Me: I guess I should have known from the moment he insisted upon picking me up. Who does that nowadays anyway?
I asked about 30 people if this was normal, and they all insisted that in fact; there were some old fashioned men, who believed picking a girl up for a first date was critical. He was so insistent upon it that I finally just agreed.
Therapist: That’s not a bad thing per say…
Me: Maybe not, but then he rolls up in a limousine.
Therapist: What?
Me: Yeah, for a ‘met online – first date.’ By this point I’d already informed the neighbors of the date, and the general description, as well as approximate curfew. I told them if I didn’t turn out the front porch lights by midnight to call my Dad. By now, limousine or not, it’s too late to bail, so I get in the car. I opted to pass on the “opposites game” figuring at this point I’m stuck in a limo with the guy, so I might as well take it slow.
Therapist: Yes, I think retiring the Opposites Game is a great idea for the time being…
Me: So I proceed to ask him what brought him out to San Diego. He spent the next 15 minutes avoiding the original question entirely and very vaguely talking about his favorite music, favorite foods, etc.
Therapist: Well, that’s a good casual start.
Me: Yea, I thought so too, until we pulled up to the BACK entrance of the restaurant. He proceeded to tell me that this was one of the only spots in town he could ‘eat out’ at and that he personally knows the family that owns it.
Therapist: Personal service, something near and dear to his heart.
Me: Sure, until they escorted us to a dark hidden booth. The waiter walks up and my date orders “the usual” for himself, I began to open my mouth and he cuts me off and says, “and a champagne for the lady.”
Therapist: Wow.
Me: I mean, I’m not gonna lie, I was a little flattered, but then at the same time, there’s something in me ticking, counting down a big red warning that a bomb was about to explode.
Therapist: Intuition, it should never be ignored, that’s why we have it.
Me: Needless to say, the food comes (yet again, I noted, that we never saw menus, and he didn’t even place the order) and we eat. He didn’t let me interject, or say anything for the entire hour and I noted, that quite a few years were entirely missing from his ‘life story.’ Plus, he spits when he eats…I’m not sure if that is a side effect of the Italian accent, or if he just never went to finishing school.
About this time some random stranger with a completely incomprehensible heavy Italian accent comes over and my date suddenly excuses himself from the table. They rounded the corner, got into a bit of a heated discussion and he came back. En route I noticed he flagged the waiter for the check.
Therapist: Ok, this is beginning to get odd. What were you feeling?
Me: You mean besides my dry mouth? I absolutely refused to drink the champagne or the water by this point. I excused myself and went to the bathroom and began lapping up the water from the faucet like a dog does.
Therapist: Classic. Okay, Roofies avoided. Good news.
Me: So I pull out my wallet to split the bill, thinking this is the first and last date with the total weirdo. That’s when he grabs my wrist, steals my credit card and says, “That’s just offensive, do you want me to cut this up?”
I paused, and said, “Um, no…thank you for dinner.”
He mumbles, “Yeh Weeeylcum” and hands me back the card, then pulls out wads and wads of hundred dollar bills.
Therapist: Houston we have a problem! I have heard of scenario’s where men will withdraw money to impress a woman on a date, are you sure they were hundreds?
Me: Yes, positive, unless Benjamin Franklin recently landed a position on the $10 bill due to the economic crisis…(pausing to sip a glass of water).
So, he goes on to tell me that he loves karaoke, and has plans for us to go to the Lamplighter, a popular karaoke bar in town. By now, I’m thinking I don’t have much choice but to finish out the date and get home, the Lamplighter is a very public place and worst case, I have friends who live nearby.
So, the driver turns the car onto the Highway 52…Opposite direction of the karaoke place. My heart is literally thumping, as he says, “I notice you didn’t finish your champagne.”
“Oh, that…the bubbles…they um, give me REALLY bad gas.”
“Water too huh?”
“I sorta have a bladder infection right now, so it burns when I pee…so I’m sorta avoiding water.” I reply as I lean in towards the driver. “Excuse me, um, are we going to the Lamplighter?”
The 400 pound gorilla in the front seat that could have been The Rock’s twin replied, “Yea, we sure are.”
Which was less than comforting and at this point I began weighing my options…jump out of the moving car, through the window since the doors were child locked, or end up at the bottom of San Vicente Lake with cement in my shoes.
With further drilling on the route he was taking, the driver eventually turned off and headed back down the Highway 8 toward the karaoke place. By this point I’d already texted 15 friends informing them of the description of the vehicle, the driver, my date and the GPS location in the event they needed to put out an Amber Alert.
Therapist: Very smart.
Me: No, very smart would have been locking the door and cocking my shotgun when he came to pick me up in the limo.
So we get to the karaoke bar, and wouldn’t you know, he SIGNED ME UP for karaoke.
Therapist: What?
Me: Yeah, so they call my name, and sure enough, "Don't stop believin" by Journey starts up. I'm no Steve Perry, but I saw the end of Soprano's like the rest of America and nailed it. Before I finish the last money note, he comes up to the stage, grabs my hand and says “I love you.” THEN, he proceeds to drag me out of the karaoke place where the driver has the car waiting.
Therapist: What did you do?
Me: Have you ever seen a dog at the vet, you know how they dig their paws into the ground? That’s what I did, dug my Jimmy Choo’s straight into the asphault.
Therapist: (laughing) Sad waste of a good pair of shoes, but worth it. What did they make of this?
Me: Danny DeVito and Schwarzenegger thought I was drunk and just wanted to sing more. By this point they’d drug me half way to the car so I switched my strategy. I went totally limp, like how kids do when you are taking them for elementary school shots.
The Rock looks over at Mr. Mafioso and says, “WOW she just got really heavy didn’t she?”
Mr. Mafioso grunting says, “Yea, she looks tall and skinny, must be a lot of muscle.”
I played along and slurring my words yelled, “WHY ARE YOU calling me faaaaatt. I’m staying right here.”
They started making excuses to the crowd of goth meth users that was forming outside the bar and eventually they got me in the limo. To my complete an utter shock, they had a conversation about me, as if I was not in the car.
“She’s pretty drunk Boss, whatcha want me to do?” The Rock asks.
“Smell her breath; I didn’t even see her drink.” Mr. Mafioso replies.
“Nah, Boss, she’ll probably spew on me or sumthin, I just got this coat dry cleaned.” The Rock answers.
Mr. Mafioso props me up against the window in the car and I let my nose stick to the glass and began snoring. A few minutes later we’re pulling in front of my house, and they are helping me up the stairs. I proceeded to tell Mr. Mafioso I was going to rest outside, thinking there’s NO WAY in hell I’m unlocking the front door while he’s still there.
Therapist: Very smart, did he fall for it?
Me: He leans in, grabs me very, very tight (probably because I was playing drunk and he didn’t want me to fall), opens his big ginormous trout mouth and sticks his disgusting frog tongue down my throat.
He licks my gag reflex and says, “I’m NEVER going to let you go.”
So I vomited on him. I heard The Rock start chuckling as he backed down the walkway saying, “Told you Boss, she didn’t look well.”