Tonight I have to thank my best friend, Spicy Jalapeno (SJ), as there are very few people who would put up with my antics, or more accurately the antics that seem to find us when we are out and about in Denver. SJ deserves a second thanks because tonight I turned her into a crazy social alcoholic! Yes, it was another happy hour for the two of us that turned into a late night which finds me home and typing at 10:00 pm with another day of work waiting to be tackled tomorrow.
I arrived at the pub early with the intent of checking out the guys to see if there might be anyone of interest drinking a beer at the bar. There was one guy sitting behind me who kept asking me to watch his laptop while he went to the bathroom. Unfortunately, his full beard was far from a turn-on and I thought nothing of him.
SJ and I were well into an evening of sharing work war stories when a waitress who had served us a week or so before stopped by our table to say hello. She said she remembered me because she had overheard a story I was telling about my date with the pizza thief. A few minutes later she introduced us to “DC.” We said a polite hello, but went back to our “girl time.” Then, a guy sits down with “DC,” and I recognize him as non other than Limon. We said a hello, he gave me a hug and that was that. SJ and I went about our laughing and criticism of the 12 year old surfer wanabes that were hanging out outside smoking. Limon and DC go outside for a smoke and then their table is taken, so they ask to join us. DC is flirting with me, telling me that asking me to watch his computer was his way of flirting. I was uninterested in pursuing a hook-up with DC- did I mention that he had a full beard, a trucker DC hat and a watch with so much bling it was embarrassing? I was only half engaging in the conversation and SJ was getting tired and knew that the evening was going nowhere fast. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, SJ suddenly tells DC, “look, I think you are a nice guy, but there is no love connection here. I have known her for 27 years and she is not the girl for you.” The look on his face could not be read as anything but hurt feelings. So, in an attempt to ease the hurt we indicated that SJ is a social alcoholic who didn’t know what she was saying and that it was time for me to drive her home -- a blatant lie and the selfless act of a true friend. On our way out SJ moved towards the door and I went to say good-bye to DC. He asked me to come by the pizzeria without my alcoholic friend and then he puts his hand on the back of my head and tries to pull me in for a kiss. I pulled away and said, “there is no way that is going to happen.”
Again, big thanks to Spicy Jalapeño, who for one night was my crazy social alcoholic friend!!!
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Match
Everyone says that dating is nothing more than a numbers game, just like those pesky slot machines in Vegas. Yes, the more you play the more likely you are to win but just like those Vegas machines, more often then not you walk away a looser. Well, in order to get out those and play number names I decided to hit the internet. Unfortunately, due to a pending pay cut and the fact that I hadn’t paid off my most recent overseas trip, I was forced to try my hand at one of the more inexpensive dating sights, which might have been my first mistake. After weeks of getting no emails and finding that my profile was being looked at 30-40 year old military men, dressed in camouflage and showing themselves off in Afghanistan or Iraq with their machines guns I finally received a “wink” from what seemed like a viable candidate. So when 27 year old Match emailed me with a normal looking picture and an even more normal looking profile I was hopeful that maybe this internet thing would pay off.
We met at a nice restaurant in Cherry Creek and had a glass of wine. He was nice enough, sure there were some problematic signs, he didn’t ask me too many questions about myself and when I did tell him the name of the non-profit where I worked he got a smirk on his face and told me that he use to be quite conservative. So, we bantered back and forth about politics and then he made some random statements about how Jewish men were emasculated and Jewish women wore the pants in the family. I could have told you right then and there that this date was going nowhere fast.
We had more wine, definitely one glass too many. When he reached into his pocket and suavely pulled out chap stick and applied it to his lips with a smirk in his eye I should have found a reason to end the night, but the wine was clouding my judgment. As the night went on he started ogling my breasts, moving closer and touching my leg. The night came to a screeching halt, when in the middle of the bar he leans over with a lecherous look and says, “I want to bite your breast” and ends his sentence with a half sneer and bit in my direction. What can I say, except to reiterate that the evening came to a screeching halt and I dragged my wasted self out of the bar and home to bed.
Everyone says that dating is nothing more than a numbers game, just like those pesky slot machines in Vegas. Yes, the more you play the more likely you are to win but just like those Vegas machines, more often then not you walk away a looser. Well, in order to get out those and play number names I decided to hit the internet. Unfortunately, due to a pending pay cut and the fact that I hadn’t paid off my most recent overseas trip, I was forced to try my hand at one of the more inexpensive dating sights, which might have been my first mistake. After weeks of getting no emails and finding that my profile was being looked at 30-40 year old military men, dressed in camouflage and showing themselves off in Afghanistan or Iraq with their machines guns I finally received a “wink” from what seemed like a viable candidate. So when 27 year old Match emailed me with a normal looking picture and an even more normal looking profile I was hopeful that maybe this internet thing would pay off.
We met at a nice restaurant in Cherry Creek and had a glass of wine. He was nice enough, sure there were some problematic signs, he didn’t ask me too many questions about myself and when I did tell him the name of the non-profit where I worked he got a smirk on his face and told me that he use to be quite conservative. So, we bantered back and forth about politics and then he made some random statements about how Jewish men were emasculated and Jewish women wore the pants in the family. I could have told you right then and there that this date was going nowhere fast.
We had more wine, definitely one glass too many. When he reached into his pocket and suavely pulled out chap stick and applied it to his lips with a smirk in his eye I should have found a reason to end the night, but the wine was clouding my judgment. As the night went on he started ogling my breasts, moving closer and touching my leg. The night came to a screeching halt, when in the middle of the bar he leans over with a lecherous look and says, “I want to bite your breast” and ends his sentence with a half sneer and bit in my direction. What can I say, except to reiterate that the evening came to a screeching halt and I dragged my wasted self out of the bar and home to bed.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Limon Take Two
I was just getting ready to settle in for another Saturday night when my friends called me. They were getting drinks at the same restaurant that I ate at the night before and convinced me to get out of my pajamas and meet them for one drink. When I got to the restaurant and joined my friends at the bar I noticed that the cute waiter, Limon, from the other night was working. Like many nights, one drink turned into two and soon it was 10:00 pm. Limon finished up work and came and sat down next to me at the bar. We started talking and I found out that he had been living in Spain for the last three months and that he had recently been to Costa Rica- a place that is high on my list of places to see. We chatted for a while and then I got up to leave with my friends. Limon asked for my number. I hope he calls…
I was just getting ready to settle in for another Saturday night when my friends called me. They were getting drinks at the same restaurant that I ate at the night before and convinced me to get out of my pajamas and meet them for one drink. When I got to the restaurant and joined my friends at the bar I noticed that the cute waiter, Limon, from the other night was working. Like many nights, one drink turned into two and soon it was 10:00 pm. Limon finished up work and came and sat down next to me at the bar. We started talking and I found out that he had been living in Spain for the last three months and that he had recently been to Costa Rica- a place that is high on my list of places to see. We chatted for a while and then I got up to leave with my friends. Limon asked for my number. I hope he calls…
Friday, June 19, 2009
Limon
Tonight I met of mine tonight at a local restaurant to reminisce about recent travels and to enjoy some Peruvian food. It was our waiter’s first night on the job. While I cannot say that he was a good waiter, but both of us thought that he was pretty damn cute. So, what to do in these situations? Once or twice in the past I have left my number on the bill, but on this occasion I left without leaving my phone number. I know, not the most exciting night for a single gal looking for love.
Tonight I met of mine tonight at a local restaurant to reminisce about recent travels and to enjoy some Peruvian food. It was our waiter’s first night on the job. While I cannot say that he was a good waiter, but both of us thought that he was pretty damn cute. So, what to do in these situations? Once or twice in the past I have left my number on the bill, but on this occasion I left without leaving my phone number. I know, not the most exciting night for a single gal looking for love.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Dick
On a recent date, Dick and I started talking about those mundane subjects that usually come up on first dates like family and hobbies. Early on in the conversation, Dick asked me the predictable question about pets. I told him a little bit about my cat and then returned the question. He answered that yes, he had a dog named Cheney. The first thought that ran through my mind, “Shit, are you fucking kidding me???” Giving him the benefit of the doubt, hoping that he chose that name because Cheney is a family name, or that when he kicks the dog it is because he is trying to make a political statement. Of course, there was no such luck. Instead my dates response was “I LOVE Cheney. He is the ultimate man, my hero.” The second thought that ran through my mind was “oh please, someone shoot me, put me out of my misery.”
As the date goes on the fact that our morals, values and ultimate outlook on life could not be any further apart could not become any more apparent. We part and I promptly went home and texted my friend: “Just went out with a criminal who named his dog Cheney. Think I should give him another chance?”
On a recent date, Dick and I started talking about those mundane subjects that usually come up on first dates like family and hobbies. Early on in the conversation, Dick asked me the predictable question about pets. I told him a little bit about my cat and then returned the question. He answered that yes, he had a dog named Cheney. The first thought that ran through my mind, “Shit, are you fucking kidding me???” Giving him the benefit of the doubt, hoping that he chose that name because Cheney is a family name, or that when he kicks the dog it is because he is trying to make a political statement. Of course, there was no such luck. Instead my dates response was “I LOVE Cheney. He is the ultimate man, my hero.” The second thought that ran through my mind was “oh please, someone shoot me, put me out of my misery.”
As the date goes on the fact that our morals, values and ultimate outlook on life could not be any further apart could not become any more apparent. We part and I promptly went home and texted my friend: “Just went out with a criminal who named his dog Cheney. Think I should give him another chance?”
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
The Thug
He stood casually hanging out against the wall, chatting with people as they passed. Slightly better dressed than most of the men in this crowed bar, on average much taller, and sporting a shaved head that fitted his angular features. Ok, so I was attracted at first glance. He definitely had that "thug" look that I like. He glanced over my way and I shot him a smile and returned my attention to “the guy I had been talking to, and ironically had been out on a date with several years before. The fact that I was at this stupid party, or should I say Jewish meat market, was mostly due to peer pressure. Additionaly, my willingness to talk to almost anyone came from the challenge my best friends had made earlier that night: talk to at least 10 guys I didn’t know during the party. Thankfully I had enough sense not to follow their other suggestion that I start my conversations with: “I like your pants.”
I was feeling a bit sassy and was not going to make the first move- hell, let him make the first move for a change. As soon as hockey guy got up, the thug approached and sat down and introduced himself with one of the heaviest Brooklyn accents I had ever heard. As we chatted I tried not to laugh because his accent, bald head, and his angular features only further lead into my first impression of him as a "thug." I casually asked him what he did for a living and The Thug responded that he had his own business, supplying cheese and sauce to pizza restaurants. Ok. A little unconventional, but I like pizza. He took my number and we parted ways. A few days later The Thug called and we made plans to meet up for coffee. He was either neurotic or nervous because he kept repeating the time and place of the date over and over again until my cell phone cut him off.
I was sitting at the coffee bar when The Thug arrived. After getting his coffee and the usual opening pleasantries, I asked him to tell me more about his business. He looked me in the eye and said in that heavy accent, “Look, I am going to be honest with you.” I already had a feeling that this was not going to be my soul mate, but conversations that start with that statement usually implies an impending doom. “I am into hot sales,” he continues. “Hot sales,” I asked confused. ! Sensing my confusion, he opens his jacket, glances down in a sly manner and says, “It almost like those guys on the street who say hey, you wanna buy a watch.” The Thug goes on to tell me that he has friends that work at a local pizza joint who smuggles pizzas out the back door. He the travels around the state and approaches different businesses with the line that the pizza place screwed up a large order and that he needs to get rid of them. He tells them he will sell them the pizzas, or a few slices for ½ price.
That is the long version; the short version is I really am on a date with a thug who sells stolen pizzas for a living. To make matters worse, yes worse, he has been doing this for 10 years!!! 10 years, not as a part-time side job to make extra money, but 10 years as a full-time job At this point I am perched on my stool with thousands of exit strategies running though my mind, unable to settle on any one fast enough.
He stood casually hanging out against the wall, chatting with people as they passed. Slightly better dressed than most of the men in this crowed bar, on average much taller, and sporting a shaved head that fitted his angular features. Ok, so I was attracted at first glance. He definitely had that "thug" look that I like. He glanced over my way and I shot him a smile and returned my attention to “the guy I had been talking to, and ironically had been out on a date with several years before. The fact that I was at this stupid party, or should I say Jewish meat market, was mostly due to peer pressure. Additionaly, my willingness to talk to almost anyone came from the challenge my best friends had made earlier that night: talk to at least 10 guys I didn’t know during the party. Thankfully I had enough sense not to follow their other suggestion that I start my conversations with: “I like your pants.”
I was feeling a bit sassy and was not going to make the first move- hell, let him make the first move for a change. As soon as hockey guy got up, the thug approached and sat down and introduced himself with one of the heaviest Brooklyn accents I had ever heard. As we chatted I tried not to laugh because his accent, bald head, and his angular features only further lead into my first impression of him as a "thug." I casually asked him what he did for a living and The Thug responded that he had his own business, supplying cheese and sauce to pizza restaurants. Ok. A little unconventional, but I like pizza. He took my number and we parted ways. A few days later The Thug called and we made plans to meet up for coffee. He was either neurotic or nervous because he kept repeating the time and place of the date over and over again until my cell phone cut him off.
I was sitting at the coffee bar when The Thug arrived. After getting his coffee and the usual opening pleasantries, I asked him to tell me more about his business. He looked me in the eye and said in that heavy accent, “Look, I am going to be honest with you.” I already had a feeling that this was not going to be my soul mate, but conversations that start with that statement usually implies an impending doom. “I am into hot sales,” he continues. “Hot sales,” I asked confused. ! Sensing my confusion, he opens his jacket, glances down in a sly manner and says, “It almost like those guys on the street who say hey, you wanna buy a watch.” The Thug goes on to tell me that he has friends that work at a local pizza joint who smuggles pizzas out the back door. He the travels around the state and approaches different businesses with the line that the pizza place screwed up a large order and that he needs to get rid of them. He tells them he will sell them the pizzas, or a few slices for ½ price.
That is the long version; the short version is I really am on a date with a thug who sells stolen pizzas for a living. To make matters worse, yes worse, he has been doing this for 10 years!!! 10 years, not as a part-time side job to make extra money, but 10 years as a full-time job At this point I am perched on my stool with thousands of exit strategies running though my mind, unable to settle on any one fast enough.
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