I was so grossed out I couldn’t bring myself to ask what the problem was. • I went out with a guy in his 30s who told me within the first hour of the date that: he didn’t have a bank account, had never filed taxes, worked on a drug farm, and paid with his “green card” aka pot for goods and services in the neighborhood.
After some words of consolation from me about how fucked up that experience must have been, she told me she made it up, and every other story she had told me that night, because she likes making up stories.
For dinner, we went to Ikea for a platter of Swedish meatballs. I explained, nicely, why it bugged me, and he said he was glad he found out early how ugly I was on the inside. As we were sitting outside of the coffee shop enjoying some nice conversation he told me how he was working on writing some music.
He then proceeded to sing, very loudly, his current endeavor in song writing.
It was about killing unicorns (and no he was not being ironic). Captain Pretentious • Dude talked for several hours nonstop about his multi-discipline art project, which was based solely on an experience his father had 40 years ago.
I kept making, “oh that’s nice,” “okay,” sort of comments and he just kept singing louder and louder. When I got home, I had an e-mail from him saying that we didn’t have any “chemistry.” Chemistry, really? It was the only thing he talked about, no exaggeration, for 70% of the date.
When I met him at the bar he proceeded to tell me that 1) If we became a couple I would only be allowed to wear my Yankees hats/shirts when I was home visiting my family; never around him; 2)I should not expect him to talk to me while he was watching Redsox games on TV; and 3) we could not get married in October because he needed to keep the post-season available for any potential Redsox trips to the World Series. My first words on our date were: ‘Pardon me, but are you pregnant?