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!