October 18, 2010

One of my good friends who is a teacher not only is beautiful but also the sweetest, nicest person you’ll ever meet. People are constantly trying to set her up with men. Unfortunately, she doesn’t like “dating.”

I mean, I really can’t understand what she is talking about. Who doesn’t love telling the same tired stories over and over? Who doesn’t love being all appropriate, polite and dignified? Who doesn’t love hiding their obsession with small people and facial hair?

Oh. Too soon?

After much persistence by his mother, she finally agreed to be set up with the son of her school’s bus driver. And the bus driver planned the date, time and place. She even went so far to set up a Facebook account for her son, as he was “just too busy.”

As a neurologist, I imagine he is busy. But what 40-year-old man has his mother set up a Facebook account for him?

Red flag! Mayday mayday!

So she had yet to speak or email with Mama’s Boy, but figured she had nothing to lose. They met at a local Italian restaurant. Mama’s Boy was very handsome, fit and, for all intents and purposes, looked surprisingly normal.

Unfortunately, he spent the ENTIRE date talking about medical terminology. My friend basically slept with her eyes open and pretended that she was interested in knowing the chemistry of the human brain. There was a lot of head nodding and hmm hmming.

Although a very successful man, he clearly had some social awkwardness. On the right person, it can be endearing. But if you can get blackout drunk during a conversation – take a shot every time your date says “Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors” – clearly there are some issues with your date’s choice of conversation topics.

The kicker was when the date came to an end, as they were walking to their respective cars, Mama’s Boy (and I quote) said, “Well, my mom has your email, so….”

My friend actually emailed him after the date hoping a gentle nudge would get him to step up to the plate. Mama’s Boy essentially just answered the questions in her email but did not follow up on whether she wanted to go out on another date. What he did do, was talk to his Mom about the situation.

His mom then seemed surprised when she contacted my friend about setting up a second date with her son and was informed by my friend that she was not interested in going out on another date.

Although she had been having some problems sleeping lately. Perhaps they could set up a time to talk for him to tell her a story over the phone?

Insomnia cured!

Dating Rule:

Don’t have your mom plan your dates. Don’t have your mom set up your Facebook account.

If you want to date a grown-ass woman (i.e., hips, boobs and a proclivity for sex with men), then cut the umbilical cord, find your balls and act like a grown-ass man.

Seriously. It’s not that complicated!



October 7, 2010

Once a month at The Burlington is a sex show. And no, it’s not what you think! This show involves gifted writers who share their comedic sex and dating stories for the entire bar to hear. In between storytelling time they have trivia and answer questions from the audience. It’s all in good fun!

After attending my last Cubs game of the season (and starting to drink at noon), I made my way over to The Burlington to attend my first Sunday Night Sex Show. My good friend was reading and I was going to support, and possibly embarrass, her with my drunken revelry.

I recognized very quickly that the evening was going to be a success when the HOT bartender with long, stringy blonde hair and soulful eyes was responsive to my ogling and began to give me drinks for free. Excessive drinking at no cost was exactly what I needed! I’m sure that’s not all he would have given me for free – I plan to come visit you again soon Sean!

The point of this story is I met a guy who was funny, intelligent and seemingly normal (a real rarity).

Oh, and this guy is NOT Sean.

Anyway, I was a bit concerned because he technically worked for the Catholic Church. My response to that? “Really? Shit. I don’t possibly see how this will ever work.” Cue lightening, deafening clap of thunder…AND SCENE!

Then I realized he was out at 11 p.m. on a school night, so how “churchy” could he be?

We made plans to go out a few days later. A few internal red flags went up after receiving some texts from him, including one asking me if I had made out with anyone after he left Sunday. I responded by telling him that was none of his business, and asked him “What kind of question was that?” Also when going back and forth via text about where to go on our date he actually wrote “Couchy or outy?”

Couchy? Seriously? What kind of girl do you think I am? Um, aren’t you like hard-core Catholic? Not to mention, who uses the word “couchy?”

I think he thought I was a wild child, which I guess is partially true. Look buddy, I may know how to have a good time, but I’m not a total slut! (Unless your name is Sean and you are a just-dirty-enough bartender who works at various drinking establishments in Logan Square/West Town, have long, greasy hair and picture-perfect facial hair, looking like you just got off the set of an Anthrax video with your tight shirt, sweaty muscles rippling – CALL ME!)

Regardless, I was quite excited at non-Sean’s suggestion to go to a divey German bar. I had gone by it a million times but had never been inside. It appeared equal parts eccentric and unassuming, which is right up my alley. I mean, I like a nice restaurant or fancy bar every once and awhile, but first dates are awkward enough – the divey place is where it’s at!

I, of course, arrived early, as I’m a sucker for punctuality. The place is PACKED. Literally packed. There are absolutely no seats to be found EXCEPT two bar stools RIGHT NEXT to the musician. Strangely, this musician looked an awful lot like my Dad … minus the lederhosen and electric accordion he had strapped to his chest. For the remainder of this story the musician will be known as Mike as homage to my Dad. (I literally swore that guy could not possibly be German. I asked him his heritage and he said he was 100% Austrian. I swear I could smell feta and olives on his breath though – LIAR!)

Not sure what else to do, I nabbed the two bar stools, ordered a large beer (Prost!) and patiently waited.

It. Was. Loud.

At one point Mike even played “The Chicken Song,” as well as my personal favorite “Roll out the Barrel.” I could not stop giggling to myself. Especially during “The Chicken Song” when he put on a hat with a chicken on it, looked at me and said “I have a rooster” as he winked mischievously. I laughed out loud, and then he said to the crowd, “I knew SHE’d like that!”

Thanks Dad.

Of course, Alter Boy was FIFTEEN minutes late. Because I had arrived ten minutes early, this is almost 30 minutes of me giggling to myself at Mike and downing my stein. Getting drunk is what you get for being late!

He finally arrived and took stock of the situation. “I swear every time I’ve been here it’s been dead!” he said in shock. Well, it is the end of September. Hello Oktoberfest.

I honestly wish I could have discreetly gotten video documentation of the night. It was indescribable. We could barely hear each other talking! And I swear EVERY time Alter Boy went to ask me a question or tell me a story, Mike would start going to town on cowbells. Literally in front of Mike was a table of about twenty bells of varying sizes. Regardless of the size, they were all loud. RIGHT NEXT TO US. At one point Alter Boy said to me, “I SERIOUSLY think he’s doing this on purpose!” We couldn’t stop laughing.

The icing on the cake was when Mike brought out a ten-foot-long Riccola horn thing. So Mike and his accordion and table of cowbells were to our right. Mike had his lips to the horn, which was traveling right behind us (hitting my back, no joke), coming to a resting point on the bar to my left. So, essentially, we were trapped between a horn, a bar and a table of cowbells. We could not move even if we wanted to!

As the night progressed, two spots opened up at the main bar and we were able to claim those seats and eat some very delicious German food (I strangely chose to order a veal loaf, which came with a fried egg and the best potato salad I’ve ever had). More important, we could actually hear one another talk.

We both agreed the night was fun, but “weird.”

Cue giggling, accordion and an Austrian imposter of my Dad.

Dating Rule:

When researching a bar or restaurant to meet a first date, you may want to make sure it’s not some crazy Oktoberfest party…where the only two seats in the very small establishment are next to an accordion player whose musical range includes “The Chicken Dance.” Although I find nothing sexier than flapping my arms like a chicken and shaking my butt, it does not inspire romantic feelings in most other people.

It ends up Alter Boy is only 24. I am trying to keep an open mind. Although that’s becoming increasingly difficult for reasons that will likely become another blog post.

If I was a betting woman, I would say we’ll continue talking and I’ll likely lose interest when I become distracted by a nonchalant dirty bartender who I have almost nothing in common with and most likely isn’t “looking for a relationship.” Historically, that is way more my type.

Regardless of what happens, this bar was also having a raffle and I won a hat and a big glass Stein. Success!


September 26, 2010

Yes, these people truly exist and are not fictional characters in a sci-fi novel or something.

By now you’ve probably figured out that I like to eat.

A lot.

Especially anything that involves cheese.

Fast forward to another date with a guy who was actually quite normal. We had a lot of similar interests and he was very much a gentleman. He picked out a tapas restaurant, so I was quite excited. I could barely sleep the night before as visions of bacon-wrapped dates danced in my head.

As we perused the menu discussing what to order, he casually said, “By the way, I don’t like cheese.”

Doesn’t LIKE cheese? Clearly I must have heard him wrong.

“Oh, so you’re lactose intolerant?” I clarified.

“No,” he responded with a shrug. “I just don’t like it.”

Now I’ve heard a lot of crazy things in my day, but not LIKING cheese? I began to list all of the various kinds of cheese. There are many, although none of which does anything for his obviously dull taste buds? I peppered him with questions about not eating certain foods involving cheese: pizza, nachos, grilled cheese, macaroni and cheese – the list goes on and on!

Without cheese in my life, I’d be a lost soul. Cheese has gotten me through a lot of rough times, including a particularly bad horseback riding incident involving an unnamed member of the female anatomy, as well as several other debilitating diseases, Bubonic plague included.

Ok, maybe I’m being dramatic, but seriously, it’s cheese! It makes everything delicious!

I spent the remainder of our date grilling him about his dairy disdain. I could not seem to comprehend it, and he could not seem to end the date quick enough.

Dating Rule:

I seriously went out with someone who called themselves the Gas Man on a first date. At this point, do I have room to be picky?

I would not dismiss someone based on his food aversions alone. This experience actually caused me to reflect on myself a bit. I mean, I responded worse to him not liking cheese than I would have if he told me he used to torture and kill kittens as a child.

But seriously, not LIKING cheese? I just don’t get it!


September 16, 2010

I recently met a charming Irish fellow at 4 a.m. at Carol’s. Taking a bit of my own advice, I actually did opt to have a phone conversation and confirmed he had a brogue and that my drunken ears had not betrayed me. He was rather sweet and funny and, for once, I found myself looking forward to our date.

We had a great time! He was a gentleman but had an air of mischief about him, which I happen to find irresistible. Though I was a little upset he did not show up with a pot of gold and some green knickers, I still managed to have fun.

After dinner we decided to go for another drink at a nearby bar. When discussing our birthdays, we discovered we both had been born in March. I tried to guess his and opted for March 16. “Actually, I was born on the 17th,” he stated.

My very intelligent response? “Oh! Too bad you weren’t born on St. Patrick’s Day.”

His forehead wrinkled in confusion as he warily responded, “I was born on St. Patrick’s Day.”

Hmm. My memory is not what is used to be, obviously. I’m usually pretty good at remembering the dates of holidays that celebrate drinking. You know, like Easter, Arbor Day, Columbus Day, that kind of thing.

Trying to redeem myself, I then said with a smile (hoping my dimples distracted from my stupidity), “Being born on St. Patrick’s Day, I’m surprised your parents didn’t name you Patrick.”

At this, his eyes bugged out like a cartoon character as he shook his head incredulously and said, “They did! My name IS Patrick!”

My jaw dropped to the floor in disbelief. I didn’t how to respond and instead hoped the sounds of the crickets chirping would somehow morph themselves into some sort of jig so I could entertain him with my dance skills. “What in the hell did you think my name was?” he asked.

Mayday! Mayday! We’re going down! Tell my family I love them!

All along I thought his name was Paul. In my defense, it is close to Patrick. But Paul is not Patrick.


He had a good sense of humor about the situation, but I was so embarrassed I could barely get through the remainder of the evening.

Dating Rule:

STOP meeting men at 4 a.m. in bars and thinking it will go anywhere other than a hot tub, breakfast the next day and likely a STD clinic the following week. It just doesn’t happen. Especially when you can’t even remember your charming date’s name! You look like a drunken idiot, which is not in any way enticing. Unless you are a slutty, drunken idiot, in which case, there’s still a chance!

Have I told you about my Strip Tease dance classes? ……..


September 6, 2010

Disclaimer: Not ALL of my stories will be about actual dates. Thankfully, not all of my dates are horrible. If that were the case, I think I would have to listen to God’s signals and jump on the lesbian train while it’s still “cool.” As that would require me to buy some oversized plaid shirts and cut my long, luscious locks off, I’d prefer to hold off on that option while I can.

Moving on! I’m out at a local drinking establishment with some friends pretending to watch a UFC fight when a man came up to me and pointed at his baby-faced friend. The Pimp tells me it’s his friend’s 21st birthday, and tossed in that he was a virgin. The virgin grinned proudly as he stroked his wisps of upper lip hair. The Pimp then nudged me with his elbow and asked if perhaps I’d like to make Virgin Boys’ birthday “special.” He raised his eyebrows at me knowingly.

Wow. Just the opportunity I was looking for! Taking the virginity of a drunk 21 year old. Not only did I love the inference that I’m some sort of work-for-hire girl, but you know I was just telling my friend here how I was really looking to meet another two-pump chump.

Nothing gets me hotter than two seconds of pure unadulterated jack-rabbiting by some dude who looks young enough to be my son.

Dating Rule:

Do not pimp out your virgin friend to a random woman in a bar. Unlike men, taking a stranger’s virginity is neither a novelty nor is it in any way gratifying.

If I wanted a quickie with a guy who was going to be forever grateful, I’d be more inclined to scour the local nursing home looking for a way and, more importantly, a WILL.


August 26, 2010

Cycling back to my Internet dating, my first “online” date was rather disastrous, and I’m surprised I did not pull the plug after it. Clearly I am ill equipped for these types of situations. It should have been one and done.

The guy I met out was a few years older and lived in a suburb nearby where I grew up. We had some common interests, and he seemed mature and funny, so I was open to meeting him in person. He was recently divorced and had a young daughter, but, wanting kids myself one day, I was perfectly okay with that setup.

I was just keeping my fingers crossed that he was perfectly okay with alcoholics.

We decided to meet for dinner in the city. The weather was not so great, so he took the train downtown to meet me. I work near the train station, so we agreed to meet there and grab a bite to eat somewhere close by.

Well, unfortunately he missed the train, which I find out somewhat late. At a loss for what to do on a Friday night at 6 p.m., I could only think of one thing: Drink.

I sat down in the train station bar and began downing drinks. Again, this was my first Internet date, so I will use the nervous excuse again. I told myself I would only drink one or two, but I believe that I actually had more like four.

Four Captain and Diets. Sigh.

When his train finally arrived, I was feeling rather giddy. We went on to dinner, and I am having an absolute blast. However, I honestly think I would have had an absolute blast with a tranquilized monkey. Much of the conversation from the date is blurry, but after tossing some wine flights on top of the Captain and me only nibbling my food, this is rather understandable.

Keep in mind that this guy was a father and rather new to the dating world. I do NOT think I was a good introduction to what type of girl was out there.

What I do remember VERY clearly is that he was very intent on getting a train home. And by intent, I mean we RAN back to the train station. Seriously, full-out running. Not power walking or a light jog. I worked up a sweat. The reason he gave for being so intent on getting back to Arlington Heights? Because he (and I quote) “had to feed his dog.”

For real.

I was somewhat embarrassed, but figured it was an improvement from my other drunk first date debacle. Although I had “accidentally” gotten pretty drunk on the date, at least I stayed away from naughty topics! I actually wished I had talked about some inappropriate things just to see the shocked look on his face. I definitely should have had a little more fun with this guy. Insert the topics of beastiality, incest, or just general discussions on violence and murder.

Dating Rule:

Do not use needing to feed your dog as an excuse to leave a date. I’m no vet, but I think Mr. Bojangles will survive a few hours with no food. Especially because my date worked from home and was with his dog all day!

I may be a drunk, but I’m no idiot.

I know I can come on pretty strong and possibly inappropriate but loosen up, and you just may find yourself having a good, albeit strangely interesting, time.

I’m pretty sure the real reason he wanted to go home early was to go beg his ex-wife to take him back.

If I’m who is left out there … SCARY!


August 16, 2010

Yet another issue I seem to have is that I tend to attract foreigners. Sometimes it’s men visiting who live outside of the United States. Most of the time it’s men who just live out of state. And then there are the guys I meet from exotic places like Kankakee or Dwight, IL. It’s almost like another country, right? (Who knew Dwight had an annual Bassett Waddle…sign me up!!)

I met a guy who was living in South Bend, IN, which I figured was close enough. He frequented Chicago often, and a date was planned. He suggested getting wine, so we decided to meet for some wine flights at Bin 36. Things started off pretty well, actually!

And by pretty well, I mean REALLY well. On top of getting wine, he suggested getting a cheese flight.

CHEESE flight. A flight of cheese. CHEESE.

I almost fainted, came to and immediately removed my underwear. This guy hit the jackpot!

Conversation was going well, although I picked up on the fact that he clearly had money and very clearly wanted me to know about it. I chalked it up to nerves and just wanting to impress me. Perhaps the girls he usually dated were impressed by this? I am one of the strange people who is not. Hard worker? Passionate? Impressive. Knows how to line dance? Ability to rock a sweat band and knee socks? Also impressive. Makes tons of money to flash in people’s faces? Meh.

After I finished licking the cheese plate and inhaling all the bread crumbs, he suggested we get dinner. I took this as a good sign, as I know how the game is played. Drinks are suggested, but you only get the green light for dinner if you’re really having fun. I was actually quite full from the 5 lbs. of cheese I had just consumed, so I agreed to dinner but suggested something light like sushi.

He suggested a very swanky sushi place nearby. Even though it was within walking distance, he was adamant about driving. At first I thought he was being gentlemanly so I wouldn’t get cold. I soon realized he just wanted me to know he was driving a brand new Mercedes Benz SUV. I was even lucky enough to hear all about this new purchase, including the motor type as well as the fact that he paid cash for it.

I don’t even pay cash when I buy a pack of gum. Literally, I have charged $1.24 before. Seriously, if you have to charge $1.24, can it wait? Do you REALLY need that US Weekly magazine to feed your gossip addiction RIGHT NOW?

So anyway, dinner was delicious. I almost felt like I was in another world. I do not think I had ever been wined and dined in this fashion! (Do I spot a Bassett waddling???)

After dinner, as we walked to the coat check, he noticed his car was parked right out front. He then got really excited about the valet’s placement of his car. He kept repeating (and I quote): “I can’t believe I’m THAT guy. I’m the guy where the valet parks his Benz right out in front.”

I tried not to roll my eyes as he repeated these lines several times. I can’t believe I’m THAT girl who is out with THAT guy who would actually say THOSE words.

Daddy Warbucks was kind enough to offer to drive me home, which was nice considering the winter weather and that his hotel was only a few blocks from dinner while I lived a few miles away. He then proceeded to take a detour to Lakeshore Drive, opting to first drive me by the building he “was going to buy,” outlining the details of the place. He noticed the bathroom lights on in one of the windows, smiled at me and said, “That could be us! That could be us getting ready together for bed!”

All I heard was a record scratching. What you talkin’ ‘bout Willis? I mean, I did remove my underwear during drinks but that’s just because I like cheese – don’t get any ideas!

Next, he swung by an art gallery so he could point out the painting in the window that he was going to purchase for $5,000. Honestly, buddy, I get it, you have a lot of money, you know a lot of people. My ears are bleeding. Please stop.

The timing worked out well for me on this one, as it was right around Christmas. With the holidays, things eventually fizzled out on their own. I still randomly get text messages when he is in town, which I’m sure is out of boredom.

That or Daddy Warbucks wants to return the underwear I left in his brand new Benz.

Dating Rule:
Having money is a good thing! Especially when you work hard to get it. But if you are used to dating women who are impressed by the car you drive, or the job you have, or the things you own…do you really think these women are into YOU? Or just what you can offer them?

I refuse to get all philosophical (I can barely spell it, let alone do it). But any woman who is worth something is not going to be impressed by how much money you spend on a wall adornment.

Now, if you want to spend $5K buying me cheese for life? Well, that’s a different story. Throw in some crackers and/or bread and I think we could definitely work something out!