PART 3
The second worst date was with a man I will call … Peso. (He was not Mexican, but the reason is for me to know.) Peso, in short (Hint! Hint!), was a nice enough guy. He was fun over dinner. (AT MOTHA’ F*CKIN’ ISLANDS … maybe I just screen Big Spenders that suggest that bullsh*t!)
I learned that we had things in common, and he was very cute. I thought
there was promise with Peso. It was early when we finished our
fine-dining experience, so we went back to my place. (Don’t get any ideas, because I am a lady.) We talk, laugh and flirt a lot. I thought all was splendid!
While sitting close to each other he says, “Wow, you are hot. I really want to kiss you!” This could have been cute if he had not asked like a 16-year-old guy who was trying to grope me clumsily. He was a little aggressive and the tone was similar to begging. I was not opposed to testing the lip-lock waters, so I agreed to it. The kissing was fine. (Mostly because I have a gift.) Then he says, “I really like you … can we take off our shirts?” Oh yes, you can see how this progressed. Each time it got more and more like he was begging. It was starting to annoy me, but it was also like seeing a person with a big goiter that you can’t stop starring at, and you just want to thump it. Let’s just say we end up in only our jeans in my bedroom. As much as he talked about liking me and wanting to see me again, I realized he was a dating ninja, but not a good one. I could see right through his act.
He continued on with his mission and tried to get me out of my jeans. He asked several times and in “sly” new ways. I finally said ok, only because I was afraid he would say, “I have blue balls and I could die if I don’t get off!” If little immature Peso had said it … I would have laughed and hurt his little feelings. (Notice my foreshadowing with the word little.) We get our jeans off and we end up in our birthday suits. (Skipping the begging to get my underwear, that I don’t wear, off.)
Okay, was this a cosmic joke? I don’t like the “relish tray” at Thanksgiving, and I did not want no Baby Kosher Dill in my boudoir. (Okkkaaay!) Give me something to work with. He says, while making out and grinding his tiny business into my hard soccer-player thigh, “I only top!” If my eyes hadn’t already been closed, and if my mouth hadn’t been full of Peso’s tongue, I probably would have laughed and rolled my f*ckin’ eyes! Really… only a top with that plumbing? That boy was meant to be face down in a pillow calling my damn name! I go with it though because I was feeling so much like a played fool at this point, and I didn’t want it to become unbearably awkward. The worst part was I let it play out like that. It was my fault!
Let’s just say it was a lot of me faking it (didn’t know a guy could do that), and planning out what I was going to shop for the next morning at Trader Joes. My performance left him thinking he was a stud and promising to call me the next day. He didn’t and I was glad (and NOT at all sore). It was one of my worst dates because of the fact that I allowed myself to do something that made me feel ridiculous. I should have ended it on my terms. Now I get to see him around and know my shame.
The last of today’s tales is the Crown Jewel of my bad dating career! I am not going to make this long, because you will see from the beginning that this date was doomed. I met “John Doe” off a social networking site. It took forever to pick a day and restaurant to meet at. I had learned my lesson, some-what, and I said I would meet him there. I had no intentions of going back to his place or mine and I made that clear before the meeting. I should have canceled the whole thing when he proved to be so difficult, but I gave him a chance. Big mistake!
John Doe showed up late, of course. (This is L.A.) He showed up looking much older than his three posted pictures, and had some weird chip on his shoulder. He tells me over dinner that I am cuter in person, so at least he displayed taste. It started out slow, and I was trying to feel him out. I was already taken aback by the outdated pictures and by the fact that he must have thought I wouldn’t notice. It was like Gerard Butler sent me a picture, and Danny DevVito showed up.
We ordered our food, and right after ordering he dives in to the topic of sex. I felt like I was hit by a truck filled with dildos on the way to the Pleasure Chest. (No … that would have been more fun!) He says, once the appetizers arrive, “My d*ck is about 10 inches and I can suck myself.” Yes ladies, he said it. Not only did he say it aloud, but I had to hear it every time I replayed the scene later. At that point the date really took a nose dive into the deepest ocean of inappropriate first-date topics possible. He began to bring up people on my “friend list” so that he could inform me of which ones he didn’t like, who he had dated and which fellows he had “four-gies” with. I did all I could to tune it out, short of going into the fetal position on the floor and going “Na, Na, Na.”. If only I could have been Dorothy and clicked my cute John Varvatos Converse together, and been back home on my sofa. I would have rather been alone at home eating my weight in carbs every Friday for month than be stuck with John Doe and his tales of sucking himself. (Yuck!) Enough said about Mr. John Doe.
I would like to say that I purposefully edited out the horrible details that could make your balls and titties dry up and fall off. My past dates are my burden to bear. These men taught me about prescreening. The following rules have saved me a lot of time and pain over the last few years, so I hope they help you as well.
While sitting close to each other he says, “Wow, you are hot. I really want to kiss you!” This could have been cute if he had not asked like a 16-year-old guy who was trying to grope me clumsily. He was a little aggressive and the tone was similar to begging. I was not opposed to testing the lip-lock waters, so I agreed to it. The kissing was fine. (Mostly because I have a gift.) Then he says, “I really like you … can we take off our shirts?” Oh yes, you can see how this progressed. Each time it got more and more like he was begging. It was starting to annoy me, but it was also like seeing a person with a big goiter that you can’t stop starring at, and you just want to thump it. Let’s just say we end up in only our jeans in my bedroom. As much as he talked about liking me and wanting to see me again, I realized he was a dating ninja, but not a good one. I could see right through his act.
He continued on with his mission and tried to get me out of my jeans. He asked several times and in “sly” new ways. I finally said ok, only because I was afraid he would say, “I have blue balls and I could die if I don’t get off!” If little immature Peso had said it … I would have laughed and hurt his little feelings. (Notice my foreshadowing with the word little.) We get our jeans off and we end up in our birthday suits. (Skipping the begging to get my underwear, that I don’t wear, off.)
Okay, was this a cosmic joke? I don’t like the “relish tray” at Thanksgiving, and I did not want no Baby Kosher Dill in my boudoir. (Okkkaaay!) Give me something to work with. He says, while making out and grinding his tiny business into my hard soccer-player thigh, “I only top!” If my eyes hadn’t already been closed, and if my mouth hadn’t been full of Peso’s tongue, I probably would have laughed and rolled my f*ckin’ eyes! Really… only a top with that plumbing? That boy was meant to be face down in a pillow calling my damn name! I go with it though because I was feeling so much like a played fool at this point, and I didn’t want it to become unbearably awkward. The worst part was I let it play out like that. It was my fault!
Let’s just say it was a lot of me faking it (didn’t know a guy could do that), and planning out what I was going to shop for the next morning at Trader Joes. My performance left him thinking he was a stud and promising to call me the next day. He didn’t and I was glad (and NOT at all sore). It was one of my worst dates because of the fact that I allowed myself to do something that made me feel ridiculous. I should have ended it on my terms. Now I get to see him around and know my shame.
The last of today’s tales is the Crown Jewel of my bad dating career! I am not going to make this long, because you will see from the beginning that this date was doomed. I met “John Doe” off a social networking site. It took forever to pick a day and restaurant to meet at. I had learned my lesson, some-what, and I said I would meet him there. I had no intentions of going back to his place or mine and I made that clear before the meeting. I should have canceled the whole thing when he proved to be so difficult, but I gave him a chance. Big mistake!
John Doe showed up late, of course. (This is L.A.) He showed up looking much older than his three posted pictures, and had some weird chip on his shoulder. He tells me over dinner that I am cuter in person, so at least he displayed taste. It started out slow, and I was trying to feel him out. I was already taken aback by the outdated pictures and by the fact that he must have thought I wouldn’t notice. It was like Gerard Butler sent me a picture, and Danny DevVito showed up.
We ordered our food, and right after ordering he dives in to the topic of sex. I felt like I was hit by a truck filled with dildos on the way to the Pleasure Chest. (No … that would have been more fun!) He says, once the appetizers arrive, “My d*ck is about 10 inches and I can suck myself.” Yes ladies, he said it. Not only did he say it aloud, but I had to hear it every time I replayed the scene later. At that point the date really took a nose dive into the deepest ocean of inappropriate first-date topics possible. He began to bring up people on my “friend list” so that he could inform me of which ones he didn’t like, who he had dated and which fellows he had “four-gies” with. I did all I could to tune it out, short of going into the fetal position on the floor and going “Na, Na, Na.”. If only I could have been Dorothy and clicked my cute John Varvatos Converse together, and been back home on my sofa. I would have rather been alone at home eating my weight in carbs every Friday for month than be stuck with John Doe and his tales of sucking himself. (Yuck!) Enough said about Mr. John Doe.
I would like to say that I purposefully edited out the horrible details that could make your balls and titties dry up and fall off. My past dates are my burden to bear. These men taught me about prescreening. The following rules have saved me a lot of time and pain over the last few years, so I hope they help you as well.
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