Friday, July 27, 2007

Coke Cans & Sexual Allegory - What A Poetic Date!

Ang from Nashville has entertained us with two previous stories - Bring a Hooker to Dinner With Your Date & Give The Poor Guy A Helping Hand. This woman certainly has had her share of men from hell! I must admit though, this one had me laughing and in shock. Ang, as your daughter said, "You Rock!".

Anewly single girl that moves from Montana to Nashville, TN, is asking for a world of change. From wide open spaces to a million+ population. From riding horseback to road rage. Heck, it was like learning another language! I was nearly arrested the first time I was pulled over for speeding (Montana didn’t have a speed limit at the time, so habits die hard), because I couldn’t understand what the policeman was saying. When he said, “Pull up off on the side of the road,” I don’t believe I had ever heard so many prepositions used in such a short sentence. And after repeating it eight times in response to my “I’m sorry…what?!” it was clear that this member of the Village People was mildly irritated. At least my citation was evidence of that.

But one thing Nashville DOES have that this Montana girl loves is SPORTS! When I arrived I was overwhelmed by the wonderful array of choices. Within the first month I called the universities and got their football schedules and was put on their mailing lists to be notified of games and events. One of the schools was MTSU in Murfreesboro. I gave the man (“Brad”) my name, address, phone number, and email address. Then he asked for my date of birth…odd…

About a week later, Brad called me…TO CHAT! I thought that was strange and told him I couldn’t talk but thanks anyway. Then he called again a few days later, but he was a little smarter this time; he started by telling me about an upcoming sports event. Then Brad told me he looked just like Brad Pitt. I told him I didn’t think Brad Pitt was all that good-looking, but he assured me HE was. It was obvious that he was pining for a date, but I wasn’t biting. (Twice bitten, you know.) Brad called a few more times over the next month to let me know about events and talk about his good looks but I quickly brushed him off. Then one Sunday my phone rang.

Brad: Hi! I’m in your neighborhood. I thought I’d drop by and say hi!

(Remember, I gave this loony toon my address when I signed up for MTSU sports events. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.)

Ang: Absolutely not, and that is entirely inappropriate.

Brad: Too late because I’m standing on your front porch.

I held my hand over the phone while my daughter (who was nine at the time) and I ran to the door to make sure the deadbolt was in place. It was.

Kate: What will you do, Mom?

Ang: I don’t know. I’ll probably call the police.

Brad: Are you there? Hello? Open up! I promise you’ll like me. I’m gorgeous!

Gorgeous isn’t the point. Insanity is the point. Stalking is the point. But I remembered I had a peep hole on my door so I decided I’d take a look. Now before I describe what I saw, I must relate what Brad told ME about his enormously well bred looks. He had described himself in earlier (short) phone conversations and long, laborious emails as a Brad Pitt lookalike, a veritable Adonis, a walking time bomb of steamy sexual energy just waiting to be released on the unsuspecting female population. But really, none of that matters if Brad Pitt is a complete lunatic, right? I know some women would disagree, but I was really in no mood for lunatics—even gorgeous, steamy, running-amok lunatics.

Kate sat on the stairs behind me while I peered out the peep hole. Then I turned back to her.

Ang: Kate, if you were to take a bat and beat me about the head with it I’d still look better than what is standing on our porch right now.

Kate: (Laughing) Open the door, Mom. Let’s take a look at him.

Ang: Are you insane? He might be a murderer or something!

Kate: (Looking out the peep hole at Brad) We could take him, Mom. Noooooo problem. Then we both started laughing because I knew she was right. So I opened the door.

I remember Brad so vividly and yet I think the trauma of his visage appearing on my front porch occasionally clouds the moment. J He was about 5’3. (Is Brad Pitt really that short?) and weighed…oh, in the neighborhood of around 250 lbs. His hair looked like a rusty old brillo pad and his skin was the color of yellow chalk. But it was his sideburns that locked my gaze. They were ENORMOUS. They looked like a couple of wild, bristly squirrels that had been flattened as roadkill and then glued to the sides of his waggling jowls. His bottom lip protruded from the rest of his face like Pier 14, and he had more chins than a Chinese phonebook. And those were just his God-given physical attributes.

Brad wore what looked like double knit polyester slacks—beige, of course. The Zanzibar type. And he wore a brown and beige velour shirt with yellow polyester piping. Dude so needed style. His burgeoning belly peaked from under the edge of his shirt. He had man boobs. And I’m sure if he’d turned around we would have seen Sir Norge as well. Ew!

Brad: Can I come in?

Ang: No. The porch is fine.

I stepped out on the porch and pulled the door a little so Kate couldn’t see but could still hear. I knew she was glued to the edge of the door listening and was ready to pounce in case Mr. Pitt turned into Son of Sam.

Brad: I was thinking you’d go out with me sometime.

Ang: Brad, do you understand how inappropriate it is for you to be here right now?

Brad: It’s no big deal. I do it all the time. I was just in the neighborhood and thought I’d say hi and see if you wanted to go to the movie.

First of all, Murfreesboro is about an hour’s drive from South Nashville and unless he moonlighted as a tree doctor on weekends there was absolutely nothing in my neighborhood that would draw him here.

Ang: Brad, I’m not going to the movie with you.

Brad: You sounded so beautiful on the phone, and you’re beautiful in real life!

Ang: Brad…

Brad: I don’t think I’ve ever gone out with a girl as beautiful as you.

Ang: Brad…

Brad: You have a perfect body.

Ang: Brad…

Brad: What size bra are you?

Pause. After my last two otherworldly dates, even this did not surprise me.

Ang: (Remarkably calm) Brad, it is apparent to me that you are not a regular in the world of dating. Neither am I, but I can tell you this: even if you were an eighth grader, there would be no appropriate juncture in conversation to ask a girl that question.

But Brad just couldn’t stop there. He had to jump off the ledge and into the Ang abyss.

Brad: I’ll bet your nipples are the size of Coke cans!

I remember I was wearing my green hiking boots because they were part and parcel to Brad’s launching off my porch. I took one step back and solidly planted my right foot against his man boobs. The front door swung open and Kate became the sole witness to Brad’s glorious flight to the grass four steps below.

Brad didn’t bother us again. I called MTSU the following day and he was fired. It was another insane adventure in the bowl of Nashville Nuts; but the experience wasn’t a total loss. Kate had been nervous about our safety and how we would navigate a new, big city. Later that day we treated ourselves to a couple of lattes after the Brad-butt-kickin’.

Kate: Mom, you totally rock.

Ang: Yeah. I know.
Ang from Nashville

You too can post your dating story on Dates Out Of Hell. Click here to find out how!

Thursday, July 26, 2007

When Persistence Becomes Stupidity

Some men and women are persistent. It works for them. Sometimes you have to be persistent in going after your goal. Why is it so difficult for some people to understand the word "NO"? But you have to love the line "I bought a box of condoms and wanted to see how many I can use tonight."

The dating scene, something I do not miss and the reason I have a permit to carry a weapon.

I've always had this personal rule. If a guy has the courage to ask you out, as long as he appears to practice some type of personal hygiene, I will accept. I never let dates pick me up at my home. I always agreed to meeting them.

Needless to say I am thankful for this.

John was a friend of a colleague. We met at a fundraiser. Most of the night he spent talking with me, asking about my work, what my interest were. Normal stuff, right?

By the end of the night, John appeared safe, normal and friendly so I didn't have any reason not to agree to see him the following weekend for dinner and a play.

He asked several times if he could pick me up, he didn't want me to have to fight the traffic into the city. I thanked him but declined.

We met at this place known for it's diversity and local talent. John did not seem to interested in the dinner and later, when the theatre started, he kept trying to get me to leave with him. I figured, once the show was over, I would make an excuse and go home.

After it ended, John asked if we could catch last call at another bar. I thanked him and told him I had to go, that I had to work early the next morning. He asked if we could grab a cup of coffee instead. Again, I thanked him but told him, I still have to work early the next morning.

By now I am thinking he is acting odd.

I have to give him a little credit for persistence.

As I started to walk towards my car he asked me if he could talk me into going to his house for a drink. Again I declined. I thanked him for the date and told him it was nice meeting him.

He stepped in to kiss me goodnight and I figured what the hell. At least I don't have to see him again. He opened my car door, I said goodnight and drove off.

When I pulled into my driveway I was surprised to see a car pull in behind me. John had followed me home. I got a little nervous at that point. It was late and I lived alone.

He got out of his car and smiled at me. This really irritated me. I asked him what he was doing. He said he had planned to spend the night with me when we first met. He purchased a full box of condoms and wanted to see how many we could use.

I figured I did not know if he was dangerous or just stupid. I did not want to anger him and at this point I was scared. I told him two of my brothers were police officers and they were inside sleeping. I didn't stop shaking until after I was in the house and he left.
Cyrena

You too can post your dating story on Dates Out Of Hell. Click here to find out how!

Sunday, July 22, 2007

Give The Poor Guy A Helping Hand

Never loose hope. That is the message of the following story. Even if the date does not work out and you may never see her again...well, there is still hope for some goodbye fun. So get up the courage - and even is she cannot stand you... ASK! (This is the second in Ang's from Nashville funny date stories. The first bad date was "Bring a Hooker to Dinner With Your Date".)

About four months after recovering from the hooker incident, I accepted a date a man who often visited my neighbor. "Todd" wasn’t the best looking guy in the world, but he was rather persistent, so we went to coffee at Starbucks after work one day. I left my car at work and he picked me up.

After sitting down with my espresso and his straight-out-the-canister blend (that should have been a good indication of how interesting he was), he started talking. WE didn’t start talking. HE started talking. And before long I was daydreaming about sorting my laundry, making grocery lists in my mind for shopping trips I’d make two years down the road, wondering how proton laserbeam therapy actually works. He never asked me a question, never paused for me to speak. I did manage an occasional "hm," "uh huh," "oh."

Thirty minutes later I excused myself to the bathroom and when I returned picked up my purse and said, "Well, we better get going!" He started talking again, all the way to the car, all the way back to my car. Finally, when we reached our destination. Safe at last!

Ang: Thanks for the coffee, Todd. See you!"

Todd: (touching my arm) Wait, can I see you again? I really like you!

Ang: No, I don’t think so, Todd. But thank you.

Pause.

Todd: Hm. Well…ok…do you think I could just get a handjob then?

Ahem! You’d think after nearly sharing an appetizer with a hooker a few months earlier I would have been totally on my game. But no, I was shocked. So I just started clapping.

Ang: Bravo, Todd! You are SUCH a funny man! Bye now!

And I got out of there as fast as I could. I’d see him occasionally at my neighbor’s house and every time we saw each other I never said a word. I just started clapping.

Ang from Nashville

You too can post your dating story on Dates Out Of Hell. Click here to find out how!

Saturday, July 21, 2007

Bring a Hooker to Dinner With Your Date

It is amazing to what lengths some people will go to achieve their fantasy. This one guy certainly proves the adage that some males will do anything for his fantasy to come true. Disneyland for adults - and a woman smart enough to run as fast as her feet would carry her.

Soon after my divorce in 1998 I moved from Montana to Nashville and found, at the age of 35, that dating was very different than it had been when I was in my early 20s. I blame the growth of internet pornography on every weird and freaky dating incident that happened to me in Nashville. It’s either that or inbreeding down here.

So after a few months in my new home I met a gorgeous man at a local restaurant. Even my girlfriend/dinner partner was in awe of this tall, charming, and handsome man in the navy suit. He was the author of a children’s book and ran some kind of company in the Brentwood area. “Tom” asked me out on a date, and I couldn’t say “yes” fast enough.

On our first date we went to dinner at a lovely restaurant. Tom was sweet and funny, although he pried a little too much into my personal life and that made me slightly uncomfortable. But after walking me to my car and shaking my hand goodnight, I was impressed enough to say “yes” when he asked me out on a second date.

The following week we were to meet at another, nicer restaurant in the Cool Springs area of Franklin. I was running a bit behind so I called his mobile phone to let him know. He said, “It’s okay, we’re waiting here at the restaurant.” Strange. We? When I arrived I found him at a table with a GORGEOUS blonde woman. I mean, she was absolutely gorgeous, like Miss America gorgeous. I sat down and looked at them both. No one said a word. I finally said to the woman, “Hi! Who are you?” Before she could speak, Tom said, “This is Diana and she’s a friend from Atlanta. She’s here for the weekend.” I said, “Oh! That’s wonderful!” More uncomfortable silence settled over the table. Finally Tom spoke and it went something like this:

Tom to Ang: I got us a room at the Holiday Inn on Old Hickory Blvd.

Ang to Diana: Oh, is that where you’re staying?

Tom to Ang: No, I got us a room at the Holiday Inn.

Ang to Tom: Oh, you’re both staying there?

Tom to Ang: NO. I GOT US a ROOM at the HOLIDAY INN. US. (running his finger through the air around the table)

Ang to Tom: But I don’t need a room, I only live a few miles from . . .

Raised eyebrows all around.

I stood up quickly and tried to think of something to say—something that would have been very Ava Gardner or Carole Lombard at that very moment. But nothing escaped my lips. I was just crushed. So I grabbed my purse and ran out of the restaurant.

It would have been nice if the story had ended there. But the next day Tom called me and told me I was rude to his friend and that he paid a heckuvalotta money for Diana to be there.

Well, how absolutely inconsiderate of me!

I gave cute names to all my bad dates. I call this one Bring a Hooker to Dinner Man.

Ang from Nashville

You too can post your dating story on Dates Out Of Hell. Click here to find out how!