Date Report — “Ain’t no thing but a chicken wing”
— By Jami on August 24, 2009 at 8:00 am
Guest post today!
I can’t remember exactly how A and I met, but I’m really glad that we did. It’s eerie how much she and I have in common — we’re both graphic designers that get off on typography, we’re both terribly sarcastic, we both seem to be horrible at choosing men, and we’re both super interesting and totally hot. I adore her, natch. Here’s the link to her blog — go check it out.
If you’ve got a horrible online dating story, email it to me — datewrecks@gmail.com! I’d love to start featuring some of the really terrible stories…
Introducing: The Zookeeper
Yo, Indiana Jones called. He said, "Stop making my shit look gay! That's not what the whip is for!"
Seriously. SERIOUSLY.
For those of ya’ll that don’t know me, let me give you a little background…
I’m A and it’s a pretty well known fact that I hate everyone. I mean, that was my nickname in high school. “Oh look, there’s so and so and that girl who hates everyone.” True. Story. I try very hard to be open minded and meet new people, but the truth is, I’m shit at it. I am not good around new people, my own mother will tell you that. I like the friends I have. Kind of. (I kid, I kid…mostly) I don’t need new friends, right? And don’t get me started on men. Apparently I have some invisible tattoo that says “Give me your creepsters, your codependents, your huddled masses in the unemployment line yearning to score some dope. The wretched refuse of your dating pool. Send these losers my way, I lift my pen and post on the internet.” I”m not kidding, ya’ll. I attract the strangest men on the planet.
First, a little history: About, oh I don’t know…two or three months ago, I got this brilliant idea to write a dating blog after calling it off with my then casual fling (ie – booty call). The only catch was, that meant the girl that doesn’t date…had to. So I did what any sane woman in my position would do. I jumped in the internet dating waters had first. The non-chlorinated end. I wasn’t about to pay for this bullshit research.
First up was Plenty of Fish. I lasted all of three weeks. It was terrifying. The grammar alone gave me the vapors. So I headed over to OkCupid where I met The Zookeeper. I love animals. I love the zoo. He seemed pleasant enough. We start chatting. He asks me out. I keep declining. He’s off during the week, I’m not. He wants to go out when he doesn’t have to work the next day and I don’t go out on school nights. I finally cave when he agrees to a Friday night. Friday rolls around and I have had a long week at work. I’m in no mood to be nice to anyone. I cancel. We reschedule for Monday. Monday I end up working late. How about Tuesday? At this point I kind of want out. Already. Bad sign. ALWAYS LISTEN TO YOUR GUT.
Tuesday night. We meet at a casual wings and beer joint. I’m a casual girl. I love wings. I love beer. I’m down. He’s late. I give a five minute grace period. Not everyone is as anal about punctuality as I am. Five…seven…ten. He’s ten minutes late. I let it go with just a passing comment. Progress! We sit down and order a beer and some wings. This is where it begins.
The dude will. not. stop. staring. at. me. He makes some comment about my uh, ample assets that I do not appreciate. Yeah dude, I’ve got boobs. Thanks for noticing. I try to engage him in conversation. He is intense. How intense you ask? This is the face he makes. ALL NIGHT LONG.
The bird looks more inviting, no?
I try and lighten things up and joke about him sneaking me home something from the zoo. He doesn’t find that funny. I counter with “can’t you get a fruit bat to fake its death?” MISTAKE. He then details how the zoo performs autopsies on every single animal after it dies. Man, those chicken wings are looking mighty tasty now!
I turn my attention to my dinner. And my beer, oh sweet jesus my beer. He then proceeds to chart new territory in creepsterville. “I really wish they made a product that would turn girl’s lips the same color they get when girls eat hot wings.” I wish I was making this up, ya’ll. Truly. For the record, they do.
It’s about this time I start praying. But, as most things in life, it must get worse before it gets better. Our lovely waitress comes back. “So um, are you guys like…dating or just friends…” WHO DOES THAT?! I look at him and he’s just sitting there. Now making this face:
Look deep into my eyes...
She starts to look uncomfortable, I am VERY uncomfortable and he’s sitting there totally unaware that there might be anything going on outside of his creepy little reality. She then says, “Oh God, you’re not related are you!?” “No, it’s sort of a first date thing.” “OH! Well you guys make a cute -um…nice couple!” I am praying furiously in my head now. Come on, Jesus!
We continue to talk and he starts telling me abut how the zoo has a farm out near my house. No one uses it and there is an empty barn there. Maybe we could go sometime. That’s it. This is the guy you hear about in the news. He is going to take me there and I’m going to end up Lion Chow. I have got to escape before he throws me in his trunk.
Dinner is over, beers are finished. My eyes are anywhere but his face. I have given up talking to him at this point. The waitress has dropped off the bill, with a note that reads” “Thanks adorable couple!” GAG.
“So do you want to go and grab a beer somewhere that has a better selection?” GAH! “Uhhh…” RING RING RING! Silent thanks and praise and promises to go to mass on Sunday fill my head. “Oh, it’s my little brother, I have to take this, excuse me.” My sweet, blessed baby brother always comes to my rescue. He needs me. I have to go.
The Zookeeper is disappointed. Sorry! Family first! He walks me to my car. I have one hand on the handle and the other is holding my keys. Tuck this thought in the back of your brain right quick. Over the several weeks we’ve been talking, I mention many times I don’t like people I don’t know touching me. ESPECIALLY my face or hair. That’s some intimate shit. We have to be on a whole different level for me to sign off on that. Ok, continuing…
So I’m standing there, ready to go and before I can even comprehend what’s going on, dude GRABS ME BY THE BACK OF THE HEAD and pulls me in for the kiss! I imagine it looked something like this:
OH DEAR GOD!
I AM STUNNED! I can’t even react. For a good three seconds I just stand there before pulling back and blurting out “I have to go!” and hopping in my car and fleeing. A few minutes later I get this text: I purposefully took a wet napkin to wipe off the lip gloss 
I think I vommed a little in my mouth. I heard from him twice this week, and I have totally chickened out and just not replied. It takes a lot to shake me up, but this guy just creeped me out. So, the moral of the story? The dating pool clearly needs a healthy dose of chlorine. Especially at the end I seem to be wading in.
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24 Comments
An empty barn you can go to? Shudder. I’m thinking I’ll remain single for awhile longer.
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Yipe!! Run awayyyyy! Run awaaaaay!!!
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A, I think you are my long-lost everyone-hating, freak-attracting sister. I have a freak beacon I haven’t figured out yet how to turn off, so it attracts them like moths to a… well, freak beacon.
Seriously? A cleavage comment right off the bat? A barn you can go to? Grabbing the back of your head? Dude needs to go back to the laboratory and cook him up a Frankenstein girl or something.
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Jessica, I swear they can smell me or something. They flock to me. If they’re co-dependent they REALLY like me. Also, I kept seeing beacon as bacon. I think it’s time for some breakfast.
.-= Adriana´s last blog ..Ain’t no thang but a chicken wang =-.
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He looks rather interesting in the first photo (okay, I like hats on men). But, damn, he is one scary creep. I think I’d have skedaddled right after the bosom comment.
.-= Constance´s last blog ..Project #2 =-.
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Adriana — freak bacon? Now that kinda sounds tasty. Ok, breakfast time for me, too.
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MMmmmm… bacon… freaks…
I’m salivating.
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It puts the lotion on the skin or else it gets the hose again.
Although, I must say, he does have fine taste in assault weapons.
.-= Jereme´s last blog ..Spreading Democracy Like The Plague =-.
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So he stared at you and made a comment about a barn? Bah. At least he didn’t start talking about how his father and brother are “into” child porn, like one guy I know.
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Um, Paranatural, I think we’re gonna need a write up on that, STAT.
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Just his father and brother? Hmmm. Thank you all for making me feel better about being a creep magnet.
I still want bacon, damnit.
.-= Adriana´s last blog ..Ain’t no thang but a chicken wang =-.
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Ugh, that Indy cosplay could have so bitchin’, but instead it’s rather creepy now.
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I’m definitely getting some Texas Chainsaw imagery here!!
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Mmmmmmm… Freak Bacon.
I too attract the weirdies and I totally feel you on the whole “touching my hair and face is intimate…” thing. I had a guy try to caress my face and tuck my hair behind my ear after after only meeting me once… good thing he jumped back afterward, or else he would have witnessed my knee connecting sharply with his balls.
.-= Paige´s last blog ..The Lazy Blogger’s Post Generator =-.
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A zookeeper packing an assault rifle? It’s for, like, if the fucking elephant escapes or something. Man’s just being prepared, don’t you know?
Seriously though, Indiana Jones made do with a bullwhip and a dry sense of humor. A real man doesn’t need to overcome inadequacies by posting photos of himself on the internet with a rifle that could send a cape buffalo back to the hell from whence it came.
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How the hell do you manage to make an Evil Black Rifle look that gay? Mind you, I actually know gay men who own assault rifles, and even they look more butch than that.
.-= Sabra´s last blog ..I’m doing my part for you old guys =-.
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It’s the whola casual approach to holding it really, the sling should be wrapped around his arm for more contraol, he is holding it rather casually. And of course the scope it a little too much for that rifle, which kinds of gives us a ‘it’s not the size that counts……’
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Holy Cheeseballs!
Yeah, the first photo had so much promise—no way of knowing the load of crazy that was hiding behind it.
Yeesh.
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No, Alex… No he did not.
I’m beginning to wonder if you even read the blog posts, Alex, or if you’re just one of those folks who comments on other people’s blogs to, hopefully, drive traffic to your own blog. Poor form.
Either genuinely participate or I’m'a have to mark you spam, dude.
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Jami, I agree. Part of the fun here is (1)commenting on the post and (2)reading the interesting contributions of your other readers.
YOUR format and topics seem clear enough (Sun. Showcase vs. a regular wreck vs. H/s/S/s) so it HAS to be that he just looks at the pretty pictures and types the first thing that comes to his/her brain.
A Rorschach test using date wrecks… actually that would be fun. hmmm?
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Warning sign one: “Exotic” occupation.
Warning sign two: “Intense” and “soulful” pictures that make Myspace weep tears of pure agony and delicious blood, coursing over Myspace’s artificially pale cheeks while Robert Smith half-mumbles a line that had something to do with love and heavy cocaine use.
Warning sign three: Terrible taste in hats. He could have at least spent more than five dollars in Tijuana for his hat.
Warning sign four: YOU DO NOT SHOOT JESUS.
Warning sign five: He looks like the Jewish bastard stepchild who was rejected by Jerry Seinfeld for being too Jewish while holding a bald eagle. Oy vey.
Warning sign six: In a fight between a six year old and this guy, I would bet on the six year old.
Preliminary warning signs total to: AVOID! AVOID! ALL HANDS ON DECK!
Then again, I have a tendency to be very critical of men who equate holding a weapon with being able to actually use it. He’d never be able to qual on the range.
Forget being open minded when meeting new people. Be pickier.
*looks at pictures again*
Much pickier.
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Dude, it’s so true. BE PICKY. Even when you’re picky though man… The crazies have a way of seeping under the doors.
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