It was a second date and we were having drinks at place called Spitz: Home of the Doner Kabob. First of all what the hell kind of name is Spitz. That’s like calling your restaurant Fartz. If wine-soaked memory serves this place is known for their meats on sticks and blasting sports at top volume, in other words extremely romantic. But thank God the Chianti was good. It’s amazing what I can sit through if the wine’s flowing (into my mouth.) For instance this clingy second date who kept putting his hands all over my ass.
I hadn’t had my ass grabbed this much since the first date with this guy, which by the way had ended with him jizzing all over my Mini Cooper. It had been one of those situations where you’re making out with someone and then you realize they’ve whipped out their dick and you feel like things are moving way too fast but you don’t really know how to say it and then suddenly it’s too late and you have to get your car washed. (Side note- he did not offer to pay for said car wash, which I had to get the next day.)
What he did offer was a really moving, passionate post- jizz speech- I mean this thing could’ve been right out of an Oscar winning movie– apologizing profusely and claiming that he really, really liked me and if I’d just go on a second date with him he’d prove to me that he could treat me right. “You’ll see,” he kept repeating, “you’ll see, I’m a great guy.” Well who doesn’t love an impassioned speech and being part of someone’s second chance, after all this is America.
Cut to Spitz, the scene of the big second chance. While we were drinking on bar stools, he kept fondling my ass and saying stuff like, “I wish it was the point in the relationship where we could go home together.” Ok, when someone is so fixated on getting you home so soon I find it’s generally a sign that they don’t have anything else to offer you. That’s why they can’t wait to get you home to reveal the one thing that they can offer: a greasy boner.
Soon the check came and he suggested that I buy the drinks. He said it jokingly like, “Maybe you could buy the drinks! Just kidding– unless you want to…” Then he trailed off and I didn’t know what was happening in my wine confusion but I was pretty sure that he was letting me buy the drinks after grabbing my ass all night on the date designed to prove to me that he was a great guy. So after I paid the bill and we were leaving Spitz I saw a producer I know at a table full of people celebrating. He yelled out to me: “Hi! We’re celebrating because I just sold my TV show!”
“Oh my god that’s amazing! This is my date,” I said, gesturing to Ass Fondler and I added, “He’s a writer too.”
Ass fondler then proceeded to pitch a movie idea to my producer friend and his entire table of stunned colleagues.
“Yeah, I’m a writer…anyone have a million dollars to invest in a sci-fi western movie? It takes place in the wilderness…there are people running around in gas masks…a giant metal spider lives in a tree house…they go back in time through a tire swing…the love interest is a Katie Holmes type…she’s blind but can see into the future through the tire swing….”
We all stared blankly as this guy blathered on, pontificating painful plot points for a good five minutes like he was transcribing an acid trip.
My producer friend then muttered something to the effect of “Haha, I wish I had that kind of money to invest…”
“Ok, everyone, well it was great seeing you!” I said as I urgently ushered Ass Fondler out the door.
While walking me to my car he proceeded to tell me he was jealous of the producer who in his opinion had clearly been flirting with me. “Um… he wasn’t flirting with me,” I clarified, “The guy just sold a TV show, he was celebrating.”
When we got back to my car he tried to invite himself in but I told him we just weren’t right for each other and I sent him packing. And no, it wasn’t his public display of rampant ass-fondlery or letting me buy the drinks or even the mini-cooper “jizz-ident.” It was that terrible, terrible movie pitch. I mean the plot was so meandering and far-fetched…Unfortunately there’s no memory erasing car wash that can remove a pitch like that from the stained upholstery of the mind.
Dysfunctional Date of the week from comedian Melissa Villasenor @melissavpeevs
“An actor only talked about himself on the date but forgot to mention that he had a booger hanging off his nose. Boogie man scared me away.”
Please email or tweet @melindahill your weirdest/ most dysfunctional dates in under 140 characters to be featured on Dysfunctional Dater, name optional with the hashtag #DysfunctionalDater.