If Your Date Shows Up Wearing A Shirt Covered In One Of These...

If Your Date Shows Up Wearing A Shirt Covered In One Of These...

Thursday, February 17, 2011

"Pampered" With "Luv"

My laptop had contracted a virus...seemingly different from the chlamydia virus that the last guy I dated had contracted from his ex-girlfriend while we were together, I suppose...but a virus nonetheless. I found myself extremely aggravated with the situation but was choosing to remain calm, cool and collected while I went into problem-solving mode. As I scrolled through the 2,439 contacts in my phone I came across the number of a guy who I had worked with earlier in the month because he had come in to fix some computer issues that we were having at my office...I resolved to giving him a call.

After introducing myself and explaining to him who I was and how we had met, he stopped me mid-sentence and between his awkward stumbling-over-of-words and all of the hemming and hawing, I deciphered that he was trying to tell me that he did remember me and that he'd be happy to help, but that there was a catch to his offer; I had to agree to go on a date with him.

Now as I was faced with this vast, moral dilemma I couldn't help but feel a little like a member of Lindsay Lohan's entourage. All of whom were well aware of the fact that the person they viewed as a plausible red-headed, 4th member of the Godhead had just stolen a $25,000 necklace and what were they to do about it? Turn her in and watch their cocaine habits "blow" away with her as she headed to the slammer? Or provide her an alibi so that she'd get away scot-free and continue to enable her crazy, inept, narcissistic ways?

So it was with me. Quid pro quo. Do I agree to go on a date with this guy who was so forgettable I wouldn't have been able to pick him out of a police line-up...even if he had gone all O.J. on my a$&? And in addition be forced to suffer through another evening of agony, distress, impalement and torture in the off chance that he'd be able to get my computer up and running? Or should I head down to the local Best Buy, drop another $1,200 for a top of the line laptop that might only end up lasting me a year, and before heading out the door having an employee stop me and tell me that I first needed to bend over, grab my ankles and spell R-U-N? I decided to go with Plan A.

Plan A had stipulations all its own. I agreed to his terms but in return I informed him of the criteria that had to be met:

1)  It was to be a lunch date.
2)  I would meet him at a restaurant of my choosing.
3)  It had to be on a week day. (Ultimately so that I could use the excuse that I had to get back to work, just in case this date was like every other date I'd been on that week: Tragic.)

Surprisingly enough, Mr. ComputerGeek McAntiSocial agreed to my contracted regime and the date was set. I arrived a little late but to my credit, at least I arrived. And there he sat, so nervous and panicky I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. I tried my best to eliminate his uneasiness, mostly because the sweat stains under his arms were penetrating through his sweater vest and little, diminutive beads of perspiration had congregated along his forehead and were now trickling down his cheeks. Bless his sweet heart! I spent the greater part of lunch asking him questions about himself only to find out that he had 16 brothers and sisters. (Not surprising.) He was home schooled. (No duh!) And he was not into physical sports. Of any kind. (You don’t say.) The conversation then veered toward his career and life goals. He talked passionately about computer software and the joy he found being able to work from home, remotely, because modern day technology had become so advanced…yada, yada, yada…I’d be lying if I said I knew what the remainder of the conversation entailed. But my focus quickly shifted when I found myself listening to him start talking about his latest obsession. Something he kept referring to as W.O.W.---I was instantly intrigued but utterly perplexed by this topic of conversation that seemed to consume every inch of Mr. Nerdy VonBowTie’s sub par existence. As he further expounded on the fixation otherwise know as W.O.W. I began sneakily Google-ing under the table so that I would appear to be somewhat knowledgeable about the only thing that was saving me from this lunch date.
World Of Warcraft. Really?

I couldn’t help but notice the colossal sized grin that appeared on his face as he began telling me about the upcoming 48-hour W.O.W. tournament that he had just entered. He then ensued that due to the intensity of this imminent competition, the most paramount idea possible would be for him to purchase a package of adult diapers and wear them for the entire 48 hour duration, so that he could remain as intently focused as feasibly possible, so that he wouldn’t have to “let the game down” due to his intrinsic, minuscule, innate need to use the restroom.

 If your date thinks that wearing an adult diaper while he plays W.O.W. for 48 consecutive hours, is socially acceptable...


Sunday, February 13, 2011

It's A Hard Knock Life

It was a blind date, which ultimately meant that I knew going into it that it could better be defined as a disaster waiting to happen. Much like Britney’s shaved head. Or Anna Nicole’s marriage to J. Howard Marshall. Or even Charlie Sheen’s Vegas rendezvous with a high class stripper. Or especially the entire cast of The Real Housewives Of Atlanta...I was already priming myself.

In the days leading up to my latest dating escapade, all of the conversations that took place between Mr. McSetUp and I were through text. And even though some of the things he said came across as exceedingly ghetto, (i.e. "Yo wassup my nigga?" or "B @ uz crib @ 11 on da fly." Or my personal favorite "Homz, I needz a pad to crash @ tonitz. Can it b wif uz?") I figured it was due to him being such a big deal that he lacked the time to spell out everything he really wanted to say and consequently needed to abbreviate all of his texts. (And by "abbreviate" I of course mean "because he was indubitably on his way to Compton!")

Dooms Day arrived and I had somehow been finagled into spending an entire day with him. The doorbell rang at 11 am and I unhurriedly sauntered to answer it. There in front of me stood Marshall “Eminem” Mathers himself...literally the whitest white guy I've ever had the opportunity to lay eyes on. Yet he was dressed in a pair of South Pole black jeans that he was riding so low he gave a whole new meaning to the phrase "cracking down on crime." His neck was layered with so many gold chains you would've thought that he had recently robbed the local Mr. T jewelry store. His head was covered with a red bandanna topped off by a do-rag and over his punch stained wife beater he wore a studded black leather jacket. While Sir Homeboy VonIdentityCrisis was introducing himself I realized that he was wearing a loose fitting gold grill over his top teeth. As I continued to survey the hot mess that stood in front of me I noticed that in addition to all of the ghetto fabulous-ness in the aforementioned paragraph, that he also wore a set of brass knuckles on his left hand---and all of this from a guy who was born and raised in historic downtown Provo Utah.

Now, I've been fortunate enough to be raised by parents who have taught me the importance of being polite in any situation you find yourself in, so I couldn't help but think how disappointed my mom would be in this very moment when, after completing the head-to-toe scan of the caucasian version of Flava Flav, without uttering a single solitary word I slowly closed my front door, locked the dead bolt and walked back up to my room.

If your date is unaware of what race he is...UNDATABLE!

Sunday, February 6, 2011

There Is No "I" In Threesome...

We had been dating pretty seriously for a few months and despite some obvious red flags (i.e. being a blue collar worker) I was holding out that this guy could indeed be my very own Prince Charming. The Jack to my Jill. The Diet to my Coke. The Chocolate to my Cake. The Las to my Vegas. I was choosing to remain optimistic, going with the whole “glass-half-full” outlook. (Life lesson learned…CHECK!)

One evening we were lounging around having some comical conversations about our past dating experiences and the crazy, funny things that had taken place in our dating careers. At which point Mr. Shady McSexual disclosed that he had recently participated in a threesome…with another guy and a girl. And that he had found it to be "cool!" Without skipping a beat, I was quick to inform him that what he had experienced wasn’t a threesome at all---that it was, by all intents and purposes, a homosexual experience.

If your date regards having a threesome as “Cool!”… UNDATABLE!