The Bible Thumper

When we are young and in school, before you hit the real world, we are privileged enough to have shitty, meaningless jobs like the one I had at a local ice cream shoppe while in college. Since I didn't live at school, this is where I got my daily dose of drama. Someone is always hooking up with someone, or banging the boss, or getting high in the walk-in. As I got older I learned not to mess with coworkers, however in my younger stupider (it's a word) years- this is where I'm meeting Mr. Right Now. It was a rotating door of young do-able guys, and some not so do-able but you did them anyway. And others, nastier than a Camden street hoe, that no one would dare shake hands with let alone fuck. Like Sticky Mickie, he was a line cook. The dirty (literally dirty, like he just crawled out of a mosh pit) older man that hit on every young vagina that was hired. Did I mention Stickie Mickie also had what appeared to be herpes hands and was handling your food with them. If you visited us between 2000 and 2003 and mysteriously contracted herpes of the mouth, you now know why. Gross, I know. And only sometimes did he cover his oozing blisters with gloves. Then there were the ex-cons. As an equal opportunity employer, this company took in every halfway house homie from Camden- drug addicts, murderers, whatever-which was genius because who better to have working with a bunch of young, stupid girls? But let it be known that they were less harmless than Herped-up Harry over there. This is where I met The Bible Thumper. At the time I was in a LTR (long term relationship) of three years. One night he came in to visit me and my coworker, we'll call him Evan for now, asks:

“No way! Is that your boyfriend?”
“Yeah why?”
“Shut the fuck up! Sean Davis is your boyfriend?!”
“How the hell do you know him? He's from New York.”
“We went to junior high together back in Brooklyn. He used to beat me up every single day. Seriously, every fucking day!”


Well that's embarrassing! So naturally, months later when me and Sean broke up, I decided to hook up with Evan. I could claim I was drunk, choosing to make out with this lame-o who got pummeled by my ex on the regular-but instead I'll say it had been three years with the same guy so who cares! I'm single now!

We used to have make out sessions in my car outside of work (don't you miss the age when that was acceptable behavior?). He was as dumb as a a box of rocks, so clearly this wouldn't be going any further. But he invited me over one night while his parents were away. My three aforementioned rules in the dating game (own place, car, job) did not yet apply, because I was young and just didn't give a shit. I was a little uneasy going over. What the hell will we talk about? He is such a pussy, I can't even imagine him trying to bang me.

Well to my surprise, he immediately made the move. Our heavy make out session lead from the family room floor to the kitchen counter (Oh this is getting fun!) where he took off my shirt. Holy shit this kid really thinks he's going to fuck me right now. Well...maybe I should let him...My sexual thoughts were completely disrupted by him abruptly stopping.

“What's the problem?”

He grabbed me by the hand, pulled me off the counter and led me into the fancy living room and sits me half naked on his mothers couch. This is not sexy. As he reaches into the end table, he pulls out a heavy black book.

“Flee from sexual immorality. All other sins people commit are outside their bodies, but those who sin sexually sin against their own bodies...”

You have to fuckin be kidding me?! The fucking BIBLE!?! What the fuck is he going to do, perform an exorcism?! And the passage about premarital sex continued...where the hell did I go wrong? How did a night of random, single girl sex turn into a God damn CCD class!? As he read, I devised a plan to hightail it the fuck out of there. Shit, my shirt is in the kitchen. How did I even get involved with someone who thinks thinking about sex is a sin?! Somewhere in between his preaching, I grabbed his watch and gasped that I was late for something or other.

Needless to say I never kissed that preacher again. Amen to that!


-Kacie J

Souf Philly Frankie

 
The infamous Match.com date. Everyone has done it. “We'll help you find your perfect match.” I did it once, one and done. More likely than not your not going to find Mr. Perfect on this site. But they have to pay so they must be serious, right? Wrong. So very wrong. Every playboy in the tri-state area is on Match. Trust me, I've dated them. But when you do chose to try this route, the first thing you come across is their picture. The ever-popular shirtless mirror picture screams one night stand. The out of focus from far away picture shouts ugly duckling. And of course there are the maybe she won't notice it was taken 10 years ago photos. Frankie moved pretty quickly- first a wink, then an email, followed by a dinner invite. It's 6 o'clock at night and this asshole is asking me out to dinner for this evening. How rude is he? Of course I agreed. He asked via text where I would like to go. I said I didn't care. I wasn't trying to be indecisive or annoying, I just really didn't care- I'm not picky. He came back in an insisting tone that we go to a steakhouse by him. OK one- he lives 45 minutes away. And two- I have a firm belief that the guy should come to you the first 3 dates. Be a gentleman, is that asking too much? I don't eat steak, but I'm sure they have some chicken dish, I replied....no response...then ring ring! Upon answering I am barraged with the rudest hello I have ever heard.

“What the hell do you mean you don't eat steak?”

who the fuck does this kid think he is? He seemed astounded that I didn't enjoy gnawing on dead carcass. After a half hour Jedi mind tricking this prick, he finally agreed to come to an Italian restaurant near me. We met at 8pm (I don't let any of these crazies know where I live before I deem them...well...uncrazy). I, naturally, was dressed almost at my best (you don't want to overdue it and have some loser stalking your life afterwards when you have zero interest). He, on the other hand, was wearing what appeared to be work pants (he must be a painter), a baggy slob shirt, and a backwards cap. He just rolled out of bed and I spent an hour getting ready. We greeted and got a table. Our waitress almost immediately comes to ask for our drink order. 

“Oh we're not drinking, I have to drive.” he insists.

OK. well there's that. Now I really need a fucking drink. After some introductory conversation I realized what the problem was-he was from South Philly. That would explain the air of douchebaggery that is wafting through the air. The waitress dropped off a plate of oil and fresh bread. Obviously, the animal jumped right in. Within about a minute and thirty-five, he had managed to spill the entire plate onto his already filthy shirt. Seriously, the entire plate. Oh my God. I am so embarrassed! He then yells for the waitress to bring him seltzer. Now she thinks I'm an asshole because I'm on a date with an asshole. God I hope this dinner comes fast. Now in this situation, a normal well-bred human being would dampen his napkin in the seltzer and dab it on the stain. Good ol' Frankie? Not so much. He did attempt a dab or two, but then followed that by a “Fuck this”and proceeded to pour the seltzer onto the stain as he tugged it away from his body. I am not even remotely exaggerating this story. I was dumbfounded. Now I know what “were you raised in a barn?” means. Luckily South Philly Frankie was completely and totally oblivious and continued to rant on about something or other as I sat in total dismay, putting my head down every time the waitress came to check on us. His conversation was far from stimulating, and of course it wouldn't be the same without some offensive comments. How we got on the subject of his ex, I'll never know, but when he started degrading her and referring to her as fat and ugly-i suddenly started to feel as if I were her best friend and he just started attacking her. I almost jumped across the table to show him what a Jersey bitch could do. He had no idea he was being offensive. Luckily I can't keep my mouth shut. 

“What gives you the right to call someone fat? Or ugly? You're a prize? Really?”

“What? She was, sorry if that” **quote** “offends” **unquote** “you.”

“You shouldn't talk about women in such a degrading matter.”

I absolutely hate when people (men especially) put women down. A strong, independent woman does not like to think that some douchebag is out there somewhere degrading her to other women.  Awkward silence does not begin to explain the next 7 and a half minutes. Then something happened like I've never seen before. Souf Philly Frankie must have gotten confused and thought he was waiting for his mother to finish cooking. We were sitting across from each other at a table with 4 chairs. He leans back in his chair...raises his grimy-ass sneakers...and places them on the chair next to me. No words can ever describe the look that shot out of my disapproving eyes, similar to that of your parents when you accidentally spill a family secret at Thanksgiving. He yanked them from the chair.

“Was that bad?”

My whole future flashed before my eyes- I would have to take the storage out of my stove and learn how to cook, I would need to be schooled in scolding, and spend my evenings pressing all of his clothes out for him as if he were a 5 year old. This was not my ideal match. He was a 100% Italian who looked nothing like Pauly D.

Our food finally came, and as he mumbled under his breath how this is “not chicken parmigiana” and “If you want real chicken parm, you come to South Philly... I could show you an amazing little restaurant that's as good as my mother would make it.” No thanks, I'll pass. And I did, I passed on dessert and I passed on another date. This roughneck was not ready for a classy Jersey bitch like myself. 

Peace. Out.

-Kacie J

Little Man Tate

 

Meeting someone on a social networking site is not my ideal place for finding the love of my life.  But when Little Man Tate (prior to our actual first date I called him by his real name, whatever that was) contacted me because he knew someone who knew someone etc...whatever he seemed cool, I was single, fine i'll go out with you.

I actually arrived early to our dinner/drinks date.  As I waited in the lobby of our local sports bar, I gazed out the window at the few single men entering the building. Maybe that's him?....Nope....Oh he's fine, please please....Nope. My daydreaming was suddenly interrupted by a loud, very obnoxious car driven by some douchebag who just had to park backwards into the nearest spot. OK first of all- yes there are times when backing in is necessary or convenient but honestly most of the time you are just annoying everyone around you. Second of all- you think I'm impressed with your“oh so cool”car. No. Sorry, but no. Fast car, big muscles, little dick. We get it. Its called overcompensation. Everyone sees it but you.

Well as God would have it (he just loves  to play jokes on me), Mr. Douchebag was, yes you guessed it, my date.  

As he walks in and spots me he says “Hi! Christine?”

“Um no, its Kacie”

We had only been conversing for a few weeks and in his defense my name only popped up on every email we exchanged, but OK he's just nervous.  

Now this is where the name comes into play. This kid was so tiny that I swear to gawd when we sat at the bar, he had to hop up on the stool. Swear. Also, I'm a little perplexed by his appearance. The guy I had seen in the pictures was a tall, dark-haired, sexy soccer player.  Not this red-headed step child with freckles and a height complex!  Maybe I didn't look closely enough at the pictures?  

The date continued. As he nervously chatted with his hands- I got to staring at them.  Wait...hmmmm...yep...they're smaller than mine. Fan-tas-tic. Little Man Tate is starting to strongly resemble a Chuckie doll with seemingly a penis the size of a miniature golf pencil. Chug your fucking beer and be out.

“I told you I have dinner plans with my father at 7:30, right?” Who can argue with that?! “Oh I didn't? I'm so sorry! But I do have to go.”

And I was gone.  Was that the end of LMT? Sadly, no. You see-when people are persistent I start to feel bad and so I get guilted into a second date even though I know it will be the last.  I feel like its only right that these poor guys get a second chance at a first impression.  

So I invited him to a party I was throwing.  He brought a friend, a six-pack of beer, and apparently- his man boobs.  My best friend at the time was a guy who was pretty much always drunk so getting him to stifle his laughter as he shook LMT's hand (and coincidentally his boobs) was a task unto itself. Now in case you're wondering- the moobs hadn't been out on the first date so it must have been the bright yellow shirt he was sporting this evening that really showed them off.

He stayed for about an hour, they got along with everyone, and overall it went pretty well (not going out again well, but well enough).  You're waiting for the kicker right?  Yeah. Well at the beginning of the party when people were coming in with beer and alcohol, my friend had broken up the boxes and thrown them in the trash.  My living room connects to my kitchen, so when LMT creeped into my kitchen- the entire party was able to see what he was doing.  This little freckle-fuck goes into the kitchen, takes his 4 (FOUR!) beers out of my fridge, looks around for his box, sees it was thrown away, resets the box and puts his FOUR beers back in to take them home with him.  We all are watching  him out of the corner of our eyes and exchanging the “Seriously?” look. 

Then the bottom falls out and all the bottles crash to the floor with a loud Clang!

CLASSIC!

Everyone just sat there in silence, nodding and waving goodbye, until the front door was shut securely behind them.  Then the room erupted in the most uproarious laughter that only a group of drunken fools could muster.  

“Who DOES that?!” “Who takes four lousy beers back?!”

Needless to say, we did not go out again.  I did, however, mention this story in passing to some girlfriends- one of which turned out went to high school with him and when I pulled up his profile on the SNS, was shocked to hear that Little Man Tate was in fact, NOT they guy in the pictures.  No, apparently that was his all-star brother. Yep. Believe it.

Next!

-Kacie J

The Momma's Boy

So if you are a fellow single person then you have experienced “The Setup”. Mated people everywhere swear they have “the PERFECT person for you”. Yeah OK. Doesn't everyone? I used to brush them off, but at my age, I can't really run the risk of missing out on Mr. Right so I have started playing along. Big mistake.

A few weeks ago a guy I work with at one of my part-time jobs tells me he has the PERFECT guy for me. Yeah right. But I figured I have been working there on and off for 8 years so he has to know a little something about me, right?  Wrong. Apparently no one ever pays any attention to me and my likes/dislikes because if they did, perhaps they'd know that this “Mr. Right” is definitely not right for me.  But I play along...

"No Kace, I swear, he's a real good lookin' guy! I wouldn’t steer you wrong" he says. 

"OK Pete,  so 3 questions: 1)does he have a job?" 

"yes" 

"2) does he have a car?"

"yes" 

"3) does he live with his mother?" 
"no"

You'll notice as you get older, the number of questions decreases. Your standards lower. And the number of guys who's answers coincide with your ideal-well their practically non-existent.  I once received a fortune cookie that perfectly expressed my sentiments. It hangs on my refrigerator door. It reads “The minute you settle for less than you deserve, you get less than you settled for”. Genius right? So OK maybe I might go out with this tool because I’m 30 and I ain't getting any younger, but if he sucks or turns out he is not my ideal man-I’m not wasting my time to stick around. Sorry. But I would rather be alone forever than be stuck in a relationship where I am not completely fulfilled. Some people have it all, so why can't I? I can! But I digress...

One thing I should probably mention-i am great on first dates. I'm not being conceded, but really I try to be my best- friendly, sexy, sweet, and funny-no matter who it is on the receiving end.  The only problem I find with this when I am not interested and the guy totally is. I do feel bad but wouldn't I feel worse if I was unkind to them? On our first date? If I feel bad enough for them to make it to a second date, then all bets are off. 

Since mystery guy seems to be just right, based on my all-telling questionnaire, I give Pete my card for the guy.  After a couple phone conversations (which is unusual enough in this texting era) we set a date. After years of this single b.s. I have stopped the whole he is soooo going to be my dream guy! I just know it! thing and discontinued the this is going to suck so bad, someone better give me an emergency call thing, I have started the whole whatever happens happens, just enjoy it-and if you don't- at least you'll have a story thing. So we go out for the first time last night.  I never set my expectations high, because then you're just setting yourself up for a HUGE disappointment. But Pete has known me for years so I’m sure he has to be somewhat great right?   Think again, my friend. First I should mention that I’m pretty vertically challenged, so when I say a guy is shorter than me-we're talking dwarf stature. I wear heels all the time, so I’m 5'4 on a good day.  Mystery guy barely grazes my eye level. I swear Pete said he was 5'9 (ish?)  I was sure 5'9 was taller than that last time I looked. OK. It's OK. He's dressed nice. Except for that trench coat. Didn't there used to be a trench coat mafia? Maybe he's in that?  OK focus, Kace, he's talking. 

“so you live around here right? How long have you been there? You live alone?”

I tell him what complex I live in.  “Yes, been there 5 years. I live alone, thank God. What about you?”

OK deep breath, please don't say the thing that ends the date when we're only 7 minutes and 23 seconds in...

“actually I live down the street from you. With my mom.”

Oh. My. God. He said it.  Done. 7 minutes and 58 seconds. That was fast. How do I get out of here? No, no don't be rude. At least finish you're beer. Why did I get a 22oz? Who's idea was that!? Damnit. OK so he mentioned his mom already. Just change the subject and continue as if it didn't happen. 

“How old are you again?”

“30” 

Jesus Christ. He's never leaving her. I can't be with someone who is in love with his mother like that. Love her, yes, but by God how will you ever get pussy with your mom in the next room!  Well even if I thought for one second I’d have sex with you (which I won't), that just went out the window. I'm not gonna bang you at your mothers house. Well it turns out its his apartment and he's helping her out right now. We're still talking about her? It's been like 10 minutes now.  Mind you I am not asking any questions, in fact I’m discouraging the talk altogether with nods and smirky smiles. No encouraging at all.  If that’s what we're going to talk about on the first date, then I’d prefer to chug my beer in quiet and be on my way. 

“You see, she recently moved out of her boyfriends house. He couldn't handle her. You see, she's a little bit anal.”

Oh. My. God. Am I drunk? Did he just tell me his mother is an anal bitch that lives with him, and her own boyfriend couldn't bare to be around her?

“But they still talk, date-whatever”
 Still not talking.

“We go into the deli at least once a month for brisket. Pete takes care of us. He loves my mom.”

Oh great-an overbearing Jewish mother that cooks and cleans for him as if he were 12, and treats him to brisket on Sundays. Does she lay out your work clothes too?

“We take the train to work together every morning.”

Holy fucking Christ. If somebody doesn't get me the fuck out of here right now-this bar is gonna experience postal. This is my life folks. I really take a moment to look around the bar. Ashton Kutcher is here somewhere. I know it. I'm on that show “Punked”. I know it. I know it.  Is that him in the baseball cap?

Deep breath. Its been 38 minutes. The DJ just dropped of Quizzo sheets at our table. OK good, I'll be a good little date and laugh at his jokes and play Quizzo with him for the next hour...hour? I don't think so...OK well do the first round, 10 questions and hear the answers, then I’m out.   
I didn't really help on the whole Quizzo thing, I just pretended to not know the answers as I watched him fill it out. Truth was-i can't even hear what the questions are because the voice in my head is so damn loud.   Did he really use the word “anal” or did I just hear that in my head. Who would say that out loud, to a date, on a first date with someone you might want to see again?  Note to men everywhere-no one with EVER marry you if you actually SAY your mother is an anal bitch. We will come to know her as an anal bitch who we can't fucking stand for 5 seconds let alone a lifetime, but you can't market her as such! I allowed this fiasco I call a first date to continue on for 2 hrs and 5 minutes. That’s enough. I was pleasurable, I dressed way too cute,  I giggled at whatever the fuck he was babbling about when he wasn't referring to his mommy.  

One and done. That's the end of momma's boy. Did he get a kiss? Are you insane? If you even asked that question, then you obviously haven't paid attention to this date at all. On to the next...

-Kacie J