Dinner With The Skanks!

We’ll call him – The Old Italian Notso-Stalian

AGE:  42

OCCUPATION:  VP of naval vessel company (He only mentioned this 1,000 times)

PROFILE:  5’10”, dark hair, dark brown eyes, Catholic, divorced, his income is over $150,000 a year (slang for I have a little pee-pee) He enjoys; working out, spending time with his son, going to Eagles games, dining in fine restaurants, travelling, dancing and cooking. He is looking for that one woman that he can settle with.



I swear he looked like this guy, but 20 years older.



After ending my 4 month dirty illicit affair relationship with Mr. Slick (a story for another day), I decided to try Match.com again. Literally within 5 minutes (LITERALLY) of me returning to the site I received a wink, and email and an IM from this really hot older gentleman. His email read: I know you’re being bombarded with tons of emails from all the guys on here, but I just had to say you are so beautiful and I’d love the opportunity to get to know you.

Take that Mr. Slick . . . I don’t need you, even though this guy is 17 years older than me, he’s HOT! In reality I was really thinking, “I love you Mr. Slick! Why did you hurt me so? Waaa . . . Waaaa . . . Cry . . . Cry . . . Cry!”

 I chatted with the Old Italian Notso-Stalian for a while and then we exchanged numbers. He called later that evening and he was so charming. He knew all the right things to say. As he spoke I’d stop listening for a bit and started imagining what it would be like to be in his arms. “I bet his lips were soft, and his arms, I could just glide my fingers down the ripples. I really hope he has big hands, big hands are soooooooo sexy.” “Lilly, Lilly are you listening.” “Yes Old Italian Notso-Stalian, I’m listening.” ;-)

He wanted to meet me in person, so we decided to meet for coffee at Starbucks the next day, which was a Wednesday. This only gave me  a small window of time to purchase a not-so but a little slutty dress from BEBE (and that is bēbē not bébé . . . I swear when people pronounce it wrong it makes me want to scream). Yes, we were only going for coffee, but in that dress we’d make it to dinner. I dashed home from the mall and took my time getting ready for my date. I could feel it in my bones that night was going to be amazing.

I purposely arrived at Starbucks a little late; I didn’t want to appear too eager. There he was, sitting on a small couch in the middle of the café. Wow, he is so cute! Then he stood up. That mofo was only about 5’8”! WTH!? Do these idiots not realize we’re actually going to meet in person? Do they think they’ll just grow a couple inches before we meet? I mean, REALLY!? Yes he was hot, but in a hot gay guy kinda way. His eyebrows were perfectly arched (Which is fine for my gay bf Bernard but not for my man) and his nails were neater than mine. I’m a country girl, yes I love a hot guy, but a little scruff on a man is so sexy.  

We talked over coffee, or I should say he went on about himself the entire time. I honestly did not realize a man could talk so much about nothing. From Starbucks we went to a local restaurant.  He talked all night long about; his big house, his expensive clothes, his super awesome kids, his expensive divorce that cost him six-figures, his awesome friends, his super awesome vacations and his BLAH . . . BLAH . . . BLAH . . . BLAH . . . BLAH! The only thing I heard was, “I have a little penis, a really small penis, an even smaller penis, a microscopic penis, I HAVE NO PENIS AT ALL! Seriously dude SHUT THE “F” UP! He didn’t ask me anything about myself, nor did he allow me to inquire about him. The evening consisted of him speaking and me nodding.

After dinner he walked me to my car and invited me out for dinner the coming Friday. He invited me to dine with him at one of my favorite Italian restaurants, and being that I never turn down free liquor and food, I gladly accepted.

I think there’s an alcoholic little fat kid dancing inside of me, that requires me to constantly feed it and drown it.

 

Friday night I met him at the restaurant which is nestled right across from the beach. I was a little shocked when I realized I was meeting all of his friends on our second date. One of his friends, the President of the company he works for, is a disgusting slob of a married man who was in the company of his trailer park mistress. That woman, whom I’ll call Sloppy Sheila, was NASTY. She was about 5’6”, 185 lbs, super-greasy shabby hair, nasty teeth, loud and lacked the class of a jungle monkey. Sloppy Sheila’s sister was there as well and she was just as classy. I can’t decide what was classier about the sister, the old lady saggy titty tattoos or the old lady saggy neck tattoo.

Dinner was amazing as usual, even though I was conversing with a bunch of people that were 15-25 years older than me, whom I had NOTHING in common with. Soon after dinner Sloppy Sheila and her sister got drunk, and that’s when the show started.

Why did I mention my feet were hurting? Sloppy Sheila decided to grab my leg in the middle of this very nice restaurant, take my shoe off and start rubbing my feet. I was sooooooo embarrassed! The Old Italian Notso-Stalian and I had to fight her for my foot, OMG! Then she started talking loudly about her vagina and her not at all sexy man. The sister starts flirting with my date. She was rubbing his leg with her foot and winking at him. While I was talking to one of the other old men at the table, she whispers in Old Italian Notso-Stalian’s ear “Do you want to see my hidden tattoo?” What class!

We then walked across the street from the restaurant to the beach condo that sloppy old man bought for his hoe. The condo was amazing. Sloppy Sheila’s sister’s kids were playing video games in one of the bedrooms; but that didn’t stop Sloppy Sheila and her sister from lighting up a blunt. Really?! Ladies, when your little angels grow up to be little idiots, don’t wonder why. Not only am I not into drugs, but I cringe at the thought of exposing children to such idiocracy. I demanded we leave. The Old Italian Notso-Stalian apologized for the lack of couth of his friends, but I really didn’t like him and anyone that would surround them self around such people isn’t someone I’d like to have in my life.  

I should totally give up! Flarg (my slang for crap)!

The persistent Creep

We’ll call him – Creeptastic

Age:  30

Occupation:  Diver/Fisherman

Profile:  6’2”, dark hair, dark eyes, Muslim (I’m Christian but I try not to judge people or cultures I have no real experience with . . . to be completely I’ve almost tasted the entire rainbow), great smile, enjoys running, swimming in the ocean, traveling all over the world, wants kids and is seeking a long term relationship.

Creeptastic was everything I was looking for in a man, until I spoke to him on the phone. He had Borat’s accent. WTH! It took me about 10 minutes to stop laughing internally and actually listen to the man speak. Turns out he was pretty cool. He’s from Morocco and spent a great deal of his childhood in Paris. He frequently travels to the Mediterranean and Europe. He loves kids and is eager to have his own, once he finds the love of his life. Even though he had by far the most HILARIOUS accent in the world, I really liked him. This is the man I was looking for; he was smart, funny, charming and an awesome listener (which is a must because I think it’s obvious I love talking about myself A LOT). The heavens have finally opened and sent me the man of my dreams! THANK YOU LORD, THANK YOU!

We met a week later at a tapas/martini bar, and OH MY LORD HE LOOKS LIKE HIS PICTURE! I couldn’t believe it, great guy, hot body, beautiful face; before I ordered my drink I had names picked out for our 3 kids (2 girls and a boy . . . Christian, Elizabeth and Veronica. Yes, I am slightly crazy).

Then, the show started!

I was really enjoying talking to him, even though our conversation was sprinkled with hi-fives every so often. I didn’t really know how to tell him he was way to hot to still be in 1989, so I’d reluctantly hi-fived him. Imagine the stares.

 Everything was going great until he went to the bathroom. When he returned, I noticed he unbuttoned the top two buttons on his shirt. Oh My God! This MOFO had a 1980’s porn star chest fro! I didn’t know it could get that thick.

Then he goes on to say (In his Borat voice) “America isn’t free! In Morocco, if you steal you will be stoned to death.” So naturally I responded, “How do you feel about that?”  “I think they should do that here, and then no one will steal. This isn’t a free country. America will never be free” I was floored some one would actually agree with such a practice, if it exists at all in the manner that he explained. Yes, if Joethug wants to take my purse, I’ll want someone to kick his ass. To MURDER a person over a possession that can be replaced is absolutely ridiculous. He then goes on this rant about how Europeans are racist and how Americans are pussies and that’s why we aren’t free. I was literally sitting there with my mouth to the floor. How could a man so beautiful and so smart and so hot and so hot and soooooooooooooo damn hot, be so DUMB!

Then he said, “I want to take you to New York next weekend, so we can go on a real date.” Is that MOFO smoking something! Hell no! There is no way I’d let Creeptastic sell me into the International Slave Trade. I watch lifetime and I saw that movie. (Besides who the hell would buy me? When was the last time you heard of a black woman getting sold anywhere? Hell I can barely get laid for free. Black slaves are so 200 years ago. If he was smart, he’d seek out a young blonde.) Then he said, “Let’s go camping.” Why, so he can rape me, murder me and dump the body where no one can find it? “NO!”

I politely told Creeptastic that I was still exploring other male options and I’d get back to him WHEN HELL FROZE OVER. He was a persistent little shit. He called for a month after, and finally the calls stopped.

Two months later, while getting dressed to go out with Super Sensitive (a story for a later day), I get a phone call from a number I didn’t recognize. When I answered a man creepily (yes it’s a word) said “Hi, Victoria” (Don’t forget the Borat voice) “Who is this?” “You don’t remember me?  Don’t worry, you will remember. I want to take you camping.” Immediately I knew who it was. All I could say was “Ummmmmmmmmmmm goodbye.” I think someone upstairs is teasing me. I don’t know what I did in my previous life to piss God off, but I know he his laughing at the hijinx  that is my social/dating life.

LAZY TOOTH MOMMAS BOY

WE’LL CALL HIM: Slimy

AGE: 30

OCCUPATION: Pilot

PROFILE:  5’10” (I swear it’s their magic number), athletic and toned, doesn’t smoke, 2 kids, continuing his education to get an advanced pilots license, social drinker, loves flying his plane, enjoys staying active, loves camping and hiking and loves his mom.

I was sitting in bed late one evening strolling through the many faces of eligible LYING FREAKS bachelors on Match.com. I was in a peckish mood and moment away from deleting my account forever (for the 3^rd time), when I realized I had mail.  

Hmmm . . . who could this be? Is it my one true love waiting for me to respond, so we can skip off into Neverland?

He was cute!



I can dream!

I normally go for super-tall and extra crispy dark; but I couldn’t pass over those pretty blue eyes, those full pouty perfect lips, and his dirty blonde hair with the perfect mix of grey that made him look distinguished. In one picture he was standing next to his plane, in another next to his Range Rover and in another next to his RV.  I was a little intimidated because my tiny apartment and Toyota Corolla probably isn’t what he’s used to.  

His email read, “Wow you’re beautiful. I normally don’t do this, but I’d really like to meet you. My account expires tomorrow so here’s my number. Please call me I really look forward to hearing from you soon . . . Slimy.” Well being the woman that I am, I swiftly replied with my number. I’m not calling him first, that would require a since of maturity I haven’t mastered yet.

I waited in giddy anticipation until he called. 10 minutes later my phone rung, and of course I waited before I picked up because I was sitting by the phone waiting for it to ring I was busy. We talked for hours, and we had soooooooo much in common. He invited me out for dinner and drinks on Saturday evening, and I gladly accepted.

I swear it was the most beautiful March evening. The sun was going down and the sky was so vividly colorful it was as if Picasso was painting a mural for God (I’m a dreamer). The weather was cool but not cold, kind of perfect and the wind was blowing just enough to allow my hair to flow in a sexy romance novel kind of way.

I walked into the restaurant, and there he was AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH.

That little worm was skinny (not male artist I don’t care, but I really do care what I look like skinny, but gross he needed to eat skinny), about 5’7”- 5’8” tall, and his teeth were DISGUSTING. They were covered with thick, yellow/green gook that looked as if it could be scraped off. What do I do? I wanted to run! He walked over and gave me a hug . . . EWWWWWWW – I got the heebie jeebies.  

The hostess showed us to our table and he sat sooooo close to me, which is a turn off in the first place. I like a little distance when I’m eating. His breath was a funk from another universe; it was like 12 angry midgets were constantly farting in his mouth.

During dinner I learned he’s a spoiled little lazy rich kid who’s living off of his family’s money. He’s a pilot, yes. Not a paid pilot, he flies his own plane for fun. He has 2 kids he’s not supporting and complained about how the mothers (yes two baby mommas) are always asking for money. He doesn’t have a job, and doesn’t want one because he’s still trying to find himself. YOU ARE 30 LOSER, THE ONLY THING LEFT TO FIND IS A JOB. Oh and that RV, IS HIS PLACE OF RESIDENCE. When I scoffed at the idea of living in an RV, he went on to tell me that his mom paid over $200,000 for it. Really Slimy, you’re proud of that? I bet mom paid for our dinner too. As disgusted as I was at dinner I accepted an invitation to go flying the next morning. Let’s be honest, how many times will I get to go up in a private plane?

The flight was amazing and I had a great time, but I think it’s obvious I NEVER spoke to slimy again. I have a few deal breakers: tiny hands (story for another day), Yuck mouth bad teeth, dead beat dad, no job (I don’t care how much money your family has), overly sensitive and skinny extra boney men. Someday my prince will come; I hope it’s sooner than later though.

Skanklin Attacks! YIKES!

It was a warm, breezy August evening in Ghent. The sky was amazingly blue that evening and the trees danced so softly in the wind. Well, to a fantasy driven girl like me I knew that evening would be one for the storybooks.

I met him online, let’s call him Skanklin. Skanklin’s pictures were very attractive; the one with the dark shades on made him seem mysterious, the one taken from far away gave him a boyish appearance and the one with about five of his friends in the picture made him appear to be well liked and popular. Skanklin’s profile said he was; single, 30, 5’10”, very active, athletic and toned, a true gentleman, seeking a long term relationship, and an officer in the military with an income of over $60,000. After finding Skanklin to be slightly attractive and realizing we had a great deal in common, I bit and sent him a flirtatious e-mail.  To make this long story short, our e-mails’ turned to phone calls which turned to us meeting on that warm, breezy August evening in Ghent. I arrived at the restaurant first and anxiously waited for my prince to come.

Five minutes later . . . a 5’8”, balding, unattractive, average built sloppy frog man (sign #1) walks through the doors and says, “Are you Lilly?” Well, being the lady that I am I said AAAAAGGGGGG SHE DIED “yes.” Internally I was dying, I know it’s awful but I’ll fall to my knees for a tall caveman with big bulging muscles, even if the only words he can say are OOGA BOOGA, I’ll politely lay on the floor and hand him my hair. We sat outside for dinner, I was so upset by the lies he told in his profile, I ordered the most expensive meal on the menu (It was awful I barely ate any of it). Throughout dinner, I actually started to like the sloppy little frog. He was smart, funny, vulnerable and easy to converse with, so I reluctantly went on a second date . . . That was me trying not to be an immature, vanity obsessed, dumb-ass who only focuses on the things that shouldn’t matter and overlooks the quirks that makes us all special – THAT DIDN’T LAST LONG!

Our second date was a bit cool for August (sign #2). We met for dinner, I was looking fabulous as usual and he did his best. The entire night he did not stop talking about how much money he had (Code for, “I have a little penis”) and his ex-girl friend. He further went on to tell me how he didn’t want anything serious (sign #3), but I should have a few shots, you know, to loosen up a bit. WHO THE HELL AM I TO TURN DOWN FREE LIQUOR? Three sloppy hours later it’s time to go home and of course I’m too drunk to drive and the not-so gentleman gladly gave me a ride back to his place. That lizard like grin on his face during the ride back to his house dried what moisture there was in my canal . . . EWWW!

Skanklin politely helped me up stairs and that’s when the show started. Skanklin: “Why don’t you get out of that dress and get comfortable in my t-shirt? ” My response, “NO!” Skanklin: “You’ll be more comfortable in bed with me.” My response, “NO!” Skanklin: “Why are you being so difficult, I just want to ta*** you and make you feel good, I don’t want you to do anything?” My response, “EWWWWW NO!”

The next morning:

Skanklin brought me back to my car and sped off before I could close his door shut. Ladies, the moral of this story is: Even Ugly Guys are Jerks. A girl that knows the ropes isn't likely to get tied up by a panty seeking frog like Skanklin. Pay close attention to the signs! Yes I shouldn’t have gotten drunk and spent the night at his house, but at least I left with part of my dignity. From that trippy experience, I got two expensive dinners and drinks, a fun night of dancing and a good nights sleep. What did Skanklin get, blue balls and the bill.