My 2nd Date from Hell

Sorry about the lack of posts lately. I haven’t felt very bloggy. Plus, I’ve recently replaced my evening couch sessions with a little more movement. With a much awaited and needed vacation only 3 weeks away I’m starting to feel like maybe I should try jumping on the mini trampoline a little more and walking instead of watching the Food Network so much.

Now that I’ve explained my lack of posting (like you care) I can carry on with the purpose of this post. Get ready for the 2nd installment of MY DATES FROM HELL. You may need a few beers for this one.


My Date from Hell – Tim McGraw look-alike

One night my old roomie and I went out to a cheesy nightclub with very cheesy music and even cheesier old men dancing like they were on the Studio 54 dance floor. We knew it would be a night of defense and standing in ridiculous lines just to get a cheaper beer, but we were tired of the same old scene.

During the night, while trying to refuse a drink offer and repeatedly failing to get the point across, I noticed a guy blatantly laughing at me and my predicament. My roomie wasn’t able to help much seeing as Drink Guy had enough alcohol in him to open his own bar. I was starting to get annoyed. Suddenly the Laughing Guy walks up and rescues me.

“Here you go, Hun” he says, handing me a beer. I look at him, amazed as I take the beer from him. Laughing Guy turns his stare to Drink Guy, who in his alcoholic stupor stumbles away.

“Thanks,” I say, laughing, realizing I had just witnessed the oldest trick in the book.
“Not a problem. You looked miserable,” he replies, and reaches out for the beer in my hand. “Sorry, I’m gonna need that back. Just stood in line 20 minutes for that.”

Then the conversation goes dead and I raise my eyebrows, tell him thanks again and walk off. The night goes on. Roomie and I have entirely too much to drink and decide to call it a night. On our way out Laughing Guy ends up in stride along side me. Doesn’t say anything, just walks beside me. My roomie looks over past me and at him, then back at me, and snickers, walking off faster to the car we probably shouldn’t be driving. I look over at him and my mouth drops a little. I stop. He stops.

“You look like Tim McGraw,” I say, and he rolls his eyes.
“You got anything better than that?” He asks and I’m stunned.
“What? No, it wasn’t a pick up… YOU are following ME,” I say. He smiles.

To make a long story short, Tim McGraw ends up with my number. On our first date a week later, I meet him at a local bar. We arrive at the same time and take a tall table in the corner. I order a beer and he immediately orders two shots for us. I hesitate, but knock it back anyway. Take the edge off. Then the sirens go off – he orders two more shots not even 10 minutes later. I pass on the second, take my share of the third round and pass on the fourth. He ends up downing the shots I refuse, and I ask him how he’s going to drive himself home. He gives me this creepy smile and I’m immediately put into defense mode. Thirty minutes into our first date and we have our first argument. I finally convince him I don’t let boys stay over because it’s against my religion. When he says he doesn’t believe me I tell him he’s Satan, so its understandable.

Eventually he stops drinking and I walk – correction - drag him to his truck to call a buddy to pick him up. Twice I have to yank his hand off my ass. It’s after the call to his frind that he does the most horrible, embarrassing thing a man can ever do to me: he sings to me. Not like the kind of singing where you’re being funny holding a fake microphone sing. I mean for real sing. We’re in the parking lot and he has selected a country cd and the song that “better enhances his singing talent.” You must be kidding me.

And then he grabs me, a la Dancing with the Stars style and starts dancing with me. I’m frantically looking around the well lit parking lot, waiting for someone to come out with the cameras. A car screeches to a halt just feet from us as we are dancing in the empty parking spot its trying to park in. The driver honks, Tim McGraw flips the bird WHILE HE’S STILL SINGING and twirls me, right in front of this car. The car ends up backing out and leaving, but Mr. McGraw keeps on dancing. And I can’t get out of his grasp. I protest several times and try to wiggle out, and the more I do, the louder he sings. I’m almost in tears at this point. Not because I think he’s crazy and going to hurt me, but because I’m so embarrassed I could crawl into a hole and DIE.

When his friend finally shows up, I’m sitting on the parking curb with my head between my legs. Unfortunately for Tim McGraw, he was doing the same for a different reason a few spots down from me. He’s still singing. The friend rolls the window down and yells “Get in!!” and speeds off with my country singer. I sit on the curb, alone in the vacant parking lot at 2:30 in the morning exhausted and astonished. No thanks for babysitting my friend, no thanks for sitting with me for over an hour, nothing. Still, I’m relived that I never have to see him again and get into my car and drive home.

When I get home, I have 3 missed calls on my cell. All three of them are voicemails of Tim McGraw, singing…