Jul 24

Written by: michaela renee
7/24/2009 7:37 AM

Therapy Sessions of an Online Dating Addict: Dog Whisperer


Me: So this guy invited me over for dinner at his place.

Therapist: Doesn‘t seem safe.

Me: In hindsight...nevermind. The thing is, he lives at a condo complex where a bunch of my friends live, and the houses are pretty tight together. So I figured if something happened I could yell louder than a hyena and escape safely.

Therapist: What was on the menu?

Me: His email said rib-eye, mashed potatoes and zucchini.

Therapist: Wow! So he’s a good cook too?

Me: I’m figuring you can’t eff up a rib-eye right? So I learned from a previous flub up that you should always bring a bottle of wine when invited to dinner at someone’s house.

Therapist: Good girl.

Me: What failed to cross my mind however is that there should be a cap to the price point and it should directly correspond with how “into“ someone you are.

Therapist: Explain…

Me: You probably should stick to under $10 if it’s a first date.

Therapist: (laughing) Cheap or frugal?

Me: Neither, but lemme tell you, I bought a $43 bottle of wine that never even got opened.

Therapist: He doesn’t know the rule?

Me: What rule?

Therapist: The rule that when someone brings a bottle, that bottle should be opened first…

Me: I’m getting there…So when he called to confirm he said that he had just gotten a new puppy. I’m thinking, if you think for one second you’re going to wow me with puppy cuteness and I’m going to wind up in your bed you’ve got another thing coming. But instead I just replied, “Sounds cute, I love puppies.”

And he said, “Perfect! You can play with her while I cook dinner.”

And then I was thinking, “Ok, so now I’m the puppy sitter. Great.”

Therapist: This is going from low risk rape date to high risk complete catastrophe.

Me: So I pull up to the condo complex and begin the 2 hour stake out for parking. There it was, the glorious spot, approximately a quarter mile away, and downhill. So I immediately took off my cute heels and threw on my flipflops.

Therapist: Good call.

Me: I was still sweating by the time I got there, the whole time thinking, I wish I’d bought a screw cap instead of a cork.

Therapist: What? Why?

Me: Because then at least I could have taken a few swigs off the bottle during the death trek to the condo.

Therapist: Show up drunk and without a bottle of wine…nice.

Me: So I aired out my armpits by flapping them a bit and slowed my stride, by the time I got to the door I was in good shape. I rang the bell and he looked all calm, cool and collected, which made me relax a bit.

He held open the door and then did the arm wave, indicating I could come in, but then he just went ahead and let the door go.

Therapist: What? He didn’t hold the door open?

Me: Nope. So we get inside the kitchen, and he said that he just turned on the grill and that we had a little time before it heated up. Then he took my hand and pulled me around a corner.

Therapist: Gross.

Me: Yeah, to introduce me to the puppy. So I’m starting to get concerned that he keeps her in the closet or something, when I round the corner and see the most ridiculous cage contraption I’ve ever seen in my whole life.

Therapist: Oh my God, what kind of puppy was it?

Me: A lab mix.

Therapist: Are you serious?

Me: Oh yeah. So then he drops down to his knees outside the cage and says, “Ellie, you be a good girl, ok Ellie? No biting, no jumping…”

And then he interrupts himself and says, “Crap I forgot to put the potatoes on.”

I step back a foot, or five…and peer into the cage. Ellie is just sitting there all cute and puppy-like with the whites of her eyes showing.

Therapist: Did you touch it?

Me: Hell no. I heard him say, “no biting” even though I was thinking “this dog doesn’t look like she could hurt a fly.”

So I hear him messing around with a bunch of pots in the kitchen, so I start to look for a distraction so he doesn’t ask me to remove the puppy from referenced protection cage.

Therapist: A book! Magazines! Anything!

Me: No, I reached for my phone. And like an idiot I said, “Crap I forgot my phone in the car.”

Because he drops everything and runs over and says, “Perfect! Ellie needs a little dinner walk.”

I started doing that silent pointing thing people do, back and forth at Ellie and myself, like, “Her?” “Me?” “Walk together?”

Therapist: Oh no, you just told him his baby is ugly.

Me: So he goes, “Well, let‘s take her to your car together.”

I said, “No, it‘s really far, I don‘t need it, no problem.”

“No really, it’ll be fun, Ellie loves walks.”

So I watch carefully as he grabs the leash and does this “click it around her neck before opening the cage maneuver.”

Therapist: Sounds comforting.

Me: So he opens the cage saying all those “don’t bite” things again and I gingerly reach down and pet her.

Success!

Therapist: PHEW.

Me: So he starts telling me he’s been reading this book about the dog whisperer.

Therapist: Oh yeah, Cesar Millan.

Me: Right, and we get to the door and he opens it and the dog tries to go out before him. So the Dog Whisperer screams, “WAIT!” Then he flailed his body matrix-style through the front door to beat Ellie to the punch.

And then he starts rambling on about how he must cross the entry first for power and control. And I was thinking, that bastard didn’t even let ME through the door before him.

So I take one last wishful glance at the bottle of wine on the counter before he shuts the door thinking, “I wish I had a road slurpie for this operation.”

Therapist: Do you want a rehab referral?

Me: Cute. I want a date that doesn’t make me want to drink. So then he starts saying that the walk might take a little long, because every time she pulls he has to turn around so she learns how to loose walk on a leash.

Therapist: Are you kidding me? How old is this puppy?

Me: Best guess, five months. So we start down the path and within two seconds he turns around.

I stop dead in my tracks, and think, “Seriously?” But he was dead serious. So then he turns around again, and makes five steps forward. And then he stops and turns around.

This goes on, 5 steps forward, 4 back for awhile, I’m dizzy, like how you get from those rides at the fair and I finally get my head stop spinning and I’m not even kidding we’re ten feet from the house.

At this point I’m thinking, glad I grabbed my purse, because if we ever make it to the car I’m getting in and going home.

Therapist: C’mon, that’s not fair.

Me: But that was wishful thinking, because I opened my mouth again and said, “Didn’t you leave the potatoes boiling?”

“Oh crap!” He screamed. He dropped the leash and said, “Here! Handle this dog.” And went running for the house.

I look at Ellie who looks just pathetic. But simultaneously stoked of her new found freedom and her eye caught mine at the same time and right then she knew…She could escape!

Sure enough she splits.

Therapist: What?!

Me: She felt the leash go slack, and saw that her Daddy was gone, so she seized the opportunity and bailed.

Therapist: Oh no.

Me: So I dropped my purse and start chasing after her full speed. I swear she was part greyhound, because she hit my car in about 45 seconds flat. The only reason I even caught her was because I tripped and all one hundred forty five pounds of me landed on her leash.

Damn dog wasn’t even panting.

So I stare up at my car and think, this is it, I’m going to bust open the window, hot wire the motor and drive back, toss the dog out in front of the condo while grabbing my purse at the same time.

Therapist: You know how to hot wire a car?

Me: No. Unfortunately not. I’ve seen it on TV but I realized it might be one of those “looks easier than it is” things. So I opted to just go ahead and pick the dog up and carry her the whole way back to the house.

P-S Ellie doesn’t bite. Nope not at all. As a matter of fact, if you carry her like a baby she rolls around making sure to stick a muddy paw in your mouth while trying to lick you everywhere to get you to pet her belly.

Therapist: Ew, puppy slobber.

Me: So I finally make it back to the condo and I carried the dog over the threshold as if it were my bride on my wedding day. And then I put her down on the entry tile.

Dog Whisperer comes running over, I can tell he‘s really peeved, I think the potatoes boiled over during our thirty minute-ten foot walk.

He says, “Ellie CAGE now!”

But Ellie had a better idea…

Therapist: She’s just being a puppy.

Me: I see her little butt wind up and start doing the schwag wag.

Therapist: What did you call it?

Me: You know, how puppies do, she started shakin’ her money maker.

Therapist: Oh hilarious.

Me: She’s like “What you got Daddy? Come get me!!” And takes off around the island in the kitchen.

Dog Whisperer yells, “I read ALL about this in my book! You’ve got to get control and show them who’s boss!”

And then the pace car pulled off the track and they were in full gear to the finish line. VROOOM VROOM.  Trouble was Ellie had four wheel drive and was low profile so she could take the corners much better.

Therapist: What did you do?

Me: I went to find a corkscrew.

Therapist: Just about the time I got the drawer open, Dog Whisperer smashed into it, he cursed and jumped up and said, “WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING FOR?”

“Ritalin.”

Therapist: Hilarious.

He missed the joke entirely and made a second pass around the island, about that time he started to slip into stove, so rather than pull down the pot of potatoes, he reached for the counter to save his life…

Therapist: That would have been a travesty.

Me: No, I’ll tell you the travesty. He missed the counter but managed to have perfect aim on the bottle of wine.

Therapist: Oh no!

Me: Oh yes. Forty three dollars. I watched it go too, but there was nothing I could do about it. It tumbled and then crashed on his travertine floors and there was red everywhere.

He started saying, “Get a rag it’ll etch my tile!”

And I said, “Forget the rag, where can I find a straw around here?”

Therapist: Did he give up on the dog?

Me: Hell no. The crash scared her, so he caught her, and flipped her upside down and started going “RAAAAAAR!!!! RAAAAAAAR!!!” Like some massive monster, abominable snowman.

Therapist: What?

Me: Yeah, apparently he read in the book you have to scare them into submission.

Therapist: Didn’t he realize the loud crash of the wine did that?

Me: (mimicking him on the floor, pounding my chest) RAAAAARRRR!!! Who’s the BOSS Ellie?!” “Who’s your Daddy?!”

Therapist: You should have called PETA. What did you do?

Me: I turned my schwag wag on, shook my money maker and said, “I like it when you call me BIG POPPA!” Then I headed for the door half expecting him to do the Matrix move, grabbed my purse from the planter outside and left.

Copyright ©2009 Michaela Renee

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