So, I promised said that I would post the story of my last date ever. And while this has political overtones, this is not about politics and politically-based comments will be deleted.
I got divorced in 2001. I truly thought that it was going to be the worst year of my life. One of my best friends had died in a senseless accident. I got divorced. And September 11 happened. I wasn’t ready to be single. So, I did what any other person would do. I avoided the whole thing by going to law school. After law school, I moved to a small town in Nevada, then to Northern Virginia, then to rural Virginia, then back home to Las Vegas.
So, after a decade, I thought I was ready to start dating, so I put a profile on Match. Now, I was fat (okay, I still am but working on it). I was about 300 pounds or so. And, I soon learned that I was “good enough to f*ck, but not date.” But as I was deleting my profile, a message came through.
“Hi, I really like your smile, and you seem pretty and smart. Would you like to chat a bit?” Well, against my better judgment, I said, “Sure!” Well, the conversations were nice. I learned he was a musician around town. He did that after he moved here from So. Cal. He had sold his business and was looking for something to do. We had several nice chats and decided to meet for a quick drink after I got off work and he went to work. It wasn’t anything exciting, but it was nice. So, we decided to meet again when we both had more time. So, we decided to meet for Happy Hour.
The day of the date was a day from hell–nothing went right. However, knowing I had this date, made it a little easier. I will also admit, I had used all of my coping skills that day. So, I head to Claim Jumper which had a great happy hour pre-pandemic. And when I arrived, he as already there–three sheets to the wind. So, I pretty much figured this was going to not work out. I don’t like heavy drinkers.
So, I sat down and he had already ordered me a Long Island Ice Tea. And alarm bells start going off. So, I go to the bar and order a fresh drink all the while thinking, “Seriously, I can buy my own drinks, and mine won’t be drugged!” And I go back and smile and started the small talk.
Then, President Obama came on the TV, and he started ranting about how much he hated him, how he wasn’t even an American, and that Muslims can’t be President. I took a deep breath, mustered up my last coping skill, and said, “You and I have very different views; perhaps politics isn’t a good subject for a first date,” while in my head I am screaming, “OMG! SHUT UP!”
He responds with, “Yes, you are right. I am sorry.” and ramps right back up and starts ranting again. I took a deep breath, and clenched onto that coping skill, and said, “You and I have very different views; perhaps politics isn’t a good subject for a first date,” while in my head I am screaming, “OMFG! SHUT THE F*CK UP!”
He responds with, “Yes, you are right. I am sorry.” and ramps right back up and starts ranting again. I screeched, “OMFG! SHUT THE F*CK UP!” Ooops! that was my out-loud voice. I found my tattered coping skill and say, “Excuse me, I need to go to the bathroom.” And I called my friend and said that I would meet him for dinner, after all. When I walked back to the bar area, he already standing by the door.
He held the door for me as we left. Then as we were walking to my car, he put his arm around me. I stepped away. Then when we got to my Jeep, he stood blocking my way to the car. I started feeling panicky, trapped, and my last coping skill gave up the ghost and was gone—all I wanted to go. I needed to leave.
Then he says to me as he is thrusting his hips at me, “When can I see you again?” In my panic, I screeched, “DUDE, I HAVE MACE!” And that was the moment I decided that perhaps, I am not ready to date.