I've had my share of interesting dating stories since I've moved to P-town. There was this guy from somewhere over in Eastern Europe that I met when I was showing my apartment to prospective sub-leasers. He was cute...but then again, I was lonely and anxious for some kind of excitement in my life; and perhaps it comes in packages of Eastern Europeans. He shows up at my apartment and we head downtown for sushi. It's going well, I find him fun and interesting...until half-way through the dinner he grabs my hands from across the table and holds them. I had known him for, oh, about an hour at this point. And he's holding my hands. In a restaurant. On the table for all to see. But I thought, ok, whatever...he's European, I'll let it slide. We leave the restaurant and go to a near-by bar for drinks. About 5 minutes in, I'm over my hope and desire that this actually has a chance of being successful and I just don't like him. I could care less what he is talking about and if my crossed-arms and legs and body tilt away from him isn't enough, I'm staring blankly at the tv in front of me while he's talking to me about who knows what. But I do take a brief moment away from the utterly-boring bowling league championship that I am watching and hear him say, "Come here." I look over and he's looking at me with such cockiness and wiggling his finger towards him. Then he leans in for the kill...puckering lips, eyes closed. "No. Are you kidding me?" I blantantly express, "What are you doing? I don't do that sort of thing." He replies with, "You stupid Americans. You are all the same." Um, excuse me? What the hell is that supposed to mean? I don't think so. "Just because I'm an American, you think I don't want to KISS YOU. ON A FIRST DATE. IN THE MIDDLE OF A BAR. You'd be lucky if I kissed you outside of the bar, in private, you jackass." We left shortly after...following intense angry moments of silence. I couldn't believe this. He drives me home, and just to add salt to the festering wound that had become of this Eastern European...I lean over to give him a hug. Why you ask? Yeah, if you come up with an answer to that one, let me know. I'm blaming it on the countless years of hugging hippy after hippy at school. Those dready peace-lovers like to hug. Anyway, he doesn't even move. Doesn't even take his hands of the steering wheel. I found it hilarious. Then...this is the best part, guys...he actually emails me the next day and asks if I want to go out again. I emailed him back, wondering what date he was on because I sure as hell wouldn't be going back out on a second date with the guy I went to dinner with that attacked my culture simply because I wouldn't kiss his sleazy lips in front of strangers at a bar. I never heard from him again.
Next dating story: the guy with fish lips that after 25 years still can't kiss. Stay tuned.