Like all of us, I’m just looking for a nice man to settle down and have a family with and by “settle down” I mean travel the world and by “family” I mean two small kittens.
It was a second date and we were having drinks at a place called Spitz: Home of the Doner Kabab. First of all what the hell kind of name is Spitz? That’s like calling your restaurant Dirtz. If wine-soaked memory serves, this place is known for their meats on sticks and blasting sports at top volume, in other words – extremely romantic. But thank God the Chianti was good. It’s amazing what I can sit through if the wine’s flowing (into my mouth). For instance, this clingy second date who kept putting his hands all over my ass. I hadn’t had my ass grabbed this much since the first date with this guy, which by the way, had ended with him ejaculating all over my Mini Cooper. It had been one of those situations where you’re making out with someone and then you realize they’ve pulled down their pants and you feel like things are moving way too fast but you don’t really know how to say it and then suddenly it’s too late and you have to get your car washed. (Side note- he did not offer to pay for said car wash, which I had to get the next day.)
What he did offer was a really moving, passionate post-ejaculation speech – I mean this thing could’ve been right out of an Oscar winning movie — apologizing profusely and claiming that he really, really liked me and if I’d just go on a second date with him he’d prove to me that he could treat me right. “You’ll see,” he kept repeating, “You’ll see, I’m a great guy.” Well who doesn’t love an impassioned speech and being part of someone’s second chance, after all this is America.
Cut to Spitz, the scene of the big second chance. While we were drinking on bar stools, he kept fondling my ass and saying stuff like, “I wish it was the point in the relationship where we could go home together.” Okay, when someone is so fixated on getting you home so soon, I find it’s generally a sign that they don’t have anything else to offer you. That’s why they can’t wait to get you home to reveal the one thing that they can offer: a greasy boner.
Soon the check came and he suggested that I buy the drinks. He said it jokingly like, “Maybe you could buy the drinks! Just kidding– unless you want to…” Then he trailed off and I didn’t know what was happening in my wine confusion but I was pretty sure that he was letting me buy the drinks after grabbing my ass all night on the date designed to prove to me that he was a great guy. So after I paid the bill and we were leaving Spitz I saw a producer I know at a table full of people celebrating. He yelled out to me: “Hi! We’re celebrating because I just sold my TV show!”
“Oh my god, that’s amazing!” I said.
“This is my date,” I said, gesturing to Ass Fondler and I added, “He’s a writer too.”
Ass fondler then proceeded to pitch a movie idea to my producer friend and his entire table of stunned colleagues.
“Yeah, I’m a writer…anyone have a million dollars to make a sci-fi western movie? It takes place in the wilderness…there are people running around in gas masks…a giant metal spider lives in a tree house…they go back in time through a tire swing…the love interest is a Katie Holmes type…she’s blind but can see into the future through the tire swing….”
We all stared blankly as this guy blathered on, pontificating painful plot points for a good five minutes like he was transcribing an acid trip.
My producer friend then muttered something to the effect of “Haha, I wish I had that kind of money to invest.” “Okay, everyone, well it was great seeing you!” I said as I urgently ushered Ass Fondler out the door. While walking me to my car he proceeded to tell me he was jealous of the producer who in his opinion had clearly been flirting with me. “Um… he wasn’t flirting with me,” I clarified, “The guy just sold a TV show, he was celebrating.”
When we got back to my car he tried to invite himself in but I told him we just weren’t right for each other and I sent him packing. And no, it wasn’t his public display of rampant ass-fondlery or letting me buy the drinks or even the mini-cooper “ejac-ident.” It was that terrible, terrible movie pitch. I mean the plot was so meandering and far-fetched! Unfortunately there’s no memory erasing car wash that can remove a pitch like that from the stained upholstery of the mind.
Dysfunctional Date of the week from Melissa Villasenor @melissavpeevs:
“an actor only talked about himself on the date but forgot to mention that he had a booger hanging off his nose. boogie man scared me away.”
Please send in your weirdest/most dysfunctional dates in under 140 characters with the hashtag #DysfunctionalDater to be featured on Dysfunctional Dater.
Hilarious writing.
This was lots of fun to read. I am sorry you had to live through it, dating is work.
I don’t understand how douchebags get dates with beautiful women. What is the secret? Just persistence? I absolutely suck at asking women out so find myself often settling. I am floored that someone would be ass fondling and dropping his drawers on the first make out session and worthy of a second date. Are there seriously no gentlemen left in the world? Kinda makes me disgusted with men.
I feel like the good people have a hard time finding one another. Also, people settle for what they think they deserve.
Not saying the poster was settling. Just giving this poor schmuck a second chance.
I think I settle based more on a fear of being alone and not finding someone else rather than thinking I don’t deserve better because even in crappy relationships I have no problem vocalizing stuff that bothers me even if I’m unwilling to do anything about it. I can only imagine this guy was super hot because he seemed to have few redeeming qualities worthy of a second chance. I read something on a facebook post that stuck in my head ‘why give someone a second chance when there is someone out there waiting for their first?’ or another quote I can’t quite remember about not being obstructed to our goals by anything but a clear path to an easier goal, the low hanging fruit theory.
A few years back a guy asked me on a date. He was tall and handsome and had those locks of flowy hair you can’t wait to run your fingers through. We ate pasta, which isn’t the ideal first date food, but I ordered bolognese in hopes that I wouldn’t have sauce dribbling down my chin at any point during our date.
We had good conversation. He talked about himself most of the evening but I enjoyed that there was no pressure for me to drive the conversation. While his locks of love were nice, I started to feel like that might be the only thing he had going for himself. The check comes and I do the obligatory “Oh how much do I owe?” as I reach for my wallet, expecting him to be the prince charming I’d always hoped for. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, calculating the bill and telling me I owed “$17.51″. I laughed, but quickly realized he was serious and as I placed my card on the bill now awkwardly sitting in the middle of the table he said, “Don’t worry I’ll get the tip” with a strange half smile.
Thankfully we drove separate cars so I gave him a side hug and thanked him for covering the tip and we never spoke again.