Private Dick

     Monday I had a very romantic outing planned at Starbuck’s with my date the private investigator, we’ll call him Private Dick.

     Since I am now following the tutelage of Dr. D, I made sure I broke myself from myJust Buddies deadly dating pattern and put more effort into my appearance for the date.  The legs were already shaved so I figured, what the heck, I’ll wear a dress.  Make-up, actually took more than two minutes, and I even brushed my teeth.  I usually do the latter out of courtesy anyway.  The only issue I was having were the very vocalized digestive noises coming from my stomach.  They had been bothering me all day but I thought they would have stopped by then.

     I hopped in my car, shut the door and then more noises from the great beyond, sounded like Chewbacca was gearing up for a throw-down.  Afraid I would be too late for my date if I ran back upstairs, and didn’t want to attempt to explain why I was late, I took off and prayed the whole way.

     When I arrived, after driving like a bat-out-of-Hell, I realized I had about ten minutes to spare.  Spotted a drugstore, parked, and ran in.  Tried to make it look like I was going to buy something rather than just use them for their toilet, but at that point, who cared?  Sure as hell not me.

     Go in, line the toilet seat and sitdown.  Then, all of the sudden, I was grasping at air to save my life when the broken toilet seat starts flying out from under me.  Fortunately I’m in the handicap stall and manage to get hold of the rail before I find myself in a head-meets-tile situation.  I am now holding on for dear life, trying to check the time, and praying there’s toilet paper.

     As I’m washing my hands, my phone rings.  Fiddle-sticks, am I really late?  Walk towards the front of the store and realize I’m not and that he was just calling to tell me he is here.  Before I get too close, I catch a glimpse of myself in a car window reflection.  Damn, I’m good.  No toilet paper on my shoe, hair still intact, lip gloss still shining.  Had a little bra popping out of my dress, which I can only assume was a result of my dance with the handicap rail, and I thought a little bra action wasn’t going to hurt me.

     Private Dick stepped out of his inconspicuous dark green Hummer with “K-9” printed in yellow on the sides.  Walked up and he gave the one-arm-I-don’t-know-you-well half-hug and damn if the boy didn’t smell good.  Go in, order green tea.  He accuses me of being healthy, and then orders the same thing.  Flips through a few fifties to get to the $20 he paid with.  Man, I’m outta my league. 

     We look for a place to sit.  Both inside and outside are full.  He said let’s go outside, and walked down the walk-way and then stopped at the end.  Nice, date next to a dumpster.  Classy.  Maybe I’m out of his league.

     We are chatting and I notice his neck Tourettes.  He was watching EVERYONE.  Delivery man, Starbuck’s employees on break, teenage boys parking their car, a group of young women (according to him, badly dressed), and a man putting gas in his Corolla.  Yes, he even made note of the exact car from 100 yards away.  At this point I was thinking I must be a decoy on his stake out.  No one went unseen except maybe me.  I’m sure by the end of the date he didn’t even know what I looked like.

     He talked, I listened.  I talked, he, well, who know’s.  I learned that he’s very opinionated.  He’s European, but hate’s living in Europe, something about no room to park his Hummer.  The women from Eastern Europe are the most beautiful in the world.  Dude, your standing next to an American with Western European heritage, so thanks for that.  Mexicans are apparently all ugly and unfortunately breed too much so we are being overtaken by “the ugly.” 

     At one point he actually answered his phone mid sentence.

Private Dick: Hey, can I call you back in five minutes?

Me: (thinking) Well, guess we’ll be finishing up in five minutes then.

     Then I got this flattering conversation:

Private Dick: I took my profile down because all the women are nothing.  They’re crap.

Me: Uh, thanks.

Private Dick: (quickly) No, not you.

Me: Ah, yeah.

     Needless to say the date ended soon after that.  This time I got a two-arm-I-don’t-know-you-well hug.  What can I say, he did smell really good so I took it.  Then I got an over the shoulder, “Hey, call me sometime.”

     Yeah, dude, that’ll happen.   

 

 

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10 Comments »

  1. B. Said:

    Wow. Was this date from the big dating site or the boutique one? Whatever it is…it is a sham.

    • ziazitella Said:

      Big site. I have yet to chose which boutique site will be blessed with my presence.

  2. jennifer sellers Said:

    First, love the nickname. Second, sorry about the bathroom incident. Third, at least he paid!

  3. Michael Said:

    OMG – you do know how to meet them! Love the bathroom description, glad you weren’t hurt and hope the next guy you meet keeps his neck straight only looking at you.

  4. Man-shopper Said:

    Shucks. Makeup and dress wasted on another dud. And he has no idea because he was too busy being an asstard…

    • ziazitella Said:

      Asstard indeed. He just text me at 10:15 on a Friday night to ask what I was doing. I mean, dude, really?

  5. Fishy Said:

    Always be wary of anyone who describes themself as ‘European’…
    *Plentymorefishoutofwater – One Man’s Dating Diary*

    • ziazitella Said:

      I gave him that description. I think he believes he’s “worldly.”

  6. […] } { Tags: Dating, Dating Blog, First Dates, Online Dating }      Even though the date with Private Dick didn’t go swimmingly, I still had two others to tackle last week.  Now, neither of my two […]


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