Your Girlfriend is Ugly

The one where I'm told I'm not funny.

I just realized that I never blogged about probably one of the bestslashawkward dates I've ever had.

It was two years ago and it was my second date with this guy. At the publication of this blog I cannot recall his name, but I do remember specifically that he looked like Kevin Youkilis.

"Yoooooooooooooooooooooooooouk."

Our first date wentwell. We got sushi, had drinks, caressed hands across the table and ended the night with a kiss. So when we were parting ways and he asked me for a second date I was like "alriiiiiight" in my brain. We met the following Wednesday for tapas on Newbury Street.

We picked up right where we let off. He was somewhat of a computer geek and talked in HTML lingo and knew a lot about math. I was (and still am) a creative packaging maven who abbreviates totally to totes and knows lots about which mascara is best to lengthen stumpy eye lashes. It would appear that we would be mismatched but we got along swimmingly. Or so I thought.

As the night wore on and the staff of the restaurant gave us annoying glances because we were keeping the table, the conversation came to drugs. My date asked me if I'd ever smoked weed.

"Oh sure. I used to smoke in college. I mean who didn't right?!" (Actually, quite a few people Lisa.)

My date looked at me and just replied, "Oh I've never smoked weed or done any drugs for that matter."

A regular Boy Scout!

"That's cool."

"Yeah I have to get drug tested all the time so I can't do any drugs."

I then launched into this funny story about how I was hanging out with one of my friends who was a HUGE pot head. We were just chilling in his apartment watching a movie. He was smoking copious amounts of weed and I was just hanging out. As I was driving home from his place I started to freak out. I'd forgotten about the drug test I had to get in the morning for the new job I had applied for. I had no idea if second-hand weed smoke would show up in my urine so I stopped at the grocery store and bought four 1-gallon jugs of water and pounded them all in the matter of about an hour, thinking that this would flush my system of any weed remnants.

I finished my story (the test was negative. Duh.) and looked up at my date. He was seated in a relaxed pose in his chair with one arm slung over the back. It was at this point that I noticed that his blazer had elbow patches.

'Granpa,' I thought to myself.

He was staring intently at me and I figured it was because I looked so luminous and he was just so taken with me.

I held my chin in my hand, batted my eye lashes and purred, "What are you staring at?"

Without missing a beat he replied, "Well Lisa, you'll notice that I've been sitting here listening to your story. And I'm smiling and not laughing. And I'm not laughing because what you're saying isn't funny. You are not funny."

I felt like I was in one of those movies where I'm the only one standing still and everyone else is whizzing around me. Did this asshole really just say I wasn't funny?

I busted out laughing and said in my loudest possible voice, "Well I think I'm hilarious!!" Then I knee-slapped myself and signaled to the waitress, "CAN WE GET THE CHECK! THANKS!!"

He offered to pay for the entire meal but I did not want to be indebted to this guy for a cent so I slapped down a $20 and made my way out the door. Interestingly enough he tried to kiss me before we parted ways and I said in my most humorless voice, "Oh, I don't think so my friend." Then I took my hysterical self home.

 

The one about my date with a guy possessing a massive foot fetish.

As I mentioned in the blog below, I was out with my lovely friend Jenski Hillski on Friday. We shared some squid and downed some vodka at the fabulous bar at Eastern Standard.Somehow during the course of our evening I began to tell her the story of how I went on a date with a guy who had a foot fetish. I think I blacked out because after a few minutes I looked up and Jen was looking at me with a sort of horrified expression on her face, clutching her vodka and just saying "OOOOH. MYYYY. GOOODDDD."

I thought about it for a moment and then said to the bar, "Wait. Why haven't I bogged about this yet?"

"I don't know. But you need to."

So here we go.

It was the year 2000 and I had just moved back to Boston. I transfered from the Fashion Institute of Technology in Manhattan to Emerson College and was commuting from my parents house into the city for class until I could secure housing. Well, since all of my friends were away having their own college experiences and I was starting at a new school,  I didn't have too much of a social life.

This was back when AOL chat rooms were still popular. (I know what you're thinking). Anyway I found this one room that catered to new people in Boston. Just a friendly chat room where one could get ideas of where to go if you were new to the area. I wasn't new per se, since I grew up going into Boston all the time but I just wanted to meet new people.

I started talking to this one guy over IM. I don't remember if he was new to the area but he seemed normal and by the looks of his picture he was cute. Our IM chats progressed into phone chats and during one particular conversation he asked me how my feet were.

"How my feet are?"

"Yeah. What do your feet look like?"

"Oh. Uuhmm...They are painted pink...and..."

"Did you just get a pedicure?"

"No."

"So are your toe nails a little long?"

"Um...I actually looked at my toe nails...I guess..."

"Mmmmm....."

Ooh you'd think I got a clue. Nope.

At one point he asked me to walk on the hardwood floor and scrape my toes against the wood.

I let his request process in my brain and took a pregnant pause.  It wasn't so much that I was weirded out that he was into feet. I happen to like my feet very much. I just needed more information. "So are you, like, into feet?"

"Yeah. I love women's feet. The look of the arch, the painted toe nails. Even the smell."

I liked Nomar and everyone thought he was ugly so who was I to judge. (That picture still makes me randy btw.).

So we agreed to meet up one night after my class. We met at a sushi place inside of the Copely Mall. I was wearing open toed shoes, per his request. We had some recently acquired fish, talked about some feet and then headed into the movie. We saw Final Destination. I have no idea why I remember that. Maybe it's because Devon Sawa's face was bearing down on me as my footie date grabbed my leg and started to rub his fingers around my toes.

He leaned towards me and whispered, "You have great feet, you know that?"

"Thanks...hehe." The circular motions he was doing on the balls of my feet were starting to tickle!

I didn't mind a little make out session in the movie. I mean shoot, I'm not one to shy away from some theater thumping, but it just caught me so off guard when he grabbed my crossed leg and started to massage my foot. It was also super awkward because of the position I was in. I was leaning to the right as my leg was all the way across my body and in his lap to the left. And naturally since the movie was pretty much empty, the only other couple sitting in the theater were right next to us. 

He basically just made out with my foot through the entire movie. There was no kissing, no mouth on foot action, just him tracing circle patterns on my foot resting in his lap.

I went with the flow. Some part of me felt that I was just being used for my pretty feet but I was fine with it. 

After the movie we went to his car and made out. I'm not going to go into details because my mom reads this but let's just say that I learned a different kind of job that night. Things never did end up progressing with the Foot Fetish Guy. I think that my feet weren't that into it. They were a little shy and not used to being the center of all of that attention.

And I mean really, when you think of all the other fun things you can do with the body, why focus solely on the feet?

COMING SOON: The Foot Fetish Blog.

On Friday I was enjoying calamari and Kettle One with Jen Hill at Eastern Standard when the topic of my date with the Foot Fetish Guy came up. I was giving her the highlights when I stopped mid-sentence and said, "Why haven't I blogged about this?!"

"Um. I have no idea. But you should!" said Jen through laughter.

So stay tuned folks because this blog is going to be horrifyingslashhystericalslashpainfully awkward. And you definitely don't want to miss it.

The One-Upper.

I'm pretty sure we've all been there. You're on a date and your date asks you a seemingly harmless question, "Oh you were on vacation? Where did you go on vacation?"

You (or let's be honest it's me because this blog is always about me): "Oh I just got back from California. I went with two of my best girlfriends."

The date replies with a long pause and then, "Yeah I went to Hawaii for my last vacation. It was amazing."

Then it his you. You're on a date with a One-Upper. God so painful. The One-Upper is the person who asks you a question and then after you answer offers no follow up, but instead comes back with a better answer to their own question. It's annoying and once it happens, totally kills my hard on.

I dated a guy who LITERALLY one-upped me during every conversation

"Oh you drive a Jetta? I like convertibles."

"Yeah I was just in India. That was interesting."

"I've never been to the Cape. I go the the Jersey Shore."

"Halloween's the best holiday ever." (What is it with guys and Halloween?) 

He'd ask me questions and then just go off on a tangent, clearly trying to impress himself because I could've cared less. Once the one-upping begins I lose all interest. I like to think it's a nervous habit but usually it's just an obnoxious character trait.

This happened to me the other night with a different guy:

"So what are you up to right now?"

"I'm sitting on my couch watching Project Runway, waiting for my China conference call to start."

Long pause, "Yeeeeahhh..I hate my conference calls with Bangalore."

GAH!

See here's the thing about the One-Upper. They put you in an awkward position. They are the one to ask the question and then they throw their information at you like a slab of beef. It's all on you to provide the follow-up. I mean what am I supposed to do with "hates Bangalore conference calls?" Because quite frankly, I don't care enough just yet to listen to a more detailed explanation as to why in fact this person hates Bangalore conference calls so as a result I just end up replying, "Oh. Cool." The conversation stops dead in its tracks and I'm left looking like a beast.

I may or may not have dinner plans with a potential one-upper tonight. I'll let you know how that goes.

Charmed, I'm sure.

This is a quiz blog. Please read the question and circle your appropriate answer.

You go out on a date with someone. You have a good time. Lots of laughs then you have a severe make out session after. What would be your ideal second date?

A.) Bowling

B.) Dinner, maybe followed by a movie.

C.) Karaoke

D.) An invitation to his place to drink from his 30-rack of Busch Light and watch the movie Beerfest

If you answered D then you either graduated from college six years ago and can't stop reliving your glory days or you get really good wireless reception from the trailer park. Oh that and you are meeting up with the same caliber of men that I seem to attract.

The anatomy of a really really really painfully tragic date.

Oh the disappointment.

So this evening I had a date. We decided to grab drinks at this little bar in the city that has good ambiance, a cool crowd and played the game. Cool girl (me..obv), cool guy (him...or so I thought) and sports. Oh and booze. What else do you need exactly?

We posted up at a table where we could both see the game and I started to talk about sports and how I have a lot of vendors who I work with that are based out of New York, and being a Boston fan they totally call me up and harass me. Just a little fun fact.

Date gestures towards the TV where the Celtics were playing the Pistons and goes, "So being the big sports fan you are, can you tell me which player is on the court tonight after not playing for a while."

"Oh I have no idea. Um..."

"Well I thought you were a HUGE Boston sports fan?"

This was five minutes into the date. And this was not the cute little nudge me on my shoulder being cute kind of comment. This was him ready to throw it down to see who knew more about sports.

"Well. I like the Sox and the Pats. I don't really follow the Celtics."

"Well it's Ray Allen."

"Cool. If I followed the Celtics I'd care."

We hadn't even ordered drinks yet.

The (painful) conversation moved to work. Somehow he found the time to stop talking about himself to ask me how work was going.

"Oh busy. I have this project that I'm working on and I really am having a hard time focusing on it because it's one thing after another."

"Yeah. My work is like that too. I get to the office at like 6:30 and then I work like 16 hour days. I'm just really really busy."

Yeah this was the type of guy who said stuff like this hoping that you'd stroke his ego and ask questions like "Oh so why are you so busy?" and "Wow you work 16 hour days. You must be really important."

Um. I'm busy and important enough. I can barely muster the effort to talk about my own job let alone listen to someone else's bullshit.

Oh and did I mention that he works for a rental car company. He basically rents cars. Which is fine but we're not curing cancer here folks. And let is just be known that in the other department he was no prize. Not like I was having drinks with Tom Brady. This was your average run of the mill Joe. If he wasn't such a DICK he'd be just "that guy" that you date.

Well since the topic was him we started to talk about car rentals and then we somehow got on the topic of SUV's and I mentioned how you don't see that many of them on the road since gas is so much more expensive.

While I was making my very astute point he reached back for his wallet and pulled out, what looked like a credit card. He held it up like the ORBITZ gum girl holds up the pack to say, "Fabulous" and goes, "This right here...(waggle, waggle) yeah...I don't pay for gas. Perk of my job."

He straight up whipped out his free gas card. Who does that?! Am I supposed to be impressed by that? Now, you whip out a black Amex then you've got my attention (and probably my body for the night).

Still on the topic of his work and his life and him, I regaled him with my tale of the first time I rented a car, which happened to be in Minnesota (oooh you betcha!) through Hertz.

"OOOOHGGRRAGAAAAAAAAHNOOOOOOOO....YOU WENT TO HERTZ!? GROOOOOOAAAAAAN GAAAAHMERRRRR...."

I couldn't figure out if he was choking or having a heart attack. Because surely he wasn't flipping out about how I rented a car through Hertz. Because that would be like him telling me how he bought product at Kheil's and me throwing down my napkin in horror because he didn't buy product at Fresh. So surely this groaning was not in response to my Hertz comment.

"Yeah. I got it through Hertz and the experience was pleasant other than the fact that I didn't like the GPS."

"*psha* Yeah. Their GPS that's wired into the car? So you can't even pop it out."

"Um..yeah. But well if you could pop it out wouldn't people like, try to steal it? "

"Yeah at my rental car company we have the one's that pop out."

"Oh so like the Garmin?"

*smug smile, nod*

"Oh I love the Garmin in my car. I think I'd still be lost if I didn't have one."

"Yeah.....I don't *need* GPS."

Always envious of others with a keen sense of direction I said, "Oh that's good. You're lucky to have such a good sense of direction."

"Nah. Just comes with the territory of working for a car rental company. And I'd rather Map Quest it."

Now that I found just stupid.

"Wait. You'd rather use Map Quest, which is like 75% wrong instead of having a device that tells you to turn left, bear right and *boom* you're at your destination?"

"Yeah, I like the challenge."

"Interesting. I'm not a fan of reading while I drive."

There was not enough sangria in the world to get me through this.

Insert lull.

Insert me staring with eyes glazed over at the game.

Insert me checking out the HOTTT STRAIGHT host.

"So...where are all the rings?"

I stopped sucking on the orange rind from my sangria to look over at him. "Huh?"

He gestured towards my right hand, where only my ring finger housed a cute ring I purchased from Mint Juelip, "I just thought you'd be wearing more jewelery."

WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?

So guess what happened next? We talked more about cars and renting them.

I don't remember how it came up but I said that I'd never been in an accident.

"Really? You've never been in an accident? Not a fender bender? Or someone's car that you dinged and drove away."

"Um. No. Knock on wood I've never been in an accident."

"Well. It's bound to happen."

Mouth agape I said, "That is an awful thing to say and I don't know why you'd even say something like that."

"Well I've been in nine."

"Then apparently you're a really bad driver."

I have to give a shout out to the wait staff at this place though. They could tell I was dying a slow bad date death and God love 'em they would stop by the table to see how we were doing.

Then he made a comment about how I drink a lot.

"Wait what do you mean?"

"Well every time I talk to you you're always coming from drinks or going to get drinks or were at the L Street Tavern."

"Um so. That means I'm social. And I've been to L Street twice."

"Nope. Three times." And he actually held up three fingers.

"Um..."

"I remember three specific times that you've said you were at L Street."

"Ok. What are the times?"

"Oh you want me to recall them right now?"

"What? You don't remember now? Don't let your mouth write a check your ass can't cash my friend." (And no that is not a Lisa Gradie original...unfortunately. But you can use it.)

He picked up the check for the one pitcher of sangria that we had. I glanced up at the game and there were 7 minutes left.

"So are we all set?" I needed to get away from this Bozo.

"Oh yeah." He stayed put.

"So can we go?"

"Oh...*glancing up at game* Ok."

Yeah. Let's move it.

We stood in front of the bar and I told him to drive safely back to Saugus. Now pay attention. I wish I made this up but it's all 110% true.

"Yes...back to Sausage."

"Wait..where?"

"Sausage."

"Ew. Why Sausage?"

"Because it's 95% Italian people."

"Um. I'm Italian."

"I know."

"Sausage huh? Not a meatball?"

"Well there's no connotation with a meatball."

I regarded him before I spoke. I looked him up and down and realized that this is not a person I'd even be friends with. In fact, this is a person I'd probably make fun of and terrorize simply because he's that annoying. I'd been nice, albeit argumentative, up to this point. I'd reached my boiling point. The straw had indeed broken that mother fucking camels back. So I said:

"A sausage. Interesting. So being Jewish do you enjoy when people use the typical Jewish stereotypes with you? Do you welcome that?"

He mumbled some sarcastic answer and I said, "Thanks for the drink. Have a good one."

I turned on my heel and fled. I fled as fast as the ice covered sidewalks could take me back to Susi and back to the people who don't annoy the shit out of me.

The End.

My near date with the Grand Wizard

This is a true story (ta-RUUUUUUUUUUUUUE STORAY!!)

So I'm on the phone last night with a wannabe suitor. We'd been talking regularly over the last week and decided to bump this thing up to the next level (aka: cut the phone bullshit and actually meet). So we confirm eachother for Wednesday. Time/place to be determined. Fine.

We move on to other topics. For the most part he's nice, easy to talk to, not ugly and thinks I'm the funniest thing since sliced bread. So we start talking about work and he asks me how my day was and I go into detail. Then the following conversation takes place:

Dude: "Yeah, there's this black guy at my work who wants to beat me up."

Damsel (moi): "Uuuh....really? Why?"

Dude: "Well I guess he thinks I'm a wise ass. I said something and he just wants to beat me up."

Damsel: "Oh. Ok."

Dude: "Yeah. But I mean lots of black people are really lazy."

Damsel (horrified): "Uuuh what?"

Dude: "Yeah. I mean I'm friends with a lot of them, so I'm like, being sort of hypocritical now, but a lot of them are just so lazy."

Damsel: "Uh. Ok....?"

We hung up without any further mention of Wednesday but thus far I've already received a text message and a call tonight is sure to follow. I'm not trying to make myself out to be a victim here but the impending phone calls and voicemails asking where I am are giving me serious anxiety. I realize I should have called him out right when he said something but I was too horrified to go there. I don't know him and I wasn't in the mood to perform any sort of reprogramming.

But honestly. Who says that?! Like even if you think it, why on earth would you say that? Forget about the fact that it's not true, you sound like an uneducated, ignorant schmuck!

It's like when I watch the Real World and there's always that one hick person who's like "Way-ell shucks! I didn't know it wasn't right to call black people the N word. I just thought everyone did it!."

First of all. You grew up watching the Real World, so the second Julie walked into that loft apartment in Manhattan all wide-eyed, not having a clue what any other race other than white meant, you knew that it was wrong to think that way. And you even got another reminder 10 years later from Mike, the guy from Parma, OH. So there's no excuse.

I realize I have high standards and a lot of guys don't meet those standards. Which is fine. I'd rather stay single than stoop to certain levels. But I mean you're 30, you live in Boston and it's the year 2007. Get a clue.

I'll be honest. I'm not entirely sure what happened with this one.

I went on a date with this one guy a couple of weeks ago and as of now it has not yielded a response. Hence why I'm sharing said experience with you all. I don't blog about the good dates, only the bad ones or the awkward experiences that come from so called "good" dates. Why? Because the bad ones are always so much more entertaining.

So I meet up with this guy for drinks. (sidebar: establishing a date as "meeting up for drinks" is perfect because it is a good way to gauge how the date is going. If you meet up for drinks and you end the date at just a drink then you know that either you're not interested or he's not interested. But if you meet up for drinks and drinks turn into dinner and dinner turns into coffee or dessert or a walk around after then you know the date is going somewhere. This is crucial information for later in my story.) We meet at a local bar in South Boston and our conversation is good. It's a little slow at first but once I down my first Gin & Tonic and the Red Sox come on, it's fine.

He suggests we grab something to eat. Ok.

We then begin the obligatory "So....Uuuuhhh (insert awkward coughing and shifting in chair) what other experiences have you had with meeting people from online?"

I tell him my story about the guy who said I wasn't funny. Then he told a story about how he had sex with the very first person he ever met online on their first date and how she turned out to be crazy because she bought him jeans the next day. Or something like that.

I was a little taken aback by him telling me that, but actually thought it was kind of funny. And the two glasses of Riesling and two Gin & Tonics and four pieces of lettuce I had DEFINITELY thought it was funny. So I busted out laughing and started pointing and waving my finger back and forth between the two of us and said, "Jusssshh scho you know....that....(pause, pause, point, point) is not happening tonight my friend."

It was supposed to be funny.

The date progresses. We talk about family and we both think it is oh so interesting how our parents are both still married and then he told me a really long story about a road trip he took through Nebraska with his little brother. His stories were peppered with lots of drunken shenanigans but I liked talking to him and thought it was funny.

It was about 9pm. I was tipsy enough that I wasn't falling off of the bar stool but I was kind of talking in circles and using my hands a lot. Somehow the topic of coffee came up and Date goes, "We should get coffee."

I looked at him and said, "When?"

"Um. How about now?"

I wondered to myself if he was trying to sober me up because he thought I was bombed. He must have noticed the look of "WTF" on my face because he said, "Don't get me wrong, I'm having a really good time, I just can't drink alcohol anymore." And gave me a look as if to say "Ya know what I mean??"

Tooootally.  Plus I never turn down coffee.

"Ok," I said. "There really isn't anywhere around here to go and get coffee though. Like there isn't a Starbucks or anything....buuuuuuuut....there is a 7-Eleven across the street."

He laughed, paid the bill and we were on our way.

We walked into 7-Eleven and I was immediately met by my friends. You see, I'm sort of a legend at the 7-Eleven in Southie on East Broadway. Abu, the guy who's the franchisee and his wife Perun are like the ONLY people I'm nice to in the morning when I get my coffee. My sister can attest to this. So we entered the doors and were met with a chorus of "Helloooo Lisa!!!"

"Hey guys! Hey Abu! How's it going Perun? When is the baby due??"

"Ooooh not for another four months."

"Well ya look great!"

I shimmied Date over to the iced coffee battalion and then schooled him on the perfect ice to 7-Eleven Iced Coffee ratio to put in your 28oz cup. It was cute. I must say that I was very cute in this particular moment. I mean I was a little buzzed but it was all very endearing.

I paid for the coffee and then we headed down the street and started to walk around. We walked down L Street, down Columbia and back up K street. We came to the top of K street where I was parked (yes, by this time I was OK to drive) and said, "Ok well here's my car."

It's possible that this isn't true but I thought I saw a look of annoyance cross over his face. I mean, yeah we were having a good time but it was 10:30pm. I had been in the same clothes since 7:30am. What did he want to do walk around South Boston for the rest of the night? I had to go to bed. We both agreed that we had a good time and we both stated that we were both busy the upcoming weekend but we'd give each other a call.

Cool. I waited for the normal next day "I had a good time" email which I always get because I always give a good time on a first date. It never came.

I have to say that this was the first date in a long time that I left thinking, "Hmm...that went well. I'm actually looking forward to a second date."

I go into blind dates not expecting a whole helluva a lot. You could say there's been a rough patch. There was the guy who didn't think I was funny. The guy who decided not to see me any more over email. The gay school teacher who recited show tunes throughout our sushi date.

But I persevere because, well, why not?

So I never heard anything from this guy and the following Monday (we met on the Tuesday before) I shot him an email asking how his weekend was and did he catch any live ones? (He went fishing with the family. Cute right?) I get this ghetto ass email back the next day saying, "Weekend was good. Caught some fish. How was your weekend?"

I read said ghetto email and thought how, once again, I wasted my time having drinks with some guy when I could have been having a much better time with myself watching the premier of So You Think You Can Dance?

It blows my mind. It really does. Unless this kid was a player and had like four dates to get to after me, it really doesn't make a lot of sense. I've been doing the dating thing for a while now. This was text book. Hell if Jack Bauer were here he'd have taken notes and then run a CTU Sting Operation using the sheer precision of the date as guidelines.