February 11, 2006 - 7:11 pmTHE WORST DATE I’VE EVER HAD: PART 2, WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING?
Okay, skipping over the part where I don’t return Nero’s calls for a month or so, ahead to the “Happy New Year!” email he sends me. I respond with a polite, admittedly impersonal, “Happy New Year to you too, you misogynist pig!”
No, what I really said, honestly and directly, was that while we seemed to connect on some certain abstract, spiritual, and sexual topics, I feel we’re simply too far apart on the political spectrum ever to find common ground. I believe extremes are impossible to argue in any way other than the purely esoteric and prefer the subtlety of the center, where most people live and where real debate happens. (Translation: I reside just left of center, and you’re way the fuck out in right field at Fascist Stadium, you misogynist pig.)
So, he hooks me by saying I’m stereotyping him from one conversation, just like a typical liberal.
I know. I shouldn’t have, but I bit anyway. I can’t help it. I just can’t stand to be viewed as less than fair and balanced, and I have a hard time walking away from someone who can’t see this fine quality of mine. So I’m willing to hang in there, even if it means punching a man in the nuts repeatedly until he finally understands just how fair and balanced I really am.
Plus, if I’m totally honest here, he was really fucking hot and beginning to pique my interest sexually with some of the non-political (read: purely sexual) topics we covered. Alright, alright. I was hot for the guy. I’m ashamed of myself, but that’s the truth. I was hot for a sexist racist fascist pig, okay? I can overlook a few minor faults for the potential for sexual fulfillment.
One more example of just how fair and balanced I am. When I’m attracted to someone.
Okay. We’re supposed to meet at the Universal Joint around 7:30, mostly because I don’t want some random (baby-killer) guy knowing where I live. The plan is to have a beer or two and chat a bit (no politics, we agreed ahead of time), and then move on to some other local Decatur place for dinner. Simple enough, right?
Now, the way the evening actually started out:
He calls me at 7:45 and says he’s just on his way back into the ATL from picking up blah blah blah from yadda yadda. He’ll be at my place by 8:30. We’ll drop off blah blah blah at his shop off Flowery Branch Road, grab a “one-hitter” and head back to Atlanta for dinner.
Okaaaaay. I guess. Except for the pot. I don’t do drugs anymore.
He shows up – looking gorgeous and Greek-god-like, I must add – I get in the car, and we head to his shop. Turns out, Flowery Branch is in Gainesville – an hour away from Decatur.
Alriiiiiight. So, being the generous, understanding person I am, I decide to make the best of it. Hey, we can chat in the car, right? Which we did, managing to avoid politics. Nero pretty much directed the conversation, focusing mostly on sex.
And performance cars.
And just how bad I had to pee.
But somehow, Nero just couldn’t find it in his heart to pull over so I could use the bathroom. He kept telling me we were almost there, and surely I could wait just a little while. In a bizarre episode of role reversal, I felt like Hoke to his Miss Daisy, on the way down to Mobile for that goddamn birthday party.
“I’s a grown woman, and I knows when I has to make water. Now pull this FUCKING Chrysler over right this GODdamn minute before I go Black Panther on your ass, mother FUCKER!”
I’m tired of typing now, even though you’ve really just gotten the first little taste of the torrent of bile yet to flow. But, hey, you can use this break between entries to imagine what’s coming: the seemingly endless ride with this Muslim-hating, drug-using, war-mongering, woman-oppressing would-be Disciple of Christ who, as I learned during our spiral descent into Dante’s Thirteenth Circle of Hell, is waiting patiently for The Rapture. May god have mercy on his soul, Amen.
Tune in next time for THE WORST DATE I’VE EVER HAD: PART 3, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, ARE WE THERE YET?
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