Online dating. What can I say about it. Yeah, I’ve tried it. Probably every site you can imagine and then some you can’t, because well, you’re probably normal. I get asked out from someone on a BBW website. (Big Beautiful Women for those uneducated skinny people out there) He’s fairly attractive, phone conversation doesn’t go horribly and he’s willing to drive to me. But he’s YOUNG. 27 actually, but I HATE sitting home alone on a Saturday night so I cave. Of course.
We decide to go to dinner and then go to Old Town and meet pretty much everyone I know on the planet. What was I thinking? Dinner goes fine. I decide to let him drive me to Old Town and hitch a ride back with my best friend. We’re in the car making casual conversation and out of nowhere he tells me I’m stunning. WHOA. That’s not something you hear every day, or in my case, ever. I’m swooning.
We get to where we’re going. Meet up with everyone, hang for a few and we all decide to head to the bar. During the time it takes to get there we continue talking, getting to know each other. "Ralph" then proceeds to tell me that my best friend’s daughter is stunning. Strike One. I tell him he’s digging his own grave and that he can’t’ be on a date with me and tell me someone else is stunning. At this point I’m sure I look as offended as I am. He then tells me that he meant to say she’s beautiful and I’m stunning. Not working. We get to the bar and while he's off getting me a drink and I mention to the table that my date thinks that Wendy’s daughter is stunning. BAD IDEA! Once he gets back some suggestive comments are made at the table towards Ralph about this.
Ralph, I come to find out has the type of personality that he’s not just going to let these comments slide and decides that he’s going to confront my best friend about the comments when we get outside. This does not go well. He then tells me he’s going to take a walk to calm down. Well I guess it was a really long walk because he never does come back. He does leave several messages apologizing profusely on my voicemail. But I don’t get until the next day because my cell phone is dead. Somehow after all of this I feel bad that the evening got screwed up and I wind up going out on a few more dates with him.
After dinner & drinks one evening we decide to go back to my house and watch a movie and maybe get to know each other a little better. After a few minutes of kissing he excuses himself…… to vomit. He pukes EVERYWHERE. Several times. Toilet, floor, bathroom rug, and yes even the walls and then proceeds to pass out until 3 AM when he then dashes for the door. Strike Two.
Once again he calls apologizes profusely and promises that if I go out with him he’ll show me a really good time. I hesitantly agree.
We once again go for dinner and drinks. During the time we’re at the restaurant my youngest daughter calls and asks if I will bring her something home to eat. I agree and ask the waitress to put a burger to go on a separate check. Ralph then tells her to go ahead and put my drinks on the check too and he’ll pay for the dinner. WHAT? You fucking cheap bastard. This is the good time you promised me? You vomit all over my house and you can’t even pick up the whole check for the evening? It’s not like we’re at the Ritz, we’re at a frickin Chili’s for cryin out loud AND it’s happy hour. What happened to my REALLY good time? Strike Three, you’re OUT!
At the end of the evening I kiss him goodbye and bring the burger home to my kid. At least she can keep a meal down. So maybe........ the night didn’t wind up to be as crappy as I thought.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Hobos, Homos & Potatoes - Part 3
Time to get down to the date that led me to the world of blogging. For those of you who know me, you already know the story I’m about to tell. For everyone else, the story is a little long but well worth the read, so….here you go.
It’s about 3 months after my divorce, my kids are with their dad for the weekend and my best friend Wendy and I decide to go for a girl’s night out. I show up in my brand new t-shirt (courtesy of Wendy from her recent trip to Bike Week) that says “Wanted: Meaningless Overnight Relationship.” She immediately tells me that I am crazy for wearing the shirt, that I’m just looking for trouble and to go walk around the bar so everyone can see me wearing the shirt.
Immediately this man walks over, bums a cigarette from Wendy and asks “What are you two ladies doing here alone?” Wendy declares “married” and I just sit there looking stupid. “Philippe” asks to join us and orders a pitcher of beer, for himself. Philippe proceeds to brag to us about his cars, his houses, his money and his rough and tumble days in the Brazilian army. Wendy, not afraid to let him know that she thinks he’s full of shit, throws every stereotype in the book at him and the two of them go back and forth verbally for awhile. In the meantime, Philippe starts getting “friendly” under the table and thinks that Wendy doesn’t notice. She of course, does, but I’m getting drunk, I’m grinning like a dog and frankly, don’t care.
Little while later Wendy gets up to use the restroom and Philippe starts to kiss me. Right there at the table.
Little while after that Philippe gets up to use the restroom, Wendy tells me that I shouldn’t think for one minute that she doesn’t realize what’s going on and whatever I do, DON’T BRING HIM HOME. I, of course, agree. She’s my Jiminy Cricket, my conscience, that little voice of reason in the back of my head, which I moronically, for the most times, ignore. She then tells me she’s going home and leaves. I look at Philippe and say “ready to go?” He hums and haws and makes some lame excuse about how ALL his cars are in the shop so I tell him I’ll drive.
We get to my car. He gets in. I no sooner put the car in drive before he has his pants around his ankles and is goin to town, on himself. OMG. He asks me “do you like the way it looks? I shave.” What? I let him know that I’m sure it’s lovely, but I’m driving.
We get to my house, clothes are flying off down the hallway, we get to the bedroom and get completely undressed where he then says………… “Oh.” Not like oh baby, but like oh what the hell? “Oh?” I repeat. He then says to me “you’re not a…….” “I’m not a what?” “You’re not a man?” WTF? Seriously. No, I’m not a fucking man. I FINALLY get a man to follow me home and he thinks I’M the man. Funny enough, I have a problem with this and I guess he senses this because he then says to me “Don’t worry, we can still do this.” Ummmmmmm, NO, we can’t. I tell him to get dressed so I can take him back to the bar.
Meanwhile, during this whole episode his cell phone has been ringing off the hook. I ask him if he needs to get it. He says “you don’t mind? Are you going to say anything?” No. Why would I mind? And what am I going to say, I don’t know the person on the other line. So he picks up. “Hi baby. OMG, I’m soooooo sorry. My car broke down and me and my friends are in the parking lot trying to fix it. I’ll be home as soon as I can.” All the stereotypes that Wendy was throwing at him like darts at a target start to flood back into my mind.
I thankfully, get him back to the bar, where he gets out of my car and asks me if he can have my number. HELL NO. He then asks me how he will ever find me again and I tell him if I have any luck, he never will.
Thankfully, I never have seen him again. Not that I would actually recognize him if I did.
It’s about 3 months after my divorce, my kids are with their dad for the weekend and my best friend Wendy and I decide to go for a girl’s night out. I show up in my brand new t-shirt (courtesy of Wendy from her recent trip to Bike Week) that says “Wanted: Meaningless Overnight Relationship.” She immediately tells me that I am crazy for wearing the shirt, that I’m just looking for trouble and to go walk around the bar so everyone can see me wearing the shirt.
Immediately this man walks over, bums a cigarette from Wendy and asks “What are you two ladies doing here alone?” Wendy declares “married” and I just sit there looking stupid. “Philippe” asks to join us and orders a pitcher of beer, for himself. Philippe proceeds to brag to us about his cars, his houses, his money and his rough and tumble days in the Brazilian army. Wendy, not afraid to let him know that she thinks he’s full of shit, throws every stereotype in the book at him and the two of them go back and forth verbally for awhile. In the meantime, Philippe starts getting “friendly” under the table and thinks that Wendy doesn’t notice. She of course, does, but I’m getting drunk, I’m grinning like a dog and frankly, don’t care.
Little while later Wendy gets up to use the restroom and Philippe starts to kiss me. Right there at the table.
Little while after that Philippe gets up to use the restroom, Wendy tells me that I shouldn’t think for one minute that she doesn’t realize what’s going on and whatever I do, DON’T BRING HIM HOME. I, of course, agree. She’s my Jiminy Cricket, my conscience, that little voice of reason in the back of my head, which I moronically, for the most times, ignore. She then tells me she’s going home and leaves. I look at Philippe and say “ready to go?” He hums and haws and makes some lame excuse about how ALL his cars are in the shop so I tell him I’ll drive.
We get to my car. He gets in. I no sooner put the car in drive before he has his pants around his ankles and is goin to town, on himself. OMG. He asks me “do you like the way it looks? I shave.” What? I let him know that I’m sure it’s lovely, but I’m driving.
We get to my house, clothes are flying off down the hallway, we get to the bedroom and get completely undressed where he then says………… “Oh.” Not like oh baby, but like oh what the hell? “Oh?” I repeat. He then says to me “you’re not a…….” “I’m not a what?” “You’re not a man?” WTF? Seriously. No, I’m not a fucking man. I FINALLY get a man to follow me home and he thinks I’M the man. Funny enough, I have a problem with this and I guess he senses this because he then says to me “Don’t worry, we can still do this.” Ummmmmmm, NO, we can’t. I tell him to get dressed so I can take him back to the bar.
Meanwhile, during this whole episode his cell phone has been ringing off the hook. I ask him if he needs to get it. He says “you don’t mind? Are you going to say anything?” No. Why would I mind? And what am I going to say, I don’t know the person on the other line. So he picks up. “Hi baby. OMG, I’m soooooo sorry. My car broke down and me and my friends are in the parking lot trying to fix it. I’ll be home as soon as I can.” All the stereotypes that Wendy was throwing at him like darts at a target start to flood back into my mind.
I thankfully, get him back to the bar, where he gets out of my car and asks me if he can have my number. HELL NO. He then asks me how he will ever find me again and I tell him if I have any luck, he never will.
Thankfully, I never have seen him again. Not that I would actually recognize him if I did.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Hobos, Homos & Potatoes - Part 2
You see all kinds of interesting people when you work in an office downtown. If your there long enough you start to get to know some of the locals. This can be a good thing when you want to find a rowdy bar, an awesome cheeseburger or a safe place to park your car.
For work, I used to park in a garage and there was always a cashier there on Friday nights that was really nice to me. I used to flirt here and there but sadly, he never asked me out. One Friday, the Weekday cashier was in the booth with Friday Night Guy and the testosterone was flowing. Weekday Guy suggested that Friday Night Guy wanted my number. Finally! So I happily handed it over, except Regular Guy called me. Whatever. I wasn’t dating anyone at the time and I thought maybe this would give Friday Night Guy the balls to ask me out too. So I set up a date with “Tim” and went out a few times. Boring, boring, boring. He had some obsession about the local cable company and the Rambo films and really didn’t talk about much else. Maybe it was the fumes from the cars in the garage, but he always paid for everything so I tolerated him.
My friends and I decided that we were all going to go try out a local family entertainment center and I was going to bring along Tim to introduce him to the “gang”. I was trying to describe him to my friends. I told them his personality was sort of a cross between Elmer Fudd and a Potato. He was then dubbed at that point by my friends and me “Elmer Spud” but my youngest daughter couldn’t remember that so it turned into “Elmo Potato” and it stuck.
He met my friends at dinner where he completely embarrassed me with his lack of table manners and his continuing ranting about the cable company. After the night was through my friends advised me that he reminded them of a serial killer. I decided he wasn’t that bad and wasn’t about to drop him just yet.
Our next date, we went and checked out a band. I had a GREAT time. Shocking. We had a few drinks, good music and good food. Well I guess all of this went to my head because I decided this was the night I was gonna take the next step. We went back to his place to do what people who date do, and reality came along to slap me in the face. It was the size of a thimble. FULLY ERECT. Now I’m not one to judge people on size but give me SOMETHING to work with. Thankfully, it ended quickly.
The next morning, after the alcoholic fog lifted, I realized that I had such a fun night with Elmo Potato because I didn’t actually have to talk to him. And clearly he wasn’t going to be worth the effort in other areas……. So it was time for me to end it, which was awkward because I had to drive past him twice a day, four days a week. I stopped taking his calls and started to speed by him on my way in and out of the garage. Thankfully he still had Rambo and the cable company to comfort him.
I don’t know if he ever talked about our dates with Friday Night Guy, but he never did ask me out. I guess this is a good thing though because finding a parking spot downtown on a Friday night is tough enough all on its own.
For work, I used to park in a garage and there was always a cashier there on Friday nights that was really nice to me. I used to flirt here and there but sadly, he never asked me out. One Friday, the Weekday cashier was in the booth with Friday Night Guy and the testosterone was flowing. Weekday Guy suggested that Friday Night Guy wanted my number. Finally! So I happily handed it over, except Regular Guy called me. Whatever. I wasn’t dating anyone at the time and I thought maybe this would give Friday Night Guy the balls to ask me out too. So I set up a date with “Tim” and went out a few times. Boring, boring, boring. He had some obsession about the local cable company and the Rambo films and really didn’t talk about much else. Maybe it was the fumes from the cars in the garage, but he always paid for everything so I tolerated him.
My friends and I decided that we were all going to go try out a local family entertainment center and I was going to bring along Tim to introduce him to the “gang”. I was trying to describe him to my friends. I told them his personality was sort of a cross between Elmer Fudd and a Potato. He was then dubbed at that point by my friends and me “Elmer Spud” but my youngest daughter couldn’t remember that so it turned into “Elmo Potato” and it stuck.
He met my friends at dinner where he completely embarrassed me with his lack of table manners and his continuing ranting about the cable company. After the night was through my friends advised me that he reminded them of a serial killer. I decided he wasn’t that bad and wasn’t about to drop him just yet.
Our next date, we went and checked out a band. I had a GREAT time. Shocking. We had a few drinks, good music and good food. Well I guess all of this went to my head because I decided this was the night I was gonna take the next step. We went back to his place to do what people who date do, and reality came along to slap me in the face. It was the size of a thimble. FULLY ERECT. Now I’m not one to judge people on size but give me SOMETHING to work with. Thankfully, it ended quickly.
The next morning, after the alcoholic fog lifted, I realized that I had such a fun night with Elmo Potato because I didn’t actually have to talk to him. And clearly he wasn’t going to be worth the effort in other areas……. So it was time for me to end it, which was awkward because I had to drive past him twice a day, four days a week. I stopped taking his calls and started to speed by him on my way in and out of the garage. Thankfully he still had Rambo and the cable company to comfort him.
I don’t know if he ever talked about our dates with Friday Night Guy, but he never did ask me out. I guess this is a good thing though because finding a parking spot downtown on a Friday night is tough enough all on its own.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Hobos, Homos & Potatoes - Part 1
Time to get down to the real reason I started this blog. To talk about my dating life. More so, to let you know how BAD my dating life is, to help you to realize how GOOD your dating life has been and hopefully to make you laugh. First let me provide a disclaimer. The events you about to read about are real and the names will be changed to protect the stupid (i.e., me) There are several contributing factors leading to my bad dating life to consider before reading about these “dates”. I am a fat, poor, single parent. And oh yeah, I had (and probably will continue to have) really bad judgment.
So typical day at the office, going to the mailbox and I am stopped by a gentleman who looks at me and tells me I have the most beautiful smile he has ever seen. How can I not melt? I mean it’s not every day someone stops me in the middle of my oblivion and compliments me. He asks me if I am married/dating someone and I say “no”. I immediately want to kick myself. Why am I so honest? He’s not terrible. He’s dressed well, speaks well, just not really my type. But I’m a sucker for a compliment, so whatever. He proceeds to walk by my office every morning, coffee in hand and waves and smiles. Eventually he asks me “out”. Tells me he would love to cook me dinner. I accept. The night that he’s going to cook for me he tells me his car has broke down, his buddy is busy and would I mind coming to get him. So as I am on my way to get him I am of course cursing at myself saying “what the hell are you thinking?” He’s already sent me a text providing the ingredients to pick up so he can cook his “masterpiece “ and I’m just happy for a night that I don’t have to cook.
Dinner goes fairly well. The conversation is decent. Not the worst date I’ve ever had. (As you will find out in part 3 of this blog) He then tells me his friend is not able to come and get him and asks to spend the night, he doesn’t mind sleeping on the floor. It’s late so I agree. He’s a perfect gentleman, sleeps on the floor the whole night (which for some reason I feel horrible about) and is gone by the time I wake up. Second date, same pattern. Weird, right? Third date, well I guess he figured that I liked him at this point and instead of picking him up at the bus stop like I had been, asked me to pick him up at “the mission”
Shit. I’m dating a homeless guy. Now what?
I can’t just dump him because he’s homeless, and now I feel bad for him. So not only do I let him “stay” at my house but I actually start driving him to his job. AT 5:30 AM. We have time to talk in the car where he tells me about how “annoying” all his co-workers are and how he really just wants to be a dishwasher because no one bothers you. Now I’m disturbed. I’m no CEO, I’m not a doctor, nor a rocket scientist but certainly my ambition in life is not a minimum wage job where no one will acknowledge my existence as long as the silverware is clean.
This guys gotta go.
Luckily for me, I’m starting a new job (not as a dishwasher) where I won’t be able to take him to work anymore and conveniently stop taking his calls and PRAY that he doesn’t catch a bus and just show up. Eventually, he gets the hint and stops calling.
That should be where the story ends. Should. Down the road a few months he finds me on a FREE dating website, and tells me that I’m still his dream woman. I’m guessing it’s mostly because of the food and shelter thing, but I never respond to find out. Maybe that makes me a horrible person, but maybe, just maybe, this whole experience makes me better for the next one that comes along.
So typical day at the office, going to the mailbox and I am stopped by a gentleman who looks at me and tells me I have the most beautiful smile he has ever seen. How can I not melt? I mean it’s not every day someone stops me in the middle of my oblivion and compliments me. He asks me if I am married/dating someone and I say “no”. I immediately want to kick myself. Why am I so honest? He’s not terrible. He’s dressed well, speaks well, just not really my type. But I’m a sucker for a compliment, so whatever. He proceeds to walk by my office every morning, coffee in hand and waves and smiles. Eventually he asks me “out”. Tells me he would love to cook me dinner. I accept. The night that he’s going to cook for me he tells me his car has broke down, his buddy is busy and would I mind coming to get him. So as I am on my way to get him I am of course cursing at myself saying “what the hell are you thinking?” He’s already sent me a text providing the ingredients to pick up so he can cook his “masterpiece “ and I’m just happy for a night that I don’t have to cook.
Dinner goes fairly well. The conversation is decent. Not the worst date I’ve ever had. (As you will find out in part 3 of this blog) He then tells me his friend is not able to come and get him and asks to spend the night, he doesn’t mind sleeping on the floor. It’s late so I agree. He’s a perfect gentleman, sleeps on the floor the whole night (which for some reason I feel horrible about) and is gone by the time I wake up. Second date, same pattern. Weird, right? Third date, well I guess he figured that I liked him at this point and instead of picking him up at the bus stop like I had been, asked me to pick him up at “the mission”
Shit. I’m dating a homeless guy. Now what?
I can’t just dump him because he’s homeless, and now I feel bad for him. So not only do I let him “stay” at my house but I actually start driving him to his job. AT 5:30 AM. We have time to talk in the car where he tells me about how “annoying” all his co-workers are and how he really just wants to be a dishwasher because no one bothers you. Now I’m disturbed. I’m no CEO, I’m not a doctor, nor a rocket scientist but certainly my ambition in life is not a minimum wage job where no one will acknowledge my existence as long as the silverware is clean.
This guys gotta go.
Luckily for me, I’m starting a new job (not as a dishwasher) where I won’t be able to take him to work anymore and conveniently stop taking his calls and PRAY that he doesn’t catch a bus and just show up. Eventually, he gets the hint and stops calling.
That should be where the story ends. Should. Down the road a few months he finds me on a FREE dating website, and tells me that I’m still his dream woman. I’m guessing it’s mostly because of the food and shelter thing, but I never respond to find out. Maybe that makes me a horrible person, but maybe, just maybe, this whole experience makes me better for the next one that comes along.
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