The Double Date

After seeing my relationship status change on Facebook, my friend and old coworker wasted no time in sending me a quick message.  He thought I'd hit it off with his best friend.  I agreed to some match making after I got some background info.  His name was Aaron and he was 30 years old, goofy, and worked as a city police officer.  My friend suggested a double date for drinks one evening- him and his girlfriend, me, and Aaron.  That sounded like a good idea to me.  Maybe even fun!  Obviously, this date didn't turn out quite the way I expected.

We arrive at the restaurant and order a round of drinks.  I've never met my friend's girlfriend before so I'm talking to her, talking to my friend, and asking Aaron some questions here and there and we're all laughing except for Aaron.  He seems like he's somewhere else entirely.  He spends a lot of time looking around the restaurant, behind him, at the bar... he's not contributing to any conversation and I don't mean just with me, I mean with anyone.  I like my friend, and now I like his girlfriend, but I came here to get to know Aaron.  So I direct all my attention to him to bring Aaron back to planet Earth, or at least back to the table.

My first attempt is this: You must have a lot of interesting stories to tell, let's hear one.  He assumes I'm talking about stories about my friend since they've known each other for 14 years.  I don't care what it's about, I just want a good story.  You know, one where Aaron speaks.  He thinks.  And thinks.  And thinks.  Silence.  Silence.  And more silence.  Finally he speaks.

"I don't know, there are so many..." 

"Okay, how about a story within the last year.  That should narrow it down by a lot!" I laugh.

He thinks.  And thinks.  And thinks.  Silence.  Silence.  And more silence.  He speaks again.

"... I don't know..."  Wow, Aaron.  Work with me here!  

"Okay then, how about a work story.  You've been a cop for 10 years right?  I bet you have some pretty crazy stories about work," I probe.

"You don't want to hear about my job," he replies.  Really?  Because I thought I just asked... 

"Actually, I'm not working right now," he states.  

"Did you get in trouble?  Did you get hurt??" I ask.  

"I shot and killed someone," he says with this distant look on his face.

"Oh... so you hurt someone else.  Well I'm sure you didn't have much of a choice about it.  But after killing someone, they require you to take some time off and see a therapist, right?"  You see all the things I learn from TV.  It's like I'm a fricken genius!  Okay, maybe that's a bit of a leap.

Aaron proceeds to tell me the story of the night where an adult woman calls 911 saying that her adult son  is in the yard waving a gun around.  They get to the scene and the man appears to be distressed and hysterical.  He appears to be contemplating suicide.  Then he begins shooting at the cops.  They all take cover and have their guns pointed at the guy.  He's now a danger to himself and a danger to others and he's armed.  Whoever has the chance to take the shot to stop this guy from killing his mom or an officer is instructed to take it.  It just so happens that Aaron has that opportunity and he does just that. Suicide by cop.  He doesn't like to talk about it.  It's been two months and now it makes sense why he seems so far away.  The guilt is eating him alive.  Sounds like therapy hasn't been helping too much, sounds like he needs some good old fashioned drugs.  You know, the Zoloft/Celexa/Wellbutrin type.  I wouldn't tell a cop to take drug-drugs now! Come on.

Anyhow, he proceeds to tell me how disturbing it was that some people on the force were congratulating him, like it was a victory.  As if he just entered some kind of cool kids club.  He kept repeating that he prides himself on being able to talk people down from situations, on being a caring person, on relating to people from all kinds of backgrounds and all types of situations, and he only uses force or violence as a last resort.  After all, he became a cop to help people, he tells me.  And now he's killed someone.  I remind him that if he didn't do it, someone else would have or someone else could have died instead.  Multiple people could have been injured or killed.  That man wanted to die.  No one expects to live when they're waving a weapon in front of a cop.  If you hold anything that even resembles a weapon in front of cops, then you're asking to be shot, because they won't hesitate to shoot you.  

I know I asked Aaron to tell me a work story, but I was expecting something a bit more light hearted than this.  I can clearly see he's traumatized and I feel bad for him, but at the same time I think he needs to be dealing with this first before he thinks about dating.  I'm also not so sure he should be a cop at all after this.  

Aaron then tells me how he's supposed to go back to work soon, but he still has triggers.  For example, when he sees the color lime green (the color of the mother's clothing), he thinks about that day and everything comes flooding back.  So not only is he depressed and guilt ridden, but he also suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder.  We all order another round of drinks and Aaron goes back to being his quiet self, gazing around the restaurant.

Another round of drinks later and Aaron is drunk.  I learned years later that before the date he was nervous so they call took a couple of shots before heading over to dinner.  This explains things because now he's all smiles and all over me.  He keeps whispering in my ear, grabbing my leg, holding my thigh...  He scoots real close to me and grabs one of my legs and crosses it over his and then holds my hands.  It's funny because I had dinner before this date and I only ordered two drinks because I didn't want to get drunk, act like a fool, and then make a bad impression.  Obviously, Aaron doesn't have the same concern.  He won't keep his hands off of me, oh, and he keeps calling me a butt head.  For the rest of the night, I'm "butt head."  Alicia?  She doesn't exist.  I feel like I'm on a date with a kindergartener.  One butt head is okay, but when it becomes a substitute for my name then we have problems.

My friend and his girlfriend suggest we should go to a bar next door for some dancing, so we walk.  They get to the bar and Aaron possibly gets another drink, I can't remember, but as soon as I sit down on the couch, he picks me up and sits me on his lap and wraps his arms around me.  My friend and his girlfriend are smiling, I'm sure they think we're hitting it off.  I, on the other hand, am uncomfortable with all of this touchy-feely business, especially since just 30 minutes ago, the guy would barely speak to me or anyone else for that matter.  

He asks me to dance, so we dance.  It feels weird because he's not much taller than me (I'm 5'2") so I'm looking him right in the eyes.  Being nearly nose to nose is making me feel awkward, like my personal space is being invaded.  Then he moves in closer and I'm afraid he's going to kiss me but I'm wrong.  He goes for my neck instead, not to kiss it, to nuzzle it.  That's right, nuzzling.  You know, like an animal nuzzles its young?  He's rubbing his forehead, his cheeks, and his shaved head all over the side of my neck.  Now he moves to the other side of my neck.  Now I'm just plain confused.  I feel like a lion or something, like I should start grooming him.  I resist the temptation to lick the stubble on his head and after a fair amount of nuzzling I decide that I'm done with the dancing and the nuzzling.  I'm ready to go.  

We walk back to my car and my friend and his girlfriend keep walking to give me and Aaron some privacy.  That's sweet of them but inside I'm whimpering "please don't..." Aaron whips out his phone and hands it to me, insisting I put in my number.  I type in "Alicia Butthead."  He gives me a hug goodbye, I get in my car and hear a door slam.  I freeze.  That wasn't my door.  I look over to the passenger side and Aaron is sitting there.  "Can you give me a ride home?" he smiles.  

I hear my friend calling, "Aaron! Your car is parked at my house!  What are you doing??"  

"I'm getting a ride home!" he shouts out of the car.

"Man, your car is at our house!  How are you gonna pick it up if you go home? Get outta the car!" my friend shouts back.

Aaron climbs out of my car and heads over to the two of them on the corner and I drive back home.

As soon as I change into my pajamas and I'm climbing into bed, I get a text message from Aaron.  He's complaining that my friend left him alone so he could spend the night at his girlfriend's house.  Aaron invites me to come over, asks me to spend the night with him, and I politely say no.  Even if I was interested, I'm exhausted. I feel like I went on a date with two completely different people.  Quiet, withdrawn, repentant Aaron vs. handsy, nuzzling, and horny Aaron.  And I didn't care for either.  

My Big White Creeper

I'm not gonna lie, my first date back into the single world was with a guy named Todd that my mom talked me into going out with.  His pictures were distant and blurry so I was reluctant, but his profile was surprisingly witty and clever.  He seemed like he had a great personality.  After writing back and forth we eventually exchanged phone numbers.  That's when he stopped sounding funny and started sounding creepy. 

He asked me if I wanted to finally meet one night and I replied that I had just gotten home from work and all I was in the mood for was to veg out on the recliner and watch some TV.  Todd's response?  "I'll come over with some popcorn and cuddle on the recliner with you."  Ew, no thanks. That was not an invitation.  I ignore the comment and instead we set up a date for dinner and a movie later on in the week. 

That night Todd texts me again at 12:30am asking what I'm up to.  I tell him I'm in bed, hoping he'll get the hint and let me get some sleep for work.  "Wish I was there," he said. 

"I don't," I respond.  Again, EW.  We haven't even met and you want to cuddle and lay in bed with me?  This is way creepy.  At this point I'm really starting to regret my dinner and a movie date.  I want to cancel it altogether but I convince myself that maybe he's trying to be sweet and I'm just making a big deal out of this.  After all, this is the first time he's been creepy.  He could be normal in person.  I'll keep the date, but dinner and a movie is definitely too long for comfort now.  Maybe just a movie.  No, movies are dark and I'm a little afraid of him now.  Maybe just dinner.  Dinner can be too long.  A drink?  Coffee.  Who roofies a coffee?  Coffee it is.  Operation: Scale Down Date, is in full swing.

Before date night rolls around I manage to downgrade it from dinner and a movie to just coffee.  Todd teases me that it's because I want to make a quick getaway if he's weird.  I don't deny it, I do laugh... nervously. 

The time has come.  Coffee.  In a public place.  With a possible creeper. I take comfort when I see several city police cars driving back and forth the area.  All of this, however, ends up being an overreaction.  Todd's nice and witty and funny, just like his profile.  I notice throughout the date that he keeps tilting his head, kind of like when your neck is bothering you and you're trying to crack it.  I feel bad so I ask him if he has a problem with his neck, thinking I had some tylenol I could give him. 

"Kinda... we'll talk about it later,"  he said. Okay.

The date continues.  So does the neck cracking.  I'm distracted and having trouble focusing on his moving target of a head, the curiousity is killing me so I blurt out, "Seriously, what is wrong with your neck?!"

"You haven't figured it out yet?" he asks.  No, I think to myself, I'm not a fricken mind reader.  "I have a mild case of Tourette's." 

Silence.  I must look like a deer caught in the headlights, except I feel like an ass.  All I can mutter is a quiet, "Oh..."

"Worst date ever!" he smiles and jokes.  I'm not thinking that.  Right now I'm thinking a lot of things but not that his Tourette's makes this the worst date ever.  I'm thinking how awkward I feel.  That his profile should have mentioned something about that... like a warning so you don't stick your foot in your mouth like I just did.  My thoughts continue to race.  Is this active all the time, or is it worse when you're nervous (like on a date perhaps)?  Tourette's is hereditary right?  So we'd have little Tourette's babies? I'll adopt. I wonder if he's looked into the brain stimulator thing I saw on MTV. I can look past this, right?  I can get over it, right?  It's mild.  It's not like he's blurting out racial slurs, cussing, or swinging his body around violently or anything.  I mean, he's funny and nice and otherwise normal.  This doesn't have to be a deal breaker.  I attempt to move on.

The date continues.  The topic of worst date comes up.  It's my turn to tell a story.  Geez, how do I choose?  I decide to tell the one about the guy who rattled on and on about how sexual he is.  "I'm a very sexual person.  I like to try new things.  I've read about the kamasutra and tantra.  I'm about doing whatever feels good.  If you want to say something racist, then say something racist!"  I told him how confused I was by that conversation. 

Todd has an idea what the guy meant, but he's torn whether or not he should tell me.  This goes on for a while: "I don't want to offend you.  Well.... Nevermind.  I think he meant.... It's probably inappropriate.  But... No, it could be offensive.  Maybe he was talking about... forget it.  Are you easily offended?  Nevermind... I don't want to offend you...  Fine, I'll just say it."

It's about time!

"So, my last girlfriend was black, right? And we were having sex and she yells out, 'I love your big white cock!'..." 

Wait, is this really happening?

"...And I ask her, wait, can I say stuff like that too?  She said yeah, so I say, 'I love your big black ass,' and I could tell she was really into it, ya know?  So maybe that's what the guy meant when he said 'say something racist.'"

I'm stunned.  Speechless even.  The story wasn't offensive.  It was just completely inappropriate.  I'm pretty sure it's unacceptable on a first date to tell me about the dirty talk you had with your ex-girlfriend while having sex with her.  In fact, it's probably not okay to talk about it on the second date, third date, fourth date, fifth date, or pretty much any date ever.  He's waiting for a reaction, but I have no idea how to follow that story.  Say something.  Say.  Something.

"Excuse me, we're closing in five minutes," the barista interrupts.  Thank you!  Thank you God for bringing me this angel barista!  Get me the heck out of here! 

"We should do this again soon," Todd smiled as we walked out.  "I'm hungry, do you want to get some dinner?" 

No thanks, Todd.  I ate beforehand so I'll pass on dinner and your big white cock.  But thanks for the coffee.

I'm Baaaaccckkkk- the remix

So I dated a cop and things didn't work out.  Well technically he's a deputy (sexy, right?), but yes we were together briefly.  Anyway, we broke up because our relationship was missing a key ingredient and after almost a year, that ingredient was still missing.  Three years ago when I originally wrote this post, I was embarrassed to say what that ingredient was, but like any good remix, this post is better because I'm revealing the ingredient: sex. 

That's right, my boyfriend: an ex-army turned deputy sheriff, did not want to have sex.  I don't mean every day, I don't mean three times a week, I mean never.  Like never ever.  Like we never even got close.  And since I only had one real partner, I was kind of looking forward to seeing what it was like with someone else.  But instead I was left puzzled, hurt, resentful, and pissed off.    

"Well, Alicia, did you make a move?"  Holy hell, yes.  I made all kinds of moves short of raping him, but it never amounted to anything.  He'd either push me away giggling or seemed just as uninterested as if I had asked him to play with Barbie dolls.  A girl wants to feel desirable, but instead I couldn't help but wonder what was wrong with me.  Obviously nothing, I'm amazing, but after months and months of putting on the moves and getting shot down I must have suffered a mental break of some kind to think that.  At one point I sat down with him ready to have a "you're gay" intervention.  This intervention resulted in a lot of yelling and cussing on his part, which pretty much sold me on the notion that he was a homophobic gay in denial.  But then again, maybe all this pent up anger was a sign of something else... roid rage? 

Seriously, the guy was not nice.  I mean he was nice to me, but he was not nice to the general public.  He talked to me about giving tickets to illegal immigrants, crumbling the ticket up, putting it in their mouths, and making them chew it.  "They're not people.  They're animals," he said.  And in public he'd purposefully talk shit about people loud enough so they would hear him.  It was horrifying.  The more I write this the more I wonder why I endured this for so long or at all... clearly it had to be rebound desperation.  Anyway, I wouldn't be surprised if he took some kind of steroids because he kept dragging me to these health stores asking people for some pill that was taken off the market.  If steroids cause impotence, maybe that's why nothing ever happened?  This is me trying to find another excuse because I don't want to give gays a bad name by adding him to their roster.    

After I had the, "it's okay, you can tell me if you're gay" conversation, he agreed to go to the doctor who suggested that his low libido was due to a side effect of his anti-anxiety meds.  (Anti-anxiety?  Oh, did I forget to tell you that this guy had ADHD and social anxiety to the point where he refused to go to any of my family functions or social gatherings by conveniently "forgetting" what time they started or suddenly "developing a headache.")  However, that was bullshit, because he didn't start taking those meds until months after we started dating and we weren't doing anything besides cuddling before then either.  

The doctor prescribed him Cialis, which he claimed he took but I'll never know because I didn't sit there and watch him take it and again, he never made a move.  Now I'm no erectile dysfunction expert, but I don't think Cialis just gives you a boner.  Based on their commercials (that's legit research, right?), you take it in case "the opportunity" presents itself later and then BAM, you're in business.  I'm not sure how you're supposed to get an erection taking me to Denny's for dinner.  In fact, I don't want your erection after a Denny's dinner.  Denny's, seriously?

After nearly a year of brazen and failed attempts at intimacy with this douchebag and I threw in the towel.  He's racist, he's mean, clearly weird, probably crazy, he refuses to spend time with my friends or family because of his social anxiety, and he's gay.  Not my type x6.  We're done.  

I restarted my account on the dating site, threw in some new pictures, updated some old info and viola!  I'm single and ready to mingle again! Except without the enthusiasm haha.  This shit is getting old.  

And that's where you come in.  It's been six months and though I haven't gone on nearly as many dates as I did the first time around, I still have some pretty good stories.  Let the games begin!

P.S. Nearly a year after our breakup, I read in the news that the deputy was arrested and convicted for felony grand theft!  Yep, he stole an instrument from a band at a hotel and was caught on tape.  Wow, just wow.