Tag Archives: the fade

The Bad Date Chronicles – Roofie Guy Edition

It would not have surprised me in the least if this had actually been him

Unlike some of the other stories, this one has a “happy” ending.  Get your minds out of the proverbial gutter folks, not THAT kind of happy ending!  Ok, so it did eventually and indirectly result in THAT kind of happy ending, but on with my tale.

It was an honest mistake. Because these dudes are ELECTRIC! Get it, electric? See what I did there?

I met Roofie Guy via HowAboutWe.  I must admit that I wasn’t really that

interested based on his picture and/or profile, but the date suggestion, go to a Burlesque Show, was  intriguing and way more creative than some of the other ones out there (I’m looking  at you “Let’s do it” and “Let’s go to a bar”.  Get with it guys!).   I should have known I was in for a Bad Date Chronicles kind of evening when his first email in response to mine talked about the favorable proximity of his residence in relation to the club we would be seeing the show at as well as the status of the bar in his living room (fully stocked, including absinthe no less).  Against my better judgement, and because I was honestly excited about seeing a real-live burlesque show I ignored that massive red flag and went ahead with the planning.  There was also an awkward email exchange about Tesla in which I thought we were discussing the heavy metal band and he thought we were discussing the father of commercial electricity.  Really this thing was doomed from the start now, wasn’t it?

There was an hour or so to kill before the show started, so I bellied up to the bar and ordered myself a drink.  Little did I know that I would be, more willingly than ever, buying all of my own drinks that evening.  He arrived just as I was draining my first cocktail and upon first glance I thought he looked like Patton Oswalt.  In other words – he looked a lot like I was expecting him to look based on his profile, but I actually have a soft spot for quirky looking dudes so this was far from a dealbreaker.  That’s where the similarities ended.  This dude was dead SERIOUS.  I guess growing up a bit short, pudgy and liberal in the Bible Belt will do that to a fella.  By the time he started telling me about how he was really from outer space, I had checked out and decided, as I am wont to do, to try to enjoy the evening anyway.  So I didn’t even blink when he asked me if I did drugs.

“No” I replied as he started to rattle off every substance known to man and how much he enjoyed/didn’t enjoy each of them.  For the sake of conversation, I admitted that I had always been curious to try X but had been just too much of a chicken shit to try it.  That’s when, gleeful smile spreading across his face, he pulled a small airline-sized bottle of vodka out of his pocket.  He announced that its contents were vodka mixed with X.  Well now, I’ve just hit the jackpot I can see him thinking.  I am not exactly a drug expert but luckily have watched enough 20/20 and after-school specials to know that when a man pulls a vial of liquid out of his pocket it usually means one thing and one thing only –  roofies.  This was confirmed for me when I asked some friends with more, ahem, experience with this sort of thing if it was possible for one to mix X with alcohol and they looked at me with horror.  Apparently X is not water-soluble so the alcohol would have rendered it inert.  Or something like that.

Just before the show started, I ordered myself another drink (Ok, I did it while he was in the bathroom just to avoid the “can I buy you a drink” conversation) and settled in for the show, which was FANTASTIC.  I thoroughly enjoyed myself.  During the performance, he mentioned no less than 3 times the fact that he lived just blocks away from where we were and that we could very easily head over to his place after the show.  I guess my half-smile, nod, change-the-subject maneuver didn’t convey my meaning well enough because afterwards, he brought it up yet again.  At this point, I was tired and hungry and more than a little bit creeped out and just wanted to get the hell out of Dodge.  I thanked him for a lovely evening, gave him a hug and then experienced what can only be described by watching this (warning – you will never be able to erase this from your memory).  I will say no more about that.

I’m ashamed to say, in the haze of post-kiss awkwardness and just general I-can’t-fucking-believe-this-ness, I told him I had fun and to call me.  Yes, I know, I know that was so wrong of me.  But my goodness, the dude was practically BEAMING and I could tell that he thought he had knocked this one out of the park.  A few days went by and I thought I was out of the woods, meaning he was going to pull “the fade” but the emails and texts began coming in earnest.  Just one, then another and then another until I finally had to email him back with the got-back-together-with my ex excuse.

He seemed fairly devastated, and asked me what he had done wrong.  I guess the last 2 dates he had ended exactly the same way – with the girl going back to her ex.  Kudos for him on picking up on the fact that he may be doings something wrong.  Note to self – come up with more plausible excuse for not going out with someone again, like, oh I don’t know, the truth!  I admitted that the multiple attempts to get me back to his place starting with the INITIAL email put me off  (which he denied doing, by the way) but didn’t mention the fact that I was fairly certain he was going to drug me.  We traded a few emails more back and forth and wished each other luck.

So what’s the happy ending?  Well I didn’t get roofied and wake up in a sex dungeon for one.  Two – it was my initiation into the wonderful world of burlesque and the great neo-burlesque scene happening in and around San Francisco.  It’s a world that I have fully embraced and become a part of.  Plus, I met Mr. Monogamist at a burlesque show (as well as this guy, which is its own deliciously awkward story) so there have been many, MANY happy endings as a result of this edition of the Bad Date Chronicles.

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The Bad Date Chronicles – Cat Shit Edition

Actually, this may have been more fun than my date

About 6 months ago I met “Kent” on OKCupid.  He was new in town and had just moved here from the South to follow his soon-to-be ex and children.  I agreed to meet him at a bar for some pizza, beer and football.

Maybe it was the 3 Blue Moons I drank, or his Southern accent, or his utter devotion to Morrissey, but I was hooked.  Before I knew it we were furiously making out right there at the bar, much to the amusement of the bartender and other patrons that we gleefully informed of the fact that this was our very first date.  When I found out he lived just 3 blocks away from me, I was SURE that this guy was perfect for me.

A few nights later, we made plans to meet at his house to “watch movies” which, as you all know, is code for pretending that we are not just going to hook up and that this is a “real” date.  I got to his house and he greeted me at the door wearing a pair of old sweat pants and a t-shirt with holes in it.  I wasn’t impressed, especially since I had made it a point to dress casually nice and a bit sexy.  Also greeting me at the door was a menagerie of animals – a couple of dogs and cats that belonged to his roommate.

I’m a total animal lover.  In fact, I was just a cat or two shy of officially becoming a crazy cat lady  in my 20’s so I had no problem whatsoever with the fact that he shared his space with a small petting zoo.  But these animals were….special.  His roommate was a collector of down-on-their luck types, the ones that got left behind in shelters or weren’t adoptable.  Admirable.  But not conducive to sexy time.

While we sat there on the couch and started the movie, one of the dogs came and practically sat on my foot.  It was an adorable chow mix type, all fluffy, and I swear to god, smiling.  I reached out to pet it and he warned me not to because IT DOESN’T LIKE BEING TOUCHED.  All right then.  I withdrew my hand, but the dog didn’t move.  It sat there, smiling, on my foot just staring at me.  Awkward.

It was about this time that one of the cats (who did let me pet it when I walked in) started meowing.  Not just conversational meowing, but this long, drawn out, PAINFUL sound.  Cat lovers around the world know this type of meow very well.  It’s the one you get when you haven’t cleaned out kitty’s box and they are getting ready to drop a deuce.  Figuring that the roommate, who just got home would take care of it, I gave the poor little guy another scratch behind the ear and focused my attention back to my date and the horrible movie he had put on for us to “watch”.  Kitty threw me a “What the FUCK lady” look and proceeded to walk over to the entertainment center.  There, right in front of me and my oblivious date, who was trying like hell to round second, the cat took a giant, steaming shit, all while LOCKING EYES with me.

Disengaging myself from my date, who had miraculously formed several extra sets of hands sit we sat down, I pointed out what had happened.  I then saw him go through all the stages of grief :

  • Denial – “No.  There’s no way he just did that.  Are you sure?”
  • Guilt – “Maybe I should have offered to clean out the cat box while I was home today doing nothing.”
  • Anger – “That piece of shit.  He did that on purpose.”
  • Depression – ” I’m so, so sorry that just happened.”
  • Acceptance – “I guess I better go get my roommate to clean this up.”

The roommate was appropriately apologetic and cleaned up the mess and got the hell out of dodge in as speedy a manner as one can.  The moment she was out of sight (or maybe even a slight second before) he had his tongue shoved down my throat, sweat pant clad leg draped over my lap with the expectation that we would just pick up where we had left off.  You know –  before the fucking cat had shit on the floor right in front of me.  For the life of me, I just couldn’t let go of what happened.  That, combined with his sloppy, artless kissing, the fact that he was literally dry-humping me, and the creepy don’t-pet-me dog STILL sitting there staring at me, caused the untimely loss of my lady boner (moment of silence, please).

As much as I wanted to stay and be mauled and finish the end of the riveting movie “Trick or Treat” I just had to go.  It was super late.  (10:30 on a Friday night is late, isn’t it?)  Anyway, I pulled the old yawn-stretch-boy-I’m-tired move and made my way to the front door.  He walked me there and went in for one last fantastically awful kiss and I practically ran to my car and drove the 3 blocks home.

For the next couple of weeks, I avoided his calls and texts.  Yes, I know.  I employed the fade but how in the world do you tell someone you don’t want to go out with them again because you now associate them with cat shit?  So fellas – please for the love of god clean out the litter box before you invite your lady over.  A cat shitting on your living room floor may be a casual, everyday occurrence to you, but it just might keep you from getting laid.


The Pump and Dump – Worst Thing EVER or Blessing in Disguise?

Step away from the phone. It's not gonna ring.

Based on what I’m reading out there in the blogosphere and what I’m hearing from my lady friends, getting pumped and dumped is the very worst thing that can happen to a woman.  What is a pump and dump you ask?  Well, it’s when a lady and a gentleman go out on a date (or two, or three or however many it takes) and get down to the sexy time and then the gentleman fails to call the lady back.  Or fades out.  They never see each other again, no more sexy time happens and the lady runs to her friends/the internet to cry FOUL.

Obviously this happens to men as well.  I am ashamed to admit that I am guilty of perpetrating a few pump and dumps in my time.  (Why?  Well that’s a whole post on its own.  I’ll give you a hint:  It rhymes with “Rad Mex”).  It’s not something I’m proud of because EVERYONE deserves at least the courtesy of a “thanks, but no thanks” text/call.  However I don’t see a lot of men, either online or in real-life, complaining quite as vocally as women do about this phenomenon.  So this post is mostly aimed at the ladies.

So ladies – I’ll let you in on something.  This is so, SO far from the worst thing that can happen to you.  I don’t need to go into all of the various disasters and calamities that life throws our way, but in the grand scheme of things, having someone not call you back after sex is just not a big deal.  In fact, it’s a GOOD thing.  A good thing?  What?  No I’m not high.  Lemme explain…

This guy did you a FAVOR.  He did you a huge solid.  Because this was not the dude for you.  And aren’t you glad that you found this out early rather than 6 months down the line when you’ve become all attached and lovey-dovey with him?  You are now free to roam about the country to seek another victim.  Uh…man.  Of course I meant man.

It doesn’t even really matter WHY he never called back.  He just didn’t.  And that is perfectly OK.  You can’t control the actions of others.  There is no strategy, no trickery or magic you can use to make the dude call you back.  In fact you don’t WANT a call back, not from someone who is not the right fit for you!

What you can, and should do (yes I am going to tell you what to do) is ask yourself one question – WHY am I so upset about this?   Why is this person, that you have known for maybe a couple of weeks, that has invested NOTHING in you, having such a profound effect on you?  Why are you letting this virtual stranger dictate the way you feel about yourself and your worth as a human being?  STOP.  You don’t have to do this to yourself.  Be disappointed.  Joke around with your friends, complain a little bit.  But then realize that you are mourning the loss of something that was never there. This guy was never real.  He owes you nothing.  But guess what – you don’t owe him anything either!  Not a thought, not a word, not a text.  Forget closure.  His not calling back is all the closure you need.