The Leprechaun

I'd really like to believe that through this dating process I have learned a thing or two. So, when I was asked out this past weekend, I decided to pass on the long, drawn-out dinner date, and instead opted to go out for coffee. This way I could get in and out as fast as possible if need be. Wham, bam, thank you... sir?


I met up with Jay at a quaint coffee shop on Saturday afternoon. I got there first and was sipping on my scorching hot coffee by the window, when I saw him. He was about a foot shorter than he said on the website, and about half my size. I'm talking teeny, tiny, leprechaun size.

He came and sat down and I soon realized that his miniature stature was the least of my problems. Jay was straight off the boat from Ireland, and I couldn't understand a word he said! After the first eleven times of asking him to repeat himself, I began to feel a bit stupid, so I decided to just do my best to follow the conversation. I figured as long as I could get the gist of the topic, I could guess when were the appropriate times times to laugh, frown, and nod in agreement. I was sorely mistaken.


It seemed that my guessing game was way off, because a few times I laughed and he gave me a quizzical look like, "You think my grandmother's funeral is funny?" So I would quickly change the subject or shake my head and smack it as if I was a crazy person. I kept sipping on my coffee, trying to finish it, along with the date, but somehow it retained it's scorching heat. (New lesson learned: order ICED coffee next time).


The date came to a fairly abrupt halt, when he said something about restaurants, and I tried to contribute to the conversation by saying, "Well you must know all about that having worked in restaurants for so long." The look I got from him told me my Irish translating had reached an all-time low. He quickly corrected me and said he had NEVER worked in a restaurant and I must be thinking of some OTHER date. I couldn't fess up and admit that I thought I heard him say this a few minutes ago, so I decided to play the part of the dating vixen who was dating so many men, I couldn't keep their stories straight. It seemed slightly less embarrassing than telling him I couldn't understand English- my own native language.


So deeming this little leprechaun unlucky, I said goodbye, and I continue searching for my pot of gold elsewhere...

Zoolander

Despite my recent string of bad dates, I decided to put myself out there once again. Why? I don't know. Maybe I'm a masochist.

I met Mike at a local pub crowded by high school people I wished to never see again. I waited for him to arrive, carefully avoiding eye contact with everyone around me, and praying that it wasn't as painfully obvious that I was on a blind date as I imagined. I'm sure it was though.

My initial thought when I met Mike was "Oh my God- I need to introduce him to Mike!" (My best gay guy friend). Not only would their matching names be adorable, but they were both well-dressed, super handsome, and super gay. Weren't they?

I soon learned that even though my date's pants were practically painted on, his walk more of a prance, and his hand flailing worse than me telling stories, he was in fact entirely straight. He kept repeatedly telling me how sexy I looked and how he loved my "luscious lips" and wanted to kiss them.

So, since I haven't gotten any in longer than I care to admit, I decided to go in for a flamboyant kiss. Hey, no sense denying the poor guy of my pretty pouter. But before our lips even touched, he pursed his mouth in a grotesque Zoolander "Blue Steel" fashion. He ended up looking more like a baby guppy than a grown man. I tried to close my eyes and commit to the kiss, but the image of his pursed pucker was burned in my mind. Our lips barely grazed when I erupted into a fit of giggles, which I tried to mask as a coughing fit. 

Mike retained the Blue Steel pose, in hopes that I might compose myself and we could begin our make out sesh. But the damage was done. I made a quick getaway, giggling the whole way home. Once again, all may not be lost though. I might pass his number along to my gay friend Mike, because if this guy wasn't gay before, my rude outburst might have just been the final straw of stripping away his manhood... Ah well. C'est la vie.

The Porcupine

Well it's safe to say that I have officially been on my worst blind date yet. The date began at 7:30pm and by 7:34pm I found myself awkwardly glancing down at my watch, trying to determine how long I would have to stay without being rude- was four minutes long enough?


My first red flag was the bottle of hair gel that my date had dumped into his hair and then proceeded to comb straight up into perfect little porcupine spikes. It was difficult to even listen to what he was saying as these glistening spikes kept hypnotizing me every time he moved his head. 


But I know that beauty also lies on the inside so I turned my attention to his conversation. It was then that I realized that under his rock-hard coif lay a tiny, little porcupine brain also. I mean this guy was dumb with a capital 'D'. He kept trying to tell me jokes that were so unfunny that he'd have to repeat them three times for me to even get what he was trying to say. I tried politely to laugh, which was entirely unnecessary as he was already laughing like a maniac at his own pathetic little joke muttering, "Ahhh, that's the best. The BEST!" So I guzzled our pitcher of beer and inhaled my meal, in an attempt to bring this one-man show to an end as fast as humanly possible.


Three excruciating hours later and I finally managed to make an excuse to leave- hey, who says 10:30pm on a Friday night isn't past my bedtime? I said goodbye and was just about to get onto the subway home when I felt my iPhone buzzing in my purse. And there it was. The final gem from my little porcupine. A short text reading: "Tewwy sad. No more Cwystal!" If TERRY thought that baby talk could redeem the terry-ble night(yes I went there), than his hair gel had seeped further into his brain than I thought. So another one bites the dust and another Friday night almost wasted if it weren't for the great writing material I gained. Hey, like I've said before- I can't make this shit up.

The Ugly Cryer

So I thought things were starting to look up in the old dating scene. I began chatting with a guy online and he seemed totally normal. We had some good witty banter going back and forth so I decided to take it to the next level: the meet up.

When we met up in a loud, crowded bar, I was surprised. This guy was actually cute. I mean cuter than his pictures even. (In online dating land I have learned this doesn't happen. Ever.) So I was pleasantly surprised. We spent the night dancing and yelling mumbo jumbo at each other over the blaring beats of Kanye. Ahh, romance at its best. And when we left the dark bar and hit streetlight I was reassured that even with my drunk goggles, he was still cute. Thus leading us to date number two.

Date number two took place at a much quieter location at a hip lounge. We were sipping on martinis and I was revelling in how well the date was going, when it happened. He brought up the dreaded ex-factor. I quickly learned that his most recent break-up occurred three days prior. I thought that was strange, considering we'd been talking online for weeks at this point. I was about to question him on this time overlap when I was faced with the most horrifying display from a grown man. The ugly cry. I'm not talking about one lonely tear trickling down his cheek. I'm talking big, loud, wet, sobs combined with full body convulsions and head thrashing.

Other people in the lounge started to stare and I honestly didn't know what to do. I awkwardly tried consoling him with an arm pat, nodding my head empathetically like some mother duck caring for her wounded duckling. The ugly cry lasted a solid ten minutes. People moved to the other side of the bar. And I sat there wondering how the hell I ended up consoling my blind date.

We said goodbye and I told him that I was sure things would work out with his ex. They'd better, cause there aren't many girls who would put up with an ugly cryer like this one. I started to wonder if maybe this was the cause of his break-up, and now he would be caught in a vicious ugly cry cycle for eternity.

Anyway, I'm fairly sensitive, but I'm not looking for some broken-hearted, two-timing cry baby.

So, once again.... back to the old drawing board.

The Potty Mouth

Okay, so I did it.

No, not that perv... I went on a blind date. And it was all that I could have hoped for and more. As a writer that is, because there will never be a second date with this guy. For sake of privacy (for all the guys who I encounter) I will change his name. So let's call him Kyle.

Kyle suggested that we meet up for our first date at a Mexican restaurant in between where we both live. I agreed, as I'm a big fan of spicy food and this place is known for some epic guac.

We sat, we did the pleasantries, I noticed he was 10 lbs heavier than the photo I'd seen, and he hadn't had a haircut probably since that picture had been taken four years ago. I decided to stay for the guac.

After I'd ordered myself a fishbowl margarita and some chicken burrito thing I asked him where his favorite place in the world was. He said it was his cottage and I was thrilled- I also have a cottage and it's my favorite place too! Yay, bonding.

But as I dug a teeny bit deeper, he literally dug a lot deeper and told me in great lengths about how he and his father took on a project of building an outhouse for their cottage. I tried to smile politely through my mouthful of refried beans.

Okay, cut to 45 minutes later, my food was mostly uneaten (as it now reminded me of the bottom of an outhouse), and I was three fishbowl margarita's deep. I kept desperately trying to change the subject.... the weather, the Blue Jays, anything really other than outhouses, but this guy was passionate about poop.

When I finally realized that another stinky story or ounce of tequila was going to make me yak, I not-so-convincingly faked a migraine and booked it.

He's texted me a few times to set up another date, but I've told him I'm a lady, and I didn't appreciate the dirty talk.

POF (Plenty of Freaks)

Okay, so I never thought I'd be one to try online dating... but here I am. Twenty-five, living back at home, and looking for love. The awkward profile is made and the fact that it is free allows me to feel like it's less pathetic. That's right, this girl doesn't need to pay to find love.

However, the free dating sites (aka POF) are notorious for attracting some major freaks. So I have already had to plow through countless messages that make me question the male species as a whole.

Here's one message I especially enjoyed: "I'd like to fall asleep with your mouth around my c*@k."

Yup. All the single ladies, look out. We've got a charmer on our hands. Or in our mouths as he would prefer. The scary fact is that I receive so many messages similar to this one, that I can only assume that sometimes lines like this actually work. On who, I haven't the foggiest.

That being said, after sifting out the crazies (99% of my flooded inbox) I am left with some hope that there may be a few normal guys online like me. I figure I'm normal and looking online, so there has got to be the male equivalent of me out there....

And, if not, I can always get some juicy writing material. I figure a good date is a good thing, and a date gone sour is good entertainment so also a good thing! Here lies the eternal optomist!

So cyber space.... I am ready to take on plenty of freaks!

Game on....

Who I Am...

i'm 25 years old
and i had to move back home.
i swear i'm not pathetic,
i have lived out on my own.
it's just that every time i save
i like to spend it all,
on fancy trips across the globe
that is my one downfall.
so back to school once again
but now i'm called a "grad"
and hoping living with the rents
won't be entirely bad.
there's really only one dilemma
to this master plan.
how can i date or rather mate
when i'm living with the fam clan?