Tuesday, May 25, 2004
Blind date HELL..
I hate blind dates. I hate it when my friends say "Ang, I know the perfect guy for you." I hate the idea of trying to look or act a certain way to 'snag' a guy. My idea of looking nice is to make sure my socks match, my hair is in some sort of bondage, and there's nothing stuck between my teeth. Beyond that, I'm not too picky about my clothing. Me... I'm built for comfort, and in my book, that's its own style.
I digress. The worst blind date EVER. Some guy that had been hanging around George's somehow got my phone number and called up to ask me out. After several minutes, I realized who the guy was, thought 'what the hell, he's cute, I'm bored' and agreed to meet him at George's one Saturday after I got off work at 6:30.
Right away I could tell this was a mistake. Dude was 35 minutes late, and when he did bother to show up, didn't even apologize. I guess this is a cool thing to do in Lisbon (make your 'date' wait for you). So we had a few cocktails and made really boring small talk, like "yeah, I've always wanted to have that mole removed" and "uh-huh, being a bartender is pretty challenging..." I swear to Great Spirit this guy was stooopid.
But, in keeping with the date format, he asked me where I'd like to go for dinner. Well, preferably someplace with live music so I don't have to listen to your meaningless tripe, Jethro. So I suggested the Sanctuary. I knew Steve Grismore was playing that night with one of his jazz bands. Perfect.
Next comes the "who drives?" conundrum. I was certainly not going to get into a motor vehicle with that yahoo behind the wheel... even though he was driving this baby blue '57 Caddy convertible, probably 'borrowed' from a member of his extended family. I end up driving. More small talk. He tells me that he's an iron worker, to which I reply that I work for the State Archaeologist. He says he likes buildings. How neat that we're sort of in the same business. Um, ok. He then goes on to tell me that his dream is to become a cocaine dealer so he could do it for free. That's why he broke up with his old 'old lady'; she didn't want him doing coke during the week.
**I mean GOOD GOD!!!**
Needless to say, I'm about ready to take a right down Burlington and shove his ass out of my car and hopes he falls in the Iowa River. But being the sweet gal I am (and hungry), I continue driving to the Sanctuary. We arrive, we sit, we order drinks. Gris sat with us for a few minutes, which were best few minutes of the entire date. (It actually gets even worse, believe it or not).
A little while later our waiter takes our food order ($18 for a fuckin' pizza? the dude is freakin'). After we place our order, he asks me where the nearest money machine is, so I direct him up the street a few blocks to the Quik Trip (now Kum n Go, Spurt n Split, etc.) The creep is GONE for 45 minutes, and I'm thinking the only reason he came back is because he left his jacket. But he finally shows up, barely beating his food from the kitchen. The band is playing, we're ignoring each other, then at one point he leans over the table and yells "What the fuck kind of music IS this?" I yell back "JAZZ!!" Apparently, in Lisbon, Iowa, home of the Sauerkraut Festival, jazz is not classified under music but under strange forms of small animal torture.
At this point I'm wracking my brain about how best to remove myself from this quagmire of holy-shit-what-have-I-done, when he suddenly stands up (**oh please just run out the door, I'll pay...**) and....
...sits down next to me and puts his arm around my shoulders. Um, WTF??? Answer: three of his friends drove all the way down from Lisbon to come check me out. Well, damn if I didn't feel like a breedin' cow on display at the Iowa State Fair! These people neither sat down, nor personally addressed me. They just stood there with their arms crossed, looking through me, around me, anywhere but AT me, talked with creepy dude (who was evidently the leader of their lame pack), then left in a flurry of ill-conceived, tricky-ass handshakey things that resulted in one of them gettin' popped in the puss.
I do believe that Jethro and I were outta there not more than twenty minutes after that. Of course, his car was at George's. Upon arrival, he then wants to know if I'd like to have one more 'beer or sumpin'.' Well fuuuck! I wanted to go have a few nightcaps... alone. But I said sure. We ordered a few beers, 'talked' for about ten minutes, he finally got the hint there was not a single chance in the universe that I was leaving with his skanky ass, so he stood up to hug me, I held out my hand, we shook, he took off, and I sat at the bar for another hour telling my friends this story about the worst blind date I'd ever been on...
I digress. The worst blind date EVER. Some guy that had been hanging around George's somehow got my phone number and called up to ask me out. After several minutes, I realized who the guy was, thought 'what the hell, he's cute, I'm bored' and agreed to meet him at George's one Saturday after I got off work at 6:30.
Right away I could tell this was a mistake. Dude was 35 minutes late, and when he did bother to show up, didn't even apologize. I guess this is a cool thing to do in Lisbon (make your 'date' wait for you). So we had a few cocktails and made really boring small talk, like "yeah, I've always wanted to have that mole removed" and "uh-huh, being a bartender is pretty challenging..." I swear to Great Spirit this guy was stooopid.
But, in keeping with the date format, he asked me where I'd like to go for dinner. Well, preferably someplace with live music so I don't have to listen to your meaningless tripe, Jethro. So I suggested the Sanctuary. I knew Steve Grismore was playing that night with one of his jazz bands. Perfect.
Next comes the "who drives?" conundrum. I was certainly not going to get into a motor vehicle with that yahoo behind the wheel... even though he was driving this baby blue '57 Caddy convertible, probably 'borrowed' from a member of his extended family. I end up driving. More small talk. He tells me that he's an iron worker, to which I reply that I work for the State Archaeologist. He says he likes buildings. How neat that we're sort of in the same business. Um, ok. He then goes on to tell me that his dream is to become a cocaine dealer so he could do it for free. That's why he broke up with his old 'old lady'; she didn't want him doing coke during the week.
**I mean GOOD GOD!!!**
Needless to say, I'm about ready to take a right down Burlington and shove his ass out of my car and hopes he falls in the Iowa River. But being the sweet gal I am (and hungry), I continue driving to the Sanctuary. We arrive, we sit, we order drinks. Gris sat with us for a few minutes, which were best few minutes of the entire date. (It actually gets even worse, believe it or not).
A little while later our waiter takes our food order ($18 for a fuckin' pizza? the dude is freakin'). After we place our order, he asks me where the nearest money machine is, so I direct him up the street a few blocks to the Quik Trip (now Kum n Go, Spurt n Split, etc.) The creep is GONE for 45 minutes, and I'm thinking the only reason he came back is because he left his jacket. But he finally shows up, barely beating his food from the kitchen. The band is playing, we're ignoring each other, then at one point he leans over the table and yells "What the fuck kind of music IS this?" I yell back "JAZZ!!" Apparently, in Lisbon, Iowa, home of the Sauerkraut Festival, jazz is not classified under music but under strange forms of small animal torture.
At this point I'm wracking my brain about how best to remove myself from this quagmire of holy-shit-what-have-I-done, when he suddenly stands up (**oh please just run out the door, I'll pay...**) and....
...sits down next to me and puts his arm around my shoulders. Um, WTF??? Answer: three of his friends drove all the way down from Lisbon to come check me out. Well, damn if I didn't feel like a breedin' cow on display at the Iowa State Fair! These people neither sat down, nor personally addressed me. They just stood there with their arms crossed, looking through me, around me, anywhere but AT me, talked with creepy dude (who was evidently the leader of their lame pack), then left in a flurry of ill-conceived, tricky-ass handshakey things that resulted in one of them gettin' popped in the puss.
I do believe that Jethro and I were outta there not more than twenty minutes after that. Of course, his car was at George's. Upon arrival, he then wants to know if I'd like to have one more 'beer or sumpin'.' Well fuuuck! I wanted to go have a few nightcaps... alone. But I said sure. We ordered a few beers, 'talked' for about ten minutes, he finally got the hint there was not a single chance in the universe that I was leaving with his skanky ass, so he stood up to hug me, I held out my hand, we shook, he took off, and I sat at the bar for another hour telling my friends this story about the worst blind date I'd ever been on...
Comments:
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Who dat snappin' back? |
Mandy,
Gotta phone book? Just kidding, kinda. The Sanc is about two blocks south of Burlington on Gilbert Street, right side. Pretty cool laid back place to hang. AND they have mead... or, at least, they used to. They have pretty darn good pizza, too. Ergo, I think you should take your boyfriend, Jim, there and have a nice romantic evening. They usually have bands on the weekends, but not the head-bangin' I-wanna-be-a-star shit. Folk, jazz, alternative (or a reasonable facsimile). Check it out.
Thanks for visitin' my blog... however did you find it in the world of cyberspace, though, if you can't the Sanctuary?
Ang
P.S. PMSing...
Gotta phone book? Just kidding, kinda. The Sanc is about two blocks south of Burlington on Gilbert Street, right side. Pretty cool laid back place to hang. AND they have mead... or, at least, they used to. They have pretty darn good pizza, too. Ergo, I think you should take your boyfriend, Jim, there and have a nice romantic evening. They usually have bands on the weekends, but not the head-bangin' I-wanna-be-a-star shit. Folk, jazz, alternative (or a reasonable facsimile). Check it out.
Thanks for visitin' my blog... however did you find it in the world of cyberspace, though, if you can't the Sanctuary?
Ang
P.S. PMSing...
Hmm... sounds like a Pooter hiding behind an anonymous moniker... yet how can I be sure? Or mayhaps the big bald one is picking up speech patterns from my blog posters... Aaaaah, Baaach!
Marco, GET LAID. Do it tonight, tomorrow, or this weekend. Just do it SOON! Sounds like you can skip the golden shower, though, eh?
Marco, GET LAID. Do it tonight, tomorrow, or this weekend. Just do it SOON! Sounds like you can skip the golden shower, though, eh?
Pooter, why you tryin' to get me in trouble?!? But as long as we're on the subject, Ang, was that a thickly veiled offer? Have car...will travel. I can be there this weekend if you're up for it! But okay already, point taken...and I'm workin' on it. But why for you make it sound so easy...when was the last time you were a big bald chemist adjusting to life in Deep South?!? In the mean time...if it's a deal breaker, I'll let you pee on me. And when do I get to hear more about your ass???
# posted by 
: 9:44 AM
: 9:44 AM
Ill bet that if your blind date had been Walt Whitman you WOULD have thrown him in the river.
# posted by : 10:15 AM
: 10:15 AM
Ah Mr. MAK, you remember certain things all too well. Yes, this guy really did deserve to be thrown into the wicked cesspool from whence comes our drinking water (ref. 'Natty Boy' post..). Alas, I just had to eke out every single disgusting nuance from the night and could not, therefore, end it so abruptly by trying to drown the schmuck.
And Marco, no... sorry. That wasn't even a thinly veiled offer, sweet. Love ya and all that, but I can only do one iron in the fire at a time. And once again, I will never pee on you. I would not pee up a rope, I would not pee for a grope. I will not pee until I'm blue, I never will ever pee on you.
And I can't remember any past lives where I was a big bald chemist in the deep south. But there was that one time I was an albino hermaphrodite married to Brigham Young... **shudder**
And Marco, no... sorry. That wasn't even a thinly veiled offer, sweet. Love ya and all that, but I can only do one iron in the fire at a time. And once again, I will never pee on you. I would not pee up a rope, I would not pee for a grope. I will not pee until I'm blue, I never will ever pee on you.
And I can't remember any past lives where I was a big bald chemist in the deep south. But there was that one time I was an albino hermaphrodite married to Brigham Young... **shudder**
Hmm...you're all insane. Any guesses as to what poor Mandy will think when she checks back to see where the Sanctuary is?
# posted by : 11:43 AM
: 11:43 AM
Somebody said be careful what you wish for 'cause you just might get it...I wished for more Cootersnap posts and Bam! like a 2x4 to the head. Horrible blind dates, ass jokes, even pee fetish stuff. They don't talk like this on TJ's place. Too bad, huh? Ang, your little tale reminded me of some bad dates of my own...That might make a good post one of these days. Mind if I link you?
Hey there Angie, just in case you're keeping score...no I didn't get laid tonight. Did you? Still, all in all not a bad night. FYI, beer and Louisiana crawfish (ya'all are missin' out up there) are a very good thing! Oh...and drunk chicks w/o panties aren't bad either. Met a cute little blond girl who claimed to look like Juliette Lewis. Yeah...I know, JL isn't blond but who am I to judge. Whatever she says right?!? My only complaint for the evening...no Ashley.
# posted by : 9:30 PM
: 9:30 PM
Heya Jack! I'd be honored if you linked me. Oooh yeah... link away, baby. It IS too bad the comments at TJ's aren't a little **looser** in their language. Truth be told, I don't bother reading them anymore since they're all "OMFG, Kevin, you're such a great writer! I love you, yadda yadda yadda..." I love his writing, but by and large, the comment section is BORING as all get out. So I'm proud that I have twisted ass freaks as friends who have pee fetishes! The comment section of my blog is so much more interesting to read than the original posts. And you should definitely write about a horrid blind date; I'd love to hear 'the other side'!!
Gee whiz, Marco. You're in a city that is absolutely RIFE with horny folk! What is yer problem? (Just so my readers don't get the wrong impression: I don't condone --or condemn-- one night stands, the chance blowjob in an alley, or fucking strangers in a bar bathroom, but my dear friend Marco is ready to burst and there's only so much a guy can do on his own). SO. Here's what you do: go to Geo's South tonight, blatantly hit on the drunkest girl there, take her home, bang away, then take her back to Geo's, buy her a drink and smile away. 'Kay? And, no, I did not 'get laid' last night either. 'Fact, it's been about three weeks... no viking sightings. He's been busy, I've been busy. What's a girl to do? Here's hoping he surprises me this weekend. **wheeeeee!!**
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Gee whiz, Marco. You're in a city that is absolutely RIFE with horny folk! What is yer problem? (Just so my readers don't get the wrong impression: I don't condone --or condemn-- one night stands, the chance blowjob in an alley, or fucking strangers in a bar bathroom, but my dear friend Marco is ready to burst and there's only so much a guy can do on his own). SO. Here's what you do: go to Geo's South tonight, blatantly hit on the drunkest girl there, take her home, bang away, then take her back to Geo's, buy her a drink and smile away. 'Kay? And, no, I did not 'get laid' last night either. 'Fact, it's been about three weeks... no viking sightings. He's been busy, I've been busy. What's a girl to do? Here's hoping he surprises me this weekend. **wheeeeee!!**
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