Oh God, What Have I Done....

Last night I went on my third “first date" since being 35 and newly single. And while I am still very new to the online dating world, I realized at the end of the night that I really should start writing this stuff down because not even Hunter S. Thompson could dream up some of the weird shit that happens on first dates.

I shall at some point divulge how I became single at 35 with a 4-year-old daughter and why exactly I waited an entire year after the separation from my husband to embark on an online dating mission (namely one very sexy Argentine). But for now I'll focus on my most recent first date: Jerry.  Jerry is 41 and I met him last night at a great little seedy bar & grill in Toluca Lake.

I’m calling him Jerry because he works in the production offices of a very prominent Hollywood producer by the same name, and trust me, he won’t let you forget it.  It’s not that he’s pretentious per se, because we talked ad nauseum about how morally corrupt the entertainment industry can be.  But he did deem himself the authority on everything there is to know about movies…and screenplays…and actors…and music…and pop culture….

But food?  When the issue of grabbing a bite to eat came up, he proceeded to tell me that he only eats the following foods: Peanut Butter & Jelly Sandwiches, French Fries, Pancakes, Scrambled Eggs, Carrots, Mixed Nuts and Chips.

Chicken? “Nope.”
Pasta? “Nuh-uh.”
Fish? “Forget it.”
Meat? “Well, I DO eat hamburgers…but plain.”  Plain means a burger and a bun. No cheese, no lettuce, no pickles, no nuthin.

Excuse me, but did I mention I’m a chef?

Jerry’s profile appeared to be fantastic: He touted himself as romantic, passionate, poetic, sensitive, likes kids & dogs, etc., etc.  And after my last two disastrous “first” dates, he seemed refreshing.

But romantic and passionate soon turned into a wee-bit crazy.

Well into his 3rd glass of wine, Jerry decided to kiss me. And hey, it wasn’t bad. Certainly a better kiss than date-guy #1 and date-guy #2 was a total flop so, what the hell, right?  A girl could use a little kissy-face sometimes.

But suddenly I felt like the “mouse” in Of Mice and Men. In the seconds that followed our first lip-lock, somehow I became his main squeeze…literally.  He sidled up next to me in the booth and wrapped his arm around me so tight I felt as if I was in a straight jacket. And he wasn’t just holding my hand, or caressing it, or even massaging it, but CRUSHING IT.  I had to play a little offensive guard to say the least.

Fortunately, or rather unfortunately (but it gave me a reason to leave), I received a phone call that my daughter wasn’t feeling well, so I politely excused myself for the evening. Jerry was generous enough to pick up the tab for our drinks… but, did I mention he whipped out a calculator to figure the tip?  Oy vey…

Tonight: Dinner with "The Teacher."