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Desperado Disease... or What NOT to Do!

by Poomstar

After receiving countless great DJ tips in my inbox, I finally decided to contribute something to the Newsletter.

This following story comes from a good friend of mine who recently went on a horrible date with some shmuck. I thought it would be great to share her story with all my fellow DJ's, and get a female perspective on the dating game. Read on, and learn from this bozo's mistakes...

Happy Hunting.


My past experiences have given me a very clear picture of what I want and don't want when it comes to relationships. You see, these experiences have led me to encounter two opposing extremes of men.

Specifically, there were those who wanted nothing serious at all and were far from ready to settle down, and those whom if they had it their way, would have me married, barefoot and pregnant as soon a possible.

On that note, here begins the tale from my repertoire of disastrous dates, which should help shed some light on what I commonly refer to as "desperado disease".

Ready? Here goes.

Brief synopsis: his name was Michael, 34 yrs old, never married, pharmaceutical salesman, we met on-line. So we corresponded for a while and eventually talked over the phone. In retrospect (hindsight is always 20/20), I should have noticed a couple of red flags during our conversations, but I suppose I was too quick to dismiss them initially. In any case, we decided to meet and this is where the beginning of the end began.

Firstly, although it is not in my habit to have a date come to pick me up at home the first time, he flat out insisted despite my reluctance (red flag #1 very pushy) but I figured he was just trying to be a gentleman.

So the doorbell rings (which I was not expecting! I thought I would meet him outside, because meeting me & my parents on the first date is a bit too much in my opinion), and as I proceed towards my entrance, I can already smell the cologne permeating through the door (red flag #2).

Hesitantly, I open the door and am greeted by a positively beaming Michael who extends a huge (and I do mean HUGE) bouquet of flowers to me. My mother and father come down to meet him, and as idle "nice to meet you" chit chat is taking place, I can't help but notice certain discrepancies in his appearance.

Firstly, his on-line picture was no doubt taken ten years ago, as evidenced by his now thinning hair and several added pounds. Although some men appear even more distinguished with age, he looks well...just plain old. I start to worry he may appear like my "sugar daddy" to onlookers, not to mention the fact that his skin has taken on a peculiar orange tinged hue (quite possibly a tanning cream gone horribly wrong).

Furthermore, he was a far cry from the 5 ft 11 he claimed to be! In fact, by the time I put my heels on I was practically taller than him, and I am short to begin with.

This seems a clear cut case of false advertising. But, far be it from me to seem superficial. I realize a book shouldn't be judged by its cover, and decide to give this whole evening a decent shot. I am not encouraged though as I give my parents one last look over my shoulder while departing, only to see my dad staring back at us skeptically. Oh well, grin and bear it.

We get into his car. The cologne is now suffocating me in these close confines, and I attempt not to be impolite by showing that I'm gasping for oxygen. Then Michael pipes up with his first "brilliant" comment of the night:

"You know, I didn't notice what gorgeous glossy lips you had from your picture. They're so perfect", to which I respond (*giggling nervously*) "Well, right...ummmm...thanks" (not exactly a conversation starter, am I right? I mean, this is the very first thing he says to me).

So we begin our drive there but as he's driving, he's staring right at me at the same time, beaming this star-struck, heavenly glow as if someone hit him over the head and rendered him retarded. At this point, I'm thinking that if I don't die of asphyxiation, I will surely die of a fatal car accident if this man doesn't stop staring at me and keep his eyes on the road. But, low and behold, we do make it back to the restaurant in one piece, although I'm beginning to feel light-headed from holding my breath and that's when things go from bad to worse.

Approximately 60 seconds after we get seated, the bombardment (and I do mean b-o-m-b-a-r-d-m-e-n-t) of compliments begin.

Michael (still beaming the goofy-eyed retarded look of his) proceeds to comment on every possible thing there is to say about me from my "gorgeous, incredibly thick shiny hair", to my "cute button nose", to my "perfectly shaped eyebrows", "long voluptuous lashes", "flawless skin" and "beautiful honey-brown complexion". If I needed a publicist, I would know who to hire.

Now don't get me wrong, every woman can appreciate a well intentioned compliment, but there are just so many nervous giggles and thank-yous that can be said during a first encounter with someone before it begins too get...well...irritating.

I feel myself changing from "honey-brown" to several shades of deep red as this man sits across from me peering deeply into my eyes, barely prying them off me to look at the menu. I feel my mouth grow dry as I get increasingly nervous and realize that this man is beginning to have a serious physiological effect on me, and it's not a good one.

Before we even get started with the first course, he has me booked for practically every day for the next 5 months.

"Can't wait to take you for sushi, how about Monday? Oooooo....and I can cook too you know, how about I have you over Tuesday? Ever been up north in the mountains before? We're going to have so much fun skiing together. How about Wednesday?" And then, "Can't wait for you to meet my parents, I've told them so much about you. How about, say, Thursday?"

I'm practically dying now, desperately trying to make eye contact with the waiter. Forget water, I need a stiff drink. The appetizers finally arrive, and I mentally thank God for what I pray will be the perfect distraction to him planning out the rest of our lives.

But alas, Michael had other things in mind, and before I know it, he takes out a stack of photos from his coat and proceeds to introduce me to each and every single friend and family member, including his beloved dog (which of course, he can't wait to introduce me to).

Then, exuding the epitome eagerness, he tells me how he's told each and every one of them about me and how they're all "crossing their fingers for us at this very moment, hoping that things turn out well tonight" (his exact words, not mine!!). Is it just me, or do you find this somewhat strange? I could be wrong, I don't know. But I find all this just a tad weird.

And it doesn't stop there; he's now officially attempted to coerce me into shopping for baby clothes for his cousin's baby shower next week, which I am of course already invited to. And then the icing on the cake; while peering deeply into my eyes, Michael asks "may I hold your hand?"

Reluctantly, I extend my hand. After all, what the hell am I supposed to say "I don't believe in holding hands?"

This guy obviously is not reading ANY of my signals, content to revel in his own imaginary world that consists of me, him, and quite possibly our future honey-brown babies. Not without the customary "Oooooooo your hands are soooo soft" compliment, he begins to play with my fingers which I am fighting not to curl into a fist. He then pipes up with yet another brilliant comment, "wow I can't believe I'm actually here sitting in front of you right now" (excuse me while I become physically ill here).

In an effort to further distract him from twirling the ring around my finger (with him no doubt dreaming of the replacement one he has in mind for me), I begin to start talking about something completely mundane and un-romantic, figuring this will stop the hamster that is running a mile a minute in his one-track mind.

But, my efforts are in vain as I realize to my dismay that he is not paying attention to a single thing I'm saying when he interrupts me mid-sentence and exclaims "my God you have such white teeth!!" Argggggggggh!!! My frustration culminates as I attempt to fight the seething sarcasm in my voice and I respond: "thanks...I uh, brush them regularly".

As dessert roles around, he gets down to business and proceeds to interrogate me with questions such as, "so, if we were to get married, how long would you expect to wait before having kids?"

I stare back at him in utter disbelief. I mean come on, it's one thing to ask a general question but we haven't even gotten through our first date yet and he's using "we" and "married" in the same sentence? As I prepare to answer him with as much tact as I can possibly muster, he interrupts me again, looking at me wistfully and says, "cause I can't wait to be a father."

AHHHH, for the love of GOD!!! Have mercy on me!!! Is this some kind of sick joke? Please, let Jamie Kennedy pop up from under the table and tell me I've been "X-ed"!!!

It takes everything I have not to get up from the table and scream "CHECK PLEASE!!" before he attempts to impregnate me right then and there.

To make matters worse (if that's even possible), this cheesy R&B Nelly and Kelly song comes on (you know the one where the chorus goes "Baby I want you, you know I need you, Baby I love you, I do, and you're all that I ever need blah blah" you get the point), and he takes my hand again (which I had discretely removed from his prior to this by taking a sip of wine), and he peers back at me saying, "This song reminds me... (*pause here for dramatic effect*)...of...you" (the epitome of cheese I mean we're talking full on Velveeta here).

He then starts up a one-sided discussion about love, fate, soul mates, and many more enchanted evenings he foresees in our future together.

Meanwhile, he's still not picking up on the fact that I'm desperately trying to climb down from the mental pedestal of glory that he has me up on, but I eventually resign myself to the fact that no matter what I say it's going in one ear and out the other. After all, what with the wedding to plan, the guests to invite, and our children to name, there's not much else he can possibly take the time to think about; such as the fact that he's creeping the living crap out of me.

Just as my skin begins to crawl, I tell him we had better get going because I have to get up early for church tomorrow. His beaming face cracks for a second in disappointment, but then lights up again as he suggests that we go out for brunch tomorrow with his cousin and his wife. Thinking he won't buy the "Umm, actually I was planning to umm intensively condition my hair tomorrow at lunch time" excuse, I instead make up something more plausible involving babysitting my little cousin.

He looks disappointed once more when I don't suggest he keep me company while babysitting, but he makes it up to himself by postponing his planned hiking trip with me next week (to which I didn't even agree to!), and decides that we'll meet his cousin next week instead, the day before the baby shower.

Too tired to argue at this point and feeling completely drained; I'm pretty silent on the way home, wondering how on earth I managed to get myself into this. He doesn't notice though, happily rambling on about what a good time 'we' had tonight.

I breathe a barely audible sigh of relief as I see my house approaching.

Michael insists on waking me up my driveway. I make sure to insert my key in the door and open it slightly before turning to face him, hoping that this will dissuade him because I'm getting the sneaking suspicion he's going to try to kiss me if I'm not careful. I thank him for the evening and deliberately slide myself to his extreme right, and then extreme left to give him the two-cheek kiss, and chastely close the door behind me, grateful for the end of the most uncomfortable night I ever had.

As I crawl into bed, I begin inventing plans on how to weasel myself out of this one. One date and I already feel committed for a lifetime. Like a bride at the altar who knows she's about to make the biggest mistake of her life, but there's no backing out now. After all, look at the hundreds of guests looking expectantly back at me in the pews.

My vision gets scarier as these faces start metamorphosing into hundreds of retarded, beaming, goofy-eyed Michaels looking dreamily at me. I shudder as they all begin to froth at the mouth in pure bliss. Thankfully, my vision is interrupted by my cell phone, which after screening the number, I decide not to answer. I check my voicemail, it's Michael calling to wish me pleasant dreams. Wonderful.

I fall into a fitful sleep, stressed and knowing that the next time I talk to him I'm seriously going to have to put my foot down once and for all.

Well, 9 AM rolls around and my phone rings once more. You guessed it, it's Michael again and he wants to know if I'm SURE I can't go for brunch. I can even bring my little cousin.

He then proceeds to tell me that he's gotten 5 phone calls already this morning from friends and family members wanting to know how our date went. And THEN, he pulls out the piece-de-resistance, saying that his best friend who lives near me happened to mention that there's a house for sale on his street and he wants to buy it. Isn't that great?

Before hearing him carry on about this potential investment in our future together, I figure this is as good a time as any to crash the party that's going on in his disillusioned mind. I give him my best rendition of the proverbial "speech" I can think of, claiming that I'm simply overwhelmed, and throwing in a couple of metaphors about "not putting the carriage before the horse" for good measure.

After several sugar-coated, and then not-so-sugar-coated attempts to get the message across, Michael finally seems to get the picture, and I let him believe that I'm simply too young to entertain the depth of his notions.

The truth is though; my age is a non-issue in all of this. Is it too much to ask for moderation? Whatever happened to the concept of everything in due time?

Now I'm not saying that I need 10 years to get to know someone either, but I refuse to start picking out wedding planners before the friggin' appetizers arrive! And in case you hadn't noticed, I don't thrive well in situations where there are too many expectations, hopes & dreams laid out on the table too soon.

You see, by itself, and drawn out over a period of time, most of the things Michael had in mind for "us" would have actually appealed to me. But when lumped together before I had the chance to bat a "voluptuous eyelash", they came across as being well, downright freaking scary!