June 25, 2010

Summer Friday: My Worst Date Ever. So Far...

Every Friday between Memorial Day and Labor Day I'm going to be featuring guest bloggers as a part of my "Summer Fridays" series. This week's entry is republished with permission from Matthew F. of To Be That Guy, because I thought it was so funny when I read it that I had to share it with everyone.

Have you ever had a bad date? I don't just mean a date that made you think, "ehh, this isn't going anywhere." I mean a date that made you want to punch yourself, made you wish that you hadn't washed your hair and dirtied a clean shirt, made you wish you had stayed at home and cried, or maybe pulled out all your eyelashes. Tonight I had one of the worst dates. To clarify, I don't mean just one of the worst I've had; I mean one of the worst dates to have ever occurred, right up there with one of Joran van der Sloot's dates.

When the guy -- who we'll call "Squealer," for reasons that will soon become clear -- called me this afternoon to figure out the details, I got my first warning sign. He made some crazy statement -- I can't even remember what it was because it was so nonsensical -- to which my response was, "um... I don't know what that means." and then came the scary part, his response: "Well, get ready because that's just the first of many quips I've got planned for you tonight [insert squealing laughter]."

When Squealer caught my eye and walked toward me, my heart sank. Please don't be him. Please don't be him, I thought as a hipster walked toward me in the skinniest of circulation-cutting-off-est jeans I've ever seen on a purported male of the species. Worse, this thing was wearing a beret - a beret!!!!!!! - and a flannel shirt that looked like something my grandma wore (yes, it was definitely a woman's. No doubt.) In the '70's. Even disregarding the woman's shirt, it was 100 degrees and humid out. Who is this person? And -- oh god -- why is he walking like a fashion model? Oh god, why hast thou forsaken me?!

It's fine, I thought. We can grab one, quick drink and say good-bye. Didn't work. Oh well! Next! But then, "Do you mind if we get a table, I haven't eaten anything." No, that wasn't the plan. That's why we-rescheduled for an hour later than planned, so that we had time to eat beforehand. Weren't you listening??

As we walked across the bar to a table, I suddenly wanted to cry. Because Squealer doesn't walk. Squealer dances. Squealer bounces. Squealer saunters like he's on a catwalk. I thought for a second that he was doing the robot, or that maybe he was moving to the beat of some song I couldn't quite hear over the din of the bar. But then his arms began to swing like he was going to clap them for no reason. Oh god, don't clap! I was mortified. I was not smiling. After much thought, the only comparison that comes close is the SNL character Stefon, played by Bill Hader. The similarities are astounding. I wish I were kidding. I really, really do.

I wasn't happy, yet I didn't want to be rude. So I did the only thing i know to do when I'm in distress. I drank. Three Ketel One and seltzers in less than an hour. That's all the time it took for Squealer to devour a mound of nachos meant for three or four people (he actually squealed and clapped when the nachos were delivered to the table, and the idiot server encouraged him, saying "yummyyyyy!"), and for me to ask the server for our check when Squealer wasn't paying attention. It wasn't the one-drink-and-ditch that I wanted, but i got us out of there quickly!

I'm skipping over a lot for the sake of brevity, but the highlights included Squealer telling me that he hates his parents ("I sssssecretly hate my parentsss."), that his family never supports anything he does, that he has to cry for an hour or two after work because his job is so emotionally stressful, that he hasn't met "anyone but lunatics online," that he has met only "guys who are only after one thing" (I asked him, "What 'one thing' are they after?" at which he squealed and laughed so loudly that the entire bar could hear him), and that he loves dancing all night at clubs and going to after-hours clubs (read: meth dens).

The interesting part about this entire mess was that Squealer seemed to be just as unhappy as I was. He hadn't asked me many questions or smiled or even looked at me much. Maybe he hated me right back! He didn't look like a psychotic hipster queen on his OKCupid dating profile, so maybe I didn't look like myself in mine -- "like a republican," he later told me. Yeah, after his second glass of Merlot he told me that I "look like a republican." Maybe he found me repulsive. And I should admit here that Squealer was objectively very attractive. If only he were mute, and a quadriplegic, he'd be quite tolerable.

As we left the bar, I explained that I needed to get home "before the rain." There were some clouds in the sky, and I really didn't think he'd mind, as we obviously hadn't hit it off. Maybe Squealer wanted to ditch me just as much as I wanted to brutally murder ditch him. But then he inexplicably hugged me and squealed, "Text me later to let me know what's up!" was this kid serious? Maybe he's just being polite...

Yet as I was writing this, I received a text from Squealer. It says, and I quote, "Hope we can get together soon again :)" Please note Exhibit A:

Please also note that I changed his name in my phone: First name "Never." Second name "Answer."

Better you than me, Matthew. Better you than me. You can read more from Matthew on his blog. Plus, you can click here to read all of the Summer Friday entries.