Oh my!
This is such a crazy dating story that I am not sure typing it out gives it justice. I would video this post, but I've been really sick (i.e.minimal hygiene has been going on). Here goes:
Started talking to a guy via email that I met online. He is my age, single, said (key word said) he was an attorney, 6'4" (always a plus) and seemed very intelligent in his messages. We agreed to meet for drinks. I have a rule. I don't give my number out. I see no reason for talking on the phone. This is why:
- I don't want them to have my number if they turn out to be a psycho (think Craigslist Killer).
- I've talked on the phone with guys before. They seem funny and smart. I get to the date and they are either 20 lbs heavier or with breath that singed my nose hairs (or both).
- I prefer 20 minutes at Starbucks or a fast drink. Nothing out of my way and I see it as a way to hone my dating and limit setting skills.
Day before we are supposed to meet, Jeff (real name because ASSHOLES get to keep their real names), sends me his phone number and asks for mine. I send him my standard reply--I don't give out my number, thanks for understanding, blah, blah. He writes back that the fact I will not give out my number sends him a red flag. Oh NO!--don't you dare use red flag on me! His message is kinda funny and he outlined 4 hypothetical scenarios as to why I may be reluctant to give out my number. They range from-- I am not who I say I am, to I am a nice woman that is a bit gun shy. There was one where he made reference to the fact that with his position he surrounds himself with quality people. He suggests I do *67 and block my number. I decided to call him (gut told me not to. always go with the gut...). I use my work Blackberry and blocked the number. Our call goes okay and he is pretty funny. We agree to meet the next night at 5 (he has a charity event after...or so he says). He does let me know in roundabout ways that he is very successful at what he does. Ew.
I get to the place a few minutes early. It was Cerviche for the Tampa folks that want to visualize the scene of the crime. I sit at the bar and order a water. In walks a really tall guy. He looks at me and smiles. He comes over and does the hug thing. Not a fan. I feel like it is a boob feel/smell you/too invasive thing to do on a first meeting. He knows the bartender by name, "Mike, I'd like a dirty martini..." Ew. He then haggles over which brand and then settles on the house gin that probably comes in a plastic bottle (you can take the bartender out of the bar, but you can't take the bartender out of the girl. Or something like that). We start to talk. He looks at me and says, "you look much more fit than I imagined." My mind races with possible responses:
- Actually, you look much worse than I imagined. Do you own an iron or know about something called the dry cleaners?
- Thanks
- Fuck you
I opt for just a vague smile and say I do Pilates. He starts to tell me how he is an appellate attorney and how perceptive he is about body language. I nod my head and wonder how quickly I can down my drink. For some reason he starts to tell me about a trip to the "Glades". Using the term "Glades" instead of The Everglades is similar to tourists calling San Francisco- "Frisco" or Atlanta- "HotLanta". Ew. He goes into a story how he was with his buddies and he was swimming in a creek in the "Glades." Suddenly a 12 footer [alligator] is swimming towards him. He pompously tells me that gators are afraid of people and this one was obviously a problem. He said he kept swimming towards the "12 footer" and suddenly the gator drops under the surface of the water. Jeff said he kept swimming to the other side without knowing if the gator had left or was underneath him. He tells me that gators eat people once they reach 10 feet. I make my eyes wide and nod as I have my straw crammed in my mouth sucking up much needed alcohol. This dildo never asked me where I was from. He then says he and his buddies knew they needed to "take care" of this problem gator. He says that they formed a lasso out of rope. One guy threw the lasso in the water while another threw bread in front of the loop. The alligator went for the bread and by doing so went through the loop of the lasso. The guys tighten the lasso and wrestled the gator to the creek edge. At that point Jeff said he took a fishing spear and killed the gator. He tells his story and looks at me for approval. I said, remember when you told me you are really perceptive? I point my index finger at my face and circle it a few times. I say, "tell me what my face reads right now?" He says, "disbelief?" I smile and say, "Bingo!" I said, you never asked me where I'm from. I am born and raised in Florida. For the first 11 years of my life I lived on a creek that was full of alligators. I was raised by a major outdoorsmen and shot my first gun at 7. "So no, I don't believe you." He then asked which part of the story did I find hardest to believe. I said I wondered about the rope being positioned perfectly and time and buoyancy would have to come into play. He replies, (and I shit you not), "Really, I figured killing the gator with the spear was harder to believe." He then said, "what can I do to get you to believe it?" I asked if there was a picture. He said no. I then said, "I'm really not that invested in the story to care if it is true or not." I tilt my wrist to check the time. It is only 5:15. Ugh...how do I leave?
He then tells me he made dinner for a woman last night at his condo. Plank salmon. He had brought this up on the phone too. I commented that they must have been on several dates if she is going over to his place. He said he's made dinner for her several times and smiles. I said, "are you sleeping with her?" He replied, "yes." I told him I was confused because he said he was interested in a long term, monogamous relationship. He said that was true. He said he and the woman had chemistry, but knew they didn't have the potential to be a couple. I asked if she knew he was dating. He said yes and she was too. Ew. He then goes on to talk about dating in your 40's. I made the comment that with life experience everyone has their stuff and it is all how one deals with it. Do they stay stuck or move on? He stares at me and says, "I don't understand what you are saying." I repeat myself and say, "Some folks have baggage/issues/stuff. It is all how one deals with it that can impact future relationships." He then says, "Stuff is a pronoun. I need an antecedent." PEOPLE, I CAN NOT MAKE THIS SHIT UP!!!
antecedent |ˌantəˈsēdnt|nouna thing or event that existed before or logically precedes another : someantecedents to the African novel might exist in Africa's oral traditions.• ( antecedents) a person's ancestors or family and social background : her early life and antecedents have been traced.• Grammar a word, phrase, clause, or sentence to which another word (esp. a following relative pronoun) refers.• Logic the statement contained in the “if” clause of a conditional proposition.• Mathematics the first term in a ratio.adjectivepreceding in time or order; previous or preexisting : the antecedent events that prompt you to break a diet.• denoting a grammatical antecedent.
First, my mind scrambled...antecedent. It's one of those words you kinda know, but no normal person uses it in conversation. I figured it out by the context. I then said, "Stuff means baggage. Here's a prime example, a woman gets cheated on. Trust is breached. She puts a wall up. In her next relationship she has to decide if she proceeds as if all men are cheaters or be open to trusting again." Again, the freakish stare and "I don't understand. You speak in colloquialisms." At this point I am looking for a rusty fork to impale myself on. I said, "that's interesting, I feel like I am articulate and people seldom ask me to repeat myself. I may use modern language and slang, but I use it in ways to get my point across." Then I said, how about this, "Woman finds out husband is fucking someone else. She is pissed. Doesn't trust. It is up to her how she deals with the fact that she worries all men will fuck around. Does that make sense?" Blank stare.
I then dig out my valet ticket and tip for the driver. He says, "Oh, I'll get this. " I told him, "this is for the valet." He then tells me he will wait for me because the valet takes forever and he parked on the street. Now for the Pièce de résistance:
Envision me on left bar stool. He is on my right. My legs are practically straight to the bar (as in you gross me out and I am not turning towards you). He puts his left hand on my right leg and squeezes and then slides up towards my hooey. I squeal and smack his hand. He then cocks his head to the right, gently brushes my hair to the side and leans in for a kiss! I physically recoil and say, "Oh no, you're not trying to kiss me!" He looks like I slapped him and says, "I thought we had chemistry." I said, "First, I don't make out in restaurants!", he replies, "this is a lounge." I then said, "More importantly, I don't kiss guys that slept with someone the night before or possibly today AND WE DON'T HAVE CHEMISTRY!!!!" He then says, "I need to go." I go out and hand my ticket to the valet. Jeff shakes my hand and tells me "good luck." I kinda laugh and say, "you too." He walked really slow to his car. The valet did take forever. I got to see him get into a really old Jeep Cherokee and drive away.
There is no way I can make this shit up.
ps my friend that is an attorney could not find him anywhere on the law sites...
