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!



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 2, 2010

It was last Labor Day weekend, and I had a friend in town visiting. She was at a BBQ during the day in the suburbs, so I decided to take the opportunity to go to a bar with some other friends and start drinking martinis at 4 p.m.

I’m sure you already can recognize that this did not end well.

By the time my friend came back into the city I was well on my way to Happy Land.

Well, overall I’m pretty happy all of the time, I suppose. Yes, I realize that is SO annoying to say. But I guess I’m one of those annoying people who is smiling and laughing 98% of the time. Although what I’m smiling about could very well be me thinking how stupid and annoying you are. And I’m laughing at the various ways I can dispose of your body.

Back to the story: So by the time my friend made it back into the city I was well on my way to not remembering even seeing her. The last thing I recalled was deciding to go to Hangge Uppes and then … waking up in my bed.

First things first, I checked out the photos on my camera. Yep, there I was doing self photos with my friends, martini in hand. Yep, there I was with my out-of-town friend looking barely alive … and showing skin in strange places. DELETE.

Oh, there was more! There I was …wait a second. There were several pictures of me dancing with some strange lady who looked like Princess Jasmine and was wearing a VERY strange green getup. I questioned my friends who had spent the night, “Who am I dancing with in this picture?”

“Oh her?” they respond while laughing. “Yeah, that’s your girlfriend. You asked her to dance. She said yes.”

Seriously? Mind you, we were not grinding. We were just standing opposite each other dancing.


After that, my friends left and I decided to order a pizza. I’m pretty sure I probably ordered appetizers, too. And while placing my order on the phone, I probably PRETENDED to ask the non-existent person in the room what dipping sauce she wanted with her chicken tenders (I knew it was ranch and honey mustard). I often do this so the mystery pizza worker thinks the food I’m ordering is for more than one person.

I seriously do this. And can’t believe I’m writing about it. Sigh.

My buzzer was broken at the time, so I was waiting for my food with an iron-clad death grip on my phone, willing it to ring with my pizza arrival. Then it rang!

I happily picked up as the salivation began. “Is this Leigh?” A strange voice asked me. “Yes.” I responded. “Hi, this is Mike from last night.” Hmmm, yeah. Don’t recall meeting any Mike last night. “Oh, why yes, hello” I responded, being too embarrassed to admit I didn’t remember him.

I then proceeded to have a 20-minute phone conversation with this guy PRETENDING the whole time I knew who the F I was talking to. FINALLY the pizza guy called and I was able to exit the conversation after promising that yes, we would meet for dinner sometime that week.

First of all, the pizza was delicious, of course. Second of all, I called my friend to see if she remembered me talking to some guy named Mike. She did not. Although she did mention that after I finished with my dancing duet with Jasmine that I did disappear for about 30 minutes. Leaving me ample time to befriend and give my number out.

Given my state of consciousness, I was not trusting my own judgment. Three martinis on an empty stomach? Check. A six pack of beer? Check. Several rounds of shots? Check. Beer goggles safely secured on my head? Check, check, double check.

I never did go out with Mike although I got pretty close several times, as he attempted to woo me with free tickets to a Bears game. I figured it would be unforgiveable to turn down free tickets! Then I got to thinking, if I was supposed to meet this guy, I wouldn’t have the slightest clue what he looked like!

Moral of the Story:

I’m a screener, I admit it. The ONLY reason I picked up the strange number was because I thought it was the pizza guy. I’m not sure what is sadder: That I gave my number to a random guy who I have absolutely no recollection meeting, or the sheer force of disappointment that hit me when I realized he was not, in fact, the pizza delivery man?

In my fantasy, Mike was Patrick Dempsey in the 1989 movie Loverboy. You can feed me AND seduce me?

Extra anchovies PLEASE!