Bad Date #1
A few months ago, a guy called me, and after chatting on the phone once, I was certain we wouldn't talk again. We clearly had nothing in common, and he seemed quite disinterested. Strangely, he did call again a couple weeks later to ask if I wanted to meet up. Well, if he was willing to call again, I figured it wouldn't hurt to meet him. We met up at a chain restaurant, which turned out to be a place where his buddy was a manager. In fact, he made it quite apparent that he hoped his friend would comp our check. At one point, I very gladly offered to pay for my own, but he insisted that his friend would take care of it, which no, he did not.
I probably ruined the date from the start when I confused him with another guy I was talking to. "So, you like Chicago teams. Are you from Chicago?" I asked him. He immediately said, "I don't really follow sports. How many guys are you talking to?" Ha! Oops. I moved on in the conversation as quickly as I could, but since he didn't even like sports, it was hard for me to even figure out what to talk about. I let him do the talking.
As he talked, I learned that his life consisted of two things: drinking with his boys and strip clubs. Every time I'd ask about what he liked to do, or places he liked to go, or whatever I asked, it always ended with drinking and strip clubs. I wish now that I would've counted how many times he mentioned strip clubs. I feel the need to say strip clubs several times in this paragraph so that you're as tired of hearing strip clubs as I was on that day.
Aside from the drinking and strip clubs, I learned he was a butt-guy. No, he didn't tell me this. However, he did look past me, next me, around me, and so on, to check out every single girl who walked by. He wasn't even subtle about it. He blatantly leaned over, checked them out, and probably ignored anything I might have been saying.
As we were wrapping things up, he was on and off his cell phone. Honestly, a phone call on a date doesn't bother me too badly. People call. It happens. But no, he was relentlessly calling different guys--his "guy"---and others, to try to score weed for his friend. Yes, weed.
Clearly, this guy is marriage material.
I laughed all the way home. I knew I wouldn't hear from him again. And I was completely ok with it.
But I was wrong. A few weeks later, he texted me asking if I wanted to get together again. He apologized for waiting so long to get back to me, but that he'd lost his phone. I said, "It's ok. We really don't have anything in common." He replied, "That's true, but still if you want to hang out, let me know."
Really? No thanks. Maybe I'll catch you at a strip club.