So this week I thought I'd share with you my story of my Worst First Date Ever. I even wrote a song about it (to the tune of "The Beverly Hillbillies"):
Let me tell ya a lil' story
Bout a girl named E
Had her worst first date
With a guy named Jeremy
Halfway through he started acting like a clod
And poor ol' E had to pray this phrase to God
"Never again, what've I done"
And so on and so forth...feel free to send me your additional verses.
The story goes like this: Big E and her pal Raquel and Raquel's sister Auds were out at the local Honky Tonk on a Thursday night, having as much fun as we could with our boots on, and as luck would have it, one of Big E's favorite activities was afoot--karaoke! Now for those of you who don't know, I am somewhat of a phenomenon when it comes to singing a wide variety of karaoke favorites, and I've even had requests for my renditions of "Wanted Dead or Alive" and "Let 'Er Rip." So of course on this particular evening in question, Big E was lettin it rip on the stage, taking no prisoners and showing everyone who's boss (NOT Tony Danza!) with her stellar performance of "If I Could Turn Back Time." There were a few chaps about, none of whom were of any consequence to our lovely group because they were either old, unhygienic, or poorly educated in etiquette regarding how to compliment a lady. However, after a brief intermission in the top notch crooning session, a few lads moseyed on over to the area and one signed up for a song. In this particular establishment, it's not uncommon for the fellers to dazzle us with their rap skills with either a "Baby Got Back" or "Cowboy" throwdown, but this guy was different--he signed up to sing Vertical Horizon of all things. And he wasn't half bad. My girlfriends immediately took notice and decided I should chat up this bloke, and sure enough the chatting commenced soon enough. I found out his name was Jeremy, and he seemed a nice enough guy. I gave him my number and soon found out why he was still single.
Jeremy came to pick up Big E at her condo, which nowadays I highly discourage on a first date because you have no idea if this dude is a serial killer who might chop you up and stuff you in a mattress like drug money. But as this was quite a few years ago and Big E had not developed her Spidey-sense completely, it happened. Anyhoosle, Jeremy takes Big E out for dinner and then out to a local libationery hall. Dinner was fine, we had a nice chat and he still seemed to be on the up and up. I seem to remember he was adopted, which could explain a lot, but the libations apparently were the catalyst for his clod-like behavior. Again, I don't encourage the imbibification of too many beverages on the first date, if for nothing else but to remember how ridiculously bad it was so you'll never do that again. But, indulge I did. My date, however, indulged a bit more than I did, and halfway through the date proceeds to try and start kissing my face while he sways unsteadily like a hammock in a stiff breeze. I have a firm rule about "handsiness" and he broke it all to hell in one fell swoop. I did my best to position myself out of his reach, and suggested perhaps we go elsewhere. He wanted to take me over to his friend's apartment to what he called a "party." I thought, "great, a chance to meet new people and put some distance between us while socializing."
This alleged "party" turned out to be his friend, friend's brother, and some other random guy. I seriously thought I might have just walked into a potential gang rape. As uncomfortable as it was, Big E is nothing if not sociable, and so tried to engage the friend's brother in conversation. Unfortunately, my topic of choice was the crucifix hanging above the entryway. I asked if they were Catholic, just because one generally does not hang a crucifix above one's doorway unless one is either Catholic or Madonna, and FB replied in the affirmative and asked me what I was. Now, Big E is a confirmed Christian, but I do not like labels of religions like Baptist, Methodist, etc. because I feel "religion" is a bunch of man's rules for God, when it ought to be the other way around. So I tell FB that I'm a non-denominational Christian. I went to a non-denominational church before my family moved to where we are now, and although I go to a Baptist church, I do not think of myself as such.
The proverbial shit proceeded to hit the proverbial fan right about then, because FB then says to me, "sooooo you're confused is what your telling me." To say that I was immediately infuriated is the understatement of the century. There's a couple things you don't mess with when it comes to Big E, and Christianity is one of them. Family and my makeup are the others, but that's another story. I did the Ghetto Fabulous neck whip with one eyebrow raised and said, "Excuse me? I most certainly did NOT say I was confused, nor did I IMPLY that I was confused. I think YOURE the one who's confused here, Bubba." And so ensued the requisite argument over the meaning of Christianity while holding a beer in one hand and making a fist with the other. I spouted off Bible verses I hadn't remembered since 3rd grade Sunday School (thanks, Mrs. Dot and Mrs. Boots!) and unleashed fiery vengeance upon FB's head. He finally tired of my intellectual and moral diatribe and let it rest. Wise of him, I'll say. Jeremy, however, was not so wise, because not once did he offer to defend or defuse. I understand that the Big E can be a force to be reckoned with when provoked, but as a first date etiquette, the proper thing to do would be to ask FB to can it before he ruined it all for future outings. Too bad Jeremy didn't get that memo.
I asked Jeremy to squire me home shortly after, but not before I spilled an entire mixed drink all over the couch. Suck it, Friend's Brother!
The trip home was made up of Jeremy apologizing for his doltish acquantaince and me ranting further about THE NERVE OF THAT GUY! and what have you. I was very quickly tiring of Jeremy's company, not only because of his handsiness at the bar, but because of his lack of chivalry with ol' Age of Enlightenment at the erstwhile "party." And just when I thought I was about to escape the torture...
Jeremy insists on walking me to the door. It's 5 feet away, but somehow seems to be The Green Mile. I forced myself to hug him and thanked him for the evening, and he got back in his car. And I heard a clicking noise coming from under the hood...then nothing. His battery was dead. Aaaaand it was the middle of winter, aaaand he had no cell phone, aaaand I have no jumper cables. I let him in to call a tow truck, and while he waited, he got the bright idea that it would be perfectly acceptable to foist himself upon me and try to kiss me. And before I knew it, I was literally pinned to the couch with this cretan probing my mouth with his horrible tongue. It was disgusting--cold, wormy, and utterly reprehensible on all counts. I rebuffed him and used every bit of strength I had to push him as far away as I could, and informed him that he would be most welcome to wait in his car for the tow truck as I was D-U-N done with him. I didn't give a shit if it was 12 degrees outside, and I didn't give a shit if he had to wait 6 hours for a truck to arrive, all I wanted was him out of my house and out of my life. And to go use some mouthwash. I promptly locked the door and went upstairs to bed and only bothered to make sure he was gone when I woke up the next morning. And after I breathed a sigh of relief to see an empty parking spot, I told myself: Never again will I allow some inappropriately amorous troglodyte with morally argumentative friends take me out on a date involving unhealthy amounts of alcohol. And, friends, I would advise you to learn from my lesson and do the same.
Well, that's all I've got for you this week. Send me your rants, raves, comments, and questions!