out of cake and I just want to ruin them all and be like, “WHAT. IT’S STILL CAKE.”

I spend the majority of my days thinking up horrific “what if” situations and ways I could make a situation completely uncomfortable and awkward. I’m always thinking, “what would happen if I called that anorexic girl a fat ass?” or “what if I brought up her dead dad at her birthday party?” I just have this unhealthy obsession with wanting to find out how someone would react to a completely horrible and tasteless comment or situation. I’ve been pretty good about never actually following through with any of my horrible thoughts, but the more uncomfortable I am in a situation, the more jokes I start making.

That’s the main reason I don’t want to become famous. Because when you’re famous you have to meet those make a wish foundation kids and if I get around a 12 year old who’s dying, I’m just afraid my discomfort would cue the jokes. Then I’d derail my entire career because I’d have spent the majority of making their wish of meeting me come true with an afternoon of uncomfortable giggling and long pauses. And obviously I wouldn’t blame myself for my career going down the toilet. I’d blame the make a wish kid because they provoked my humor and they should’ve known what they were getting into when they decided their life’s goal was to meet me.

I mean come on, you hypothetical make a wish kid that’s already making my life hell. Go have someone helicopter you up Mt. Everest or something. You’re dying for god’s sake! You’re going to sit in a room with my awkward ass when you could be having tea with Mickey Mouse? Because I’m not going to take you to Disneyworld unless you can get us to the front of the line because you’re dying. Otherwise, you’d be lucky if I took you to the playplace at McDonald’s.

And I won’t watch your shoes if we go there, you’re going to have to put them in the cubby just like EVERYONE ELSE. Mary J. Berger doesn’t watch ANYONE’S shit, make believe or not.

I thought there was a phantom…

I never need to go with my first train of thought. Ever. I don’t know why it took me 24 years to realize this but whatever, it did. The important thing is that I realized.

Anyway, I like to keep the little suction cup gps holder stuck on my windshield at all times but the past few months I’ve been noticing that it always ends up in my console. So today I decided it was of the utmost importance to call Rob at work as he is in my car a lot and maybe he’d brought some phantom in the camry with him who lives to frustrate me…

Rob: “Representative Evans’ office, this is Rob. How may I help…”

Me: “yes yes, you know it’s me, you have caller id. Listen, I’ve got something really important to discuss with you.”

Rob: “right now?? Can it wait? I’m off of work in 30 minutes.”

Me: “no it absolutely cannot. Have you been moving my circle-y thing?”

Rob: “what?”

Me: “you know. Clementine’s cradle. It’s circle-y and sucky and lives on the windshield. Or it’s supposed to which is why I’m calling. Have you been moving it or do you have a phantom attached to you?”

Rob: “oh. The gps. Yes, I’ve been taking it off your windshield because you don’t want someone to break in and steal it.”

Me: “OH THANK GOD. I did NOT want to have to call California psychics. Do you know they charge by the minute?”

Rob: “wait. Why would you not think to ask me first? And if anything if you thought there was a spirit why wouldn’t you call a priest instead of a psychic?”

Me: “now you’re just being ridiculous. The psychic would tell me if there was a phantom in the car and THEN I’d call the priest to get rid of it. Obviously.”

Rob: “how can you say ‘obviously’ and act like you have any knowledge in this area? You’re acting like this has happened to you before.”

Me: “what? I have lots of knowledge about this. Just because it hasn’t happened to me doesn’t mean I don’t know everything about it.”

Rob: “no, actually that’s exactly what that means. Anyway, I’m more concerned about the fact that your first thought was to call California psychics, then a priest, and then me. We drive your car all the time, clearly i would be the culprit.”

Me: “well I was trying not to assume guilt on your part. Forgive me for being gracious. Also I forgot about you.”

Rob: “So let me get this straight. We have been dating for 2 years, I am the only person you drive in your car, we take your car places together at least 3 times a week and when you discover something is going awry in your car, you forget about me and your first thought is to call California psychics?”

Me: “they do extensive testing on their psychics to make sure they’re legit.”

Rob: “any place that charges by the minute is not a legitimate operation.”

Me: “whatever. The bottom line is that you need to stop putting Clementine’s cradle in the console.”

Rob: “I will not stop doing that.”

Me: “Fine.”

Wait, do you really not know?

So my siblings and I went to see the midnight showing of Harry Potter the other night and this little 13 year old boy named Logan sits next to me and starts chattering at me like a magpie. He opens with, “I know a joke about Parkinson’s disease but I’m not going to tell you because it’s bad.” Okay? As opposed to a GOOD joke about parkinson’s? What exactly would that be? And I mean, are we talking about bad as in “that’s so wrong” or bad as in, “Michael j. Fox was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease and wrote some books and maybe will be cured by stem cell research someday…” I just think people should be more specific.

Anyway, then his aunt, who is like 15 years old, gets into the conversation by leaning over and saying to me, “Hey girl, if he starts bothering you, just hit him.” I was like, “Um, pretty sure that’s a felony and I am not going to jail on Harry Potter night.” to which she replies, “Ah, he’s 13, he can handle it…it’ll be okay.” I wasn’t aware that there was an appropriate age in society for when you could hit someone. I wasn’t even using the open arm rest in between us for fear of accidentally brushing into him and getting kid germs so I’m certainly not going to slap the shit out of him with my bare hand. I don’t think she was even supposed to be telling people he was 13 because he told me that his mother made him pretend to be 12 because she refused to pay for an adult ticket for him.

At this point, his mother and sister sit down. Well, as Logan keeps talking to me, despite my polite cues that I am done with the conversation, his mother keeps giving me a dirty look like I’M a pervert. Okay, first of all, lady, your outfit is so revealing you might as well have not worn anything at all so don’t look at me like I’M the pervert. Secondly, I have a rule in life that I never start conversations with children that I do not know. When you’re a 24 year old woman at a midnight Harry potter premiere, the absolute last thing you’re going to do is willingly strike up a conversation with a strange 13 year old. That’s the first step to being falsely accused as some sort of offender, having to introduce yourself to your entire neighborhood and keep your porch lights off at Halloween so no one comes within 10 feet of your door. So yeah, don’t look at me like I’m not keeping my creepiness in check. I may have over 300 pictures of my cats but I’m no Mary Kay Letourneau.

Anyway, Logan begins talking to his sister about some other show they have 2 tickets to and he says, “Oh great, so me and mom can go…or you and me can go.” and his sister says, “Or me and mom can go.” apparently this was the wrong thing to say because Logan looks at her and coldly says, “If you leave me alone in the house, I will tear it to ruins. I will TEAR IT TO RUINS.” Well shit, that little psycho is serious. He’s gonna write bad jokes about Parkinson’s disease on the wall and then burn the place to the ground all because he’s been left alone. Usually I just watch Netflix or something when I’m alone, but I guess his method works too.

Finally, as the movie starts, I look at my siblings and say, “What are we seeing again?” and they politely laugh because it really wasn’t funny. Minutes pass and I feel a hard poke in my ribs and Logan loudly whispers, “Wait, do you really not know? Was that a serious question? Because we’re seeing Harry Potter…” nope, I just got on fandango a month in advance and ordered 3 tickets to a random movie and then waited in line with people dressed as owls and house elves just because i wanted to surprise myself.

On the plus side, I now see why 13 is the appropriate age to hit someone.

Trust me, there is no gun.

Ever run into those people that are so naive you just want to bury your face in your hands the whole time you’re talking to them? I do. A lot. In my last semester in college, I took a criminology class, which stands for, “Let’s sit around and all tell varying accounts of our cars getting broken into because we left our iPod on the front seat.”

Anyway, so this girl puts up her hand and starts telling her story about crime, and she’s all, “When I moved to Manchester, someone broke into my car and stole 50 dollars.” So the class is like, “Oh okay, that sucks.” but then she continues and says, “Then someone went and took all my mama’s jewelry from our house. so then she started goin’ to all the pawn shops because she assumed my brother sold ’em because he was on drugs. Anyway, so she calls me down there and is like, ‘Angel, you gotta come down here and identify the jewelry,’ and I’m like, ‘What? why me?’ but my mama won’t tell me why. So i get down there and it turns out my boyfriend, the daddy of my baby, was the one that was stealin’ from us. He’d even set up a surveillance system for us at our house so we could tell when my brother was stealin’ stuff. But here was the absolute worst part, when we asked him why he did it, he told us that someone had put a gun to his head and forced him to break into our house and steal from us! Can you believe that?!”

So I’m like, “oh my gosh, I can’t even believe that. I hope you aren’t with him anymore.” and she gives me a strange look and says, “what do you mean ‘not with him’? I ain’t gonna dump the father of my child because he was forced at gunpoint to rob me and sell my mama’s jewelry! We’re not pressing charges, we’re just hoping they find the lunatic out there with a gun!”

It took everything within me not to scream, “wait what?! Are you serious right now? In what universe is this a feasible explanation! Let me see if I’ve gotten this straight: your baby daddy set up a surveillance system in your house that he knew how to disassemble to catch your drug addicted brother, a foolproof scapegoat, stealing your mother’s jewelry. In addition to that, i’m guessing he had a house key since he was there setting up this system so he was able to break and enter without breaking. So you honestly believe that there is some maniac out there with a gun that forced him to steal your mother’s jewelry, pawn it and then not tell you?! Good lord, every thought you have is horrible! Guess what? There is no man with a gun, unless you’re talking about your psycho ass baby daddy who clearly is running this ridiculous shit show you call your life! Get your head out of your ass, girl!”

But instead I said, “oh. I hope they find the guy who did this so justice can be served.”

I need to update this more often.

So I date someone who is obsessed with movies.  I am not a movie buff whatsoever, in fact, I tend to obsess over the wrong parts of movies, which is a point of contention between Rob and me.  On Friday night, we were watching Scream, because I had never seen it before.  Anyway we get to the part where Neve Campbell and her boyfriend have sex in one of the bedrooms at a friend’s party.

Me:  “Hold on, wait!  What is she doing?”

Rob:  “What do you mean, what is she doing?  They just did it.”

Me:  “What?  Yes, no, I get that.  I mean, what does she think she’s doing NOW?!”

Rob:  “She’s brushing her hair…”

Me:  “EXACTLY.  And whose hair brush is that?!  She’s in one of the many bedrooms of this mansion so WHOSE hairbrush is she using?!”

Rob:  “Who cares?”

Me:  “I care. I know it’s not hers.  She wasn’t carrying a purse with her and there’s no way a hairbrush of that size would fit in her pocket. I mean really, that is so rude.  I would hate it if someone used my hairbrush. It’s just nasty. Neve Campbell is such a jerk.”

 

Ten minutes of this and Rob has stopped the movie and I still don’t know whose hairbrush Neve Campbell was using.