It Happened Again

20 May

I don’t know if you’ve heard kids, but Ali had another bad date.  As if I really needed another notch in my goober belt.  However, this one is worth recounting since this guy pulled some pretty crazy moves.  No, not the kind of stuff that I freak out over and the rest of you roll your eyes at.  I’m talkin’ ’bout some real crazy sh*t, Willis.

So I thought I was in safe territory with this gentleman (nee, creep) since, like me, he is a graduate student at CU –in renewable energy, no less!  I tend to like to date guys who aren’t in the same program as I am because, let’s face it, I get plenty of it on my own.  I like to be with people who can teach me about something I’m not very familiar with.  Makes things a bit more interesting.

Anyhoo, this guy asked me on a date, and he proposed that we go on a hike and then go for dinner and drinks after.  He asked if his roommate and his girlfriend could join us for the hike, and I was completely fine with it.  I thought it might keep the date light and fun.  In fact, it WAS fun.  We hiked a very challenging trail on the Flatirons that I hadn’t done before, and we made it up in great time since we were distracted by the chit chat and get-to-know-yas.

However, this first date/group date thing has given rise to a new theory of mine: don’t do first date/group date things if you want to find out quickly if the guy you are dating is a weirdo.  Otherwise, it will take you a while until you get him by himself.  In my case, I was about seven hours into the date.  Yes, seven hours.  I know what you’re thinking, but no funny business went down.  It just took that long into the conversation to pull out every bit of the crazy.

Once we got done with dinner, we went back to his place for beers (which he brewed himself!  Can you see how I was initially charmed?)  We chatted it up for quite a while, the usual first date stuff, but suddenly he was showing me personal stuff.  His grandfather’s Bible that he had with him during WWII, for instance.  It was an amazing thing to see, but at this point I realized that I would probably have to make my exit soon so as not to encourage my curse of having guys tell me uber personal stuff right away.  However, he actually chose to shift to the standard “your eyes are beautiful” date move.  I thanked him –awkwardly of course, because I never learned how to graciously take a compliment.  I was out-awkwarded though, when he asked me to “look into the light”, because he claimed that my eyes had changed colors over the course of the evening.  He then proceeded to stare at my eyes like this . . .

for a very long time.  It was at least a full minute, which is forever when someone is staring at your retinas.  Peering.  Invasively observing.  You get the idea.

It was not too long later when he began to talk about how I would like his church . . .

Oh, did I just make you feel uncomfortable?  If so, you can probably understand how I felt.  It reminded me a lot of the first 30 seconds of this Jim Gaffigan clip.  I don’t care if he wanted to tell me about his church where people drink wine and pet bunnies all day.  I didn’t really ask for a church recommendation.  Here is a snippet of the conversation to give you an idea of how he went from a 6 to an 11 on the crazy scale in a matter of a couple minutes.

Him: It’s a great place.  Hundreds of people go.

Me: Oh, so it’s a megachurch?

Him: Well, not really . . . I mean, I guess it would be considered that.  It’s got a coffee shop in the place and everything, but my favorite thing about the place is the music.  They’ve got a really great rock band.  They really help get the message across.  And they’re not really preachy.

Me: Well, that’s good.  I hate it when churches get political.

Him: Yeah, they don’t push you.  Well, they suggest things, and tell you to take time to think about them, but they don’t MAKE you.

Me: I see.

The next day he sent me the link to the church in an e-mail.  So glad your grandpa fought for freedom so you could be here to push your politically-motivated church on me, dude.  Not to mention that you have pushed my bad date stories to the “ad nauseum” point.

So considering the intense peeping of my peepers, and the fact that I dislike poorly-written Christian rock music more than any other genre, I made the VERY difficult decision to never talk to this guy again.  You want to know the real dealbreaker, though?  It was his last name.  I shouldn’t type it here, but it’s a combination of the last two words of the phrase, “Yo mamma’s a ho.”  Yes, I wish I was kidding too.  But sadly, when it comes to my dating stories, I rarely find the need to insert extra jokes.


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