I've had a few doosies! One I can't even clean up to make it PG-13. Well, that and I don't want to divulge any ah, er, ahem, lesbian dating secrets, after having taken the oath and all. Let me start out by saying nearly all of my dates had been blind dates, unless someone provided a photo. I always tried to not have any preconceived ideas and I had always been a person more interested in personality and what's on the inside. (Really!)
So, on to one of my straight worst dating disasters. I put an ad in
The Chicago Reader in the Personals. I met most dates at coffee shops. This one in particular, I drove out to Ryan's (not his real name) mommy's house in bum flippin egypt.
Here are the stats on Ryan - early 30's, big guy, bragged about owning a new Honda Civic (like that's a plus?), still lived at home with mommy, and he said he looked like a cross between Bruce Willis and Billy Crystal. Oh and yes, he was unemployed. He was a talker. He monopolized my every waking minute from his first contact, until the date. That should have tipped me off. I can't tell you how many times he told me about his celebrity looks. He also talked a lot about his hair and how he was getting scalp treatments. (I had visions of that
Dick Van Dyke Show episode - I'd Rather Be Bald Than Have No Head At All.)
Date night was the night of the All Star Game. We were going to have dinner at his place (his mommy's place) and watch the game. If I had to describe what he looked like, picture a grown up Lumpy Rutherford from
"Leave It To Beaver". (I Googled
"Frank Bank", the actor who played Lumpy. Knock off 10 years, lose the goat-tee, and thin the hair quite a bit, and you've pretty much got Ryan back when I met him.)
The date...Ryan was cooking fish that he caught himself. Along with potatoes. (In the same pan.) He cooked it 2 inches of oil, in a cast iron skillet on the outdoor grill because he didn't want to smell up his mommy's house. The minute I saw it, I kept trying to think of how to get out of eating it. I partied a bit too much the night before and the thought of that oil and the smell of that fish just about put me over the edge. I don't know how I did it, but I managed 1 bite. One very slippery, fishy bite. He saw the look on my face and immediately jumped to the conclusion that I hated it. Oh no, I'm not going to subject myself to any more of his culinary skills! I'm not proud of it...but I faked sick. I said I hadn't been feeling well all day, made my apologies and then tried to make a quick exit. I was very polite. He followed me to my car. Oh the look on his face! Then he says something like "If you don't like balding guys then why did you agree to this date?" Oh my, that was it, I locked the doors, started the car and drove off. Of course he called me for several days after that, but I didn't answer.
The guy just seemed off. He was preoccupied with his hair, he had serious self esteem issues and there was just something about him that screamed stalker. It wasn't the balding. It really wasn't even the embellishment about his looks.
I just remembered one lesbian dating disaster that I
can tell. Click over to my other blog,
Fire Crotch Rocket.
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