Hey, I've had good dates, dates that have gone well, dates that have ended with a mutual understanding that we could stand each other. But no one reads this blog for good news. My readers want misery wrapped in cynically humorous comments. Okay.
I blogged a long time ago about the girl who, over dinner, casually mentioned her disbelief in the existence of the holocaust. I should have known when she wanted to eat at a place called "Hitler's Roadhouse".
******
Shortly after that debacle I was set up on a blind date by a female friend of mine. This "lady" took several cell calls before, during, and after dinner, announcing after the last one that she had to talk to this guy since she fucked him in a parked car the night before. "Really?" I thought to myself. "Are you wearing the same underwear? Maybe you can search around down there and place some of his day-old spunk on my lips, you gutter tramp." Hey, I know adults have sex. Just don't show up on our date reeking of new car, Aramis cologne, and another guy's cock. If we didn't have the same friend, I would have excused myself, came back after twenty minutes, and said, "That is one hell of a waitress. Smell my finger." She actually asked my friend why I never called her again.
******
A part time cashier at Organized Living set me up with a friend from her church. It was a normal church with a fairly middle of the road theology; and the cashier, while not exactly Bijou Phillips, drank socially and would say the word "shit" if someone gave her a turd sandwich. I thought her friend would be cool. I was wrong.
I met her at the tasty yet affordable Capri Italian Restaurant inside the Sunset Station Hotel and Casino. The first personal tidbit she volunteered about herself was "I like to wake up a few hours before work so I can begin the day by spending quiet time with Jesus."
I immediately had a flashback to the aforementioned bad date, but it turned out Jesus wasn't a landscaper she was scrogging; He was her lord and savior. I let it go, but I had to ask a follow-up question of sorts. "Would you like a glass of wine before dinner?" She gave me a look as if I said "Mind if I crawl under the table and go yodeling in your gulley?"
"Oh, I don't drink," she said, and by her tone I expected the next two sentences to be "But I guess you do. Well, isn't that special?" presented in her best Church Lady voice. Instead she stated, "I used to drink quite a bit before I was delivered."
Once again I was confused. Did she mean she was born with fetal alcohol syndrome? No, it was another wacko evangelical term meaning God had saved her from evil evil liquor. Fifty-thousand children starve to death every single day, but Our Heavenly Father dropped everything because a spoiled, middle-class twit didn't know the meaning of the word moderation. What kind of wine goes with hubris?
As everyone knows, I'm a forgive and forget kind of guy, Mr. Tolerance they call me; so I was willing to let it go, until THE STORY. Obviously I don't remember it word for word, but here is a condensed version that is fairly accurate.
"My church singles group had a New Year's Eve party last year, but (and at this point she almost starts to sob) one of the guys brought a bottle of champagne and I didn't think it was right to drink it at that party. Even though it was at a member's house, it was still a church party. No one listened to me, though, so I went home and the next day I had to call the Pastor and tell him what happened."
That was the end for me. I could actually see my spirit float away from the table and head toward the Hooters Restaurant on the other side of the casino. I also stopped the polite routine.
"So, this was the teenage youth group?" I asked.
"No, it was the single adult group," she said. I couldn't see it, but I think at that point my spirit settled its tab at Hooters and headed to a strip club.
Let's review: Someone brings champagne to a New Year's Eve party held at a private residence and attended by ADULTS; she gets all twat-hurt, storms out like a kid who got a shitty Happy Meal prize, and rats them out to the preacher. She was on a personal crusade to make sure nobody ever enjoyed themselves in her presence. What a joyless waste of estrogen.
She did look nice. I didn't know Old Navy made hairshirts.
******
There are countless others, but this is enough for now.
I blogged a long time ago about the girl who, over dinner, casually mentioned her disbelief in the existence of the holocaust. I should have known when she wanted to eat at a place called "Hitler's Roadhouse".
******
Shortly after that debacle I was set up on a blind date by a female friend of mine. This "lady" took several cell calls before, during, and after dinner, announcing after the last one that she had to talk to this guy since she fucked him in a parked car the night before. "Really?" I thought to myself. "Are you wearing the same underwear? Maybe you can search around down there and place some of his day-old spunk on my lips, you gutter tramp." Hey, I know adults have sex. Just don't show up on our date reeking of new car, Aramis cologne, and another guy's cock. If we didn't have the same friend, I would have excused myself, came back after twenty minutes, and said, "That is one hell of a waitress. Smell my finger." She actually asked my friend why I never called her again.
******
A part time cashier at Organized Living set me up with a friend from her church. It was a normal church with a fairly middle of the road theology; and the cashier, while not exactly Bijou Phillips, drank socially and would say the word "shit" if someone gave her a turd sandwich. I thought her friend would be cool. I was wrong.
I met her at the tasty yet affordable Capri Italian Restaurant inside the Sunset Station Hotel and Casino. The first personal tidbit she volunteered about herself was "I like to wake up a few hours before work so I can begin the day by spending quiet time with Jesus."
I immediately had a flashback to the aforementioned bad date, but it turned out Jesus wasn't a landscaper she was scrogging; He was her lord and savior. I let it go, but I had to ask a follow-up question of sorts. "Would you like a glass of wine before dinner?" She gave me a look as if I said "Mind if I crawl under the table and go yodeling in your gulley?"
"Oh, I don't drink," she said, and by her tone I expected the next two sentences to be "But I guess you do. Well, isn't that special?" presented in her best Church Lady voice. Instead she stated, "I used to drink quite a bit before I was delivered."
Once again I was confused. Did she mean she was born with fetal alcohol syndrome? No, it was another wacko evangelical term meaning God had saved her from evil evil liquor. Fifty-thousand children starve to death every single day, but Our Heavenly Father dropped everything because a spoiled, middle-class twit didn't know the meaning of the word moderation. What kind of wine goes with hubris?
As everyone knows, I'm a forgive and forget kind of guy, Mr. Tolerance they call me; so I was willing to let it go, until THE STORY. Obviously I don't remember it word for word, but here is a condensed version that is fairly accurate.
"My church singles group had a New Year's Eve party last year, but (and at this point she almost starts to sob) one of the guys brought a bottle of champagne and I didn't think it was right to drink it at that party. Even though it was at a member's house, it was still a church party. No one listened to me, though, so I went home and the next day I had to call the Pastor and tell him what happened."
That was the end for me. I could actually see my spirit float away from the table and head toward the Hooters Restaurant on the other side of the casino. I also stopped the polite routine.
"So, this was the teenage youth group?" I asked.
"No, it was the single adult group," she said. I couldn't see it, but I think at that point my spirit settled its tab at Hooters and headed to a strip club.
Let's review: Someone brings champagne to a New Year's Eve party held at a private residence and attended by ADULTS; she gets all twat-hurt, storms out like a kid who got a shitty Happy Meal prize, and rats them out to the preacher. She was on a personal crusade to make sure nobody ever enjoyed themselves in her presence. What a joyless waste of estrogen.
She did look nice. I didn't know Old Navy made hairshirts.
******
There are countless others, but this is enough for now.
18 Comments:
wow... those are pretty bad..
but hilarious nonetheless!
People who don't drink scare me..
That's funny. I wake up early to spend time with Fernando, my vibrator.
WUEFJ (Wakes Up Early for Jesus) would HATE me. Can you imagine what she'd tell her pastor if she saw me split my pants and drink my body weight in vodka?
I had a co-worker who didn’t believe in dinosaurs and thought the idea was just silly.
Fifty-thousand children starve to death every single day, but Our Heavenly Father dropped everything because a spoiled, middle-class twit didn't know the meaning of the word moderation. What kind of wine goes with hubris?
Oh. My. God.
(No pun intended.)
Pure, unadulterated, genius.
BSN
I went on a blind date one because my friend's new bf had a friend and they wanted to double date. It was called a blind date because you had to be blind to go out with the guy.
Feel free to crawl under the table and yodel into my gulley anytime!
twat-hurt....love it!
and kid rock has a song from a hundred years ago called yodel in the valley, and you should listen to it!
The finger comment made me spit my soda out. LOL!!! I've been meaning to write about my bad blind dates. I even put it on my post about things to blog about. Once again, beaten to the punch by someone funnier and more motivated than I.
By the way, your Jesus lover reminds me of something my friend and I did when we were backpacking in Europe. Whenever we would get our own train car, we would spread our stuff all over the car so creepy guys wouldn't come in and try to sit with us. When the persistent (aka: horny) ones would come in to the car and ask us if anyone was sitting with us, we would look at them with our best church lady faces and say, "Only the Lord". They went running every time.
knitty kitty,
You said it. There's a reason you have a liver.
amie,
If I move home, you'll still be in Lexington.
ms. pants,
is Fernando "sombreroed" for your pleasure?
housekeeper,
Didn't she see Jurasic Park?
nick,
I want my statue to be made of cancer-causing agents. That'll show those douchebags for worshipping me.
Kat,
so you're saying when we meet I can yodel in your gulley in lieu of proper introductions? We're going to get kicked out of the airport.
shaken,
a hairshirt is clothing for martyrs, which she thought she was.
steph,
I adore you.
bs,
my genius comes and goes with the weather.
blonde,
I'm going to crawl under the table and get us thrown out of Pink Taco. Well, I guess I'd be thrown out of two Pink Taco's at once. Ha.
randi,
I don't have any Kid Rock albums, but I used to go to this bar and when that song Cowboy came on, the girls would shake their moneymakers like crazy.
ubie,
you should have been there. Really, even with your family in tow it would have been much better. All she did was talk about this man like he was Jesus. He probably shudders at the sound of her voice.
e,
I welcome your long-distance affection.
livi,
you said "I don't know why you felt the need to stop..." I haven't heard that in a while.
mshellion,
Richard Dreyfuss was great in What About Bob, but probably because he played a douche with a high opinion of himself.
doggrrrl,
alright, another vibrator reference!
brooke,
I would have taken my chances with you. Okay, maybe not. That was a scary thing to say to those people.
egan,
someone killed the father of Pants' sex toy?
Todd, i love you for all the posts after the Ashton Kutcher one. I had to wash up and change my undies after reading your blog tonight.
dena,
I've come to accept the fact that my blog has the sex appeal that I will never possess.
My god I hate dating. Maybe I'll use your post as motivation to buy my own "Fernando," (hopefully one with those rotating pearls and a little "yodeler" on top), drink some blood of christ, and spend long nights alone in my bedroom....
Todd, (or should I call you Lord of Prose?)
You are so far up the pedestal that I can't see you anymore.
See me bowing à la Wayne's World crying "I'm not worthy!"
Now I know you're ignoring my tag, it is so far beneath you...
fritz,
At first, because of the self-doubt that flows through me, I thought she didn't like me, but she called my friend a few times and said she wanted to see me again. Whatever.
shannon,
don't give up. You're attractive and outgoing, as opposed to my ghastly appearance and anti-social ways.
real,
I have today's post written, and I take Sunday off (that being the Lord's day and all), but I'll attempt your meme on Monday.
It's Inigo, not Fernando. What the fuck are you all talking about?
Todd, sex appeal didn't make me pee my panties.
dena,
yeah, I knew that. I was just making a joke, but thanks for going out of your way to point out that everything I touch completely lacks sex appeal. Ha ha. That was a joke, too.
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