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The Chocolate Latte: Online dating and why I sometimes hope for a zombie apocalypse.

December 28, 2011 2 comments

Due to all of the feedback from my last blog My Date from Hell, I’ve been asked to do another dating piece. Also, I’m really enjoying the stories you all are sharing with me. Next time I’m at a bar I’m going to pour out some of my drink  for all the dates that died prematurely due to the insanity of the constituents involved.

Last year I delved a little bit into online dating. I’ve always been a skeptic when it comes to relationships formed via the internet that don’t result in packages at the door/Facebook friends/porn.  However, earlier that year I’d been to a wedding where the happy couple had met online. I was bombarded with tons of success stories about online dating at said wedding; so against my better judgment I signed up for a trial month on one of the more well-known sites.

I knew that I would never use this site as a primary form of meeting people, but it was more of a social experiment. It seemed innocent enough at first, kind of like online shopping for a mate. I started to see the fun in it and it was something of an ego boost.  Then the messages started rolling in. They all varied in normalcy but then I was presented with a masterpiece.  It was from a chap named Nathan and the screen shot is below:

It reads as follows:

“Chocolate Latte

hello gorgeous. you seem to be the kind of woman who isn’t afraid to try new things. So can I interest you in trying a new kind of drink? Its called a NATHAN latte, and its good. Its GENUIENE and warm.  Once it touches your lips, it will put a SMILE on your face. it has a real ROMANTIC  feel to it. You will tell all your friends what a WONDERFUL latte you have found, and it will be all yours. Some possible side effects of this drink are extreme laughter, great times, and happiness. So I ask u to take those beautiful eyes of yours and check out my menu. i am CONFIDENT you will eventually fall in LOVE with this latte. Order when you’re ready…..

nate”

On the light side: I have to at least give the guy credit and not be a total hater. I have never received an email like that before.  He committed to his coffee metaphor, and obviously went for a visual appeal of all of his CHARACTERISTICS. (Which I’ve also never seen before, so there are some more points scored for using optical cues.)

On the dark side: It may be possible that Nathan is a sufferer of dissociative identity disorder and this poor bastard has actually assumed the persona of a chocolate latte. It is also possible, as he did not address anything specific to me in the note, that my barista/suitor has served up his latte to other ladies. And how many others??

After the purchased session on the dating site expired I decided not to renew.  I know it works for some people, but it’s just not for me.  And also with the latte email I received some even more unsavory ones. From the kind of people that make you wonder if the Mayans were right, and look forward to December 21, 2012. Maybe with a zombie twist, who knows!

There is a distinct possibility that my experience was unique, and perhaps it was me not taking my search online seriously.  I wouldn’t want anyone to be deterred in trying out their luck via the interwebs. Just be prepared for all the walks of life that you will encounter.

So to conclude I will answer the question that is probably plaguing everyone:  no I was never ready to order a chocolate latte.

The First Time I Got Drunk…And Threw Up

December 27, 2011 1 comment

Everybody started drinking alcohol at different ages in their life.  Some started in college once they were away from their parents.  Others started their senior year of high school, maybe on graduation night or after they got accepted into college.  I started much younger.  My first taste of liquor came in 8th grade.   My friends and I would sit in a basement and trade shots of tequila mixed with orange juice, apple juice, stupid stuff like that.  And this was the bottom of the barrel type of tequila.  I will readily admit I had no idea what I was doing.  We would sometimes get tired of liquor and switch to beer.  The first beer I ever drank was Red Dog.  Remember those commercials, the ones with Tommy Lee Jones as the spokesman/voiceover?

Amazingly I never really got drunk.  It all tasted so terrible I never drank enough quick enough.  That all changed my freshman year of high school.

It is no secret that most kids who drink earlier in life have an older sibling.  That older sibling gives them access to alcohol, cigarettes, etc.  Now my brother is 3 years older than me, so my freshman year was also his senior year of high school.  So guess what that means.  High school graduation parties.  Strange as it is, besides getting hammered themselves, it seems that older siblings and their friends also enjoy getting their younger brothers and sisters ridiculously drunk.  That is just what my brother did the spring of 1997.

His friend had a graduation party at his house and it was a pretty sweet setup.  They had a huge party tent in the back yard with kegs.  There was a fridge and coolers full of beer in the basement and there was a sizeable crowd.  When I showed up with my brother I really wasn’t sure what was going to happen.  I knew his friends well and we all got along but for some reason I knew this night would be different.  It didn’t take long for me to find out how different.

I had never done a keg stand before.  I wasn’t sure what to expect, but hey it looked like fun.  You know what isn’t fun?  Being held upside down for what feels like 10 minutes while some guy stands next to you holding a stopwatch screaming to the rest of the crow how long you can last.  For sake of pride you try to push yourself to last longer than the person before you.  I don’t remember my time and I didn’t hear people boo after I was finished, so I guess I did ok.  Did I mention the keg was full of Bud Ice?  After that let’s just say I was a lot friendlier to everyone around me.  I wasn’t exactly drunk yet, but I had loosened up.  That would also be the last time I would walk around without a beer in my hand.  I think my brother and his friends played a game that night that involved giving me a fresh beer any time my hands were empty, and me not being aware of my alcohol limit I was happy to take the new beer and drink it.  Did I mention that the beer in my hand was Bud Ice?

One funny thing about being the younger drunk sibling at a party is that people notice you.  Not because you are cool but more like you are a circus animal that intrigues them.  Random guys come up and give you high fives, girls you have never met give you hugs (or maybe I was hugging them and they were uncomfortable).  I had one girl sit on my lap for about 10 minutes just chatting away about who knows what.  I really couldn’t imagine the party getting any better, and I was right.

I soon became the errand boy for my brother’s friends.  To this day I am not sure why the cooler of beer was in the basement of the house instead of outside.  When someone finished their beer it became my job to go inside, grab more out of the cooler and bring them back.  I also felt it necessary to get a beer for myself each time, a term you can affectionately call a “road beer”.  Well, all that back and forth coupled with my drinking started to take its toll.  My brother was nowhere to be found (more on that later) and I was sent on another mission to retrieve some beers from the basement.  It must have been apparent that I was not in good shape because one of my brother’s friends followed me into the basement and was trying to get me to lay down, drink a glass of water, essentially do anything other than keep drinking.  I ended up collapsing on the couch next to the beer cooler, not wanting to do anything but wait out the sudden spinning room and flip flopping of my stomach.  At that point my brother’s friend told me that I needed to get to a bathroom because it looked like I was going to throw up.  I told him that was unnecessary, and when he asked why I responded that I instead was going to throw up right there…all over the cooler of beer.

The rest of the night is pretty hazy, I remember lying on the floor, someone giving me a blanket and glass of water, a few people yelling at me after they came into the basement to get more beer and saw the cooler covered in my vomit.  I woke up the next morning surprisingly with no hangover.  I also found out that my brother had actually thrown up at the same time I did, just outside instead of in the basement like me.  I am not sure how that timing worked out but I have always thought that was strange.  As we got our stuff together and headed home one of my brother’s friends came up to me and asked why I drank so much at the party.  After all, he said, the beer was Bud Ice.

Categories: Uncategorized

The Drunken Zeppelin: A Cautionary Tale

December 20, 2011 Leave a comment

The Drunken Zeppelin: A Cautionary Tale

Every bar and each night out has its own cast of characters one might meet. There is the bachelorette party with token gay, the glory days gang from college, the two hot girls with the one cock blocking third wheel friend, and of course the asshole beer-snob dude who comments on your cold domestic selection. (I’m sure your Belgian Porter is delicious but it’s 3 dollar draught night, dick.) The list of types of people you will run into is virtually limitless, but what I’d like to speak to, and label as they should be, is what I like to call “The Drunken Zeppelin.”

A Drunk Zeppelin is someone who is so wasted they somehow take up the entire bar with their drunkenness. They are so larger than life hammered that there is no avoiding them, and whether you know them or not they will make contact with you in some way.

One notion that is palpable in the air at the bar is that everyone knows there will be an end to the Drunk Zep’s night, and it won’t be pretty. Like their namesake, when the end finally comes they’re going down, hard.

Like this.

I’m not saying that having one too many doesn’t happen to all of us at one point or another. What differentiates a Zeppelin from someone having a bad night is that this particular person is always like this when they drink.

You will most likely hear a Zep first. They’ll be shouting about a football game, rash, or often at a poor bystander about nothing in particular.  The Zep tends to float around the bar stumbling into tables, and toppling over various glasses and people. This is usually because he or she wants to talk it up with whoever has made eye contact with them.  At this point you always think to yourself “I wonder where this Zeppelin’s friends are?”  It typically is very hard to decipher who the Zep’s friends are at the bar because no one wants to claim them; thus inciting their distinctive floating behavior.

“We didn’t bring that guy”

The biggest piece of advice I can provide is simply do not make eye contact.

Unrelated* Don’t ever make eye contact when eating a banana either

Letting the Zep know that you’ve seen him or her will lead them to believe that you want them to come over and engage you in some way.  Once they are coming over you are now in the danger zone. The Zep will most likely plop down at your table and hit on whatever guy or girl they find attractive. (Being a Zeppelin knows no boundaries in terms of sex.)  You are now in danger of the following:

  1. Too-long hugs
  2. Stolen drinks
  3. Spittle on your face due to lack of motion control during stories and
  4.  Worst of all vomit. Possibly vomit on your brand new smart phone.

Bouncers typically don’t like dealing with Zeppelins, but at the end of the night they are almost always the last line of defense. The beginning of the end for most Zeppelins is when they start trying to discreetly puke or pass out in different places in the bar.

At least this Zeppelin took her shoes off, otherwise this would be gross.

One thing to be super wary of once the bouncer has had enough of any Zeppelin is not to be caught in their wake when they are being thrown out.  You must separate yourself from the Zep at all costs. You don’t want to be tossed out onto the street with them as at this stage the Zeppelin is highly instable and the meltdown that everyone feared is imminent.

It is now that the Zeppelin reaches maximum capacity and explodes; by yelling, puking, crying but more often than not some combination of all those things.

Full on Hindenburg.

So when you run into a Zeppelin out in the world keep these things in mind:

  1. Don’t make eye contact
  2. Avoid being in the danger zone
  3. Separate yourself as much as possible.

You have been warned.

Categories: Drinking Tags: , , , ,

Getting to Know your Favorite Crazy Uncle, Kim Jong Il

December 19, 2011 2 comments

So I was all ready to post an article about me getting drunk for the first time but then I check the news and come across this little nugget of info.  So in case you haven’t heard, the tiniest dictator with the biggest hair has decided that his work here on Earth is finished and has bid us all farewell.

 

For people that aren’t all too familiar with Kim Jong Il, this guy is crazy.  Below I have listed some of the more famous myths/facts about him.  It truly is comparable to some of the Chuck Norris facts.  And I do say facts because everything said about Chuck Norris is true and I will throw fists with anyone that says differently.  Sadly omitted from the top ten list below is a newer “fact” that Uncle Kim communicated with the coach of his World Cup soccer team providing tactics and motivation etc.  Since no one ever saw the head coach use a headset or get on a phone during any games the media asked him how this was possible.  His response was that Kim invented an invisible phone that only he could use to communicate with.  Pretty impressive for a guy who can’t figure out how to keep his people from starving.

The “Fact”: He had a supernatural birth

According to North Korean historical literature, Kim Jong Il was born in a log cabin inside a secret base on Korea’s most sacred mountain, Mt. Paekdu. At the moment of his birth, a bright star lit up the sky, the seasons spontaneously changed from winter to spring, and rainbows appeared. This contradicts way less interesting Western accounts of his birth, which state the dictator was born in a guerilla camp in Russia, while his father was on the run from the Japanese.

The “Fact”: He is a fashion trendsetter

According to North Korea’s newspaper Rodong Sinmun, Kim Jong Il’s iconic style has become a global phenomenon. The inspired look of his zipped up khaki tunics with matching pants has been spreading across the world, an obvious testament to his outstanding image and influence. The paper didn’t mention the popularity of the 4 inch platform shoes Kim wears, but his oversized shades definitely seem to be a big hit with the women of Hollywood.

The “Fact”: The world loves him

According to state-run media, Kimg Jong Il is the most prominent statesman in the present world, and people in countries the whole planet over celebrate his birthday with films and festivals. In reality, most nations are confused by his erratic foreign policy decisions on important issues such as N. Korea’s nuclear program.

The “Fact”: He invented the hamburger

Since any American influences have long since been banned in his tiny communist country, Kim Jong Il had no choice but to create some new non-Western food by himself. North Korean newspaper Minju Joson reported that Kim Jong Il invented a new sandwich called “double bread with meat” in an attempt to provide “quality” food to university students. He then built a plant capable of mass hamburger production to feed his students and teachers, despite the fact that the majority of his citizens battle famine on a daily basis.

The “Fact”: He is the best natural golfer in history

In 1994, it was reported by Pyongyang media outlets that Kim Jong Il shot 38 under par on a regulation 18-hole golf course – including 5 holes in one! That score is 25 shots better than the best round in history, and is made even more amazing by the fact that it was his first time playing the sport. It’s said Kim Jong Il would routinely sink 3 or 4 holes in one per round of golf, and – lucky for the PGA – he has since given it up.

The Fact: If he gets addicted to a drug, everyone else does too

According to a book written by one of Kim Jong Il’s ex-staff members, he was once injured by falling off his horse when it slipped on loose rocks. He was afraid of becoming addicted to the painkillers that his doctors prescribed him, so he had members of his administrative staff injected daily with the same dosages he had to take. He did this so he wouldn’t be the only one hooked on the drug.

The Fact: He once kidnapped a prominent director to film a Godzilla ripoff for him

Shin Sang-ok, a South Korean filmmaker, was kidnapped by Kim Jong Il, sent to prison, and eventually forced to make a film called Pulgasari that was basically a communist propaganda version of Godzilla. After Shin and his wife managed to escape North Korea while location scouting in Austria, Kim Jong Il shelved Pulgasari and all of Shin’s other work. Kim Jong Il has since given specific instruction to his Ministry of Culture and his communist filmmakers: “Make more cartoons.”

The Fact: He had disabled and short people deported from his capital

In preparation for the World Festival of Youth and Students in 1989, Kim Jong Il had disabled residents removed from Pyongyang. The government also distributed pamphlets advertising a wonder drug that would increase the height of short people. Those who responded to the pamphlets were sent away to different uninhabited islands along with the disabled in an attempt to rid the next generation of their supposedly substandard genes.

The Fact: At one time was the world’s biggest buyer of Hennessy

For a few years in the early 1990s, it was confirmed by Hennessy that Kim Jong Il was it’s best customer, spending about $600,000 to $850,000 annually on the liquor. He is partial to the Paradis cognac, which can sell for over $700 per bottle. In comparison, the average North Korean makes about $1000 per year.

The Fact: He maintains a city that was built just to be looked at

Kijong-Dong is a propaganda city that was originally built in the 1950s by Kim Jong Il’s father right on the border, this was to display the North’s superiority to the South and also to encourage people to defect. It has no actual residents, but an extensive effort has been put forth to simulate a functioning city, including lights on set timers, and street sweepers to create an illusion of activity. The use of modern telescopes has revealed that the units lack window glass, and some buildings are just concrete shells that don’t even have interior rooms. The city also houses the world’s largest flagpole, complete with a 300lb. North Korean flag.

I also think N. Korea has credited him with inventing clapping and waving since every picture of him includes him doing one or the other.  If you don’t believe me just go the Google Images and type in his name.

Categories: Uncategorized

Fashion Sense

December 12, 2011 Leave a comment

You know why I get angry at gay guys?  No, it doesn’t have to do with the fact that they are gay.  It has to do with the fact that a lot of them know fashion better than Tommy Hilfiger.  You might ask yourself why this is such a problem for me.  The answer is simple.  I have no idea what I am doing when it comes to fashion.  Figuring out whether or not my clothes even match is one of the most difficult things I do every day.  I have no idea what goes with what.  I will readily admit that the other day I googled what color shirt would match with my khaki shorts.  There has never been a time in my life when I have stood in front of a mirror and realized that my clothes don’t match.  It all looks good to me.  But gay dudes straight kill it when it comes to fashion.  They can figure out how to make anything work.  A scarf, anything with pink in it, skinny jeans, mesh shirts (ok that was more of a nod to a funny Family Guy clip than anything else).  They are like the Macgyver of the fashion world.

All he needed was stick of gum, a rubber band, and a paperclip and he could diffuse a bomb.  Give a gay guy a small handkerchief, a monacle, and leg warmers and he will put together something that will be selling out in stores next season.  So why is this such a problem?  Well, since they are well dressed men they are setting a really high standard for how us straight guys need to dress.  They have shown women that men can dress nice and now women expect it from us.  I like to think that there was a time when most guys dressed like slobs no matter the situation.  The thing was, since most guys did this women just had to deal with it and lower their expectations.  It was probably some sort of unspoken rule in guy world not to dress very nice.  Sort of like our unspoken bathroom etiquette rules or the infamous guy code.  Gay guys have now destroyed that.  It is kinda like that really smart kid in class that screws up the grade curve for everyone else.  We would all be passing chemistry if that kid didn’t score 100% on every test.  But oh no, little Timmy had to get into Harvard so you better believe he is going to know the answer to every question on that test.  Same with gay guys.  They have to dress great all the time because they are the ones that get modeling gigs, serve as backup dancers, or become stylists to Hollywood stars.  Appearance is everything in those situations.  But it doesn’t help the everyday guy who wants to just wear jeans and a t-shirt while out with his friends.  We look like slobs compared to a group of gay guys out on the town for the night.  Who do you think women would rather hang out with?  This is my plea to men of the gay community.  Please dial it down.  The rest of us don’t stand a chance.

Categories: Uncategorized

Just Wondering…

December 7, 2011 Leave a comment

When did the phrase “hooked up” turn into meaning sex? I’m in my mid-thirties and newly single, so I’m not up to date on all the new lingo out there. Judging from the amount of acronyms I had to learn with texting I’m fairly confident that I’m way behind modern vernacular altogether. Having said that, when did people become so casual and carefree about sex that the phrase “We Hooked Up” morph into meaning actual sex?

I remember when it meant second base or maybe dry humping on the couch. Fuck!  I like second base.  Do people even do that anymore?

I polled a few of my friends on when hooking up turned into meaning sex and here are the answers:

“Please don’t ask me these questions.” Understandable coming from a younger sibling.

“I don’t know. I would be in big trouble if I were single because it’s never meant sex to me.” At least some validation that the younger generation has indeed bastardized this once wholesome phrase.

“6 years ago”. I like this one. Very specific and it gives me a good sense of how long I’ve been out of the game.

“Haha. As long as I can remember.” Quickly followed by, “We’re all whores :).” And no, I didn’t add the smiley face (I did, however, make a mental note to take her out for a drink some time. You know, just in case I turn out to be wrong about this whole Hooked Up thing…).

“LOL I’m really not the one to ask because I’m amazingly naïve. I actually only found out a year ago that “watching a movie” meant “hooking up” which apparently is now sex. So haha thanks for catching me up”. Frankly, this one made me feel good to start, but then just ended up confusing me more.

And lastly (and perhaps my favorite) “What?!?! I thought it meant Oral!”

When I pushed as to why we have allowed sex to become so common that we Yada Yada a “Hooked Up” line nobody really had a clue. My favorite response was “I blame that Jersey Shore shit”.

I’m a guy. I get it. Sex is important. I’m not even against it early in a relationship. Like during appetizers.

But does it have to be so common? I think that’s the issue. Sex should be, at least in my myopic mind, the culmination of two people who really like (maybe even love) each other and them sharing an intimate, fun, and physical connection. That may take ten minutes to figure out or it could take ten years. It could be within a relationship or outside a relationship. None of that really matters to me. What matters most is that it’s somewhat special and it meant something. Not just another drunk Friday night. I mean, how good is that sex anyway?

I just think it’s missing something. I haven’t been with a ton of women, but since my relationships have typically lasted a long time, I’m pretty sure that I’ve had more actual sex than the people who have slept with a dozen other people. And I’ll go so far as to say it was better!

I had to work for it. Or, rather, I should say the WE had to work for it. Even for the times when it happened on the first date (yep, that’s actually happened) we had to work for it. There was a connection. An excitement. A tenderness. Butterflies even.

I’m not above the occasional mistake. I admit it. In fact, the mistakes are how I know that simply referring to sex as Hooking Up actually does a disservice to good sex.

I see people out there who have slept with a lot of people. You come up with whatever Magic Number you’re comfortable with, but once you start counting on your toes don’t be surprised if one of my eyebrows instinctively starts to rise. And I’m not judging. Seriously, I’m not. Go sleep with a hundred people for all I care. I mean, I may spray the toilet seat with Lysol if I see you coming out of the bathroom, but that’s as far as my judgment goes. This isn’t about morality. It’s actually about good sex and the defamation of the once proud saying of “We Hooked Up”.

Hooking Up has the innocent connotation of getting tangled up with someone on your way out to smoke a cigarette while maintaining an air of uncertainty and a healthy sense of romantic perversion. Call me old fashioned, but if you’re going around saying that you Hooked Up with someone you actually had sex with, then I feel kind of bad for you. I just don’t think anyone who cares about good sex would ever confuse Hooking Up for intercourse.

Besides. Dry humping on the couch is awesome and deserves to keep the title.

Categories: Uncategorized

My date from Hell

December 6, 2011 5 comments

For a long time, I’ve been told by many people (my co-blogger Adam included) that I attract unusual circumstances and people.  I find myself in the middle of strange situations fairly often, and I have heard “That would only happen to you,” too many times to count. For example, once on my way to work I was sitting at a stoplight in midtown Atlanta only to be flashed by a cross dresser in a flamenco outfit that a truck full of construction workers ahead of me had unwittingly been wolf whistling towards while we were all sitting at the red light. A weird occurrence, yes, but that anecdote is not even a stand out in my “Unusual Happenings and Alison” arsenal.

This past Saturday, I went on a date.

 Obviously, it didn’t go well otherwise it I wouldn’t have included it in this post, however, it was so weird that I feel I need to share it in order to move on. I’ve got some battle wounds from this one. I need to share what happened in order to stop these socially-induced lesions from going gangrene.

It started out normally enough, optimistically even. His name was Jonathan and he was an architect who was my age. He liked running, Its Always Sunny in Philadelphia, was conventionally attractive and had dual citizenship in the US and South Africa. On paper we were a match with a lot of interests in common, however being an “on paper” match means nothing in the dating world. I’d forgotten the very basic rule about dating and that is simply: there are no rules. I was blindly about to jump head first into a whole bunch of crazy.

We met at a local tapas place at 8:30. There had been the SEC championship game that day and the restaurant, while usually nice, was filled with people who had 10 to 12 hours of drinking under their belts already for that day. While harmless, they were loud and smelled, for lack of a better term, like an old man burp.  My date was visibly pissed off by them and elected to have us sit on the patio. That was fine me even though it was cold outside and then he dropped this bomb on me:

“So, would you fuck on the first date?”

This was the first sentence he had spoken to me since I’d arrived at the restaurant.  I’m generally a very sarcastic and joking person so at that moment I was searching his face for any signs of teasing. What I gleamed from his expression was a stone sober and inappropriate query. Also throughout the entirety of the date he never smiled and said to me later that smiling was a ‘waste of energy.’  I didn’t know how to react to the sex comment except to say,

“Has asking that ever worked for you?”

To which he replied, “You’d be surprised”

I wish I could say that at that very moment I bolted up out of my chair and told him off with some witty-yet-profound quip, but friends, no, I sat there in stunned silence. There was no reprieve from his jaw dropping opener because Jonathan then decided he wanted to see what I wanted to accomplish in life. As if it was some kind of test. He told me that usually women my age (he and I were the same age) were so scattered that he couldn’t ‘deal’ with them. I don’t know why I still sat there. I think at that point I was so morbidly curious to see what else this jackass had to say that I was willing to subject myself to more.   I outlined to him my career plan, including my decided change of fields, which he told me was brave. And that may have been the highlight of the entire evening.

As far as the actual food part of dinner was concerned, I had only ordered one tapas dish that mercifully came out quickly. So I’d thought I was in the home stretch and that this date would be over as soon as our waitress came back to the table with our check. And then Jonathan turned our discussion towards guns.

“How do you feel about guns?”

“Ummm I haven’t been around many so they make me feel pretty uneasy.”

“Oh well don’t be uncomfortable, but I’m packing.”

Packing. He was packing. A .45 pistol in a holster that fitted to the small of his back. I was sitting at dinner with a fuckwad who had brought a concealed weapon on a date.  I can’t think of any situation where this wouldn’t be wildly inappropriate unless your date venue happens in be inside of a Grizzly bear’s den.

At that moment the waitress reappeared with our credit cards, and my wit and the grasp on how badly this night had gone finally caught up with me. I stood up and said something to the tune of:

“Thanksfordinnerhaveagoodnightdrivesafelygoodbye!”

And I ran to my car; the kind of run where you don’t care how you look. Arms flailing, high heels chipping into the asphalt, loose change spilling from your purse and all. Honestly I didn’t run because I was scared of him. I was just so desperate to leave that moment and somehow move into the next. To a new time where I didn’t feel like I was being bullied into telling this awful person how I felt and thought about things.

When I went home, I started my healing process immediately. I met Adam out for beers where I relayed the finer points of my evening’s events.

I have to say that that was the worst date I have ever been on. And this is coming from the girl that all things weird happen to. You would think at this day in age there would be a way to identify these broken, freaks of nature, but no there is no app for that. They aren’t even ear- tagged like sheep. Ladies and gents be careful, it’s a jungle out there. I wish the best for all my fellow singletons and I hope that none of you ever have to go out with a gun-wielding, non-smiling South African.

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