The Single Worst First Date in the History of Bad First Dates

The story below is the single WORST first date I've ever had.  It's not the worst DATE I've ever had, but the worst first. And more importantly, as ridiculous and over the top as it seems, realize that I'm taking the best(worst) quotes, out of context, from a conversation that she ranted through for almost a full hour.  Let's begin:

I have a question that may come across as sarcastic, but I mean it sincerely. Has there EVER been a successful first date where one person brought up their ex?  And, do people that do repeatedly bring up their exes ever actually HAVE redeeming qualities?

I can imagine many HYPOTHETICAL situations where she says, “I sure love sex, but my ex-boyfriend’s tiny schling-schlong prevented me from ever enjoying it, even though I don’t have unnecessarily high expectations.”  Sure, in that case, maybe date 1 would end awesomely.  But it never DOES go that way:

We get, “My ex was pretty terrible, that’s why I started hacking into his facebook to see what SLUTS he was trying to hook up with,” or, “I wish my ex hadn’t been so controlling about my heroine problem.  That’s not a problem for you, right?”

I bring this up because I just had a horrific first date, and it occurred to me during her third of seven monologues where she discussed her most recent boyfriend that every time I’ve gone on a first date and either mentioned, or had mentioned to me ‘ex-something’ problems, the date ended horribly.

Not, of course, that this date was going to work out anyhow, but I still got frustrated with this realization. 

Imagine you’re me, for a moment.  You’re now 6’1”-6’2”, blond/brown haired, green eyed, and a graduate student of Biology in Fairbanks.  For the vast majority of you, I know this might take a moment to get used to.  Relax, I’ve got time. 

But keep going.  Imagine that you go on a date with someone one year younger than you, though still an undergraduate.  Sure, she’s 21, you’re 22, but that TINY age difference shouldn’t matter.  (Except that it does)  Or maybe it’s not age, but maturity?  I can’t really call myself mature, since I still find fart jokes the PINNACLE of comedy gold, and it’s probably rather unwise to every give oneself such a judgment, but at the least I can say I’m further along in my adult development than my date. 

She didn't find farts funny.  But she liked Jersey Shore, so I'm still more mature.

Allie, let’s call her, is an English major, so I sort of assumed to start the date that I’d have something to talk about, having double majored in English and Biology in undergrad.

I asked her what classes she liked, and was told, “Well, probably my Biology class.  It’s super fun.”

Now, since you’re imagining being me, let your spirits rise.  Hopeful.  Excited.  Maybe you have something more to talk about than ancient poetry and convoluted metaphors.   Take a deep breath, because you’re about to sigh adoringly.

“Well, either Biology or my class on old-English writers.  I’m a HUGE fan of the classics.  If a guy knows his Shakespeare, he’s in.”  She flashes a winning smile.  Exhale in a dreamy sigh.  This is AWESOME. 

Allie continued, “My ex, Marcus, he was a huge Shakespeare nerd.  He loved to tell me about his favorite sonnets and how I reminded him of the strong women in Shakespeare’s comedies.” 

HOLD ON, DON’T GIVE UP YET!  She’s just trying to give you a talking point perhaps.  Maybe she recently broke up.  Maybe, JUST MAYBE, this will be the only time Marcus walks into the conversation.

Now, I’m going to pause here and interrupt the story for another observation: If talking about exes is bad, what could be even worse?  Perhaps…constantly comparing people to your ex?  That might be a bad idea.  Maybe rudeness, or blatant vapidity is worse.  If you’re on a first date, you’re putting your BEST foot forward.  I’m not saying lie, but if you’re a loud chewer, notice that and fix it.  Perhaps avoid making comments about your bad gas.

OR MAYBE DON’T BRING UP YOUR STEREOTYPING OF OTHER RELIGIONS.  Just…don’t start a first date with the worst foot forward, because not many guys are going to come back to a girl who says things, as Allie then did, like,
“That jew-waiter, he looks a bit like Marcus.  Except the big nose.  I’ve never understood why Jews all have big noses.  It’s disgusting.”

At this point, I was about 5 minutes into a date and ready to leave, but I knew that wasn’t the polite thing to do, so I stuck it out.  I tried multiple topics of conversation.

Hobbies?  “I’m sort of a twilight slut?  I just read all the twilight books, fan fiction, anything I can get my hands on.”

Favorite television shows?  “I love Jersey shore.  Those Italian bastards are fucking HOT.”

Movies?  “DUH!  TWILIGHT!”

Siblings?  “I’ve got a retard step brother, but he’s not a blood relation, so he doesn’t count…like…I’m not part retard.  Don’t think that.”

ANYTHING AT ALL TO BRING UP THAT COULD BE NICE TO TALK ABOUT…Right, I remembered that she was ALMOST normal when talking about Shakespeare and English, so I went back there.  “So what’s your favorite Shakespearian play?”

And mercifully, it seemed she was ready to be less of a complete bitch.  “Oh, I love Othello.  It’s my favorite, at least of the tragedies.”  It was perfect!  That was also MY favorite tragedy.  Maybe I could talk her through the play for 20 minutes and still leave with my sanity intact!

But no:  any date that brings up their ex, is rude and apparently anti-Semitic, constantly politically incorrect and has few if any redeeming qualities other than an UNBELIEVABLY large bust is unlikely to stay in the positive for long.  “I mean, Marcus always felt like Iago to me.”

For those NOT obsessed with old writings, Iago’s the evil guy who dupes the main protagonist, Othello.  Basically, she’s telling me her boyfriend she’s heaped praises on all night is the bad guy, in her mind.  She’s saying she watches Aladdin to root for Jafar. She watches the Karate Kid and wonders why Daniel-san has to be such a jerk to those poor Californian bullies.  She sees Star Wars:  Return of the Jedi and thinks that the Emperor has a lot of really admirable leadership qualities.

"I mean, doesn't he have a winning smile?  It's a shame Luke decided to become an insurgent, and ruined Palpatine's plans.  Galactic peace and order is a noble goal!" -What I imagined Allie would say

I waited for her to move on to a new thought, but she continued.  “Yeah, Iago has all this passion, he’s already married which I thought was kind of cool to see in a villain, you know, loyalty.”  I ignored the fact that Iago kills his wife, and nodded politely.  “Marcus always had this….dangerous streak to him.  I hated how he was mean, though.  Just like Iago.  He was always so rude to me.  But he’s not dumb, like Othello.” In my head, I lost the last tiny shred of hope I had to leave this date peacefully.  I knew that I would have to use every ounce of nice-guy in my body not to insult her after she basically stated she preferred lauding praises on wife-killing mass murderers than heroes, because the heroes are always too predictable. 

I must have let my revulsion briefly peek through, because she said, “Are you alright?  You look pale and sickly,”  I shook my head and was going to tell her I was fine when she said, “though it might just be how you look.  Sorry if I sounded rude.  You’re just REALLY pale. Not at all like Marcus, who almost looked like an Arab.”

I waved her comment off and actually resorted to just staring at my plate while she finished.  She didn’t ask me any questions back, and I spent the last 5-10 minutes of the date primarily in silence, except for the occasional 10-word phrases we bandied back and forth. When the check came, I picked it up and handed the waiter my card. She stared at me, and thanked me for paying, which seemed ironic from someone I’d assumed would insult the color of my credit card, and compare it to her ex’s. 

And with that, I took her home.  

I heard back from Allie about 3 weeks later, when she sent me a facebook message.  The message was nice, and thanked me for dinner, but ended with the following:

“I had a great time, even though you just ignored me at the end.  Sorry I bored you, but I’d love to go out again.  I always hate when guys don’t call back, it makes them seem so rude and self absorbed.  Hopefully, that’s not you!

Anxiously waiting for you to contact me again,
Allie”

I didn’t respond, because I didn’t think I could keep myself from rudeness any longer.  I'm willing to be the jerk who didn't call instead of being the jerk who attacked her integrity and mental stability.
To all the women and men of the world, let my failed date serve as a lesson.

First, if they bring up their ex, find a way to nip it in the bud. It will poison all future talk.
Second, if they come across as racist or bigoted, find a way to leave the date….they’re not going to have redeeming qualities.

Third, and perhaps most important of all:
If her favorite book is Twilight, her favorite television show is Jersey Shore, and she roots for the evil characters when she reads books or watches plays, you can probably assume that you’re not going to be going on a second date.

From Alto to Bass, How a Choir Boy Becomes a Mountain Man.

I’m something of a man’s man.  I have a beard.  I have a deep voice.  My hair is somewhat unkempt, and the only time it’s not unkempt is when I push It straight back because I’m too lazy to put real time into my hair.  I like to be outdoors more than indoors, but still know how to bake.  I know my way around a grill as well as my way around a kitchen.  I am, by most appearances and qualifiers, quite masculine.  

These are my pajamas, including the viking helmet. That's the kind of Manly I am.

 

That wasn’t always the case.  

When I was younger, I was a bit shorter than average.   I wasn’t tiny, but I certainly wasn’t tall.  I didn’t hit puberty as early as many of my peers or even my twin brother, so while they learned to shave, I continued singing in a semi-professional children’s choir in the Alto section. (If you don’t know, that’s generally the lower of the female voices, very few men have voices that high by the time they hit their teens). While my friends learned about baseball, I learned about classic literature.  While they spent the morning before school playing soccer outside, I read fantasy novels about faraway adventures, and dangerous mysteries.  

I was a chorister, which is a very nice way of saying singer without making it sound like I’m desperately trying to become a pop-star.  I was into acting, though I primarily did musicals.  I played Dungeons and Dragons (I FEEL NO SHAME).  I was learning how to cook.  I had a slight lisp, which matched my overly friendly personality.  I had more women friends than male friends and thought that the television show ‘Everwood’ was the pinnacle of modern media.  

To summarize:  NOT SO MANLY. 

I was like this, but less catholic.  Also, less frills.  But you get the idea.

So, while I grew up, I was primarily surrounded by a few male friends, and choirs full of women and occasionally gay guys. I built myself a niche in the world that included taking pride in knowing the difference between a mezzo and traditional soprano voice, instead of a world that took pride in physical strength.

This is a surprisingly fun way to spend your early pubescent years.  By being a bit-player in various musicals or plays, I learned how to kiss.  I spent long evenings surrounded primarily by women, hanging out and relaxing.  I learned to dance, or at least tried to.  I’d claim I had two left feet, except that I didn’t possess even ONE proper foot when it came to dancing.  I was taught card games to pass the time, and learned how to gamble using candy instead of cash.  I learned all the lessons that a choir boy can learn, and I enjoyed it.
And, of course, I had a pretty enough voice that some women swooned, some women swayed, and almost all of them at least afforded me a sheepish smile, and mild blush.

But being adorable had its own issues. 

I was bullied.  I was beaten up badly enough that at age 13 I got called into the principal’s office to effectively have a police line-up of bullies, since I was beaten up by more than one.  My twin brother, who began to hit his own stride, joined the bullying train and mocked me for playing cello, singing in multiple choirs, but being unable to grow facial hair.  He learned to shave the same week I got my first solo in the non-school related choir…a woman’s solo, but one that fit my voice perfectly. At Boy Scout camp, I got kicked off the canoeing team for being a ‘wimp’, and while the rest of the guys learned about hiking and fires, I went to the ecology lodge to learn about fish health and conservation with the few similarly nerdy friends I had. 

One particular instance of my teasing comes to mind when I remember being a singer:  Let’s call him Gary. 

Gary was not a very nice guy.  His dad was rich, his mother was a hypochondriac, and Gary took out his first-world frustrations on the smallest kids he could find.  So, one day after school while I was leaving a play-practice, where I was learning the role of ‘King’ for the musical Cinderella, Gary caught me walking home and beat the crap out of me.  I probably, to a degree, deserved it.  He had intended to just mock me, and called me slurs like ‘gay’, ‘retard’, ‘queer’, etc.  I responded that I couldn’t be gay, because of how pleased his mother was whenever she saw me…it was a dumb response, since I didn’t REALLY know what I was saying, but I knew that television called that a perfect response to gay-insults, and I knew that Gary was defensive about his somewhat loopy mom.  So, he threw me in a ditch, stole my backpack, and gave me a fat lip.  I had a few tiny bruises and a hurt pride, but it was enough to get the teachers involved and make a big scene.  I was given the punishment of spending 2 weeks of recess inside in a study room and writing an apology letter.  Gary was given the same punishment, and was forced to take a 2 week break from extra-curricular programs. 

Gary’s letter said he was sorry for calling me gay, but that he just assumed because I was a singer with a lisp and few male friends.

The event passed into memory, like so many others, and I moved on for another 2-3 years before my escape finally arrived.  The means to be EXACTLY who I already was, but face SO MUCH LESS BULLYING!

My voice changed. 

If you’re a woman, or a man with a particularly high voice, it might be hard to understand how deeply this affected my life.

I was an early teen when it happened. Women suddenly stopped giving me sheepish sarcastic smiles and gave me sincere sheepish smiles.  My skill with massage suddenly became a serious point in my corner, because I was no longer a little kid, I seemed at least SOMETHING like a real man.  My friendly and non-aggressive personality meant that I was, despite my chubby tummy, pimpled face, and nerdy personality, somewhat cool.  In fact, people stopped assuming that silence meant I was timid, and started assuming silence meant I was deep in thought.  I had more male friends because choir became less girly when you sang in the ‘male only’ section.

My voice dropping changed my entire personality, and subsequently changed what I had the confidence to do.

I took up Tae-Kwon-Do, grew a scraggly beard the minute I had enough facial hair to do so, and danced less awkwardly.  I joined multiple new choirs, took voice lessons, took more advanced courses, came to school an hour earlier and left four hours later.  I was, effectively, becoming something much more impressive than the little kid with the cute voice.    

This, readers, is what made me into ME.  In the 8-9 years since that early high-school period, I’ve spent less than 6 months of that time clean-shaven, and even then it was for shows, or to impress a girl.  

I performed, in costumes like this for weeks...without being bullied or beaten up.  SERIOUSLY.
EVEN I WANT TO BEAT MYSELF UP DRESSED LIKE THAT!

I’m still into singing, though in college I ended up majoring in English Writing and Biology with a Philosophy minor instead of sticking to music.  I still enjoy being known for my good massage skills, and I’m regularly caught up watching old plays, or listening to show-tunes. 

But because of my size, voice, and beard, that’s all OK.   You see, people don’t define you by your actions, but by how your actions meld into your total persona. 

Somewhere in the hazy zone between child and teen, and then teen and adult, I gained the three things that I treasure most in the world: 
1) A deep sonorous voice.
2) A sarcastically dry wit.

3) Most important, I gained my multicolored bushy beard.

If every story is supposed to carry a message, then take away this simple fact that a lifetime of singing and bullying has taught me:
If you can’t be a true and gritty tough guy, looking and sounding like one is more than enough.