In honor of one of my favorite holidays, I created a handy flow chart to help you decipher if your date among the living dead, or just the brain dead. If you’re a single guy, you could easily use this guide to find out if the girl you just went out with smelled that way because she’s shunning deodorant or is slowly decomposing.
So read ahead and find out: Are you dating a zombie?
(And yes, I made those blood stains myself! I’m practicing my Photoshop skills.)
Over the past few days, someone I recently dated has been indirectly in the news. (Don’t worry, it’s not for killing anyone.) Exciting for him, less exciting for me that I get reminders of him over the radio. It did, however, get me thinking of my one and only brush with dating someone famous.
When I was 22, I was helping out with an awards ceremony for work where I was introduced to a variety of San Diego’s elite. For the most part, I was ignored, but one guy took a special interest in me and asked for my number. Being young and naive (and extremely flattered) I agreed. At the time, I just thought he was a nice guy and had no idea who he was. I also thought he was about 35.
Turns out he’s a relatively famous artist and my mother practically fainted when I told her his name.
I should also mention that no, he was not 35, he was 47.
We met at one of his galleries where he took me up to his studio to show me where he painted. His studio was also the loft he inhabited when he stayed in town. My eyes were immediately drawn to the six-foot topless wooden mermaid that was suspended face down over the bed. Among his other fishy decor, several scandalous drawings he had done of Ariel from The Little Mermaid.
Ok, so he had a thing for fish.
We left after a few moments to grab dinner followed by a movie, but lingering too long at dinner (fish) where he talked exclusively about his own brilliance as an artist, we missed the movie.
“Let’s just watch something at my place,” he said.
I was young. He was literally old enough to be my father and I was somewhat in awe that someone as famous as this guy had asked me out. So I agreed.
He put on the movie Desparado. I missed most of the movie because I was so preoccupied with appearing lady-like and mature. Fast-forward approximately 37 minutes to where Antonio Banderas and Selma Hayek bare it all for the camera and quasi-famous artist lunges across the couch, sticks a hand down the top of my dress and licks the side of my face.
My first thought was: how do I respond to this?
My second thought: It’s really too bad that there was garlic butter on his dinner.
Daintily, I plucked his hand away and excused myself to the bathroom where I attempted to wash my face with yet more dirty pictures of The Little Mermaid staring at me.
Pleading tiredness, I left and went home. He gave me a signed copy of one of his gallery books as a parting gift. Really, he shouldn’t have.
Lesson learned: Fame does not equal class. (And also Ariel can be a total slut!)
A great tragedy befell me this week. My television died. I have a small one in the bedroom, but it’s just not the same. On the bright side, this has given me way more time to bond with the Internet! I’ve spent some quality time this week sprucing up my online profiles to see if I can stir some more interest from the single San Diego scene.
Apparently I’m stirring the wrong interest.
Recent emails from online matches have ranged from the awkward to the downright creepy. A 24-year-old with some lovely facial tattoos asked me if I’d like to come drink a 40 with him. Actually, I wouldn’t mind the 40, but could I bring his permanently tear-dropped face home to mother?
“Mom, this is my boyfriend. His name is Sad Clown Face.”
Another email simply said, “Mmmmm, will you wear your hair in pigtails when we go on our coffee date?”
That one actually frightened me.
A 38-year old emailed me with, “I like your laid back style. I just passed through a transition into almost full maturity. I’d like to meet you as my first dating experience of adulthood. Is there anything you would like to do that you have never done before? Or should I surprise you?”
He’s almost mature, but not quite. And what exactly does he think he’ll surprise me with? I’m terrified to imagine the possibilities.
My favorite email simply said, “I offer the truth. If you don’t want that, then you should move on.” Gotta hand it to him, it’s straight forward. If his profile picture didn’t make him look like a serial killer, I might have replied just out of sheer curiosity.
On the flip side, I send out dozens of emails that I hope sound normal.
“I liked your profile. Your picture with your dog is really cute. What type of dog is he? Have a great weekend!”
Not one of them has ever been answered. Perhaps I should start writing more obscure things.
“Hello. My likes: zombie films, beer, shoes and dogs. My dislikes: being urinated on, chick flicks and communicable diseases. Hit me up if you’d like to drink a 6-pack and then go shoe shopping and to the pet store.”
I’m pretty sure that would get a response!
Lesson learned: Never have any photos of yourself in an online dating profile where your hair is in braids. Apparently that sends the wrong message.