When I asked what she was doing on a blind date when she was going to give birth in two weeks she said: ‘The baby has me; I want someone.’ • A poet offered to pick me up for dinner and a movie.I accepted, and that’s where everything went wrong. The movie was one of those free movies-in-the-park, and it just so happened to be Spongebob Squarepants and the park was full of children. On top of that, he only packed a very small blanket and asked why I hadn’t brought a blanket for myself (um, because I thought we were going to a theater? • A guy said how great it was that I was a “mommy,” and when I explained that I was more a mom than a mommy, and a bit about my parenting philosophy about trying to make my then-young son more independent, he corrected me. “That’s the gift you got when you had your son.” Not only was he totally infantilizing me with his gross Ronny Reagan virgin-mother bullshit, and presuming to explain for me my place in the world (without having met me) but he wasn’t fucking listening.He told me that when he bought his house, he hired a landscaper to tear everything out and replace it with gravel. • My dates “catch phrase” was a quote from Seinfeld. When we meet, I start to talk about Seinfeld and he tells me he doesn’t watch tv and doesn’t even own one.• A young woman and I got along pretty well in the bar where we’d agreed to meet, but things went downhill when we decided to get dinner at a nearby restaurant.
• We agreed to meet at a bar even though he didn’t drink (when I asked if he went to meetings instead, he was silent).
But the manatee was actually dead, and the body ended up falling apart and she was covered in dead manatee slime and someone had to fish her out and clean her up.
After some words of consolation from me about how fucked up that experience must have been, she told me she made it up, and every other story she had told me that night, because she likes making up stories.
It was an amazing WTF moment and I never talked to her again.
• I got walked out on on a date that seemed like it was going fairly well because I said I didn’t like french fries. • The date where the self-identified “artist” revealed her day job was working as a prison guard, and she spent much of our afternoon on a mumbled, paranoid rant about an anonymous “them” who were on the verge of their incipient take over of everything we hold dear. She ordered worth of lunch, which she wouldn’t touch because she was sure it was contaminated.
For dinner, we went to Ikea for a platter of Swedish meatballs. I explained, nicely, why it bugged me, and he said he was glad he found out early how ugly I was on the inside. As we were sitting outside of the coffee shop enjoying some nice conversation he told me how he was working on writing some music.