I usually have good dates. Even when there is no chemistry, if there is liquor involved, you can count on having a good time with me. [Just tootin my horn, y’all! Honk-a-honk-a. And did I just pimp myself out?]
Sometimes I make a friend out of the deal. A lot of times I do get my heart tossed in a blender.
The one bad date that I can think of lasted only 10 minutes because I wasn’t going to sit around with some uptight pretentious dandy who rolled his eyes at me and tainted my little galaxy hut and it's BYOB (Bring-Your-Own-Boy) glory. As quickly as you taketh boy there, you can removeth. My final words to him were: "I'm so glad I didn't waste a Friday night on you." I think I had pig-tails and my trapper keeper on my hip when I said this.
Sometimes the dates might be a little boring and you know this is the case when you recite all the ways you love the potato. Sweet love, my little spuds! Oh wait, my archives just pinched me in the butt to remind me of the Princess and Ugly Stepchild Date, or how two people can go on the same date but have a remarkedly different experience – it’s the champagne vs. the miller high life lite date. Hee hee. That post still makes me laugh because it was really that bad. [Now time for another Phil Collins joke: He was no easy lover.] OK. So aside from that, no horror stories.
So last night was just another dating story...
I showed up five-ten minutes late, which is probably rude but he was unsure whether he would be minutes early or minutes late from our agreed upon time as he was at metro’s mercy. And she has hated me lately – cold weather go away so I can start walking to work again. I like the guy arriving before me anyway – I like to see how he is going to handle the whole drink/chivalry thing. He did well. First he commented on my beautiful smile [Honk if you like me!], got me a drink - actually a pitcher!, and took my coat and hung it up for me. Good, right?
So a pitcher of sangria turns into dinner which then turns into shooting pool. Now if I had a dime for every time a guy tells me over the course of a date that I might be "the coolest chick" or "a dreamgirl" or "can't believe you are not taken yet" or just propose to me on the spot, well then I’d have $42.30 in my pocket and then I’d march over to sephora and empty those pockets on a lovely new potion. He said something along these lines probably because we have had lengthy exchanges on football, I know how to play pool, I drink beer, blah blah blah – you know, the guy’s girl thing was overpowering the pretty pink package in stilettos. [Another toot for me! I'm my own one-man band.] Then a dime fell from the sky. And we know how that story ends.
Just another dating story until...
I forgot that pool was an opportunity for dudes to ogle the sweet ass and cleavage. And so my rump and stumps were on show and apparently free game for commentary from the peanut gallery. He surmised that I probably had really nice legs because "ballerinas are hot." In which case, I had to remind him again that I am hardly a ballerina. If you could be a fly on a wall in that class - oh boy! I spend half the class cracking up at myself. He also proceeded to inquire about my underwear. ETc. He was also getting a little too touchy feely.
Apparently he brought his own horns along to toot because he told me that I really must see him without his shirt on. He promises that I would be impressed. I should tell him that I am easily impressed in that department. I mean, you usually get me at Forearms. He also asked me to go back to his place for just a half hour so we could make out because I'm an awesome kisser. [Ten horns a tootin! One big fat egg.] And is this high school? Seven minutes in heaven?
And because I like to believe the best in people, I am going to attribute these actions from what was an otherwise polite gentleman in the first half of the date (really), to a case of Too Much Alcohol (TMA). TMA can make you do very bad things. I know because when I got home at 12:30 last night, I sent a text message to Sham-oo (who incidently has been the subject of my cryptic last two posts) and because I was secretly hoping he wouldn't respond, I refused to look at my phone until my friend, Snow White, made me. He replied with a cryptic message of the blah! Blah!!! blah! kind. The boy likes his exclamation points!!!!! So TMA can have very strange effects on people. Have you ever seen Blind Date, the movie?
To further support the Gentleman Persona, at the end of the date, he put me in a cab and paid my cab fare. So I am not sure what to think.
The question is: Do I go out with this guy again?