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A night of vomit and crazy

13 Sep

My daughter, Ana, had lunch with me today and came over to my place after work. She was going on a blind date (yikes!) and wanted to visit with me for a bit as she was a bit nervous. This would be her first blind date and she needed a little mom support. After getting ready, she asked my thoughts on her attire.

“Your skirt is too short and you’re showing too much cleavage.”

“Moooommm!”

Funny how she can take a single syllable word and make it a mile long. Actually, she looked great, but I was morally obligated as her mother to provide constructive criticism. She is meeting her date at 6:00 pm and it’s time for her to leave. I ask her to text me at some point so I’ll know she’s okay and she agrees before hugging me bye.

6:20 pm

I am on the phone with my friend, Dave, when a text message pops up from Ana:

OMG. Please call me in two minutes with an emergency!

Oh, this is just too classic. For once, I’m not the one enduring the date from hell. After two minutes of pondering my “emergency,” I dial her number.

“Hello?”

In a teary voice (keeping it real here, folks) I say, “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry to call you on your date! Bud is vomiting blood and I’m taking him to the pet hospital! Please come with me! I can’t go by myself!”

“Oh my god, are you serious?”

“Yes! I’m so scared and I need you to be with me! Please?”

“I’m on my way, Mom!”

We disconnect and I am laughing hysterically at this point. I wait ten minutes before calling her back.

“So what was so bad about your date that I had to bail you out?”

“Oh, god, Mom… his teeth… they were… oh, god. He seriously needs to see a dentist STAT! Oh, god… I feel sick. I gotta go.”

So, technically speaking, there was vomiting last night, it just wasn’t Bud.

* * * *

I often volunteer at a shelter in the Twin Cities and a guy named Tom volunteers there, as well. We had spoken before and he seemed nice enough. Well, actually, he did most of the talking about his job (attorney), social status (divorced with an evil ex-wife who took him to the cleaners and kept his Mercedes Benz) and other inconsequential topics. He hinted at asking me out, but I never took the bait.

So about two weeks ago, I’m waiting at the bus stop when Tom pulls up next to me on his bike. Apparently he lives in the area of my office and was out for an afternoon ride when he spotted me. We chatted for a bit before my bus arrived and I headed home. You can imagine my surprise when I got a voice mail a few days later from Tom. I assumed he got my number from the sign-in sheets at the shelter as I had not given it to him.

“Hi, Lisa, it’s Tom. Just wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed seeing you the other day. You looked great and I would like to take you out sometime. Call me back and let’s get together.”

Oh, that’s so sweet, I thought to myself. I saved the message as I really did plan to call him back and say “Thanks, but no thanks, I’m seeing Mike; hope things go well; blah, blah, blah.”

I forgot to call him back.

During last night’s vomitous series of events, my phone rings and I let it go to voice mail.

“Hi, Lisa, it’s Tom. I called you a couple of weeks ago and you could have had the DECENCY to call back. I don’t know if you got your hair dyed or what… that’s the rest of the story. You know what to do.”

Tom is very loud and I strongly suspect it’s a drunk dial. Either that, or dude is seriously whacked. I listened to his message twice only because I was trying to figure out what he meant by me getting my hair dyed. I don’t dye my hair. Even if I did, what the hell would that have to do with anything?

Tom just got moved from the ‘Oh, that’s so sweet’ column to the ‘Crazy Mo Fo’ column.

You’re right, Tom. I do know what to do and that would be to NOT call you back because, quite frankly, that bitch be crazy.

Hugs and kisses,

Lisa D 😀

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Dante’s Dating Inferno/Level 3: The Liberal

5 Jun

Of course, you know I saved the best for last. And by best, I mean the absolutely worst date I’ve ever had in my entire life. I’m so not exaggerating, but would love to read your comments about Level 3 aka “The Liberal.”

Mike and I had been emailing quite a bit before he asked me to dinner. I liked his profile as it seemed pretty straightforward and I couldn’t detect any creeper characteristics. He’s a white-collar professional and lives on the lakes in what sounded to be a beautiful home. Ah, it’s all good. Normal, normal, normal. Exactly what I am looking for.

Wrong.

He selected a casual restaurant where we could eat outdoors and look out over the Mississippi river. Nice. I was feeling pretty and confident upon arriving at the restaurant. Mike was already there and had added our name to the list of outdoor tables. We waited for a bit, chatted, people-watched and everything seemed to be going great. Our number is called, we’re seated at this beautiful table and I’m enjoying the view when he says….

“You know, it seems to me that even though unemployment is on the rise, those people should appreciate what President Obama has done for them. They just don’t realize his achievements.”

Are you fucking kidding me? Where did that come from? And why would anyone with half a brain bring up politics on a first date? I’m sure you can guess how quickly the evening degenerated after that lamebrain comment.

I responded, “Well, I would imagine it’s a little difficult to be grateful when you have no job, you’re losing your home and your family is going hungry.”

I assumed he would take a step back and leave this poisonous topic alone. He didn’t. I’ll give you the high points of my evening with The Liberal.

M: I’m a liberal intellectual. I went to the University of Wisconsin and my dad is a scientist with a Ph.D. I deal in facts and I know what I’m talking about. These people who don’t believe in Obama are uneducated and racist.

L: Really? That’s what you think? If someone opposes Obama, it has to be because they’re racist and not because they might actually oppose his policies.

M: No, you don’t understand. These birthers (spit this word out with enormous contempt) are ALL racist. Who do they think they are questioning where he was born? They wouldn’t have these issues if he was white! And we ALL know the Republic party only cares about rich people! They don’t care about poor people! (Note: this stupid ass is a rich, white, Democrat. Can you say irony?)

L: For the record, Mike, I am a Republican. I am sitting across this table from you as a representative of what most Republicans are like. We’re hardworking people who believe that the government shouldn’t turn our nation into a nanny state and believe it or not, most of us are pretty damned decent people. Have you ever been outside of Minnesota and met people in other states? Have you tried to get to know them as individuals and not as group of people you’ve lumped together and labeled?

M: I went to school in Wisconsin and have lived in Minnesota my whole life. But I KNOW how the right wing is and what they think! They’re a bunch of religious, gun nuts who don’t tolerate other people’s point of view.

I am livid by now and it’s taking everything in me to keep from calling him the foulest names I can think of and trust me, they would be bad. I can feel White Trash Gal straining to break through and call this asshole out for what he is. I resist because I really don’t want to go there. Yet.

L: You know what, Mike, it seems to me if you’re going to label entire segments of society with a misinformed opinion it would be best if you included other groups, as well. How about you label all black people as lazy, live off the government, never going to amount to anything kind of people? How about you say all homosexuals are pedophiles? How about you call all Jewish people money grubbers? I’m sure if I dig deep enough I can come up with other crazy ass ideas you probably have about Asians, Mexicans and American Indians!

M: That’s not what I mean, it’s just that you Republicans think you have all the answers!

L: Moving forward in this conversation, or better yet, this argument, you will remove the words Republican, right wing, religious and birther from your vocabulary when you’re speaking to me. Every time you say one of those words you make a face like you just stepped in a steaming pile of dog shit. I find your tone and your use of those words personally and morally offensive.

I am almost snarling at this point and frankly, my dears, I do not give a damn.

M: Well, whatever. I just know how those people really are with their guns, Bibles and military mindset.

Oh, you stupid fuck.

L: The military is not a conversation I will have with you. Ever. My son is a Marine and he is willing to put his life on the line defending people like you who hate him for what he is. Don’t say another g-damned word about the military. I mean it.

Dumb ass actually had enough sense to shut his pie hole after that as I am sure I looked like a crazed woman by this point. Apparently he had decided I wasn’t going to be intimidated by his intellect or by his wild gestures, finger pointing and shaking his head at me.

M: Well, you and I have different ideas on whose best to run this country. Of course, it won’t matter who the Republicans put on the ticket because all the women in the South will vote for him.

L: And exactly, what do you mean by that?

M: You know, those women support their husbands or men and do what they say.

Fuck that. I opened my mouth and yep, you guessed it… White Trash Gal put in her first (and best) appearance.

L: First of all, I have sat here tonight and endured this argument with you. You have insulted my political beliefs, my intelligence, my friends and family, my heritage and everything I believe in. You have ridiculed me and accused me of not having facts to back up my opinions. And now you say that Southern women are so spineless that we do what our “men” tell us to do! I’m here to tell you that you couldn’t be more wrong. I don’t know a single woman, friend or family, that lives her life that way. We’re strong, opinionated and we can take care of ourselves. Furthermore, I can take care of you too! If you don’t believe me, how about I whip your ass in the parking lot here and now to prove my point?

I was shaking with rage and it appeared dickhead finally realized he had crossed several lines that night. He quickly paid for dinner, I grabbed my purse and walked out ahead of him. When he caught up with me, he asked where I parked. I told him the valet was bringing my car around and he simply said his was across the street and he left. What a jackass. For all the intellect he claims to have, manners are not something he possesses. A decent guy would have, at minimum, waited ‘til my car was brought around. Or maybe he wanted to get out of the parking lot before I changed my mind and whipped his ass for the fun of it.

So, here’s my message to you Mike: I hope you remember that I have this blog and you read it because you demanded facts. I got your facts, Jack.

Fact: You’re an asshole as well as a pretentious, judgmental, overbearing, self-inflated, arrogant hypocrite.

Fact: Your pants look stupid. Real men do not wear blinged out pants with fancy pockets.

Fact: You have a flat ass. I suggest lunges. Lots and lots of lunges.

Fact: Your biceps are not muscular, they’re scrawny.

Fact: You call yourself a real man; trust me, you’re not. A two-year old boy has bigger balls than you have, you pacifist, non-violent waste of human skin.

And lastly, lose my number. If a meal with you was the only thing standing between me and starvation, I would Go. Hungry.

And now you know… the rest of the story.

Glad I could bring you this moment of insanity.

LisaD 😀