First dates are literally my version of hell. I get so nervous and over analyze everything. What do I wear? What should I order? Will I accidentally start discussing my faulty digestive system? What if he makes me pay or should I not even offer? Is it a bad idea to bring my own blue cheesed stuffed olives for my martini like I usually do? It is all such a mind fuck and my neurosis really can’t handle all of these pressing precautions. I have only recently discovered how fucked I would be if I was single. When out of my comfort zone, my overall bitch factor becomes astronomically heightened and to say I become unapproachable would be the understatement of the century. Just this past weekend I went out for my best friends birthday and within one hour at the bar I had 3 altercations with various patrons. One guy jokingly called my girl a “loser” for politely denying his offer for a drink and messed with her hair. My inner Medusa shot back within 1.3 seconds as I yelled “Don’t you touch her you fat fuck.” He then told me I looked like a sofa which REALLY pissed me off since I was wearing a fabulous new brocade top that I completely wasted on such an unappreciative crowd. I concluded with “LIKE I WOULD EVER TAKE FASHION ADVICE FROM SOMEONE WEARING MOTHER FUCKING OAKLEY SUNGLASSES YOU SHITHEAD. GO BACK TO THE CAGE IN THE INLAND EMPIRE YOU ESCAPED FROM…FUCKHEAD. AND I DON’T LOOK LIKE A SOFA. FLORALS ARE IN AND THIS WAS EXPENSIVE. FUCK YOU!” But, actually #classy.
When Baby gets out of her comfort zone I become a huge C-U-Next-Tuesday. It’s not wonderful but I must accept the things I cannot change. Needless to say, my first date track records are not something I am proud of (ehem… that time I dated a gay guy). After some happy juice aka my slightly dirty vodka martini, I usually can loosen up and try and project the faux façade of a seemingly mentally stable, fun, all around “good time gal”. So not me. However, there are some dating situations that can never be comfortable… even if the Goose got ya feeling loose. The worst of first dates cannot compare to the extremely traumatizing and potentially life threatening nature of my first date with Dave. Dave was a senior producer at a show I was working at and he had been stalking me for months. This was a rarity given that I am used to doing most of the stalking. He would casually allude to events I had attended without his knowledge, friends of mine I had never spoken of to him and information one could only find from researching the scary depths of my Facebook page. But hey, who am I to judge. I have googled potential suitors until my fingers bled. After one too many weekends Saturday nights alone in my apartment drinking alone and watching that fat fuck Ina Garten make the perfect risotto for her blatantly homosexual husband Jeffrey like a fucking loser, I decided I needed to have a little adventure and finally accepted his date offer.
He invited me over to his home and said he wanted to cook me dinner. In hindsight I should have counter offered to meet at a public space, something less rapey, but being coworkers I figured he wouldn’t be able to kill me and bury me in the backyard. Right? When I got there he had a beautiful cheese plate waiting for me and I instantly felt at ease. Imported cheeses does that for me. After insuring further digestive complications with shoving 3 lbs of blue stilton down my throat, Dave put the gorgeous rack of lamb he made in the oven and we went to the front patio to have drinks. Wow. This was going so well. Could it be possible I was having my first big girl mature dinner date? I had barely dropped any f-bombs or made any Real Housewife references. Fuck, I felt mature. Who knows? Maybe soon I would start watching the news, stop ding dong ditching as a pastime and hiding my housekeepers purse for fun. His phone had been ringing off the hook and he kept politely silencing the calls. “You can totally get that if you need to!” “No it’s not important” Awww, he totally loves me. Minutes later we saw a car speed across his street, then rush around the cul-de-sac almost decapitating a little Hispanic boy playing catch with his Abuelo. What the fuck? The car came to a screeching halt right in front of Dave’s house and some innocent looking petite blonde revealed herself through the window and screamed at the top of her lungs “FUCK YOU AND THAT WHORE. YOU ARE A LIAR. I AM GOING TO KILL MYSELF. YOU SAID YOU LOVED ME. FUCK YOU” She was hysterically crying, SCREAMING and started throwing shit from the passenger seat onto his front lawn. Um… refill anyone? “Jackie you need to go inside NOW.” I waited there stunned and sickly entertained at this shit show. What the fuck is happening? This was fantastic. “JACKIE. INSIDE. NOW. SHE IS DANGEROUS.” Okay so this was actually happening. I grabbed my cocktail (priorities) and hesitantly headed towards the door. “LOCK THE DOORS JACKIE. ALL OF THEM. CALL 911” Um, pardon?! Holy ball fuck. I probably should have followed instructions but the only thing I could think to do was grab the cheese plate, top off my drink and perch myself by a window and watch what was happening outside. She got out of the car and started sprinting to the front door screaming at the top of her lungs. This bitch clearly had escaped some mental ward. I checked for an ankle monitor or straight jacket. Nada. He intersected her mad dash and firmly grabbed her by the shoulders and was hushedly demanding she get the fuck out of here and the police would be their soon. She began hitting him in the chest over and over while still uncontrollably crying. Soon his grip softened and they started having one of those long awkward hugs. She wiped her tears they had a quick laugh and she got back in her car and drove away. He had a cigarette outside, came in and said “So sorry about that. You must be starving. I’ll go check on the lamb!” SERIOUSLY? A reasonable person would grab their shit and run for the fucking hills. But this bitch really likes lamb. BAHHHHd decision (get it… bah like a lamb? I hate myself)
He eventually explained that they had broken up a few months ago and she had since gone on a total downward spiral. She sporadically would drive by the home that they formerly lived in together and plead for him to take her back. She hadn’t done one of these scorn woman drive bys in months so he hadn’t even thought about the consequences of having me over. On this particular evening she was not expecting to see Dave and myself perched on the patio. “She has a really good heart but is very mentally unstable.” Well that’s just fucking fabulous. About 2 hours later, the front beams of Psycho Sally’s car peered into the living room. She was baaaaaaack. The engine turned off and the bitch was on foot. Dave immediately went to the front yard but she stealthily averted her entrance to the side yard. I sat there ready for the show. Shit where was my drink? I started chugging. I heard the side door keylock rattle. HOLY BALL FUCK. THIS BITCH IS GOING TO STAB ME “DAAAAAVE!!!!” I saw my life flash before my eyes. Would I die before I even got to see my upcoming Real Housewife reunion? I am too young to die. At least not like this! This is so not a chic way to go. I’ll smell like lamb for the coroner. Fuck my life! “JACKIE COME WITH ME GET IN THE CAR” the doorknob continued to rattle as Mental-case Mindy struggled for entry. I RAN to the front door and got in Dave’s car barely escaping this crazy bitch. “Where are we going?” “Somewhere safe. I am so sorry to put you through this.” I didn’t want to seem like a terrible person but this was turning into the most exciting night of my life. I hadn’t had an adrenaline rush like this since last summer’s Barney’s Warehouse sale where I had to wrangle a Alexander Wang backpack out of a feisty Asian woman’s claws (asians lose their gyoza for designer travel bags… they rearry rearry do).
We headed to a nearby restaurant aka our Bunny Boiler security base. Dave received another slew of threatening text messages. He decided his only option was calling the police. An hour later we were given the green light to return home as Fatal Attraction Fiona was in custody. When we returned there were 4 cops waiting for us. She had tore his house upside down. I had left my leather jacket which she had used kitchen scissors to defile and basically overturned every piece of furniture, broken every dish and destroyed anything in her path. The house was a total warzone. I was actually super impressed. She seemed so petite, clearly that bitch had been up in da gym. I would never have the upper body strength to overturn a chaise lounge. Dave filed a restraining order and the girl was apparently arrested. Although being questioned by the cops was incredibly romantic I felt it was best for me to head home and leave Dave to deal with the authorities. I drove home and wondered how the fuck any of this could be real and more importantly if I was going to be reimbursed for my leather jacket. I started to empathize for the poor girl and started wondering whether I should visit her in jail and bring her some magazines and a fresh loofah…
I am sure many of you are reading this thinking, this CANT be true. I promise you it is 100% accurate. Some gals get flowers, dinner and a movie. This bitch gets death threats, a police report and 5 days of post-traumatic constipation. I look back on this evening with extreme fondness, gratitude and am happy I am able to share such a whimsical evening with all of you.
Bitch Bible Prophecy: First dates are the ultimate preview to the rest of your impending relationship. When the universe (or local police men) give you clear signals (like a motherfucking RESTRAINING order) finish your cocktail, be gracious and GET THE FUCK OUT OF THERE.