The monkey made me do it

So many straws on the camel's back

Another date, another evening of inner struggle while I try to smile politely instead of sprint out the door like every part of my tormented brain is yelling at me to do.

He wanted to meet me at the Jamba Juice for a smoothie, and just to say hello. What's the harm, right? Hello, then a smoothie (mmm, smoothie), then goodbye. I got there at the appointed time and called him since he'd mentioned that he only lived a few blocks from the place and would be there in seconds. I went ahead and ordered my smoothie from the very nice lady at the counter, and chatted with her about the merits and disadvantages of various fruits. She was funny. I should have dated her instead. He showed up long after my smoothie had arrived and I had sat playing with my cell phone and trying not to sip too much for 15 minutes. I was on the verge of walking out (and would have at 10 minutes if it weren't for the soothing, blinking lights and peppy games of my little cell friend) when I saw him wander in. We were the only two people in the store, so it wasn't a hard find. We said hello and he went to order, then came and sat down by me. He's a handsome guy, Iranian or Persian I believe, and works for Microsoft. We chatted about what we do for a living a bit, and then he asked if I'd decided on a name for the dog I'm getting over the weekend (by the way I'm getting a dog over the weekend)(woo!)(for reals, and not a drooly Rott)(an Akita/Border Collie mix, and CUUUUTE)(I'll stop the distractions now, really)(He looks like a Muppet. The ones with really long arms and legs and big heads that dance a lot)(no really, done)(woo!). Somehow that conversation degenerated at a rate that I'd thought only possible in those cringe-inducing movies by the Farrelly brothers where a simple comment sparks a wave of fires, explosions, genital injury, and massive pet damage that scars the psyche for weeks afterwards.

He started talking about midgets. He said that instead of getting a dog I should get a midget, that they were less effort to keep. I said I didn't know about that, and tried to change the subject, but he plowed on into a litany of ways that a midget would make a better pet than a dog. They got worse and worse as he went on - some examples:
1. A midget doesn't bark (I'll give him this one).
2. They can help with the cleaning, at least everything under five feet.
3. They won't run away (I contested this one, and he argued:
a) Their little hands are too short to reach the latches
b) They're midgets, where would they go?
4. You can play more games with them. Midget bowling. Midget toss.
5. I'm not going to write the rest of what he suggested because it's still pissing me off and honestly I'm not sure it should be repeated.

At the bowling comment I tried to stop him, I was getting disturbed at the intensity and glee that was forming on his face as he was describing how you could torture a midget. When it got worse I turned away from him entirely and became fixated on my drink. I noticed that my straw had spilled over a drop so I got up while he was in mid-sentence, went all the way across the store and got a napkin. It took a lot of mental debate to make myself go back and sit down again. I told him that he must not know a lot of midgets, and that the proper term was in fact "dwarves" (how I learned this was a very painful and embarrassing story, but one that will forever imprint "DWARF" instead of "midget" in my brain)(I'm not going to tell you.)(DWARF) and that they were in fact usually very nice people. I told him that I'm in fact quite short in a lot of communities (5'4") and have been called a little person (usually by my bro, who is 6'2") but that it was okay since then I wasn't faulted so much for hitting low. He said that anyone who was under 5'0" could qualify for a handicap parking pass, his friend's girlfriend had one because she was 4'9". I called bullshit and said that if that was true, all of my Filipina girl friends would be considered handicapped (they're so tiny! Feisty, though). Dude called me racist and said that he was sure under 5 foot tall = handicapped.

Luckily at this point the nice lady at the register told us that the store was closed, and with a hidden sympathetic glance at me and a free pastry she told us that there was a bar and a coffee place still open within a couple blocks if we wanted to continue our conversation there. I thanked her and started walking to my car, but he asked if I wanted to meet him at the bar since we'd only been talking a half hour or so (the LONGEST half hour I've endured in a while). Quite honestly, I only agreed to see how bad the train wreck could possibly get. Sick, sick curiosity. Probably the only reason I still date at all.

We got to the place and sat in a corner (I didn't drink - that's how bad it was. When I avoid even the sweet release of alcohol, you KNOW I'm on guard and not having a good time. Plus I didn't want to have to sign out a credit card or impede my immediate exit if the situation required it). I asked him about Microsoft, and he embarked on a long rant about Seattle in general, ignoring my attempts to defend the city and its people, food, clubs, and entire culture. He was on a roll. He said that the people were shy and cold, the city was nerdy (that I might admit, but I like it), the social scene sucked, and that he had yet to find any food that was any good here. I brought up Thai food, which I feel is pretty strong here, and he said all that he had eaten was crap. And the spices were nonexistent here (BLATANTLY untrue, I've had food in India that was less spicy than some of the stuff I've gotten in Seattle), and that the culture was far too white. He was insistent that the percentage of white folk in Seattle was 90%. I just looked it up and it's 78% (which is still high, but at least we're not fully honkytown like he was trying to claim). I tried to change the subject and told him about a person I knew at Microsoft who is the Vice-Pres of the Seattle Star Wars Society and a crazy partier to boot. We started talking about Star Wars then (thank God, at least something we could equally rant about) and telling nerd stories, and I let it slide that another friend of mine had done a Star Wars themed wedding, complete with light sabers and the Imperial March as music to walk the aisle to. He asked me how I knew the name of the music and I told him that I had played it in band. I accept my dorkdom. He didn't. I told him that I had to do something and needed to go (seriously, that's about the level of detailed excuse that I gave. I was so tired of the mess that I almost didn't say anything at all and just left). He walked me out to my car, asking more about band and if I'd ever done naughty things to myself with my instruments. I got in my car and drove away, answering his request for dinner sometime with a grunt.

The new plan is to get a barbeque, some patio chairs, and set up my hammock in the backyard so my two lovely pups and I can just hang out with our bad old selves. Friends are invited, but if you bring a single man be warned that I might fling a garden burger or sic a mutt on him if he bothers me.

posted by LadyJay @ 12:02 PM