So Claire made a friend... He was tall, muscular, and filled out his tight T-shirt quite nicely, if I say so myself. The three of us - Guy, Claire and I - were sitting at a bar, staring at each other across the table. Well... This is what REALLY was happening: Claire was kind of dancing in her seat (she is always restless when the music is playing), Guy was staring at Claire (no blinking, kind of like a lizard), I switched from Guy to Claire (for politeness sake), Claire would give the Guy a flirty look and then turn to me, I looked at the Guy to see his reaction, Guy had no reaction, because he was still staring at Claire. A a matter of fact, he might have been sleeping with his eyes open, as he didn't move for minutes at a time.
After 10 minutes of telepathically getting to know our new friend, Claire and I decided that he must be a deaf mute. Immediately we felt very sorry for him and gave him the nicest smiles we could muster under the circumstances. The Guy saw this a good sign and began to communicate in the strangest sign language I've ever seen. Apparently he wasn't a very good student in school. As far as we could tell, there were only a few signs in his vocabulary. Strangely enough, somehow they corresponded to the choice of songs by the DJ. And by "corresponded" I mean, that our friend was visually portraying the songs' lyrics. Our favorite must have been "Who let the doggs out", accompanied by very literal representationg of silent barking, various winks and nods, and one mysterious "turning the steering wheel" routine. While Claire and I looked in amazement at our new acquaintance, trying to figure out what exacly he was trying to tell us by his strange gestures -- a miracle happened! The Guy found his voice!
The first words out of his mouth sounded exaclty as you'd expect someone to sound when they've never known how to speak, and are just trying out their vocal cords for the first time. Through the incoherent mumble, slurred vowels and funny-looking mouth shapes, we were able to gather that his name was Tom. Realizing that he can talk after all, Tom decided to share with us the story of his life. A minute or so later, he figured we weren't worthy after all, and summed up his prior two sentences with an emphatic: "I'm not some sleazy drunk guy at a bar!" Well this obviously took a lot for him to say, as immediately after, his head thumped against the wall behind him (he was sitting on bar stool) and he appeared to pass out. To his credit, he woke up very soon after, with full intention to use his new skill to his full advantage, and continue to hit on my friend. He must have forgotten that we weren't worthy of his attention just a few minutes before. I guess he felt that the charm of his conversation would be only enhanced by frequent dance moves along with the song of the moment. Hence in the middle of a sentence he would grow quiet and start shaking his butt... Or he would ask Claire something, forget it the next second and start singing along with Brittney Spears.
Needless to say, he was just too cool for our company. At some point, without saying a word of goodbye he got up and slowly made his way to the other end of the bar. It was only then that Claire and I realized that the poor chap was also facing another handicap: he couldn't walk straight and had to rely on at least one wall/table/chair/person that was in the vicinity of his grasp to keep himself of his feet.
What an unfortunate guy!!! Maybe he shouldn't have had those 5 last shots after all...
Thursday, August 28
Sunday, August 24
Date # 16:Cuban
Now this is not exaclty a descrtiption of A date. It's an overview of many sighting over a year of relative friendship.
This guy must have been the vainest person I've ever met in my life: inclusive of both sexes. He had a habit of walking around his aparmtent naked, no matter who was visiting -- undoutedly feeling that he was doing them a favor by showing off his chest. He could also suddenly emerge from his bedroom in nothing but a towel and proceed to walk around, talk, cook as if everything was completely normal.
Apparently he thought he was the best thing that happened to this world since the beginning of time. And he seemed to be genuinely surprised when other people did not share his opinion. At one point, in the beginning of our friendship, he even showed up at my house with full intentions of spending the night. He even said it, in his broken English. After my polite, but firm, "Go home", he looked at me with such genuine surprise in his eyes, that for a minute, I even doubted my own common sense. He got up and walked to the door, all the while looking at me, sitting on the couch. I guess he was waiting for me to stop him. When that didn't happen, he walked back and sat down next to me again. He proceeded to ask WHY I didn't want to sleep with him. It made for a hilarious, and very strange conversation. I never thought I'd have to explain to a total stranger my exact reasons for not falling under his manly charms.
After that, we became fast friends, and I had many more occassions to listen to his stories of woe, and watch him in action as a self-proclaimed Cuban Casanova. He wasn't a bad guy, and soon I began to understand that he really DOES think of himself as one of the most beautiful people in the world -- it's not just a sleazy act. Well, that made every conversation even more fun. To his credit, he was a good-looking guy -- just not the Mr. Universe he thought himself to be.
Over the time I knew him, he made a pass at every single girl I ever happened to introduce him to. Unfortunately it never worked, and he was crestfallen at one failure after another. As far as I know he is now happily dating someone who finally appreciates his beauty.
This guy must have been the vainest person I've ever met in my life: inclusive of both sexes. He had a habit of walking around his aparmtent naked, no matter who was visiting -- undoutedly feeling that he was doing them a favor by showing off his chest. He could also suddenly emerge from his bedroom in nothing but a towel and proceed to walk around, talk, cook as if everything was completely normal.
Apparently he thought he was the best thing that happened to this world since the beginning of time. And he seemed to be genuinely surprised when other people did not share his opinion. At one point, in the beginning of our friendship, he even showed up at my house with full intentions of spending the night. He even said it, in his broken English. After my polite, but firm, "Go home", he looked at me with such genuine surprise in his eyes, that for a minute, I even doubted my own common sense. He got up and walked to the door, all the while looking at me, sitting on the couch. I guess he was waiting for me to stop him. When that didn't happen, he walked back and sat down next to me again. He proceeded to ask WHY I didn't want to sleep with him. It made for a hilarious, and very strange conversation. I never thought I'd have to explain to a total stranger my exact reasons for not falling under his manly charms.
After that, we became fast friends, and I had many more occassions to listen to his stories of woe, and watch him in action as a self-proclaimed Cuban Casanova. He wasn't a bad guy, and soon I began to understand that he really DOES think of himself as one of the most beautiful people in the world -- it's not just a sleazy act. Well, that made every conversation even more fun. To his credit, he was a good-looking guy -- just not the Mr. Universe he thought himself to be.
Over the time I knew him, he made a pass at every single girl I ever happened to introduce him to. Unfortunately it never worked, and he was crestfallen at one failure after another. As far as I know he is now happily dating someone who finally appreciates his beauty.
Friday, August 22
"WTF???" Series: # 1
An older gentleman (around 50 or so) approached my friend at a bar last night, and after she refused his offer of a drink, tried to hand her $20, just "so that she'd go buy herself something, if she doesn't want him to do it".
Monday, August 18
Date # 15: Lebanese
This guy landed in my life, courtesy of late night drinking and strange light patterns at a trashy club. Bundled together with the two circumstances above, he seemed ok. On second sight, in the middle of a sunny afternoon, he was a completely different person from what I remembered. Yet, I decided to bravely give it a chance. After all, he seemed fairly intelligent and he was tall.
This relationship was not to be, chiefly because I soon realized that his arms were too short for his body. Don't laugh, dear reader, it is sad, but true. And whatever unflattering truths this shows about my values and intelligence, I just couldn't stand looking at him. I always wanted to grab him by the hands and stretch them out a bit! The funny thing is that no one but me could see it. Some even went as far as to say that I was making it up. For HIS benefit, I hope they're right... On my part, however, he will always be remembered as sort of grotesque -- once I figured it out, I couldn't think of anything else.
Thank God, I didn't have to give him a reason for not wanting to see him. He just kind of disappeared after one unreturned phone call. (I guess this happens to him a lot).
This relationship was not to be, chiefly because I soon realized that his arms were too short for his body. Don't laugh, dear reader, it is sad, but true. And whatever unflattering truths this shows about my values and intelligence, I just couldn't stand looking at him. I always wanted to grab him by the hands and stretch them out a bit! The funny thing is that no one but me could see it. Some even went as far as to say that I was making it up. For HIS benefit, I hope they're right... On my part, however, he will always be remembered as sort of grotesque -- once I figured it out, I couldn't think of anything else.
Thank God, I didn't have to give him a reason for not wanting to see him. He just kind of disappeared after one unreturned phone call. (I guess this happens to him a lot).
Date # 14: Bosnian
He was married. And had a kid -- as explained by his wife in one unpleasant, but very informative phone call. How was I supposed to know?
Note to self: Next time you meet someone new, check court records, church registers, synagogue rosters, and mosque lists. And if his name happens to be on neither of the above, don't forget about hindu and buddhist temples... Now if those return no results, find out where he lives and check for the presence of singnificant other(s). Only when you see him coming and going everywere alone for three months, call him back and agree for a drink.. in another month.
Note to self: Next time you meet someone new, check court records, church registers, synagogue rosters, and mosque lists. And if his name happens to be on neither of the above, don't forget about hindu and buddhist temples... Now if those return no results, find out where he lives and check for the presence of singnificant other(s). Only when you see him coming and going everywere alone for three months, call him back and agree for a drink.. in another month.
Date # 12: Iranian
He was an unemployed model.
A perfect example of why some people should just smile and look pretty: talking only diminishes their effect. His good looks got us as far as third date. Even MY shallowness couldn't take it any longer.
The end.
A perfect example of why some people should just smile and look pretty: talking only diminishes their effect. His good looks got us as far as third date. Even MY shallowness couldn't take it any longer.
The end.
Date # 11: Colombian
The Colombian seemed pretty normal, had a decent job, lived in the US for many years, etc. He had potential. That is, until he started coming over unannounced, calling at all hours of day and night "to check on me" (two weeks into knowing me), and the ultimate No-No. One day I walked into the room as he was scanning through the Call History on my cell phone. I tried to talk to him about appropriate non-psychotic behavior, pointed out the fact that we only met a very short time ago, expressed my distaste for overly-controlling, jealous men. He listened and apologized.
Next day, when I went to dinner with some friends, he called 3 times in the span of an hour, although I promised to get back to him after I'm done, before I even left my house. I was getting fed up. It's nice to feel that somone cares about your whereabouts, but this was getting to me.
Right around that time, my best friend was coming to visit me for the weekend with her boyfriend. The four of us had great plans for the upcoming two days -- Colombian included. But as him and I sat in my apartment, waiting for my friends to drive in (he showed up 2 hours in advance, for some reason), I suddenly realized that there was only one thing that was threatening to ruin my perfect weekend. The Colombian had to go.
After one hour of resistance, "let's talk about this", and his obvious indignation, I finally managed to get him out of the door. I knew that as much as I didn't want to be the "third wheel", it would be exponentially worse to be part of a couple that had the Colombian in it.
Next day, when I went to dinner with some friends, he called 3 times in the span of an hour, although I promised to get back to him after I'm done, before I even left my house. I was getting fed up. It's nice to feel that somone cares about your whereabouts, but this was getting to me.
Right around that time, my best friend was coming to visit me for the weekend with her boyfriend. The four of us had great plans for the upcoming two days -- Colombian included. But as him and I sat in my apartment, waiting for my friends to drive in (he showed up 2 hours in advance, for some reason), I suddenly realized that there was only one thing that was threatening to ruin my perfect weekend. The Colombian had to go.
After one hour of resistance, "let's talk about this", and his obvious indignation, I finally managed to get him out of the door. I knew that as much as I didn't want to be the "third wheel", it would be exponentially worse to be part of a couple that had the Colombian in it.
Friday, August 15
Date # 9: Russian Turk
I met this guy while I was at a restaurant with a large group of friends. He was good-looking and nice, so I thought nothing of giving him my phone number. Unfortunately, after the first conversation, I realized that we'll never hit it off, and decided not to pick up the phone on him again. Although it's not the most mature thing anyone can do, I figured after a couple of calls, he'll get the message and stop calling. After all, I didn't really know what to say otherwise: it's not like we were dating or anything.
During the first day of my boycott, he called 14 times. During the second, it wilted down to ten. On the third day, only 5 missed calls registered on my Caller ID. And then I guess he got mad. Only one phone call on Days 4-7, another three or four on Day 8, and then welcome silence.
Ahh.. nice to finally take my phone off the silent mode.
I'm glad I never meet any stalker psychos.
During the first day of my boycott, he called 14 times. During the second, it wilted down to ten. On the third day, only 5 missed calls registered on my Caller ID. And then I guess he got mad. Only one phone call on Days 4-7, another three or four on Day 8, and then welcome silence.
Ahh.. nice to finally take my phone off the silent mode.
I'm glad I never meet any stalker psychos.
Date # 8: Indian Number Two
This short friendship took place right after a break-up with another Indian guy, whom I dated for close to a year. And although my heart was not exactlty broken, I still wanted someone to reassure me that my ex will have plenty of reasons to regret his decision "to take time off".
This man was tall, handsome and intelligent. He was educated in Great Britain and spoke perfect English with a slight hint of a British accent. He had great taste in clothes and knew all the best places in town. In short, he was a perfect "rebound guy".
There was a slight confusion when I couldn't remember his name, but he laughed it off and repeated it -- only to have it once again escape my brain the minute after he said it.
We met for dinner and drinks on a Thursday... Time seemed to fly. The conversation was great, he was very charismatic, and I couldn't take my eyes off his beautiful olive skin and chiseled classical features. He was extrememly nice, sweet and respectful, even setting up a second date before we said goodbye. The following Sunday, he would make dinner for me at his house, and then we would make our way to a concert. I couldn't believe my luck.. what a great guy!
It was only too unfortunate that when I accidentally found myself at the same bar with him on Saturday, he was there making out with another girl. Needless to say, I never spoke to him again.
I guess we all have hidden agendas. Mine was to find a rebound. His was to find someone on the side. Too bad our agendas didn't match up.
And although now and again, I bump into him at different places, we never acknowledge each other's presence. Therefore, he remains forever nameless as Indian # 2.
This man was tall, handsome and intelligent. He was educated in Great Britain and spoke perfect English with a slight hint of a British accent. He had great taste in clothes and knew all the best places in town. In short, he was a perfect "rebound guy".
There was a slight confusion when I couldn't remember his name, but he laughed it off and repeated it -- only to have it once again escape my brain the minute after he said it.
We met for dinner and drinks on a Thursday... Time seemed to fly. The conversation was great, he was very charismatic, and I couldn't take my eyes off his beautiful olive skin and chiseled classical features. He was extrememly nice, sweet and respectful, even setting up a second date before we said goodbye. The following Sunday, he would make dinner for me at his house, and then we would make our way to a concert. I couldn't believe my luck.. what a great guy!
It was only too unfortunate that when I accidentally found myself at the same bar with him on Saturday, he was there making out with another girl. Needless to say, I never spoke to him again.
I guess we all have hidden agendas. Mine was to find a rebound. His was to find someone on the side. Too bad our agendas didn't match up.
And although now and again, I bump into him at different places, we never acknowledge each other's presence. Therefore, he remains forever nameless as Indian # 2.
Thursday, August 14
Date # 4: Arab
In lieu of a brief introduction:
I met this guy a few years ago. Being young and stupid, I went out with him a few times and not being THAT young or THAT stupid, I stopped talking to him roughly three weeks after our first date. This decision was speeded along by our second date, where he was waiting for me outside his place in a towel. Yes, a towel. I then had to wait inside while he went to get dressed. No comment, right?
Now fast-forward a few years. I'm at a popular bar with my friends, and suddenly notice a familiar face. Well, if it isn't the Arab's friend, that I haven't seen in at least 5 years. We say a few polite "how are you's" to each other. I decide to be nice and inquire about the Arab. "How is your friend doing?" The Friend looks at me in some confusion. "Which friend?" I smile, "You know -- Ahmed." The Friend is now clearly embarassed. "Umm.. He is doing fine. He is standing right next to me!" To my horror, I realize that the guy at his side, the one that I dismissed as completely unattractive when I walked up to them, is actually Ahmed! I mumble something about having to get to my friends and run away. What a bitch I must seem to them... but it was an honest mistake, I promise! It's not my fault that Ahmed didn't leave a very lasting impression.. plus it was sooo long ago!
Which brings me to the present moment, a restaurant, and... Ahmed staring at me across the table. "You look so much better than 5 years ago". That's the true way to a woman's heart. Tell her she was ugly in the past, but now she looks "better". I guess that's suposed to make me feel warm and fuzzy, being in a place where I don't want to be, on a date with a man I don't want to be with... I smile weakly and take a sip of my Vodka/Red Bull. Should I try to get drunk maybe? Nah -- my drive home is at least 20 minutes... I guess I'll have to face this sober.
Basically, I only have myself to blame. Ahmed found me somehow again a couple of days ago. I was sitting at a coffee shop, not bothering anybody, doing my homework, when he walked in and made his way directly to my table. I didn't realize what a blessing it was not to run into him these last few years. Sure enough though, I had to be nice, since I already felt like I'll be burning in hell for asking about a man right in front him, clearly forgetting his face, if not his name. So one thing led to another and I agreed to go to dinner, for old time's sake. It's that "being nice to strangers" thing again...
So here we are. "How old are you now?", he asks. "23, almost 24." "Oh, great. A perfect time to have children!" "Excuse me?", I stammer. I don't remember him being THIS weird. But maybe it's because back then I was 18 and was not in my baby-making prime, in his opinion, just yet. "I said, you're the right age to start a family. How many children do you want to have?" I don't like the direction of this conversation. I twirl my hair -- a bad habit picked up in an upscale salon I had to call my job right after college. "Umm, maybe two? Haven't thought about it much, really. " "Why just two?" Ahmed exclaims, "Why not three, four, five? Children are a blessing!" There is only way I can reply. "Sure, Ahmed, I'll be very happy for my two kids to play with your five... If we still know each other by then!". Somehow that response doesn't rub him the right way, but he recovers quickly. I guess he figures there is still plenty of time to set me on the right course in life. He'll get his 5 to 15 children out of me yet, or his name isn't Ahmed.
Figuring that he planted the initial seed in my mind, Ahmed proceeds to talk about his brother who married an Eastern European woman in Canada is now living in perfect harmony with his great cook of a wife. I'm very happy for Ahmed's brother, but can't quite relate that story to him, myself, or anything that will involve either of us.
We start talking about traveling, moving places for work, etc. That's all fine and great and I almost start to regain my composure and sense of humor, when he drops another bomb... We're discussing the difficulties associated with moving to a different city. After all, what if you don't like you new job or new location? How do you come back home when you've already lost your old job? Ahmed smiles widely and announces: "Well, you can always come live with me. Anytime... Even right now. My home is your home." After that comment, I figure the less I say the better. This goes well with his offer of a new cell phone, when my reception seems to be failing inside the restaurant.
What a nice and generous guy, I should be thinking, right? Then why am I getting this creeped out feeling and silently hope that he doesn't find my home address in the White Pages before I delete it tonight?
Another hour and two drinks later, I find out that Ahmed's family owns a large number of camels back home, which, apparently consitutes a great wealth, since each camel can costs thousands of dollars. I wonder if they herd them in the desert somewhere and meanwhile live in the city? How DO you sustain a large ownership of camels? How do you make a profit off of them, unless you sell them? I make a mental note to Google "Camel care and maintenance", or something like that. At least I'll learn something new as a result of this stupid dinner.
Meanwhile, Ahmed is wasting no time. "So, when will I see you again?" Thankfully, I'm going out of town for the next few days, which I truthfully share with him. I try to imply that after I come back, and for the entirely of my earthly life after that, I'll be insanely busy. On his part, he is trying very hard not to understand me.
Ten days and ten phone calls later, Ahmed finally stops pestering me.
Moral of the day: Do not try to reconnect with someone who didn't even rememebr your face.
I met this guy a few years ago. Being young and stupid, I went out with him a few times and not being THAT young or THAT stupid, I stopped talking to him roughly three weeks after our first date. This decision was speeded along by our second date, where he was waiting for me outside his place in a towel. Yes, a towel. I then had to wait inside while he went to get dressed. No comment, right?
Now fast-forward a few years. I'm at a popular bar with my friends, and suddenly notice a familiar face. Well, if it isn't the Arab's friend, that I haven't seen in at least 5 years. We say a few polite "how are you's" to each other. I decide to be nice and inquire about the Arab. "How is your friend doing?" The Friend looks at me in some confusion. "Which friend?" I smile, "You know -- Ahmed." The Friend is now clearly embarassed. "Umm.. He is doing fine. He is standing right next to me!" To my horror, I realize that the guy at his side, the one that I dismissed as completely unattractive when I walked up to them, is actually Ahmed! I mumble something about having to get to my friends and run away. What a bitch I must seem to them... but it was an honest mistake, I promise! It's not my fault that Ahmed didn't leave a very lasting impression.. plus it was sooo long ago!
Which brings me to the present moment, a restaurant, and... Ahmed staring at me across the table. "You look so much better than 5 years ago". That's the true way to a woman's heart. Tell her she was ugly in the past, but now she looks "better". I guess that's suposed to make me feel warm and fuzzy, being in a place where I don't want to be, on a date with a man I don't want to be with... I smile weakly and take a sip of my Vodka/Red Bull. Should I try to get drunk maybe? Nah -- my drive home is at least 20 minutes... I guess I'll have to face this sober.
Basically, I only have myself to blame. Ahmed found me somehow again a couple of days ago. I was sitting at a coffee shop, not bothering anybody, doing my homework, when he walked in and made his way directly to my table. I didn't realize what a blessing it was not to run into him these last few years. Sure enough though, I had to be nice, since I already felt like I'll be burning in hell for asking about a man right in front him, clearly forgetting his face, if not his name. So one thing led to another and I agreed to go to dinner, for old time's sake. It's that "being nice to strangers" thing again...
So here we are. "How old are you now?", he asks. "23, almost 24." "Oh, great. A perfect time to have children!" "Excuse me?", I stammer. I don't remember him being THIS weird. But maybe it's because back then I was 18 and was not in my baby-making prime, in his opinion, just yet. "I said, you're the right age to start a family. How many children do you want to have?" I don't like the direction of this conversation. I twirl my hair -- a bad habit picked up in an upscale salon I had to call my job right after college. "Umm, maybe two? Haven't thought about it much, really. " "Why just two?" Ahmed exclaims, "Why not three, four, five? Children are a blessing!" There is only way I can reply. "Sure, Ahmed, I'll be very happy for my two kids to play with your five... If we still know each other by then!". Somehow that response doesn't rub him the right way, but he recovers quickly. I guess he figures there is still plenty of time to set me on the right course in life. He'll get his 5 to 15 children out of me yet, or his name isn't Ahmed.
Figuring that he planted the initial seed in my mind, Ahmed proceeds to talk about his brother who married an Eastern European woman in Canada is now living in perfect harmony with his great cook of a wife. I'm very happy for Ahmed's brother, but can't quite relate that story to him, myself, or anything that will involve either of us.
We start talking about traveling, moving places for work, etc. That's all fine and great and I almost start to regain my composure and sense of humor, when he drops another bomb... We're discussing the difficulties associated with moving to a different city. After all, what if you don't like you new job or new location? How do you come back home when you've already lost your old job? Ahmed smiles widely and announces: "Well, you can always come live with me. Anytime... Even right now. My home is your home." After that comment, I figure the less I say the better. This goes well with his offer of a new cell phone, when my reception seems to be failing inside the restaurant.
What a nice and generous guy, I should be thinking, right? Then why am I getting this creeped out feeling and silently hope that he doesn't find my home address in the White Pages before I delete it tonight?
Another hour and two drinks later, I find out that Ahmed's family owns a large number of camels back home, which, apparently consitutes a great wealth, since each camel can costs thousands of dollars. I wonder if they herd them in the desert somewhere and meanwhile live in the city? How DO you sustain a large ownership of camels? How do you make a profit off of them, unless you sell them? I make a mental note to Google "Camel care and maintenance", or something like that. At least I'll learn something new as a result of this stupid dinner.
Meanwhile, Ahmed is wasting no time. "So, when will I see you again?" Thankfully, I'm going out of town for the next few days, which I truthfully share with him. I try to imply that after I come back, and for the entirely of my earthly life after that, I'll be insanely busy. On his part, he is trying very hard not to understand me.
Ten days and ten phone calls later, Ahmed finally stops pestering me.
Moral of the day: Do not try to reconnect with someone who didn't even rememebr your face.
Wednesday, August 13
Date # 3: Israeli
The following conversation took place over the phone, after 5 dates, with an extremely gorgeous, but also insolent and conceited man. I knew it wasn't going anywhere, but didn't quite expect this.
Guy: Ummm... You're a great girl and I don't want to bullshit you. I may lie, but I hate bullshitting people, especially you.
Me (knowing what was coming): Ok?
Guy: I'm leaving in two weeks. You saw my suitcases are packed and I'm going back home. If I were staying here, I'd love to be with you, but the matter of the fact is that I'm not.
Me: Well, i'm glad you tell me that now, and not the day before you leave.
Guy: Yeah... Sorry about that...You're (insert lots of flattering things about me here)... But hey, you know my friend that you met at the pool? He thinks you're great. Would you consider maybe giving him a shot?
Me (stunned silence):...
Guy: Seriously, what do you think? He is a great guy!
Me (having a mental picture of his very unattractive, but very sweet friend): No, I don't think so.. But thanks for the offer...
Guy: I understand.. I guess he is not your type, huh?
Now how in the world did he think that:
a. I can be passed around like a toy car... ("It works great, really!")
b. That I would want that guy
c. That it's his place to play the matchmaker in the same breath as he is telling me that he blatantly lied in everything he told me about his plans, work, etc., and pretty much saying that he doesn't want me.
The minds of men work in mysterious ways...
Guy: Ummm... You're a great girl and I don't want to bullshit you. I may lie, but I hate bullshitting people, especially you.
Me (knowing what was coming): Ok?
Guy: I'm leaving in two weeks. You saw my suitcases are packed and I'm going back home. If I were staying here, I'd love to be with you, but the matter of the fact is that I'm not.
Me: Well, i'm glad you tell me that now, and not the day before you leave.
Guy: Yeah... Sorry about that...You're (insert lots of flattering things about me here)
Me (stunned silence):...
Guy: Seriously, what do you think? He is a great guy!
Me (having a mental picture of his very unattractive, but very sweet friend): No, I don't think so.. But thanks for the offer...
Guy: I understand.. I guess he is not your type, huh?
Now how in the world did he think that:
a. I can be passed around like a toy car... ("It works great, really!")
b. That I would want that guy
c. That it's his place to play the matchmaker in the same breath as he is telling me that he blatantly lied in everything he told me about his plans, work, etc., and pretty much saying that he doesn't want me.
The minds of men work in mysterious ways...
Date # 2: American
A virgin.
At 32.
With not even particular religious beliefs to justify it.
"The right woman will wait for me," he says.
The end.
At 32.
With not even particular religious beliefs to justify it.
"The right woman will wait for me," he says.
The end.
Tuesday, August 12
Date # 1: Canadian
I sit across from him -- a large man in his mid-thirties, with a bald spot barely covered by his slicked-back, greasy hair. He is staring at me from beneath his prominent eyebrow (yes, ONE eyebrow). "So we finally meet" he says, and I press myself even farther into my chair. He looks like a cat, ready to pounce on his prey. One more minute and he'll lick his lips... I'm waiting for that. It looks like something he would do. To his credit, I have to admit, he is definitely the sleaziest man I've ever been on a date with -- and I've known my share of sleazy dates. And as I stare into the flat-screen above my head, pretending to be very interested in baseball -- I have to rest my eyes somewhere, as I awkwardly make polite conversation about my work and hobbies -- I once again tell myself "Never again!"
The chain of events that brought me to this little "corner pub" is very simple. Girl is single. Girl signs up for a certain popular dating website. Girl receives an avalanche of winks/nods/hotlists/emails. Girl ends up meeting more peculiar men (that's a PC way of saying "crazy"), than she ever thought it was possible to meet. Girl promises herself she'll never go on one of those "dates" again, but in the back of her mind she still hopes there is one normal guy out there in cyberspace. After all, she is there, and she is normal... ...Right?
So after repeated harassing by this particular gentleman (who obviously had good reasons for not posting his photos in the profile), I agreed to meet him. I can see the waitress giving me a pitying look. She probably thinks he is my boyfriend, by the familiar way he addresses me and I turn red. It's pretty hard to appear an asshole to someone you're trying to impress (and he is clearly trying -- with all the talk of his Mercedes, expensive neighborhood where he lives, great job), but my friend, Uni, manages. He is rude to the waitress, he has no manners -- doesn't open the door for me or use eating utensils, and keeps smoking my cigarettes! Twenty minutes into our "date", and 40 minutes away from the time I feel it is polite to say goodbye, Uni decides we've mastered the whole getting-to-know-each-other business. "So, what happens now?" he asks. I look at him in alarm, "I'm sorry?" Uni smiles widely, "I mean with us. Are we going to be dating?" (Yes, the awkward speech pattern is yet another one of his endearing qualities). I mumble something about "Not looking for a relationship... You know how it is...". Uni assures me that he understands and continues his blabber about -- not sure what it was about, I stopped listening around the seventh inning.
Another horrible ten minutes tick by. The game is over and I try not to stare at the humongous gold ring on his right hand. Seriously? Does it have to be this big and ugly? Finally he pays our bill and we walk out the door. It is only 9:15 on a Thursday night. I desperately want to go home, but I feel that I have to be polite and at least stay another 15 minutes. It's only at 9:30 that I usually feel justified in saying that it's time for me to go to bed. Before that, I'm afraid they'll understand that I'm lying, and I don't want to hurt his feelings. Being too nice to strangers has always been my downfall.
And then the Compliment begins. Because you see, dear reader, it's one long compliment without pausing for breath. I am given to understand that, among other things, I am beautiful, intelligent, funny, sexy, laid back, tender, sensual, graceful and classy. Uni, being the excellent psychologist that he is, was able to extract that from the few lines of polite chit chat I forced out of myself in the last 45 minutes. At the "tender and sensual" part I start slowly inching towards the parking lot. It's never good when you are called tender and sensual by a big burly man with one eyebrow on a dark street. To my horror I see one of his paws reaching for my shoulder, as he figures his words will have more effect if he pulls me close. "So, what about us?" he asks again, oblivious to my quickening step and lack of any verbal indication that I want to continue the conversation. I pretend that a fit of sudden deafness prevents me from hearing his booming voice in my right ear. "I really want to kiss you", confides Uni, after 2 minutes of silent power-walking on my part and regular pace on his . (He is a foot taller than me, after all.) I finally look him in the eye: "No!" "Why not?" (Apparently Uni has never been the brightest crayon in the box). "I told you I just want to be friends." I start walking even faster. "So you don't kiss your friends?" "No!!!"
Finally we reach my car. It looks very tiny and pathetic next to his Mercedes, I can't help but notice. I press the unlock button, clearly ready to say good night and never see him again in my life. But Uni isn't done with his Casanova ways. He still has a few tricks up his expensive sleeve. "So you're not going to invite me in for coffee?", stretching his arm towards me again. I can't believe I just heard him say that. I sweetly smile, slam the door of my car and drive off into the night.
The chain of events that brought me to this little "corner pub" is very simple. Girl is single. Girl signs up for a certain popular dating website. Girl receives an avalanche of winks/nods/hotlists/emails. Girl ends up meeting more peculiar men (that's a PC way of saying "crazy"), than she ever thought it was possible to meet. Girl promises herself she'll never go on one of those "dates" again, but in the back of her mind she still hopes there is one normal guy out there in cyberspace. After all, she is there, and she is normal... ...Right?
So after repeated harassing by this particular gentleman (who obviously had good reasons for not posting his photos in the profile), I agreed to meet him. I can see the waitress giving me a pitying look. She probably thinks he is my boyfriend, by the familiar way he addresses me and I turn red. It's pretty hard to appear an asshole to someone you're trying to impress (and he is clearly trying -- with all the talk of his Mercedes, expensive neighborhood where he lives, great job), but my friend, Uni, manages. He is rude to the waitress, he has no manners -- doesn't open the door for me or use eating utensils, and keeps smoking my cigarettes! Twenty minutes into our "date", and 40 minutes away from the time I feel it is polite to say goodbye, Uni decides we've mastered the whole getting-to-know-each-other business. "So, what happens now?" he asks. I look at him in alarm, "I'm sorry?" Uni smiles widely, "I mean with us. Are we going to be dating?" (Yes, the awkward speech pattern is yet another one of his endearing qualities). I mumble something about "Not looking for a relationship... You know how it is...". Uni assures me that he understands and continues his blabber about -- not sure what it was about, I stopped listening around the seventh inning.
Another horrible ten minutes tick by. The game is over and I try not to stare at the humongous gold ring on his right hand. Seriously? Does it have to be this big and ugly? Finally he pays our bill and we walk out the door. It is only 9:15 on a Thursday night. I desperately want to go home, but I feel that I have to be polite and at least stay another 15 minutes. It's only at 9:30 that I usually feel justified in saying that it's time for me to go to bed. Before that, I'm afraid they'll understand that I'm lying, and I don't want to hurt his feelings. Being too nice to strangers has always been my downfall.
And then the Compliment begins. Because you see, dear reader, it's one long compliment without pausing for breath. I am given to understand that, among other things, I am beautiful, intelligent, funny, sexy, laid back, tender, sensual, graceful and classy. Uni, being the excellent psychologist that he is, was able to extract that from the few lines of polite chit chat I forced out of myself in the last 45 minutes. At the "tender and sensual" part I start slowly inching towards the parking lot. It's never good when you are called tender and sensual by a big burly man with one eyebrow on a dark street. To my horror I see one of his paws reaching for my shoulder, as he figures his words will have more effect if he pulls me close. "So, what about us?" he asks again, oblivious to my quickening step and lack of any verbal indication that I want to continue the conversation. I pretend that a fit of sudden deafness prevents me from hearing his booming voice in my right ear. "I really want to kiss you", confides Uni, after 2 minutes of silent power-walking on my part and regular pace on his . (He is a foot taller than me, after all.) I finally look him in the eye: "No!" "Why not?" (Apparently Uni has never been the brightest crayon in the box). "I told you I just want to be friends." I start walking even faster. "So you don't kiss your friends?" "No!!!"
Finally we reach my car. It looks very tiny and pathetic next to his Mercedes, I can't help but notice. I press the unlock button, clearly ready to say good night and never see him again in my life. But Uni isn't done with his Casanova ways. He still has a few tricks up his expensive sleeve. "So you're not going to invite me in for coffee?", stretching his arm towards me again. I can't believe I just heard him say that. I sweetly smile, slam the door of my car and drive off into the night.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)