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Desperate Working Mommas
Your one-stop site for fanatical television snarking, questionable political analysis, occasional attempts to address the parenting issues facing working mothers, and halfhearted promises to stop obsessing about the entertainment industry, already! Oh, not to mention the random bitching and moaning. There's always that.
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
Don't be cruel, baby.

(This week, Mrtl's motif is worst date. Hmm. Which to share, which to share... And yes, I'm playing late. Deal.)

Not happy with simply making my junior high years a living hell by refusing to drive me to school, instead forcing me to ride the bus (overrun with cowboys who sat at the back spitting chewing tobacco on the floor, so every time the bus stopped you had to lift your feet, if you catch my meaning), when I hit high school my parents imposed a strict No Dating Until You Are Sixteen policy. You know, to make my high school years a little MORE surreal.

Of course, senseless rules such as these are made to be broken, or at least circumnavigated. I had my first "official" date when I was barely fifteen-- meaning he actually asked me OUT; we weren't just "going together" which usually involved note passing between classes and holding hands in the hallway-- a date which was comprised of a pizza party with friends, lots of JOLT soda ("All the Sugar and Twice the Caffeine!"), and a clandestine meeting with my crush at the movie theater. The 'rents were oblivious.

I remember it like it was yesterday. We saw Some Kind of Wonderful. And by "we," I mean me and my date sitting on the aisle seats, with four or five of my girlfriends and a few guy friends running down the rest of the row. I must admit that imbibing sugary, over-caffeinated beverages before meeting my date? Not the sharpest decision I have ever made. When I belched, as one is wont to do after consuming massive quantities of a carbonated beverage, did I blurt out an embarrassed, yet-oh-so maidenly, "Oh my! Pardon me!"? Nope. As I recall, I leaned across my date and did the thumb to forehead thing. You know the one. An entire row of teenagers raced to get their thumbs to their foreheads, not wanting to be the last. I can't remember who lost, but I DO remember shouting, "You ate it!" Oh, yes I did.

Shut up. Caffeine. Sugar. Do the math.

During the admittedly hawt kissing scene ("I know it's a stretch, but try it...") which made my cheeks flush and my stomach hurt in a new, interesting way, my date busted out the Looks Like I'm Stretching But Oopsy! There Goes My Arm! manoeuver. The squeals from the peanut gallery were a little embarrassing, but at least they were sharing my proud moment of boyfriendliness. And his arm stayed put throughout the rest of the movie. Which, because I have seen Grease one (or a couple hundred) too many times, was causing me a small amount of anxiety. You know, because of that scene at the drive-in with Sandy and Danny and the Wandering Hand?

After the show, he walked me to my friend's car (where everybody huddled pretending not to look while totally looking) and then he leaned in to give me my very first kiss. Muffled squeals floated through the night air from the direction of my friend's car and just as I was beginning to stress about whether or not he could hear all seven or eight of my soon-to be-ex friends acting like COMPLETE MORONS, his father pulled up. I am not kidding, his dad's headlights cast the brightest spotlight EVER upon us just as our lips met. How's that for karma? So, yeah, it was a quick kiss. No tongue. I felt gypped.

(Oh, wait! The motif was worst date, not first date! My bad... Although, to be fair, that was quite possibly HIS Worst Date Ever.)

Worst date. Gotcha.

So, I had this list, y'all. At the tender age of seventeen I decided that I wanted to date at least one hundred different guys before I even thought of getting married. Um, because everyone I knew was getting married? Like, right after high school? And having babies? And I was like, "Uh-UH!"? I made it to 149, and then I met TGIM. The rest, as they say, is history.

Wait. I am talking DATES, here, people, not "relationships" (read: sexual congress). Geez. What am I, a slut? If I went out with a guy, his name went on the list, whether it was just one date to a kegger where he found out I wouldn't get drunk and put out, or if it was twenty dates to nightclubs, movies, dinners, parties, what have you, before I dumped his ass because I didn't want to "get serious" (commitment issues? me? what?) I mean, good lord, people! Get your minds out of the gutter. I only made-out with, like, 92 of them or something! (Just kidding, Mom! No, really. Totally joking.) I put little stars next to their names if we... Whatever. All I'm saying is there's this list, okay?

So, anyhoos, at around number 132, I went out with this guy. Oh, let's call him Gary. Gary G. Because that is his name and if he's out there by damn I hope he is reading this and sees the proverbial light and rushes out to get the professional help he so desperately needs because DUDE! He was (as my Tater says, her cute little pointer finger twirling her hair) CUCKOO.

Dinner. Fine. Perfect gentleman. Okay, sure, there was something a little... off about the way he talked-- he had this little lip curl, sneer thing going on-- but I was willing to deal. He was pretty cute. And you should have seen the guns on this boy! And yes, I am that shallow. Then he was all, "Do you mind if we go back to my place before the movie?" and I was like, "Okay, sure, whatever," and you would think by guy number 132 I would have known better but I was actually still pretty darn naive and never could have GUESSED... but I get ahead of myself.

So we went back to his place and I was sitting on the couch waiting for him to come out of his bedroom, when I heard the pulsing beat of Burning Love come on in the next room. I remember thinking to myself, Hmm, an Elvis fan, and then I took a good look around the room and I noticed something else a little off about this guy: his bachelor pad decor. I don't know, y'all. Maybe it was the framed Elvis photographs, or the Elvis tapestry hanging on the wall that began to freak me out. Or perhaps the Elvis Presley Boulevard street sign, or possibly even the stitched pillow with an Elvis portrait, and the assortment of "I [Heart] Elvis" pins on the coffee table, contained in a bowl featuring a picture of Graceland on it. I don't know, but whatever it was, I was found myself wondering, half-jokingly, but kind of NOT, if I would find flyaway collars, capes, bell bottoms, and the spangled Aloha jumpsuit hanging in his closet.

This is a question for the ages because just as I was beginning to feel more than a little uncomfortable, Gary's bedroom door flew open and he burst out-- cradling an ACTUAL MICROPHONE in hand, his other arm thrown up in the air, I kid you not!-- and he began to serenade me.

"Your kisses life me higher, like the sweet song of a choir!..."

Wow. The sneer and lip curl thing? Totally making sense about then. So did the countless drawled "baby's" during dinner which I had overlooked due to the whole hotness and awesome guns thing. Me. Shallow. Get over it. Dude had even styled his hair in a pretty darn good likeness to the King's 'do (during his early years, pre-enlistment). I began to edge off the couch, but Gary suddenly grabbed my hand and dropped down on one knee in front of me, effectively blocking my escape.

"... You light my morning sky, with burning LOVE!"

I watched in wide-eyed horror as he continued singing to me (and, to be fair, he wasn't half bad), and suddenly those guns? Not so hot anymore. I was rethinking the shallow, I tell you what, and by the time he got to "I'm just a hunk, a hunk of burning love!" I was seriously freaking out. Thankfully he had to stand up and release my hand to "bring it home," so to speak, complete with rhythmic hip-thrusting, so I was able to spring off the couch and start walking toward the door. SLOWLY. So as not to anger the Psycho.

The music ended and he looked at me, sneered, then drawled, "Thank you. Thank you very much."

Oh, yes he did.

I can't remember exactly what I babbled out as an excuse, but it involved cramps, a headache, with food poisoning thrown in for good measure, but he had obviously heard this song and dance before because he was all, "Don't be cruel, baby," and I was like "GAH!" and I ran out of his apartment to the nearest pay phone and called-- gosh, SOMEONE, I don't even remember who!-- and I told that someone to come pick me the hell up, and I meant RIGHT NOW! Came to find out that this weirdo serenaded all his prospective girlfriends, and I was all "Why the HELL didn't you TELL me?!" And the answer would be? BECAUSE MY FRIENDS FREAKING SUCK. Honestly, guys. Friends do NOT let friends date psycho Elvis stalkers/impersonators. Am I right? Gosh!

I think Gary is in Vegas now, but that's just a guess.

So, yeah. Worst. Date. EVER.

On the bright side, however, I did manage to snag an "I [Heart] Elvis" pin before making good my escape. Huh. I wonder what ever happened to that thing?

ETA: Yes, Jenny, as a matter of fact this WAS the same guy who later asked me if I thought less of him because of what he did. "I couldn't possibly think less of you..." I assured him, to which he replied, "Oh, good." Poor, POOR good-looking boy, indeed. Dumb as a box of rocks.

link | posted by Cat at 7:41 AM

Anonymous Anonymous commented:

Hey Cat, wasn't that Elvis guy the same one who later asked if you thought less of him because of what he did and you told him, "I couldn't possibly think less of you..." and he was all "Oh good." Poor good looking boy... He was a little off though I must admit. He kept asking me out too, and I kept having to explain to him that I was married and couldn't go out with him... Eventually I did what all the other girls did... Walk the other way whenever I saw him coming. Maybe that's why he always snuck up on us girls... You think???

» 10/25/2005 8:26 AM 
Anonymous Anonymous commented:

Not quite as weird as the guy I went out with who had an entire house filled with Nazi memorabilia (ie: Nazi flags, guns, uniforms, pictures of himself in all the uniforms) Plus two chemical suits in case of a Nuclear war... It was nice of him to offer me the use of one of the suits if there was ever a war, but the thought of being the last woman alive on earth with a psycho nazi dude... I'll die the horrible nuclear death please!

» 10/25/2005 8:34 AM 
Blogger Cat commented:

Jenny, you have an AMAZING memory! I did in fact say that. *sigh* He was dumb as a rock, that one... oh, and you know, completely crazy. Which was really too bad, 'cuz PRETTY!

I had completely forgotten his later obsession with you! And how he would just sneak up behind us at the college. Hee.

» 10/25/2005 8:41 AM 
Blogger Cat commented:

Oooh, Jenny, you be quick with the comments.... Who was that dude? The tall guy? With the tall, broodingly silent brother? You know, old whatshisname?

» 10/25/2005 8:43 AM 
Blogger mrtl commented:

I almost wet myself reading this, Cat. And by almost I mean that I'm VERY lucky that I went a little while ago. TOO FUNNY!

You know you can make bumper stickers at Cafe Press? May I suggest "Friends don't let friends date psycho Elvis stalkers/impersonators."

» 10/25/2005 9:43 AM 
Blogger not-so-normal mom commented:

I can't believe this really happened! I am picturing you slowly trying to slide off the couch and out the door...hilarious! Personally, I am not an Elvis fan, so that just added to it for me! I'm so glad you founf TGYM! Does he ever sing Elvis songs to you?

» 10/25/2005 10:03 AM 
Blogger Ern commented:

OMG. I mean. Just. OMG.

» 10/25/2005 10:38 AM 
Anonymous Hänni commented:

HAHAHA. "Don't be cruel baby." That's freaking classic.

» 10/25/2005 11:09 AM 
Anonymous Gary G commented:

Hey Cat,
Sorry I scared you back then. I am doing okay for myself. I changed my Name to JD Fortune and I am now the lead singer of a samll band from australia.

Remember when I looked like this?


» 10/25/2005 1:00 PM 
Blogger Cat commented:

Listen, dude, you are SO not getting your "I [Heart] Elvis" pin back, so don't even ask!

(And hey! What happened to the Pretty?)

» 10/25/2005 3:01 PM 
Anonymous Di commented:

Hey didn't Christie date Gary too? You'll have to ask her if she had the same experience.

It just goes to show...boyfriends come and go, but friends last forever.

» 10/25/2005 3:14 PM 
Blogger Cat commented:

Yep. Christie is actually the one who let slip to me that the Elvis thing wasn't a one-time error in judgement. Which scared me a little for her because, you know, she DATED HIM ANYWAY. Wha'?!

» 10/25/2005 3:22 PM 
Anonymous kalki commented:

First, I am so relieved that I'm not the only one who gets first and worst confused. In that we are alike.

But 149 dates?! In that we are so NOT alike. Damn. I am so jealous of your list.

Dude sounds a wee bit off-kilter. I'm thinking he's not in Vegas; I'm thinking he's doing the jailhouse rock somewhere.

» 10/26/2005 7:14 AM 
Blogger Cat commented:

Well, since you are already a little jealous of the list, let me REALLY sock it home: the list is not tallying 149 DATES, it's tallying 149 individual GUYS taht asked me out... Are you there yet?

Yep. My roommates used to joke that I was going to make it all the way through college without ever needing to pay for a single meal. Me? Dutch? What?

» 10/26/2005 8:13 AM 
Blogger Weetzie commented:

This is freakin hilarious! Mmmmm...Elvis baaaaby! :-)

word verification: sqysy ~ I like that!

» 10/26/2005 9:31 AM 
Blogger Vajana commented:

No way. This did not happen. No freaking way. I'm stunned.

Gary G...the G stands for Glitter right?

and if I tallied up my number would be like 4 so pat yourself on the back...

Does Constantine know about all this?

» 10/26/2005 9:36 AM 
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» 7/13/2006 10:49 AM 

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