Dont Mince Words

In order to cope at work, a friend has decided to channel her strong inner black woman. I now jokingly call her “Nay Nay” which is short for Shanaynay, a character created by Martin Lawrence. Today, after receiving two loser reconnects in one day, I decided I needed to go black too.

Joker #1 called to see if I was available to go out “soon.” Of course, it took me a while to place the voice. Ironically, I had deleted him from my phone last week because I thought it was safe to write him off. No, more than six months after meeting and one call after that, he was calling to ask me out.

“Seriously? I met you six months ago and gave you my card and NOW you are ready to ask me out? Are you joking?” I asked.

He stuttered and realized my offer expired and quickly got off the phone.

Joker #2 left me an offline instant message. We had one date more than two years ago. He drank too many margaritas and wasn’t able to drive, so he spent the night on my couch barfing into my trash can. Needless to say, I didn’t see him again. But tonight he decided to leave me a message letting me know that he was thinking of me and he’d like to see me again.

It wasn’t hard to find my strong inner black woman to respond to this message.

“Seriously? You are contacting me two years post-puke? Really?”

Is it time to adopt a second dog? I’m not sure if I can survive any more LA-induced Post Traumatic Dating Disorders.

Three months ago I had a date, one date, with a nice guy. The evening turned ugly, thanks to margaritas. Three months to that day, I had a date with a new guy which turned ugly thanks to halibut.

Michael was my first date since the little boy breakup. I decided to chronologically date up and met the 48 year old for happy hour at El Cholo. We had immediate chemistry and we had a great time until I realized he’d finished 90 percent of the margarita pitcher. Binge drinker or nervous dater?

Letting him drive was a rush hour death sentence, so I took him home to sober him up. I felt like I was in college again, helping a toga party roommate. In between puking trips to the bathroom, I fed Michael saltines and aspirin. He went home after six hours of nursing. I vowed never to have a first date in a bar.

For my first date with Roger, he drove us to watch the sun set before dinner in the Palisades. He had the veal, I had the halibut. Afterwards, we drove around, talked more and then went back to his place. Things were going great until I started belching fish. Then I got the butterflies, not because I was nervously excited about this great date, but because I knew I had about 10 seconds to get to the bathroom.

I ran the sink water so he couldn’t hear me refunding my dinner. I then hijacked his toothpaste and gave myself a Marine gargle. I did feel much better, but the mood was ruined. I apologized and went home shortly thereafter.

They say timing is everything. I want off this 90-day reciprocal barf cycle.