Oh my goodness. I just had the date that rivals all dates for the title: Worst. Fucking. Date. Ever.
It was with my GreekWonder. Well, wonder no more. It’s after midnight and also just minutes after the end of our 3 hour date that was a total disaster. The funniest part of the night happened at the beginning – before I even met up with him. I was walking on R to Raku and as I crossed 18th, there was Jeff from match, making out with some girl. Huh. I guess he’s back from Bolivia. This should have told me what sort of night I was in for. I should have gone home right then. But nooooo, I kept going.
We met at Raku on 19th and Q. We got a table on the patio, right in the corner, where we could be seen by all. Before we even order our dinner, it gets uncomfortable. He starts telling me how this homeless guy asked him for money this morning, and it escalates into a whole political tirade where he’s saying (well, yelling) what assholes all republicans are and that he’ll “take any republican in here” as he defiantly looks around at everyone else on the patio to see if anyone is going to fight him. I am shrinking in my seat as he continues to talk about how stupid everyone in America is, how this country sucks (Fuck you dude, I love capitalism) and how he’s just in D.C. because there’s money to be made here. At least a dozen times I heard how he’s making $3000 a week and how he’s a “contract lawyer” because being a corporate guy is for the assholes who don’t want to make any money. (Hello benefits and 401k?) He berates all the public defenders and those who do pro bono work, saying they are a bunch of $10 an hour idiots. Then two guys walk by holding hands and he’s like, “Look at this, this is ridiculous, can you believe this? Oh sorry, you have gay friends.” (You moron, we’re in Dupont Circle! It was the gays that made this one time ghetto habitable for the rest of us yuppies.) His anger about everything was so intense and I was worried for my freaking safety. Don’t even get me started how he ordered some fucking vegetarian egg roll for me without asking. What year is it? 1955? Or how he mocked the waiter and said to his face that he was just hoping for a “good tip.” The golden rule of waiting tables is that the loud assholes who boast about being big tippers are usually not. Then comes the gem of the night…
I asked him if he has to keep a timesheet or punch a clock or whatever at work. He says, “I don’t punch a fucking clock. What do you take me for? Some construction worker?” I said, “Uh, I’M A FUCKING CONSTRUCTION WORKER.” He goes, “Oh, sorry….well, you’re not out on site or anything.” And I said, “Yes I am.” Of course I know this is only the half truth, but, I feel like picking a fight at this point, two hours into a conversation that only has one contributing member: HIM. He tells me several times that everyone he works with is “fucking stupid” and that he’s so much smarter than everyone else. He won’t let me talk, interrupts me when I talk and it’s basically a nightmare. So all I can think is that now I understand why he dates 20 year olds – because they are impressed with him. I’m not. He is 33 going on 18. His comments about making $3000 a week are a pure joke to me because I’m damn near close to making that myself. (And I don’t work 100 hours a week for it either.) I’m no au pair or whatever the hell he’s used to wining, dining and screwing. This man is proof positive that no amount of money can buy you class.
When he ordered his third sake he was pouring it in his glass and totally missed and poured it all over the table. Our waiter said, “WHOA, you’re not driving are you?” It was too too funny that our little waiter, Ming, put this pompous ass in his place.
Then his friend shows up. His friend was a cool dude, and I liked him, he had a neat sense of style, very European, very cool acting. But young and skinnier than me, so don’t get the wrong idea. Anyway, his friend helped cool the tension down a little. They started talking about church and how they haven’t been in a while. I couldn’t resist. I said, “Didn’t you just spend 10 minutes slamming all republicans and the religious right and you’re one of them?” He said he goes to church for peace. My response is “Well, you are very angry so that peace thing isn’t working and by the way, smart people who can think for themselves don’t need a church to tell them what to think.” This slam would have had much better impact if he actually listened to anything anyone else says, but he is a pompous, arrogant baby and he either didn’t hear me or didn’t respond. At one point, near the end of this disaster, we were discussing laser surgery. GreekWonder said “So, you can see me now?” And I said, “Yes, and unfortunately I can also hear you.” He laughed. I love how I can rip on someone and they think I’m just kidding. Asshole.
Then he says, “We’re going to go to my apartment and get a drink. Then we’ll go to Adam’s Morgan.” I said, “The hell we are. Who do you think I am? Natalee Holloway? I’m not going anywhere with you two so that my family can see CNN preempt the Hurricane Katrina coverage tomorrow to talk about some D.C. girl who went missing.” He was like, “You’re funny.” Then I excused myself to go to the bathroom. And I sent my neighbor a text message that said, “GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE.” I was half kidding because I could have found a way out, but that girl – Always thinking. She called when I was back at the table and said Sammy (the love of my life) was “freaking out” and she didn’t know what to do. GreekWonder is talking in Greek to his friend and I just know he’s saying that “this bitch is getting a bail out call” but I can’t prove it because I can’t speak God Damned Greek and at this point I really don’t care anyway. So I hang up and GreekWonder says, “So what’s up?” And I’m practically laughing as I tell him I have to go tend to my dog. He paid the bill (woo hoo, although I would have paid to get him out of my sight and out of my life) and we walk to the sidewalk. He’s like, “We’ll walk you home and go to your house.” I said “No, do I look like I was born yesterday?” So we parted ways at 19th and Q, and he said he would email me tomorrow. No I didn’t kiss him. I couldn’t run home in 4 inch heels fast enough.
This all leads me to one conclusion. Before every date, I get all dressed nice, and feel pretty good about how I look, and I think that I won’t measure up to “his” standards – like, he’s so good looking and I’m not pretty enough or skinny enough or young enough. And you know what? “He,” whoever he may be, never measures up to mine. GreekWonder in all his arrogance and lack of class, BoyFace in his stupid shorts and disgusting studio apartment, the HornyHungarian with his octopus hands. Christ. What the hell!! No wonder I keep the company of gay men. They just get me. And I get them. There’s no guessing games.
A BIG THANK YOU to my all time favorite neighbor and friend, for the incredible bail out. Think of me as you lay snuggled in your bed with your man. And tell him he got the best damn woman and that she deserves at least 3 carats. Ok, maybe don’t tell him that.
I’m going to email this blog post to my parents. Maybe then, finally they will give up the idea of me dating or eek, marrying a Greek.
I’m going to start bringing mace on my dates. I might need it.
wow, i totally relate! sounds like we have more in common then just our pink templates :-).
Velvet: You don’t need a bail out call. You need $8.00 for a one zone plus tip cab fare. At the exit to Raku there are often cabs going by on 18th, Q or Connecticut. Climb into one and say “Bye Bye”. No bail out calls. Just leave. Especially with someone as angry as that. No walking away from in in four in heels. Within sight of the restaurant where you dined (is the food at Raku any good? I walk by often, and it looks more trendy than tasty.) get into a cab. Always have the $8.00 ($10 or 11 or a bit more if your more than one zone away) available.
This from someone re-entering the incredibly murky waters of DC dating (and who survived them back in the 80s and early 90s, although my final choice left some room for improvement). Oh, and I love El Guapo. Maybe we could have a jello-wrestling match over him. Except you’d look better than I do, as you have the firm nubile body.
Yep, always keep that $10 bill in your sock for those awkward moments. Not that I ever experienced the post-dinner walk-off, you understand. Because I was the perfect date. Always.