By popular demand, the retelling of the worst date in history. Enjoy.
Okay, seriously, I went on what was most likely the worst date ever last night ... well, two nights ago now.
It started out fairly entertaining with witty banter and Mexican dishes, although mine should not have contained cheese. I was dumb and forgot to ask the waitress to drown my spinach enchiladas in some salsa or tomato sauce instead of the typical queso. But I didn't, and by the time they arrived, I ate the dairy-covered wraps, knowing that if I reordered them, it would only stretch this date into dreaded eternity. (Now, remember this fact because it will come into play later.)
How did I get from fun to eye-roll inducing? Well, it began with the "L.L. Bean Guy" monologue. "I want to be L.L. Bean Guy, with my XTerra, boots and tall socks and shorts" or "I can do that because I'm L.L. Bean Guy" kept creeping into our conversation, usually at the most awkward of moments. Maybe awkward isn't the correct term; I'll go with "never fitting the situation." I mean, I'm all for recalling a funny moment that can add on to the humor of a current one (I've done it before and the technique's worked well), but to randomly insert it into conversation is confusing and quite frankly one of the most annoying things ever, especially when it happens about four or five times and when it wasn't funny to begin with.
Unfortunately, his humor didn't improve. It was like I was sitting across the table from a meld of Will Ferrell, Adam Sandler, Luke and Owen Wilson, and Vince Vaughn (feel free to add any frat boy movie actor in at any time). He kept repeating things in this high-pitched whisper and then laughing hysterically. Forced laughs from me were abound like rabbits in springtime, let me tell you.
Then, he was rude to the waitress. I have been a waitress for over a year, and so this was exceptionally telling to me. Apparently, she had nothing better to do than wait on us. It took me a while to decide what I wanted because it all had cheese and nothing looked good to me. I finally decided on the spinach enchiladas, with plans to ask her to hold the cheese on top. As she walked by to go greet another table, he grabbed her (literally) and said, "We're ready. I'll have the" whatever he ordered. I just glared at him and apologized to the waitress, although I think both she and he thought I was saying sorry for my delayed order. Okay, so I'm not a complete traditionalist, but in every other date I've been on, the guy let me order first. That's the way my dad is and so I expect it. But that was the minor thing. He just rudely stopped the waitress, obviously throwing her off. And it wouldn't be so bad if he hadn't done it again later when we ordered dessert. At that point, she was exasperated so she told him that he would have to wait a few minutes before she put in the order.
So while we were waiting, we chatted a bit and it was very informative. I apparently am a moron because I don't like Cheesitz. Or Cheesits. Or however the hell you're supposed to spell it. I don't care, because I don't like them. I don't like them because I can't eat them; they make me sick. Literally. Then, I am also weird for liking celery, which, according to my date, is just a plant filled with water and is not a food. Um. Well, most vegetables are just plants filled with water, as is, actually most food. Water is the most abundant nutrient is, as far as I know, all foods. And celery is a food. And it's a good snack. Not nutritious, as it requires more energy to break it down than it offers, but it's healthy, especially with peanut butter spread on top for the protein. I had debates on both of these topics. And I'm sorry, the way to getting a girl to like you is not to mock her eating choices, especially since most of mine are due to the fact that I'm allergic to dairy. Good work, buddy.
During the times he wasn't referencing his love for the L.L. Bean lifestyle, laughing at my diet choices and making the waitress working harder than she needed to, there was pretty much silence. For those of you who know me well know that I can talk to anyone and anything with little effort. Just ask the right questions and you will always get a response. Plus, when we had talked on the phone, we literally chatted on for about four or five hours. Two days in a row. With never a dull moment or a retarded joke.
By the time our desserts arrived, my stomach was starting the churn. That stupid cheese. Or I guess it could have been my savior, had I heeded it's rumblings. I ate my sopapilla sans ice cream and whipped cream (He called it my honey-covered cracker, to which I sarcastically smiled. Thanks, I know my dessert sucks. If I could, I would be eating fried ice cream like you, ass). And finally, when she laid down the check, I tried to reach for the bill to see what my half was, but he grabbed it. Okay, he got a cool point there. (And oh, my GOODNESS, he kept awarding himself cool points throughout the meal. Growl.) We waited for the waitress to bring back the black book and he tried to make me slap the ice cream with a spoon. Yes. You read that correctly. And he was offended that I didn't know it somehow was a reference to "Forgetting Sarah Marshall," a movie I never plan to see. And he was offended that there were other movies topping my to-see list. Okay, whatever, dude.
By then, I had forgotten that this was only half of our date. Yay, now we get to go to a movie. I could have and should have left at this point, and my excuse could have been my stomach. It wouldn't have been a lie and he would have saved about thirty dollars. But I followed him in my car to the theater and begrudgingly got out of my car. My only criteria for what we watched: it had to be short. We picked "Underworld: Rise of the Lycans." Honestly, not that bad of a movie. No award winner, to be sure, but it was entertaining enough. And it left me strangely attracted to Michael Sheen. Why did Kate Beckinsale leave him? Anyway, while we were waiting for the previews to start, he figured this would be a perfect opportunity to throw in some jokes. Only this time, they were downright making fun of me: "Oh, my name's Jenn and I am lactose-intolerant and I ate cheese. My stomach hurts!" Those were his exact words that he repeated about fifteen times, in the same breathy, annoying voice I described earlier. Then he tried to convince me, "That's funny! Come on, it's funny!" No, seriously, it's really not. And it just got worse.
For those of you who know me, I hate being talked to during movies; some movies are more cerebral than others and if you miss one thing, you are lost later on in the movie. Granted, "U:RotL" was not one of these movies, but the visuals were stimulating. But he felt that it was time for the high five game. I don't know exactly what the hell he was doing, but every couple of things he said, he'd put up his hand in celebration. I regret doing it once (I needed help opening up my bottled water and I gave in, although he wanted a kiss on the cheek instead. Yeah, right) because it only egged him on. He finally told me that I was stingy in my handing out of high fives and I was just said, "Okay." Then, he put his hand right next to my face, saying that he wasn't going to move it until I gave him a high five. I was so irritated at this point that I just let him put it there. How old are you, four?? And if that wasn't bad enough, he started pushing my face. Yes, friends. He actually took his hand and pushed my face, saying, "You're giving me a face high five." You have no idea how mad I was growing. I was considering punching him right in the jaw and leaving, but violence is not the answer. Instead I shot him a dirty look, and thank GOD, he left me alone for the remainder of the movie.
However, the final nail in the coffin was when he left his Sour Skittles wrapper in the floor. When I asked him if he was going to throw it away, he told me that everyone else left their trash. I wryly grinned and held up my empty box of Junior Mints, which I promptly threw into the trash can. We pretty much walked in silence out to the parking lot. The good-bye was understandably awkward with no eye contact and a false "I had fun." I almost sprinted to my car, saying aloud, "Won't be hearing from him again." Oh, and I forgot to mention that I called both my mother and my friend during the drive to the movie to tell them how horrible this date was. My friend found it amusing as all get out, my mother wanted to know how much longer I would be out, and both couldn't figure out why I didn't just end the date. I really wish I had. But I wouldn't have this fun story to tell.
At this point, I'm thinking Hell will include freezing temperatures and annoying man-children that only tell Will Ferrell-inspired "jokes." At least Will Ferrell is humorous most of the time, "Semi-Pro" not included. My God, I may never date again.