100 Bad Dates: #11
Let’s give a warm, hearty, RVANews welcome to our newest weekly column from the sassiest of the sassy: The Checkout Girl. Don’t say we never gave you anything.
Date #11 approached me when I was with a friend at one of my favorite dive bars, a place within walking distance from my house and roughly the size of two walk-in closets, side-by-side. The sign on the wall stated that the “maximum capacity” of the place was 20 persons, but I couldn’t see where 18 more people would fit, and there wasn’t room to do much of anything but get chummy with your fellow bar-goers.
Date #11 was a party of one, and I wrote him off as either an alcoholic (“Do you drink alone?” asks a pamphlet which helps you determine whether or not you might have a drinking problem) or way cooler than I. Either way, he pulled it off, beautifully. He was only slightly-less handsome than, say, George Clooney, and I was surprised when he approached my friend and I, sitting at one of only three booths in the place. He seemed particularly interested in me, which annoyed my girlfriend who was prettier than I and used to getting most of the attention. What? Funny friends have their place, too! Niche dating is my life.
Anyway, it wasn’t long before Mr. LessThanClooney had scored my digits. I was sort of (read: totally) hoping for a drunken makeout and that didn’t happen, but he said he’d call, and I was about 9% sure that he would. He did and, lacking a polite way to say, “What in the world would you want with ME?” I agreed to meet him at a local Mexican Cantina for margaritas.
After only one drink, and with all the reverence of someone bestowing the secret of life, Date #11 decided to share his theory on successful dating: He surrounds himself with a certain type of women in order to attract like-women. For instance, he told me he only had beautiful female friends and, when they went out together, beautiful females were attracted to him. I swear there is a Seinfeld episode exactly like this where George gets a hold of a pretty girl’s Glamour Shot and passes it off as his dead fiancé, and this attracts gorgeous women because he’s already dated “one of them.” Well, this guy was dragging pretty ladies around as his “wingwomen” to achieve the same. And it worked! I nearly barfed in my mouth, thinking about the ladies dumb enough to be fooled by such a simple scheme. I asked him what the wingwomen got out of it, and he said that he always paid for the dinner and drinks and that, “truthfully,” he thought those girls probably wanted to date him, too, but he never mixed “business with pleasure.”
All of this lead me to ask him why he had chosen to meet with me. I wasn’t beautiful enough to be his wingwoman or dumb enough to fall for such a thing.
“Well,” he explained, “I’m looking for a different kind of woman now, and I want you to help me get them.” I laughed, not even masking my derision at this point.
“Oh? What type of woman is that?”
“Someone smart, with a little more substance.”
At first I was kind of flattered. “I guess brains, substance, and a deadpan sense of humor last longer than beauty,” I told myself. But, he went on, “If you and I go out together, women who care about such things will know that I am not just interested in looks and feel free to approach me.”
Wait, isn’t that part of the plot of Shallow Hal? Didn’t this guy have any original ideas? Was I being Punk’d? Yes, no, and no. Great, so now I am Gwyneth Paltrow in a fat suit? No, stanks. I politely declined to help him with his scheme, at which point he suggested we split the check. I wryly told him I hadn’t brought any money (I had) and, unless he wanted to visit the kitchen and wash the same dishes we had just eaten off of, he might want to pick up the tab. Neither one of us could get out of there fast enough after that.
I never heard from Date #11 again, and was okay with that, as he had bruised my ego. Fortunately, I look good in both black and blue. As far as I was concerned, Mr. LessThanClooney could go throw himself in Oceans Eleven, Twelve, AND Thirteen.
The Checkout Girl is a recent transplant to Richmond, from San Diego. She is obsessed with celebrity gossip, good yarn, garish lipstick, and memoirs. She’d like to learn to play the ukulele, cook more than microwave meals, and master the French language. She writes her work and life adventures at thecheckoutgirl.net, as well as the advice column Ask The Checkout Girl for Belle Magazine. After more than 100 bad dates, she’s found a pretty good guy.
-
Recommend this
on Facebook -
Report an error
-
Subscribe to our
Weekly Digest
The Checkout Girl
The Checkout Girl is Jennifer Lemons. She’s a storyteller, comedian, and musician. If you don’t see her sitting behind her laptop, check the streets of Richmond for a dark-haired girl with a big smile running very, very slowly.
Notice: Comments that are not conducive to an interesting and thoughtful conversation may be removed at the editor’s discretion.
I think Mr. LessThanClooney deserves some serious accolades here. I thought I had heard it all when it comes to disgustingly piggish man antics; I didn’t think it was possible for me to be surprised or shocked by anything they do. But I’ve been proven wrong! I certainly hope that at the very least you ordered the most expensive thing on the menu (lobster tail, anyone?)
100 Bad Dates should be subtitled: “So Why Would You Trust My Opinion?”
This is the first one I read, but a little advice: How are we supposed to trust a columnist who left San Diego for Richmond? Second, Check Out Girl, if you’re attracted to graying gay men like Clooney, maybe you should try to meet them somewhere else besides a bar (there’s a reason for the term “meat market”). Third, and this is advice for all would-be writers at whatever site this is, remember your grade school English teachers? Writers SHOW don’t TELL … How about more details, better writing style, and less rambling next time. Young columnists should know that when they write in public, they should express insights if they have any. Your only insight here, it seems, was to feel sorry for yourself for being attracted to an a-hole. How original.
Now let’s see some improvement on your next 89 bad dates–though I should admit I’m already through the check out line for Check Out Girl.
Saying that hanging out with you would tell others that he’s “not just interested in looks” is the same thing as saying you’ve got no looks. Rude, rude, rude.
So what you’re saying is that if George Clooney asks me on a date I should assume there are ulterior motives. Got it.
Haha. So, here’s the thing about men: we don’t care what we do to get women. We will do whatever is effective based on your response. So, surrounding ourselves with hot girls isn’t something that we dreamed up … it’s something that women somehow want. Men don’t understand it – and mostly don’ t care – but we know it works so we’ll keep doing it.
Sooo…
Did you hump him or what?
Yes, Matt, TCG humped him right on the very dishes he had to wash for the kitchen because he refused to pay for the entire meal.
Idiot.
What blows my mind is beside the kind of person even does/thinks these things, who actually tells someone? so wrong…
George Clooney is gay? Huh.
Wow, Latrell must have had a really bad day…just saying.
I was kidding about Clooney and can’t say for sure that he’s gay–though this is a commonplace rumor (and I suppose he did ask me to be his “wingman” once in “a Mexican restaurant” to attract other smart hunks)…. Regardless, it’s certainly true that a lot of gay Hollywood icons have show girlfriends or wives. If he turned out to be the next Rock Hudson, it wouldn’t surprise me. Look at how much Kevin Spacey and Will Smith enjoy their closets.
Wow Latrell, so bitter. Why do I feel as though one of these bad date stories is going to recap your love life? If you want to write a love advice/snarky writer how-to column, start a blog. Don’t be that guy who leaves the “you’re stupid, I’m better than you” comments. Nobody came here to read your jaded opinions.
Checkout Girl, keep writing for the masses (and not the massholes). Women everywhere are breathing a sigh of relief that they’re not the only ones having dates from hell.
Olivia,
I was judging the writing, not so much the writer. And I wouldn’t know why you’re thinking about my love life. Hard up, I’m guessing?
A public “columnist” for “the masses” (please) should expect differing reactions besides fawning praise from cheerleaders. It’s telling that you assume you speak for everyone, though.
Also, I never called anyone “stupid.” If you read this type of stuff, I’m guessing you must be young, and one thing the X,Y, Z, whatever generations could learn is how to take criticism without crying or hurling personal insults like a baby. Lemme guess, everyone who doesn’t agree with you is “a hata.”
My hope in leaving a comment was to ultimately help this writer if she wants to see her name in lights. Bloggers are as disposable as gas station toilet paper. I think more description (of Clooney, the restaurant, etc) would make her admittedly unusual story much better–not to mention believable.
What you offer in your comment are simply lame putdowns (at least have some sting, please!) Oh, and if you must know, I’ve been happily married for awhile now, but sorry about your bad luck. Hope you can continue to find relief in the blogosphere with other women who make bad choices. Good luck with that.
And that’s why you don’t meet guys at bars…
Let me just put a thing out there…
The column is called “100 Bad Dates.” Not “100 Awesomely Great Dates So You Should Do Everything I Do.”
I think “100 Bad Dates” is a decent enough idea for a column (if straining credibility) … But at some point, the writer has to address why she continually gets suckered by “massholes.”
Maybe she already has in the other 10 bad dates I didn’t read. If not, she needs to dig deeper. And the writing is not awful or anything…. it’s just tiring from a veteran reader’s perspective who is used to reading professional, paid columnists.
And I’d like to put one thing out there: The type of advice I’m harshly giving should be coming from something called an “editor.”
But I understand that in the trend-happy blogosphere, concepts like “fact-checking,” “professionalism,” “usefulness,” and “originality” aren’t in great demand.
Latrell, OMG! I have not been able to stop thinking about you since our night of dancing at Visions…hit me on the hip…maybe we can do lunch at the olive garden…mmm, never ending pasta bowl!
Latrell, this is a bloody op-ed and not an “advice column.” Get over yourself and laugh at life a little. I’m sure TCG doesn’t really care about your overzealous and ridiculously harsh “critique.” This is meant to be funny. You want “professionalism”? Go read CNN.
Better yet, go to Olive Garden, bloat yourself w/ the never ending pasta bowl and go to bed with a smile on your face.
Geebuz.
I am looking forward to hearing about all the other bad dates you’ve been on, TCG.
After a good, long sobbing fit, I realize you’re both right.
Funny need not be professional, and there is a difference between a bloody op ed and an advice column …. And that difference is heelarious gay Olive Garden humor! Yee haw!
Jamal Cheney, you is off the hook and I do remember yo phat flank, towelboy! But we met at amateur comedy night at Fuddruckers. You were the one who did the dead-on, pre-beefy Carrot Top impersonation of him having penis/vagina sex with an emu, right? You was hot that night!
Thanks, Lisa, for pointing me to “CNN.” It’s heaven for bloody op eds.
You must be the award-winning “edetur” on this column.
I was only kidding Check Out Girl, you is awesome … with Jay Z-scented candles and daisies on top. Send yo stuff right away to The New Yorker or maybe the Jon Stewart Show, so you can get more than beer bucks and free diapers from your current “employuh.” Funny is funny, girl. And that fat suit joke. Dayem.
Now Im gonna stop commenting and go laff at life a little–so you all can put your tissues away. There is soo much to laff in da Bible Belt, like the gays at Olive Garden eating pasta.hahahah! Toodle-oo, keep the gay Olive Garden jokes coming!!!!!! You da best in da biz, RVA snooze.
What just happened?
Re: Valerie
I think Latrell just melted down.
Nah. He be trollin’.
That or he’s a richmond.com plant trying to make us look bad.
Oh come on, they wouldn’t do that.
And, guys, I love Olive Garden.
Guys are so awesome. Ha!
Ummm TCG, you could have gotten a lot of free food and drinks out of this guy! Missed opportunity.
next time, go to Olive Garden…
“Bloggers are as disposable as gas station toilet paper” OMG! Ha! Thanks for my AM laugh! :)
Free tip for Latrell-Don’t read it if you don’t like it.
Doesn’t cultivating olives extend beyond the realm or Gardening? I mean I’ve never tried to grow an olive tree, but still. Also, it is so weird to me to know that dudes like this actually exist. What ever happened to being yourself?
I was done. But since Mr. Buttermilk drew notice to this comment section, I’ll add another quick one while he’s away: Lone Wolf, when reading a columnist for the first time, I typically don’t know if I like it until I’ve finished reading, but thanks for the advice. By then, I’m usually pissed off by the wasted time and the sheer amount of inexperienced bloggers out there with nothing insightful to say …. so I will occasionally waste more time by leaving comments that fire up the RVA cheerleaders who read this stuff regularly. Some of those old retards born without a Blackberry or IPhone shoved up their ass used to call it “venting.”
Perhaps a more useful critique for Checkout Girl, if she wants more readers: Fine to keep it lowbrow but include WAYYYY more graphic sex. You can’t have had 100 Bad Dates without getting screwed–if you did then I just feel sorry for you. Write about it, and you will attract more bored trolls, I promise. And trolls are good. Doubt you would’ve gotten a third as many comments without this one.
Or maybe, RVA, you should disable all comment sections. All the public really needs are press releases, photos of celebs, and hyperlinking bloggers (oh wait, when all the stupid newspapers are finally gone, they’ll have nothing to link to or paraphrase but other bloggers spewing from their toilets and sofas). Sweet. “I love my dead, gay country.”
Unfortunately, I encountered this tactic once. Disgusting. At the time, I threw up a little in my mouth. Looking back now, I see that I should have thrown up directly on him.
um, wow. don’t know what’s more entertaining. the actual date story (YESH!!!) or the comments. i think i might have had a blind date with latrell a while back. i spilled an entire pitcher of iced tea onto his crotch on our first date. he had no sense of humor about the whole thing and hence, he never got laid.
TCG, as another veteran reader, I love your style. My favorite line was, “Niche dating is my life.” Never thought of it that way, and that’s why I like reading you. And mostly I hate reading comments.
Are you FRACKING KIDDING ME?! Seriously? Man, I don’t even know what to say. Sometimes I wish I had a date like that so that I could just tell them where to go instead of rejecting them the next time they call me. I guess either way we’re pretty much effed.
I think it’s quite not easy nowadays.