You're Late! You're Late! For A Very Important Date!

If your date is 2.5 hours late picking you up...
UNDATABLE!

 

If that same date shows up to your office the next day with these in hand...

TOTALLY DATEABLE!

Thanks B! You're forgiven! :)

Of Sushi & Men...

I may not know how to pick men…but food, now that I know. So when he invited me out to dinner and insisted that I pick the location, you better believe that I singled out a local all-you-can-eat sushi restaurant that could best be described with the adjective “orgasmic’. I could hear the hesitation in his voice as I made the suggestion but didn’t think much else about it after he was quick to reassure me that he did indeed like sushi…although had only recently been introduced to this delectable, borderline-still-living, delicious, mouth-watering, array of tasty goodness!

He picked me up at a quarter past seven, so despite the fact that he was 15 minutes late and apparently running on P.S.T. (Polynesian Standard Time) I opted to remain optimistic about the date’s outcome. Mostly because he was H-O-T! I’m talking Brad Pitt circa 'Legends of the Fall', APEX Alarm Summer Salesman…hot.

Dinner went well. Ordinarily I would’ve allowed him to do all of the ordering, just so that he could feel like “The Man!” in the relationship, but in this case because Mr. Picky McEatsBlandFood didn’t have a lot of experience in ordering sushi I went ahead and took the lead by instructing our waiter which rolls I thought would be most apt to getting him hooked…no pun intended. Despite being virtually a ‘sushi virgin’ he was a fairly good sport about sampling everything our waiter brought out and the playful banter between us was fun and flirty, which was clearly an added bonus. The check came and he paid which made it palpable that this date far exceeded any other date I had been on in a long while. As we headed for the exit my date suddenly excused himself muttering something about having to use the restroom. I patiently awaited his return, schmoozing with the manager to bide my time.

He looked a little pale as we walked to his truck, but I just chalked it up to him not being from Polynesian descent.

We were almost to the movie theater when my date turned to me with an expression that I couldn’t quite articulate. Was it one of fear? Anxiety? Panic? Horror? “This isn’t going to be good!” he exclaimed. And then he let out what was best described by Phillip Seymour Hoffman’s character in the movie ‘Along Came Polly’ when he used the epic word…

Sharted; (shärt) Vulgar Slang

intr.v. shart·ed, shart·ing, sharts

To try and expel intestinal gas, although sh!+ comes out instead.

If your date craps his pants…UNDATABLE

One Hit Wonder on his Eternal Tour

When my date showed up under the pretenses that we would do dinner and a late movie, there "Mr. Tambourine Man" stood on my doorstep with his guitar case in tow. I thought, this could possibly add a small "Twist and Shout" to the night. Besides, "Live and let die" right? Well, he made himself welcome and proceeded to "Party like a Rockstar" on my couch as my stomach grumbled for that dinner he promised. "Tik Tok"....Four strumingly painful hours later, I thought "Imma Be" going into Ketosis soon and was praying "Janie had a gun".

I think my growling middle section must have struck a chord with him, cuz he stood up, put his guitar away and then I thought he finally found some
"R-E-S-P-E-C-T" to take me to dinner and stop capatilizing on his self proclaimed talent. So, I stood up, ready to go, instead he put his arms around me and thanked me for the evening. My response...."Mmmm Whatchasay?"

He left.

Disaster # 127 was a "Bad Romance"

IF YOUR DATE THINKS HE IS A GUITAR-HERO.....

UNDATABLE!!!!!!!

Bi The Way...

He was a handsome, well-to-do man with an exotic car. He took me on 3 dates and I enjoyed his company. One day he booked an amazing couples massage at one of the more prestigious salons in town. After our massage, we decided to partake in all of the spas' luxuries. We sipped on cucumber water, soaked our feet in mineral baths and later, relaxed in the steam room where things began to get "steamy". In the "mist" of kissing and flirting my date proceeded to ask if I had ever kissed a girl...which obviously opened up a couple of questions in my mind---"Is he a pervert?" or "Has one of his past girlfriends left him for another woman?" Before I could even formulate an answer, he interrupted my minds maze and blurted out ...."Because I've had multiple partners, both male and female...are you cool with that?"

Disaster # 224

IF YOUR DATE FAILS TO TELL YOU UPFRONT THAT HE PLAYS ON BOTH SIDES OF THE CHECKER BOARD....UNDATABLE!!!!

Mirror Mirror On The Wall

He was cute-ish. Definitely not model-esque by any stretch of the imagination. And he suffered from an incurable disease that my friends and I referred to as ‘R.F.’ Or in layman’s terms Rage Factor. Yet the innate requirement that I have to surround myself with guys who are in desperate need of being repaired due to their emotional childhood issues somehow kept me coming back for more. I know, I know…my therapist recently diagnosed me with Rihanna-itis.

A few months into our relationship I found myself walking into a store with Dr. Jekyll to browse for an 80’s movie that we were both desperate to watch. As we entered the premises I noticed an employee standing near the entrance. He casually glanced in our direction and gave us a very nonchalant smile as we passed him. Immediately from my peripheral vision I could see Mr. Hyde’s head execute a seamless impersonation of Linda Blair from the critically acclaimed movie “The Exorcist”. I was already visualizing being forced to clean up the green projectile vomit that I was sure was going to start spewing from his orifice any second now.

"Are you f*ing kidding me?" He bellowed. “You’re really going to flirt with some douche bag right in front of me?!” The poor acne faced 16 year-old employee abandoned his post faster then the dissolution of Britney and K-Fed’s marriage. For those of you who know me I am seldom, if ever, at a loss for words…but he had accomplished something that no one else to date has been able to do…he left me totally, completely and utterly speechless. As I stood there in sheer bewilderment, Mr. R.F.McDoogan’s seething rant persisted. “Do you know why your flirting doesn’t bother me? Because I’m WAY better looking then you are…and I could have ANY girl that I wanted. So you go ahead and keep flirting with these guys because I’m going to have sex with the next girl I see!” And with that he turned around, stormed out of the building and left me there to find my own ride home.

If your date, or a loved one, has recently been diagnosed with R.F. --- UNDATABLE!

Save A Horse...Ride A Cowboy

I believe first and foremost that the biggest issue we were going to face was the idea that we had met at a rodeo. I’m not saying that there isn’t some good ‘ol fashioned, down home troddin’, line dance sprawlin’ fun to be had at a rodeo.  I’m simply saying that the odds of meeting a guy with whom you could date seriously, introduce to the family, proceed to court, get engaged, enter into a martial contract, procreate, and find yourself seated next to on some old rickety front porch, rocking back and forth in an aged rocking chair sipping Country Time Lemonade watching your posterity engage in recreational activities on your front lawn is almost certainly slim to none.

I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that the second biggest issue at hand (IMOTOAG) was that by all intents and purposes I am without a doubt, what most people would refer to as a “City Girl”. I know what you’re thinking, with that particular phrase comes a lot of negative connotation…but I don’t necessarily consider all of the stigma that goes along with being a “City Girl” as unscrupulous.  I think it merely means that I find bugs, insects and other creatures repugnant.  I believe that ultimately camping is Mother Nature’s way of promoting the hotel industry.  I’ve found over the years that I’m deathly allegoric to port-o-potties. I think the idea of sleeping under the stars, whilst sprawled out in a bag that solely has one opening and utilizes flannel as its chief device to try and keep you warm, should be considered abuse. Or neglect. Or both.

That does NOT however deem me to be high maintenance. I can get down and dirty with the best of ‘em. (TWSS) I’ve got three older brothers who have taught me how to be resilient and robust…despite the fact that I bruise like a peach. 

All of this being said, I found myself indisputably eager for my date with Mr. Cowboy McBullRider, so much so that when the doorbell rang the butterflies in my stomach instantaneously began to flutter. I raced down the stairs, threw the door open and greeted him with an embrace. We walked arm-in-arm down my walkway and then I saw it. The mode of transportation that my date regarded as perfectly acceptable to tool around town in was in actuality a HORSE!

If your date picks you up on a horse and he's not wearing a suit of armor…UNDATABLE!

Can't We All Just Get Along?

We met at a party and he was extraordinarily good looking. So when he asked for my phone number I obviously had no reservations giving it to him. Date #1 was followed by date #2 which inadvertently led to date #3. By date #4 I knew I liked him. A lot. He picked me up and as per usual was quick to compliment the way I looked. He then followed up his initial flattering words with something that unquestionably baffled the hell outta me. "I guess I half expected you to be dressed in basketball shorts...I mean, due to the fact that you're Polynesian. Call it 'Racial Profiling' I'm just used to seeing Tongan girls in basketball shorts." Apparently he missed the memo where I'm only half Poly. Sheesh. I gave him what I can only imagine was a look of sheer bewilderment, but due to my being totally and utterly perplexed, didn't say anything else to him as we headed to his car. 

The dialogue on the way to the restaurant was strained, though I tried to keep an optimistic attitude. The conversation then switched to the whole 'where do you see yourself in five years?' mode, and my date chimed in..."I really think we'd make beautiful babies together. But of course I'd want them to have my skin color." Immediately I inquired why he would say that, to which he replied, "Well I guess because I can visualize it now. I can picture them driving down State Street and having an officer pull them over due to the fact that their skin is brown and just automatically assuming that they're in a gang. Not to mention, statistically speaking of course, that if they ended up being brown, odds are that they'd either end up on welfare or in prison. I'm just saying that it would be easier for them if they were white."

If your date is a racist...UNDATABLE!