Even Cupid must have a sense of humor

***Disclaimer: This date occurred several months ago, but I waited the courtesy few months after the guy got the hint (that I wasn't interested) to share this little gem. Even I have a heart.***

I'll keep the back story short and sweet. This guy and I meet online. He lives in Kingstowne, he's 36, and he's a Marine. He's cute, witty, and I have a good feeling about this one (clearly short lived). We keep communication to emailing, gchatting, and the phone for about 2 weeks prior to the first date.

We meet at Coastal Flats, which is near me. I get my way and he drives to me, and I'm glad he does. I would have been pretty fucking bitter if I drove to Kingstowne for what is about to transpire. Just saying. I am waiting outside, and he walks up to me. Ok....I embrace online photos don't always look 100% like the person.....but come on!!!!!

In his pictures, he looked like a tall Tom Cruise (old school, hot Tom...not batshit crazy, jumping on couches Tom). Naturally, I'm thinking he'll be hot in person....but no. He approaches me, and looks as if he had lost 50 lbs. He looks ridiculously skinny....like sickly skinny....like concentration camp skinny.....like coked out Lindsay Lohan skinny....like one of the Olsen twins skinny....like if it had ever come to us getting naked and comparing how many of our ribs were showing, he'd be the clear winner skinny. Awkward.

To top this off, he's wearing exceptionally dorky glasses. Ok look, I have glasses too. I wear them to read. I'm not judging the need for glasses. I think, however, if you aren't wearing glasses in ANY of your pictures online, perhaps it's a bad idea to wear them on a first date.

Anywho, after the hug hello, we go inside to get a table. I was smart and called ahead because I was starving. I give the hostess my name and they tell us to step to the side and wait a few minutes while they get our table ready. While we're waiting, he's trying to make jokes about waiting for things. I can tell he's really nervous. He starts telling this random, yet disturbing, story about when he was little and how he and his family were waiting in line for an amusement park ride or something....how the outside is a line but when you get inside, it's a bigger line to get to the actual ride....something to that effect. In order to avoid waiting in line forever, he and his brothers would get to the front by.....ok...I need to stop and ensure you aren't eating, as this will prompt an immediate gag reflex.....we good? Ok then.....

Marine Man: "My brothers and I would smear poop on our faces so our dad would have to rush us to the front of the line and pretend it was an emergency, and then we'd get on the ride faster"

Me: "Did that just happen? Did you really just say that? Out loud? (internal thought: WHAT THE FUCK?!?!!?)

Marine Man: "What? It tastes like chicken!"

I'm pretty sure he is kidding, but still. Not a funny joke to make.....ever. He says this on a first date. Again, this is a first date, and we're in public. God hates me.

We are now being sat at our table. I'm pretty speechless at this point. He starts asking me about my birthday trip to Vegas, so I figure telling a few Vegas stories is harmless. He gets a salad with his meal. At this point, I deduct that he is not accustomed to eating in nice places. I embrace Coastal Flats is not the Ritz, but you get the gist. He is eating in a pretty sloppy manner, all the while making comments like "do I have something in my teeth...I get so self conscious about eating in front of people". I get the drunken ribeye, because I'm at least going to get a nice steak out of this train wreck of a situation. While we're eating, he brings up the movie we are supposed to go see at the theatre right across the street. I access my iPhone to look up movie times, despite how horribly this is going thus far. I do so for purely selfish reasons....I want to see the movie. You understand. While I'm looking up movie times on my phone, Marine Man takes his phone out and takes a picture of me.

Me: "Really?!?!"

Marine Man: "Yeh...."

Me: "Did you really just take a picture of me at the dinner table? Look, I'm not photogenic. Can you delete that please?"

Marine Man: "You're beautiful, and very photogenic" (Ok. Pay attention, gentlemen. That's not complimentary...that's just fucking creepy)

After he pays the bill, we walk around outside because the movie doesn't start for another 45 minutes or so. It starts to rain while we're walking past the second store, yet he doesn't seem bothered by it. Perfect, weird and waterproof. Score. Ummmm, have I mentioned I have naturally curly hair? WTF! What woman wants to walk around in the rain, anyway?? A few minutes later of walking around in the rain, and he finally suggests this.....

Marine Man: "I know you probably don't want to drive around or you might feel weird, but do you want to drive around for a bit in my car?"

Me: "Nope, sure don't. Why don't we get out of the rain and go back to the bar and I'll get us drinks...how about that??" (if ever I needed a martini....sigh...)

He agrees, we head back to Coastal Flats, and I order myself two martinis at a time. As he is drinking his beer, I'm already halfway done with my second martini. Evidently, I drink heavily in the company of fuckwits. I honestly don't remember how we got on the subject of pets, but he asks me what kind of dogs I had while growing up. I respond that I had a Doberman Pinscher and Springer Spaniel.

Marine Man: "Wow...a German dog... a Jew with a German dog...you don't see that very often!"

Me: "Excuse me?" (seriously?!?!!?!?)

Marine Man: "Yeh...a Jew with a German dog...just not something that happens everyday..." (not at all realizing the landmine he's just thrown himself on)

Me: "And?? Actually I have no idea what one has to do with the other...."

Marine Man: (tries his best to explain how there are no German Jews in existence anymore, though I cannot remember this particular quotable item...I may have zoned out at this point)

Me: "Sooo you're saying there are no German Jews in existence? Seriously? This, coming from someone in the military? Guess they just teach you to point and shoot, and then skip the rest of the other stuff, huh?"

Marine Man: "Well, yeh. Weren't they all killed off?" (I wish I could make this shit up. He really thought this)

Me: (laughs in his face for a few minutes) "Uh no...you're kidding me, right?"

Right before I'm about to publicly humiliate/belittle him, he decides it's best to transition back to being overly complimentary.....because I didn't hear him the 8th fucking time. He goes on about how pretty I am, how I have princess features, and that I have "Disney princess eyes". Really, what do you say to that after being told you emulate a cartoon character. Thanks doesn't quite suffice. Just my opinion.

It is FINALLY time for the movie. And yes, I have already told myself a thousand and one times to just ditch him and go see the movie another time with someone else. I have also already told myself a thousand and one times to see this nightmare thru to the end. The nightmare wins. Who is surprised by this? Anyone???

Shockingly enough, there are no issues in the movie. Of course, movies typically require that there be silence...so this could be the reason why. After the movie, we are walking out and he has the audacity to ask, "so what do you want to do now?"

Me: "Um call it a night....definitely call it a night." (for some reason he's still walking alongside me....ummmmmmmmmmm)

Me: (stopping in the street at this point, mainly because I'm uncomfortable with him knowing what kind of car I drive) "Ok so...is your car over here or what?" (praying he'd get the hint. Sadly, he didn't)

Marine Man: "No, my car is way over there (points to the far away parking lot...this is my nightmare). I was just figuring I'd walk you to your car...is that like me stalking you or something? Should I not do that?"

Me: "Oh no, that's fine. I'm a big girl....PLENTY of lighting in the lot...I'll be totally fine...you can walk to your car from here, no worries..."

Marine Man: "Oh, ok. Well, thanks for meeting me out. I had an amazing time and you're beautiful, and I hope we can do this again and I'll text you tomorrow!"

Me: "Right. Thanks for dinner and the movie....ok cool, see ya!" (is the end near???)

The following day's text goes a little something like, "I really enjoyed meeting up with you last night! You're even prettier in person. I'd like to take you out again if you concur. Happy Saturday!!"

I cannot fathom how the poor guy thought this date went well at all. I seriously can't. I now refer to him as that poor guy because Operation Avoid/Ignore/Pretend you're dead and/or got a new phone number commenced VERY shortly thereafter. You would too if you were me. Don't judge.

The Sweaty Medley

Oh yes, ladies and gentlemen. We're discussing sweat today....because last night that was all I could think about....well, for the most part. I am here to tell you....I was sweating in places I never knew existed. My heart felt as though it was about to beat out of my chest at any moment. I moved my body and contorted in ways I have never experienced before. Then, once I thought I was the master of my domain....I hear "change position". You might presume this to be the most demanding sexual partner one has ever had, but no. Sexual healing this was not. This was my first ever Bikram yoga class.

Yes, that's right. A packed room full of sweaty bodies, wearing next to nothing, in 105 degree temps.....doing yoga poses for an hour and a half. Did I mention people were wearing next to nothing? Yes, even the men. I went with a friend of mine who does this activity at least once a month. I wish my yoga goddess friend had forewarned me of this, among other things....but we'll get to that in just a few. So we went in and set our mats down in preparation for class to start. Class began with breathing exercises.....not too traumatizing right? Well, it wouldn't be if I didn't have Meatloaf performing yoga right beside me. Yes, Meatloaf....the long haired one-hit wonder.....I would do anything for looooooove, but I won't do that!......but I digress. So we were doing these breathing exercises....and Meatloaf is grunting. Yes, grunting, during his breathing. Charming.

So the breathing portion was over with and we were then getting into the actual yoga poses. We were twisting our bodies in such ways that should probably be illegal in some countries (actually, wait..they probably are now that I think about it). The room was getting hotter and hotter and we were all becoming drenched in our own sweat, which is probably an exceptionally attractive image. Yes, I'm aware. One of my favorite parts about this sweating was that my shirt, my Nike dry fit shirt that I usually run in, was becoming soaked in my sweat.....but everywhere except my boobs. Yes, that's correct.....drenched everywhere, but two white dry circles on my shirt. Thank you for THAT little gem, Nike!

Now because we were all sweating so profusely at this point in the class, those who have long hair and had made the unfortunate move not to pull it back.....AHEM MEATLOAF!!!....yes these folks were now flinging sweat from their hair when they move.....onto those alongside them. My friend and I were both victims of this, sadly. As if this was not offensive enough, evidently a few folks thought it appropriate to pass gas....out loud....and please let me remind you at this time that we were in a packed room that was at least 105 degrees. At this point my friend and I shot each other looks in disbelief. Did that seriously just happen? Yes...yes it did. I'm still trying to understand why they didn't just leave the room, or at the very least, excuse themselves. You think you've had uncomfortable situations? Well.....welcome to ours.

Don't get me wrong. I'm glad I tried this Bikram yoga thing at least once. I've never done yoga before and my yoga goddess friend usually enjoys it, so I figured why not try something new. It did serve a purpose....it's really good cardio, and I suppose it would be a good stress reliever had the aforementioned trauma not taken place. As for doing it again right away, I think I'll stick to my running routine and massage therapy....thanks. Just saying.

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens.....not so much?

I always look forward to the infamous chore of grocery shopping. It's not that I'm a soccer mom and this is one of the few treasures that rescue me from chaos. It's not because I love engaging in grocery cart races with.....well, that cute stranger on aisle 9. And it's definitely not because honeycrisp apples are finally on sale at $1.29/lb (because really....there are far more intriguing things that tickle my fancy than produce, I assure you). It's the tail end of the whole grocery shopping experience that usually results in a smile upon my face.....that pivotal moment when the cashier has rung everything up, collected my payment, and printed out my receipt...this is the moment when he or she makes a valiant effort at pronouncing my full name. Please note it's not my first name that tends to painfully confuse others, but my last name that typically elicits such a frustrated look upon the clerk's face that he or she might rather go help with the self-checkout line (seriously, I do NOT envy these folks) than risk verbally mutilating the 4 syllables at the bottom of the paper that personally identify yours truly. I think my favorite part of this especially awkward exchange is when the individual attempts this difficult task but then just gives up and hands me my bags, essentially admitting defeat. A special thank you to the parental units for this gem. I sincerely appreciate it. Really.

Terry cloth bathrobe, nice pair of earrings, and 1 urban dictionary. Check.

I'm going to tell you a story starring my mother. It might make you laugh, it might make you feel slightly uncomfortable, it might even make you cringe....but it's a true story I will never, ever forget. What's worse is she won't let me forget it.

This little gem of a scenario dates back to the holidays. I'm outside, walking my dogs (ok, they are little white furry squirrels...but technically they're dogs) when my mother calls me. I answer and we start discussing mundane things like what she's making for Thanksgiving dinner, what I should bring to the house for Thanksgiving dinner, what time I'm arriving, if I'm bringing the dogs, and oh yes my personal favorite....what's teabagging?!?!?!?!

Me: (awkward silence) "What?" (I figure if I respond with a question she'll just forget. No dice)

Mom: "Do you know what teabagging is? Is it something gay men do?"

Me: (crickets chirping) "Ummmm where did you hear that phrase?"

Mom: "Oh, from the radio. So can you tell me what it is? Is it something bad?"

Me: "I'd really rather not. Can't you just google it or something?"

Mom: "Ok fine. Well, what is boning? Do you know that one?"

Me: "Oh for Christ sake, where did you hear THAT?"

Mom: "Oh I heard that one from Keeping Up with the Kardashians! Love that show!"

Me: "Uh huh, I'm sure you do...please stop watching it. And start listening to more CDs please."

This conversation definitely goes down in history as one of the most awkward conversations I've ever had with my mother. Silver lining? Oh this definitely made it's way around my family, including BBQs, in different states in a matter of days. Nothing new for them though, I suppose. Several years ago, at a family wedding, my grandmother (we called her Granny Gotrocks...I think the name speaks for itself) came back from the hair salon complaining about how much she had spent on a "f***ing blowjob". Clearly a discrepancy between what she said and what she meant.....but I digress.

So, anywho, back to my mother. Her birthday is coming up, and she has given some suggestions as to what she would like. Among these items are a terry cloth bathrobe and a nice pair of earrings. I will most likely make her happy and get these things, but I'm SERIOUSLY considering purchasing her an urban dictionary as well, should she need to utilize it from time to time. She still asks me for assistance on an assortment of exceptionally awkward vocabulary, and I'd just assume not have these conversations with my mother and have her seek this wealth of knowledge elsewhere. Just saying.