I give you ...the best of the worst. Enjoy!
The Pool Boy
I met "pool boy" on-line and agreed to meet him at bar on South Beach one sunny, Sunday afternoon for cocktails. After about 30 minutes, we both agreed there was absolutely no attraction between the two of us. I thanked him for his time, paid for my vodka and headed to the restroom for a quick stop before heading out. He was waiting politely for me when I emerged and I followed him towards the exit.
This is where I should point out a little feature of Monty's (the bar we were at). It's an outdoor bar and they have a pool. I think you can see where this is going.
I asked if he's okay and immediately started to giggle (I certainly wouldn't offer to help him out for fear he'd pull me in). The gentleman who had inadvertently knocked my date in the pool immediately apologized and pulled him out and gave him one of his towels. Rather than seeing the humor in the situation (and I can barely breathe by now), my date started to yell at the guy (in front his wife and two small children) and demanded that the man pay for his dry cleaning. My date was wearing khaki shorts and a polo. Date over.
But not before he tried to hug me goodbye.
The Fireman
I met the fireman about a year and a half ago and we immediately had a great connection. He was funny and hot (a great combination in my book). One night we meet up for drinks at a bar and closed the place down. We followed that up with a makeout session in my car when he suddenly said two words every girl hates to hear - "Uh Oh."
How do I put this? The fireman had removed his personal hose and he was unable to control it? Bad sign.
I was so shocked that all I could tell him was that there were some Starbucks napkins in the glove box. He was so embarrassed that he grabbed the napkins, opened the door and practically dashed to his own car with his pants still undone.
The Cell Phone Abuser
I met the "cell phone abuser" at my local grocery store. Turns out he was a lawyer (read: ambulance chaser) and we exchange numbers. He called later than night and we had a fairly normal "get to know each other" thirty minute conversation.
It all goes wrong the next morning on the drive to work. Very wrong.
I received a text with a photo which simply said "good morning" - the photo was of cell phone abuser sitting at a kitchen table. Immediately, red flags are waving around for me. 1) I'm pretty sure there's a rule about how soon you should send pictures of yourself to someone. 2) I'd already met him in person. A photo of him eating breakfast was completely un-necessary. 3) We had chatted a total of 30 minutes - tops. Not sure what part of our conversation indicated this was an appropriate next step.
Within another minute or two I received text #2. Wait for it ladies...cell phone abuser was laying in bed, shirtless, posing in (what he believes) is a seductive way. I nearly drove off the road I was laughing so hard. I don't know what bothered me more: the fact that he'd sent this nasty image or that he was covered in a cheesy, pink floral bedspread and had on two gold "Guido" chains. Ewwwww.
This would be when I started forwarding the images to my friends.
Shortly thereafter, text #3 arrived. This was truly meant to be cell phone abusers crowning moment. I actually pulled off I-95 and stopped at a gas station to go to the bathroom because I was laughing so hard. Cell phone abuser was completely naked (with doughy, barrel chest predominantly puffed up) and was flexing in front of a mirror - all while he took this gem of a self-portrait.
By the time I got to work, he'd sent me a quick message indicating he was unsure why he was still single and was really looking forward to hanging out. I kindly texted back that he was going to remain single for a very long time and I had no intentions of seeing, speaking or texting him again. Ever.
The "Florist"
While at the beach one weekend, I meet a really nice guy. We chatted for a while and I agreed to meet him for drinks the following night at a restaurant about a block from where I live (easier to make an escape should that be necessary). We had a great time getting to know each other, went for a walk after dinner and agreed to meet again later in the week (this was on a Monday).
On Tuesday morning, I got a call from the front desk attendant who saidshe has a delivery for me - she thinks. I asked what she meant and she explained that a man bearing a dozen roses arrived at my building today and wanted to leave the flowers for (and I'm quoting here) "the smokin' hot tall blonde who has a Pug and a Dalmatian." Did I mention he walked me home? Never again. I told Jess (the front desk attendant) that I was allergic to roses and she could keep them.
The next morning I got another call from Jess. He'd delivered ANOTHER dozen roses. This time he'd offered to deliver them to my door if Jess would just tell him what apartment I lived in. She politely declined.
This continued...until Saturday. A dozen roses every day for five days in a different color each day. Over the week, I received a series of texts about how much the florist wanted to date me, wanted to be exclusive, etc. Ummmmm...no thank you.
The "MMA Fighter"
I met the MMA Fighter on-line. We chatted on the phone a couple of times and we agreed to meet for a drink after work. By now, I had moved all first dates to the restaurant in my building where the bartender knows me and had actually started helping me ditch bad first dates. It helps to make friends and leave a big tip.
When we met, a few things struck me. 1) He is not anywhere close to 6 feet tall. Maybe 5'6...on a good day. 2) He was a little "larger" than the pictures I'd seen - this was my first "you look nothing like your pictures" experience. 3) He seemed really excited to see me. Yep. Really excited...
I asked my date (who's actually a lawyer) about where he went to school and what his short term and long term career plans were (I figured I needed to make at least 30 minutes of conversation before I could leave). This was the moment when he explained his true dream was to become an MMA fighter - and he had tears in his eyes.
Let me interject here that clearly there is an epidemic among men who believe it is okay to share that many pictures of oneself with someone they just met. Brett Favre - need I say more? We must find a way to end this.
I ordered a shot of Jack Daniels and a Diet Coke (a sign to my bartender that he needed to intervene quickly), knocked down the shot and started sipping my Diet Coke while MMA boy finished going through album #6. We'd just started album #7 when the bartender casually mentioned to my date that he had food in his teeth and he may want to go fix that in the bathroom. My date quickly headed to the restroom and I made my escape. I tossed my bartender a much deserved $20 tip and practically knocked over the bar stool trying to get the hell out of there before my date got back.
When MMA fighter returned, my bartender explained that I did not feel well (silly shot of Jack Daniels) and I had to run (literally).
The "Exporter"
I'd known the exporter for about two years. Great guy who managed to make me laugh on a regular basis so when he asked me out, I agreed. The first couple of weeks were great. We had a blast and I was totally into him.
It was not uncommon for him to stop by at night and hang out. What was unusual was what happened one morning after one such visit. As I was getting out of the shower and headed for my closet to get dressed, I realized my Pug Riley was pushing around a piece of paper. To be a Pug means never being able to tentatively "smell anything" - you pretty much just have to face-plant into whatever it is you want to check out. And on this morning, he face-planted into a small wrapper filled with a white, powder-like substance.
I immediately took a photo of the "illegal substance" and sent it to my friend who's a nurse and agreed that I indeed had in my possession the one item you can find almost as much of here in Miami as you can expensive European cars and surgically-enhanced women. I immediately flushed everything, threw on shorts and T-shirt and rushed the little guy to the vet clinic.
Upon arriving, I realized that I may have to explain why I was there and why I was panicked that my Pug was about to go into a cocaine coma. The words, "I'm not sure what it was because it wasn't mine" left my mouth as I showed the vet the picture I had taken earlier (see below). I'm sure she believed me.
Let me give you the cliff notes. Riley was fine. Never better! Had a $500 spa day while they watched his vitals, etc, to make sure he had not inhaled any of it. I could have killed the exporter.
Now it was time to confront him about why he would 1) Have cocaine on him 2) Bring it to my house and 3) Be so careless as to leave it around. His excuse was so pathetic I won't even repeat it however, he did pay me cash for the vet bill. That's right. Cash.
I was reminded of a conversation I had with him prior to this incident when he explained that he had "exported" items from Miami to friends and family back in whatever country he was from. At the time, we were talking about clothing and designer bags (two of my favorite subjects) but in retrospect...how could I have been so blind? Lesson learned.
The "Candy Man"
I met the candy man at a networking event and we immediately hit it off. Really bright guy that was incredibly driven professionally. We'd been dating for a few weeks when he decided to come over to my place after a business meeting.
We were sitting on the couch chatting and talking about work when I heard "rustling" from the dining room area. I called out for Riley and Paris knowing my two room mates were probably interested in my date's jacket hanging from the back of one of the chairs (I believe he'd dined at a steakhouse). The noise subsided and we returned to our conversation.
A few minutes later, I heard the noise again. It almost sounded like the crinkling sound a candy wrapper makes. I called out for Riley having just heard Paris get up and lay back down again in the bedroom. I turned to my date and asked if he'd picked up any mints when he finished his dinner meeting. He said no. I called out for Riley again since I could still hear the rustling of the wrapper.
It was at that moment that my Pug came trotting around the corner of the couch and began to shake something dangling from his mouth rather vigorously. Riley, had proudly brought us a half a dozen condoms he dug out of my date's pocket. The packages were nearly shredded and had holes punctured throughout them like he'd been gnawing on them for some time.
I immediately took the condoms from Riley and held them in front of candy man. "What the hell?" I asked. "Did you bring these?" (Stupid question, I know. Riley clearly hadn't purchased them himself).
Candy Man: "Ummmm...yeah."
Me: "We're like sooooo not there yet. And what the hell is that smell?"
Candy Man: "I know. I just didn't want to be the guy that was unprepared if and when you were ready. And they're lambskin. Maybe that's why Riley liked them?"
Me: "You've found Riley's kryptonite. His Pug-nip. And we won't be needing these so I'll just throw them away for you."
The above stories are truly just a sampling of what I've gone through. There have been many other dates that were just uncomfortable or unenjoyable but not worthy of repeating here.
