Story 2: Dodging at Dodger Stadium

A friend of mine had 6 killer tickets to a Dodgers game. She and her boyfriend got two, two more to another couple we were friends with, and then two for...well, me. No boyfriend at the time, and I was really good friends with everyone going, so I didn't feel obligated to find a date, but the option was there if I found someone I wanted to bring.


The night before the game I was out with my girls at a bar, and I met this guy. He was sweet, actually listened to me when I spoke, not too clingy, quite nice! Did I mention he happened to be wearing a Dodgers hat? Well isn't that perfect! I started thinking about inviting him to the game, but I knew it would go against some of my personal guidelines. I date enough I have general rules for dating. Maybe now's a good time to quickly go over some of those:

1) Always meet for at least the first two dates. I want an out if I need it, and you never know which guys have stalking tendencies. I don't need creepy dudes knowing where I live.

2) No dates that make me stuck in any one place for more than 3 hours. If you don't understand that one, then you've never been in a car with someone you don't like for hours on end and you literally can't do anything about it.


There are more personal dating guidelines I follow, but these two apply to my errors in this story, so we can address the others later.


Anyway, back to Dodger McGee. I decide to invite him to the game with me. We discuss schedules and it works out best for me to pick him up from his place after I'm done with work. I happen to be a big baseball fan and the tickets we have a super sweet, so we went before the other two couples because I really want to see batting practice. So now in one foul swoop I've broken my first two rules. Who cares! He seemed so nice and funny and sweet and he really "got me" so what's the harm? It'll be fine. And I get to watch batting practice with someone else who loves watching baseball, so we're all good!


The next day, I get to his house and I think, oooh, a house in LA! No one has a house in LA! Well played, having me come here and see the swanky digs. I call him from his driveway to let him know I'm here, and he comes outside followed by a lady probably in her early 60s. Not exaggerating at all, she literally kissed him on the cheek and patted his head. Um, ok. He gets in the car and I ask him if his mom is visiting. Nope, he lives with his parents. He then starts listing the awesome reasons he still lives with them like how he doesn't have to do laundry or cook. Well isn't that fab. Now I'm thinking, ok, maybe I won't be dating this guy, but at least I have someone to watch baseball with. For the rest of the car ride, conversation is awkward, but I somehow get through it.


We get to the stadium and as soon as we get out of the car, he pulls me in close as we start walking. I'm 6'1", so it's really not the easiest thing in the world for someone to walk with their arm around my waist, but by god, Dodger McGee was determined to make it work. I'm not the most touchy-feely girl in the world, so I keep trying to get out of it, but no dice. Sigh.


We go inside, get our beers and sit down. The seats are amazing! It was so cool to see everyone up close and watch them just swinging away just as the sun was setting. We were right in front of first base, and it was so great just seeing the players enjoying the sport before the actual competition, and I recommend it to anyone who likes watching baseball. As it turns out, Dodger McGee was clearly a poser and had zero interest in the game. He was sitting to the right of me, and just kept rambling about nothing at all. I can't even tell you what he was saying, mostly because I wasn't paying attention. I just kept my eye on whoever was at bat. Whenever I did turn my attention back to him, he'd scare the bugeezus out of me because he'd be all up in my face thinking he was being sexy and creating sexual tension, but it turns out he only generated normal tension. After about an hour, I got a call from my friends, and it turned out that the six tickets were in groups of two no where near each other. Two behind home plate, two down the third base line, and us at first base. Now I know I'm alone for the night, and worse yet, he knows we're alone. I guess this was the starting flag for him to think we get to make out all game long. As if he wasn't man-handling me enough before, he has now managed to put his arm around me far enough that his hand that should be on my shoulder is now somehow trying to cup my boob. How is that even possible? I kept brushing him away and while I was distracted with that, he kept trying to hold on to my inter thigh with his other hand. Every time I turned to face him, he'd try to kiss me. It was the awkward leaning-in-with-his-mouth-open-and-tongue-twitching-inside-his-open-mouth kind of kiss attempt. I'm surprised I didn't get drooled on. He seemed to think all of my moving his hands and leaning away from kisses was just me playing hard to get, so I finally just told him there were so many kids around and this was inappropriate. He backed off a little, but it was still a constant battle.


As if all of this wasn't enough, he then started talking with the random couple sitting next to us. Thank god! He's talking to someone else! I can finally watch some of the game! After a few minutes I start listening back in to their conversation, and I overhear the following: "Oh, these are your season ticket seats? That's great! You've been married for years and you come to every game? How sweet!" Ok, that's harmless convo. I give my attention back to the game. Then I hear, "Oh no, this is just our first date, but I can tell there will be MANY more to come. Maybe we should make this an annual thing and the four of us can come to the same game in the same seats all together every year!" Ok, no longer harmless. I look over and this couple is visibly as uncomfortable as I'm feeling. They also clearly want to be watching the game and are well aware I'm not feeling this amazing connection he feels.

At this point, it's the bottom of the 6th. They haven't even stopped selling alcohol yet. I'm in effing awesome seats, and the game was tied. I weighed out the pros and cons. Those were my only pros and I couldn't enjoy a one of them. Ok, time to go.


I fake yawn and tell him I have to get to work early in the morning and I'm really sleepy. I thought I could make it the whole game, but wouldn't you know it, I was just too tired. In the car ride home, he continued to ramble. Ramble ramble ramble. I let him go. Do your thing man. Whenever there was a lul, I'd ask what's the best exit to take to get to his house. His answer? Well, you can take any of the next three exits, but maybe we should go hang out at your place. Um, what? Did you think we left the game early so you could get some? I tell him I'm taking him home. "Are you sure? I would love to see where you live!" I bet you would. No. Taking you home. "I don't mind staying up later. We should really go to your place." I reminded him that I was the one who was tired and I did mind staying up later. His response? "Well we can't hook up at my parents' house because they're probably still awake." I tell him that isn't an issue. I'm taking you home.

I should have told him right then an there that I wasn't interested and please don't call, but I felt bad. I thought I'd shunned him, blocked him, and avoided contact as much as humanly possible that night and I didn't need to rub in how I felt by bold faced saying, "If you didn't get it by my behavior, I don't like you," so he got out of the car and I figured that was the end of it. Dodger McGee then continued to call me twice a week for the next two months. So ladies, and as far as I know this applies to gentlemen as well, no matter how clear you think you're being, and/or how hard you think it is, just tell the person you don't want to see them again. Then you won't have to do what I did which is put "Ick" at the front of their name in your address book so when they call you know right away it's a weirdo and you don't want to answer that call.

At Long Last!

People date. That's how we get to find someone we can connect with, right? First, second, third dates; this is how we put our best foot forward. We try to show our date the best possible version of ourselves, and in turn, we expect the same from the people we date.



Or maybe that's just me.



I have been on more than my fair share of dates, and it turns out I have a very special knack for finding...a special kind of date. Or maybe I just have a beacon hiding somewhere on my person that guides these weirdos directly to me. Maybe it's like a dog whistle, but instead of something only dogs can hear, it's something only douche bags can hear. Couldn't tell you what the deal is, but what I can do is tell you the stories. I hope you enjoy the stories as much as I did not enjoy living through them. Rest assured, I did somehow actually live through each and every one of these. The names will be changed to protect the D. bags from themselves, but also because I don't always remember their names. Hey, if they were worth it, they wouldn't be one of these stories, now would they!



Story One: Dipping Your Pen in the Company Ink



I worked in an office environment with all ladies. We loved 3pm because that was the time the mail got dropped off. I know what you're thinking: what an awesome job you have since the highlight of the day is when the mail comes. I know. Be jealous. Back to the story. So the reason we would get excited is if there were any large packages, the cute man would have to come drop them off rather than the tiny girl who carried the envelopes. After a few months of ogling the man we had so nicknamed, "The Large Package Guy," my coworkers convinced me to ask him out. To my complete surprise, he said he had been trying to ask me out for weeks! Happy Day! He says he would love to take me to dinner, and I, of course, agree. He would like to call me Saturday so he has time to figure out where he wants to take me. Lovely! Needless to say, I was on cloud nine.



Saturday comes, and I get the call I've been so excited to get. He says he's been looking forward to this all we. Me too! He asks if we're still on for dinner, and I say absolutely. He then tells me he was thinking of going somewhere fancy, and asks me if I've been to the Chili's in the neighborhood. Um, I'm not a snob or anything, but if you say fancy and then you say Chili's, well, it gave me pause. He then asks me where I live, I tell him, and he tells me that's good because I live really close to the Chili's so he doesn't have to pick me up. Interesting. I prefer not to let guys pick me up on first dates anyway because if it all goes to hell, I want to be able to get out of there asap, but it's weird that he just really didn't want to pick me up.



So we meet at Chili's. He's late, which is a big check on the con side of a list for me, but we go sit down for dinner. At this point, he starts talking and doesn't stop, even when there's food in his mouth. He starts telling me how he's so glad he found me because he really hates going out and doing thing that don't involve him sitting on his couch, playing video games, and oddly enough, it's really hard to meet girls in his living room. He tells me how he had a girlfriend, but she was Mexican and a whore and he should have known she was a whore because she was Mexican, as all Mexicans are whores. I happen to look up as he's slandering the Latino culture in general to notice the hostess, who happens to be about 15 feet away from our table, oh, and Latina, burning a hole in the back of his head with her death stare. Awesome. I try to deter him from this subject since I'm now scared of spit in our food and drinks, both of which Large Package Guy is ordering in abundance, and then he asks me if I've ever cheated on a boyfriend before. And I quote, "I just wanna know because I am so over dating whores." This guy apparently subscribed to the theory that you should say "whore" as much as humanly possible on a first date. I don't recommend this strategy.



Finally we get the bill. Thank God, the night is almost over. I'm pretty sure most of the staff wanted him out of the place too, because they couldn't bring our check fast enough. They set it down, and I was full well planning on paying my half. I want to make sure this guy knows I don't owe him shit. As I'm taking money out of my wallet, he starts patting his shirt pockets and then his pants pockets (not very convincingly, btw), and then gives an over dramatic sigh and tells me he left his wallet on the kitchen counter. Killer. That's what I wanted to do. Pay for his 5 drinks, appetizer, meal, and dessert. Life is totally awesome right now. What's that? Don't worry? You'll pay for our next date? Yeah, why don't you hold your breath and wait for that to happen.



I pay the bill and when we're leaving, he tells me the least he can do is walk me to my car. I told him the least he could have done was to have brought his wallet, so walking me to my car wouldn't be necessary.



From then on, for some odd reason, it was the tiny girl who brought our packages at 3pm. They got her a cart though, so that was nice.