The look on my face says it all.
(This is literally a Snapchat I took to send to my friends while he was at the bar getting water, so the horror and “yuck” on my face is one hundred percent genuine. Plus you can see what I wore on this date!)
I have long given up on blogging about dating or relationships, but this story was one that was too (terribly) good for me to not tell.
This story starts on a Friday night, when your favorite sassy blogger was out and about with her friends, wearing a super cute sequined skirt and looking cute. My friends and I were walking down the street, when we walked past this bar and there was this super hot guy standing outside. He was tall, tanned, muscular, handsome…he could have been straight out of the wolf pack from Twilight! (And your girl is Team Jacob, so bonus points!)
To prevent this story from being any longer than necessary, my friend brought him over, he asked for my number, and then after texting back and forth, he suggested a date, and I agreed. He suggested a date at the beach, and I had agreed.
I had suspected that he was a weirdo, because when we were texting he commented that it was hard to find photographs of him that weren’t nude, and because he was non-stop calling me baby/boo/babe/hun (which I find highly irritating and annoying, especially since he is not my boyfriend and we barely knew each other). But he was super handsome, and my friends probably would have killed me at that point in time, if I had not gone on a date with him. It was one of those rare moments when the planets align, and every single person in our friend group had found this guy attractive.
I had pushed our date back because of a pressing situation–Ashley and I decided to go on a cupcake tour. But that’s a longer story for another time. I lied to him and told him that we had to buy textbooks for the new semester, so I pushed our plans back. I found it a little weird that he had picked the beach for the first date, but I decided that it was whatever. And plus, I had a really cute sundress on!
It was a colder summer day, and there was no way in hell I was getting in the water, but I decided that I should wear my bikini just in case (just in case, as in when he left and I was by myself I might go for a swim).
Once I got there, I texted him.
Me: I’m basically here, where are we meeting?
Him: At the beach, the sand, the wind, the water
What the actual hell was he talking about?
- Duh, we were meeting at the f-ing beach.
- The beach was literally FULL of people at that very moment.
Me: Uh, yeah, it’s a huge beach with hella people.
After my sass, he suggested that we meet at the bathrooms. It was a little gross, but a far less stupid response than “at the beach, the sand, the wind, the water.”
I was literally at the beach for .5 seconds, before he showed up and hugged me hello.
“Oh my god, you missed it,” he said, in a voice that resembled a neanderthal jock character in a 90’s romantic comedy.
“What did I miss?”
“There was this black guy here, this black guy was here and they like dragged him off the beach. They like, dragged this black guy off the beach,” he said, constantly emphasizing and repeating that the man they escorted off the beach was African American. I had a problem with him using the word dragged to describe the act of dragging a black man off the beach, and an even bigger problem with him non-stop emphasizing that this guy was black.
“Okay, you don’t need to emphasize that he’s black or use the word dragged,” I said. He clearly noticed that I was turned off, because he suggested that we go and get drinks at the bar on the beach. He asked me what I wanted, and because I don’t like open drinks and because I only drink beer, I told him that I wanted a Stella. He claimed that they didn’t have Stella, so I said to grab me a 312.
Despite the fact that I made it clear that I only drink beer, the bartender handed him two Margaritas, and he commented that he took the liberty of ordering me one. Annoyed, I took it. My “date,” who we will call Man Bun, gave the bartender twenty dollars. And the bartender looked pissed.
“What the f-k is his deal?” Man Bun said, shrugging it off.
“You didn’t pay him enough, each drink is $14,” the guy sitting at the bar said. I gave Man Bun a look, and shook my head.
“You didn’t check to see how much each drink was?” I said, in disbelief.
“No, I just assumed twenty would be enough.”
Not only did Man Bun not tip, but he shorted the bartender. Man Bun turned to look at me, and asked, “Can you give him some money?”
At this moment, I knew that we were not going to go on another date, but I decided that I would sit for half an hour. I dug some cash out of my purse, and was ready to give it to the bartender, who had magically disappeared. I suspect that he had to leave for a brief moment to calm down, or else he would have ripped Man Bun’s man bun off of his smug head.
Man Bun and I sat down, and because I did not want to be by ourselves, I chose a fairly crowded cantina area. I had texted my friend to call me forty five minutes from when we sat down, in order to save myself.
We made some polite small talk, and Man Bun asks me, “So were those your friends?”
No, they were some random strangers that I met that night. Yes, they were my friends!
“Yes,” I responded. I stopped myself there, at fear that if I said any more words that I would make Man Bun cry.
“The only thing that I noticed about them was that they were black.”
“Excuse me?” I said, giving him a chance to correct his obviously racist tone.
“Were they gay too?” Man Bun paused for a moment, “Well, they were in Boystown so of course.”
“No, they weren’t.” I responded.
“When your friend came up to me, I was like ‘oh s-t this faggot is trying to flirt with me.”
“OKAY, dude, that is really rude and offensive,” I said, before Man Bun interrupted me.
“Are your friends ratchet?”
I nearly stood up, and ripped the Man Bun off his head, when suddenly, this older African American lady sat by us.
“She’s like the definition of ratchet,” MB said, laughing as he said it. He turned to look at me, and saw that my face was dead still in the coldest look you have ever seen.
“Dude, that’s really rude and tremendously offensive. You can’t say that about her. That’s just mean and racist.”
“Babe, I’m mean as f-k, I’m a mean kind of guy.” He looks at me, keeps laughing, and says, “Okay, babe.”
“You’re seriously being super racist and super rude.”
“HAHAHAHAHAHA, okay, babe.”
Man Bun suggests that we go for a walk or dance, and I say that I want to just sit, and do neither. I suspected that if we got up and closer to the water, then I would just end up pushing him in the water, and walking away.
He continues to make small talk, call me babe, and annoy me. I continue to go on my phone, ignore him, and contemplate faking a heart attack to get out of this date.
“I could tell that you were Vietnamese, because your eye shape is bigger than other Asians.” He then continues to tell me that he loves my Asian features. I am visibly annoyed and everyone in this cantina is laughing at this terrible date, and this terrible, terrible man with a man bun that I have had the misfortune of having a drink with.
He talked about his struggles as a Latino man, and how it’s hard because Latinos go through so, so, so much. I tell him that every race has its own personal struggles, some far more difficult than others. He then comments, “Ugh, are you one of those black lives matter people?” He says this, and then laughs, in a joking way.
“Yeah, actually, I am,” I respond, as he looks at me, expecting me to start laughing like a buffoon with him. He then tries to change the subject, and tells me that he has plans for us for that night.
“WHAT?” I ask, in disbelief.
“Yeah, we’re going dancing at eleven tonight.”
I feel like I must divulge a few things:
- This was about 5 pm when we were having this drink.
- I could not tolerate him for another five minutes.
- SO SIX MORE HOURS WAS OUT OF THE QUESTION.
- And he never asked me if I wanted to go dancing with him wtf?!?!
“No.” I say, as I start laughing, probably at the fact that my life is just so sad, and that these terrible dates happen a lot more than they should. Man Bun looked at me in confusion, as he probably expected me to say something along the lines of “Oh my gawwwwwd, that is such a good idea sweetie!”
“Wait, what?” Man Bun asked, looking at me, as if I had just said racist nonsense. Wait, no, he says racist nonsense, so he looked at me as if I had just told him that I didn’t like his man bun.
“I have plans tonight with my friend.”
“No thanks,” I said, with the smugest smile I could.
“Let’s take a walk,” Man Bun said, sensing my obvious resistance against what he thought was charm.
“You can go for a walk and I’ll stay here.”
“No, babe, I’m here today because I want to spend time with you,” he said, expecting me to melt in his arms. He quickly changed the subject.
“No thanks,” I said, checking my phone to see what time it was. He snatched my phone out of my hand, thinking that he was flirtatious, and I nearly chopped off his stupid man bun.
“You don’t dance?”
“Not with you.”
“Is it because you can’t dance?”
“Sure,” I responded, as I made sure that my friend was going to save me later that night.
“I couldn’t either, I used to dance like a f-king retarded white person.”
And just when I thought things could not get worse, he stood up, and starting doing this racist, inappropriate, and offensive impersonation, as everyone looked at us in horror, and he said, “I’m dancing like a retarded white person!”
I sat there, frozen in horror and shock, as he set down and asked me another question.
“When was your last relationship?”
I’m pretty sure I am going to go to hell for admitting this (and for doing this), but whenever I don’t like a guy, I lie to them and tell them that I still have feelings for my ex boyfriend and that we are getting back together. This is because there is nothing more stubborn that an entitled guy who likes you, and believes that you are obligated to return those feelings because they are attracted to you. I would rather rip my fingernails off than actually tell a man that I am not interested in him, especially since the last time I told the actual truth a guy followed me twenty blocks to Target, and all around the store and home, asking me why I would not date him.
So, knowing that I would never want to see him again, I flipped a curl over my shoulder, smiled and said, “Oh, like a few months ago. My ex boyfriend and I dated for like…two years. And we’re like, on a break, but not really, but like..kinda.” I thought this would deter him, but I was wrong
“What race was he?”
“Not that it matters, but he was Latino,” I said, disappointed that my plan didn’t work.
“Nice, so you uh, got a thing for Latino guys, babe?”
“You’ve dated white guys too?”
I internally counted to ten, resisting the urge to slap him with my woke-ness.
“I have gone on dates with all sorts of guys, because I do not judge or base my relationships on what ethnicity they are. I care about character and personality.”
“That’s nice babe,” he said, dismissing me, and laughing.
“I’ve only dated like, Asian girls, Latinas, and white girls,” he laughed.
I said nothing, because I quite honestly did not know how to respond, because I felt like regardless of what I was going to say, he was going to be offensive.
“Like, each girl acts differently based on her race, like they each act differently.”
As you can see, I was correct. I had reached the point in the date where I was just waiting for my friend to call me, and just said “okay,” “that’s racist,” or flat-out ignored him, and he just continued to be a neanderthal.
“Like, white girls are cold as f-k, they are some of the coldest bitches that you will ever meet. Latinas do anything and everything for you, they’re sweet and obedient…and Asian girls are bad bitches.”
I said nothing, and he kept talking.
“But I would never date a black person, I would never. It’s just that I’ve seen them in their atmosphere, and not to be judgmental, I just would never date a black girl after what I’ve seen.”
I looked at him in shock, and before I could respond, he added, “You know I work in an African restaurant, right? That’s how I see them in their environment.”
“THAT’S RACIST.” I said, yelling at him. I couldn’t help it, and I swear everyone turned to look at me.
“NO, Chrissey, that’s just preference. They’re ratchet.”
“No, it’s racist and it’s offensive, and you obviously have a problem with black people and that’s not okay.”
“That’s cute, babe.”
I simply did not know what to say, so I sat there in silence, as everyone in that cantina was laughing at how tragic, and sad this date was. This poor, poor girl was on a date with this neanderthal that was possibly a KKK member.
“Do you do sports?”
“Not even in high school?”
“You should do ping pong.”
“That’s racist, and no thanks.”
He continued to try to make conversation, and because he was the absolute worst, I texted my friends on my phone and gave very short responses, waiting for the call that would save me from this terrible date.
To be quite honest, I don’t think he even noticed that I wasn’t paying attention to him, because he just kept talking, because he was so in love with himself.
“Do you know what I really want to do with my life? Electrical engineering is just a way for me to get there, you know?”
“What?” I answered, as I scrolled through Twitter.
Nothing could prepare me for what he was going to say next.
“I want to be a world leader.”
The cantina gets dead silent. I am on the verge of laughing my ass off to the point where tears are rolling down my face. I start laughing, uncontrollably, because I cannot seem to keep my cool in response to quite possibly the most ridiculous thing he has said this entire night.
“Are you serious?” I ask, holding in my tears from laughter.
“Yeah, I really want to help people and I think I have really great viewpoints.”
I continue laughing, and he’s smiling right back at me, because he seems to be confusing the fact that I am laughing at how ridiculous he is and how the thought of him as a world leader is ludicrous. I suspected that he thought that I was laughing at an attempt at flirting. I was not.
As I continued laughing, he stopped me and told me about his plans to become a world leader. I do not remember what he said, because all I remember is laughing uncontrollably because he was so damn serious about this, and I could not cope. At this point everyone in the cantina is holding in laughter, and this lady in the corner is looking at me, shaking her head, and pointing at the door. He continues his “motivational” speech.
In this moment, I suspect that someone is going to jump out and yell, “YOU’VE BEEN PUNK’D, CHRISSEY!!!”
He continues to ramble and spew nonsense, as I sit there, in silence. At this moment, I wonder how any other woman managed to tolerate this dumbass for more than five minutes.
And as I sit there, in silence, my phone rings. I now proceed to give the best performance of my life.
I reject the call, smile, and look at him and say, “It’s okay, I’ll just call her back.”
My friend Rashmi calls again, per my instructions to not stop calling until I pick up.
“You sure you don’t want to get that, babe?”
I pretend not to cringe, and respond, “It’s okay, we’re in the middle of this date.” The words are painful for me to say, especially since he starts smiling like an idiot.
The phone rings again, and I fake sigh, and say, “I really should get this.”
Rashmi: Chrissey you have to come home, this is an emergency!
Me: Rashmi, I can’t, I’m in the middle of something.
Rashmi: Chrissey, please, I really, really need you!
Me: I can’t, Man Bun already made plans-
Rashmi: CHRISSEY, PLEASE, IT’S AN EMERGENCY.
Me: Okay…how big of an emergency?
Rashmi: A twelve on the scale of one to ten.
Me: A TWELVE?! *acts super dramatic* Rashmi, I can’t go.
At this moment I am really struggling to pretend like I don’t want to get the hell out of this date.
Me: What kind of an emergency? Like when Tommy fell out of a window or when Harmony’s boyfriend cheated on her?
Rashmi: I called the police
Me: YOU CALLED THE POLICE?!?
Man Bun: OH S-T!
I put my hand on the receiver, and say to Man Bun, probably the hardest words for me to say, “I really want to stay, but I have to go.” I cringe a little pretending that I want to stay because I want to get the hell away from him.
“No, babe, it’s fine, just go.”
“We’ll hang out another time,” I said, one hundred percent lying.
I thought that was the end, but of course it was not.
BUT HE IS.
It worries me slightly that he wants to be a world leader, and worries me even more that people would be dumb enough to elect him. But when that time comes, I’ll be able to tell my kids that I went out on a date with that neanderthal blabbing on the television.