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| Found on Pinterest HERE |
The man that decided I was his mom:
I met a guy through a mutual friend at a dinner party. We will call him Ted. Ted was a tall man with black hair, brown eyes, and slightly over tanned skin. His passions? Cars - of course- and the occasional horse race. He was 23 with a good head on his shoulders. Our first date took place at this restaurant called Peohe's. We met at Peohe's, because I didn't trust just anyone to drive me over the enormous Coronado bridge. Once we were seated and waiting for our cuisine, we began chattering about our likes, dislikes. You know, the usual. After about 12 minutes of talking, our food arrived and I have to say, I couldn't of been happier. Ted was non-stop talking about himself and every time I tried to relate, he turned it to how he was amazing, how he was better than absolutely everyone, and how anyone within his personal space should know how lucky they are. Trying to be nice, I sat around to finish my food and was more than willing to split the check and dip. Unfortunately Ted wouldn't take no for an answer and insisted we enjoy dessert "like civilized high class people". Yes he really said that to me. During our dessert, he pulled out the baby voice. No, I don't mean how we talk to cute adorable children or dogs, but how an ACTUAL baby talks. To make matters worse, he thought he was being....sexy. That's right, he thought he was turning me on and wanted me to play "mommy". He asked if I'd feed him with airplane sound affects, at the restaurant, and then wipe his mouth while "sweetly talking to him as if I had pushed him out my uterus". Tell me that isn't the creepiest thing someone can tell you! Needless to say, I excused myself to the restroom, handed the waitress a $20 for my part of the bill, and drove home immediately after blocking Ted from being able to ever contact me again.
The man that was an aspiring hair stylist:
During an outing at the grocery store, a man approached me saying he wanted to get to know me. We exchanged phone numbers and began what was to be an extremely frustrating couple of days. We will call him Leo. He was Italian, over 6 foot, and had a thick accent. Very easy on the eyes. Our first date was at the beach during night time, with a candle lit dinner that he cooked himself. I thought it was extremely sweet, so I wasn't too concerned. We set up a blanket, he lit the candles, and we started to eat. Leo told me he was going to school to be a hair stylist and since I was wearing my hair down, he was curious if I'd let him style it. I politely told him no thank you, but maybe some other time as I really didn't feel like having sandy hair. After we finished eating, Leo decided to we should go for a little walk along the shore line and end it with a simple massage. Him doing the massaging. I felt a little uneasy about the whole "rubbing my shoulders" thing, but after a long day I wasn't exactly objecting to it either. We made our way back to the blanket, where Leo began his "infamous massage" that apparently no one can resist. Strike one - no one wants to know about how you "subdue" people with your hands on the first date. At least not me. Then he begins massaging my head and talking about my follicles. How they could use a good conditioning treatment, because I haven't been nice to them. Strike two - why would you complain about my hair if I spent an hour straightening it just for this date. Do you think I like burning my scalp? Then as I was tuning him out and just trying to relax, I heard it. Snip. What...the...hell. This crazy man decided to literally chop off INCHES of my hair! His excuse? "Well now you HAVE to let me style it if you don't want to walk around with a horrible haircut." Pissed, I stood up, grabbed his scissors, threw them towards the ocean, and stormed off to a nearby diner that was still open. As I walked away, I could hear Leo scream in horror and run towards his "baby" aka his scissors. Unfortunately this time I was picked up at my friends house, so I didn't have a car to drive away in. I called my friend and explained how Leo had gone full blown psychotic and was picked up within a few minutes. I got my hair taken care of, but I was sporting a REALLY short hair style for a few years, until it finally grew back to his original length.
The man who loved poop:
At my school there was this guy who I couldn't help but fall for. He was smart, unique, could sing, sporty, and super sweet. We will call him Ryan. I finally gained up the courage and decided to ask Ryan on a date. Look at me, being all "modern" and what not. We went for coffee one morning at a nearby cafe on a Saturday morning, where we started to discuss how we "felt" about certain things in the world. He was a bit of a hippie, and I'll admit to you all now, I'm a bit of a hippie myself, but what is known as a "modernized hippie". The discussion was a bit interesting and I was willing to speak my personal opinion on certain topics, such as tiny houses, politics, extinct animals, and a topic that I didn't see coming. Poop. I don't mean the infamous emoji, I mean the stuff that happens at the end of your digestive tract. Regardless, it shouldn't be considered a discussion worthy topic, but apparently to Ryan it was. He started to talk about how we as humans don't poop enough and how he wants to start a revolution to freely talk about out poop just as we would clothing. He even wanted to create a "kickstart" campaign for his "poop shirt" business. The shirts said "Let's seriously talk about our poop". On the back, he wanted pictures of poop in different "forms". Not cartoon drawings, REAL pictures. I decided to try and politely create some sort of excuse to get the heck out of the coffee shop, where everyone within ear shot of us was starting to mumble about the "disgusting discussion". After not being able to interrupt his speed talk due to him speaking up every time I tried to say anything, a lady with her giggling daughter stood up, walked to the barista, made a comment that was most likely referring to us as she pointed our way, and made a very disturbed face. A moment later, as expected, the barista named Emily made her way to our table and asked if we could stop talking loudly about "inappropriate things, because it was disruptive to others" or we could excuse ourselves quietly. Ryan was livid. He stood up and screamed "we can't be ashamed of poop! It's a natural movement within our bodies that needs to be freely talked about in order to keep us from bursting our intestines! If we don't take a stand now, we will all die from impacted poop!" I shuttered in fear and turned beat red, but while he was on his rampage I snuck out the door and drove away, continuing to avoid him at all costs while at school.
The man that was an aspiring hair stylist:
During an outing at the grocery store, a man approached me saying he wanted to get to know me. We exchanged phone numbers and began what was to be an extremely frustrating couple of days. We will call him Leo. He was Italian, over 6 foot, and had a thick accent. Very easy on the eyes. Our first date was at the beach during night time, with a candle lit dinner that he cooked himself. I thought it was extremely sweet, so I wasn't too concerned. We set up a blanket, he lit the candles, and we started to eat. Leo told me he was going to school to be a hair stylist and since I was wearing my hair down, he was curious if I'd let him style it. I politely told him no thank you, but maybe some other time as I really didn't feel like having sandy hair. After we finished eating, Leo decided to we should go for a little walk along the shore line and end it with a simple massage. Him doing the massaging. I felt a little uneasy about the whole "rubbing my shoulders" thing, but after a long day I wasn't exactly objecting to it either. We made our way back to the blanket, where Leo began his "infamous massage" that apparently no one can resist. Strike one - no one wants to know about how you "subdue" people with your hands on the first date. At least not me. Then he begins massaging my head and talking about my follicles. How they could use a good conditioning treatment, because I haven't been nice to them. Strike two - why would you complain about my hair if I spent an hour straightening it just for this date. Do you think I like burning my scalp? Then as I was tuning him out and just trying to relax, I heard it. Snip. What...the...hell. This crazy man decided to literally chop off INCHES of my hair! His excuse? "Well now you HAVE to let me style it if you don't want to walk around with a horrible haircut." Pissed, I stood up, grabbed his scissors, threw them towards the ocean, and stormed off to a nearby diner that was still open. As I walked away, I could hear Leo scream in horror and run towards his "baby" aka his scissors. Unfortunately this time I was picked up at my friends house, so I didn't have a car to drive away in. I called my friend and explained how Leo had gone full blown psychotic and was picked up within a few minutes. I got my hair taken care of, but I was sporting a REALLY short hair style for a few years, until it finally grew back to his original length.
The man who loved poop:
At my school there was this guy who I couldn't help but fall for. He was smart, unique, could sing, sporty, and super sweet. We will call him Ryan. I finally gained up the courage and decided to ask Ryan on a date. Look at me, being all "modern" and what not. We went for coffee one morning at a nearby cafe on a Saturday morning, where we started to discuss how we "felt" about certain things in the world. He was a bit of a hippie, and I'll admit to you all now, I'm a bit of a hippie myself, but what is known as a "modernized hippie". The discussion was a bit interesting and I was willing to speak my personal opinion on certain topics, such as tiny houses, politics, extinct animals, and a topic that I didn't see coming. Poop. I don't mean the infamous emoji, I mean the stuff that happens at the end of your digestive tract. Regardless, it shouldn't be considered a discussion worthy topic, but apparently to Ryan it was. He started to talk about how we as humans don't poop enough and how he wants to start a revolution to freely talk about out poop just as we would clothing. He even wanted to create a "kickstart" campaign for his "poop shirt" business. The shirts said "Let's seriously talk about our poop". On the back, he wanted pictures of poop in different "forms". Not cartoon drawings, REAL pictures. I decided to try and politely create some sort of excuse to get the heck out of the coffee shop, where everyone within ear shot of us was starting to mumble about the "disgusting discussion". After not being able to interrupt his speed talk due to him speaking up every time I tried to say anything, a lady with her giggling daughter stood up, walked to the barista, made a comment that was most likely referring to us as she pointed our way, and made a very disturbed face. A moment later, as expected, the barista named Emily made her way to our table and asked if we could stop talking loudly about "inappropriate things, because it was disruptive to others" or we could excuse ourselves quietly. Ryan was livid. He stood up and screamed "we can't be ashamed of poop! It's a natural movement within our bodies that needs to be freely talked about in order to keep us from bursting our intestines! If we don't take a stand now, we will all die from impacted poop!" I shuttered in fear and turned beat red, but while he was on his rampage I snuck out the door and drove away, continuing to avoid him at all costs while at school.
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| Found on Pinterest HERE |
And there you have it. Three completely failed dates. Now you know why I don't feel like dating anytime soon. Being that I'm almost 25, I think dedicating all my time to motherhood, and work, is well worth it. Maybe when I'm older I'll have a better tolerance to all the disasters that may follow. I see myself as a majestic rarity that holds higher standards than any of the men mentioned above. So for now, it's me and my young padawan. Just the way we like it!
What are some of your disaster dates?
What are some of your disaster dates?
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