Gravy...it's a dealbreaker, ladies!

I was planning a whole bunch of stories about bad dates and boyfriends I've had in honor of my 3 year wedding anniversary tomorrow (and how wonderful my husband is), but I'm lazy so you'll get two of the best in one post!

I'll start with the longest. I dated C for 3 years. We lived in different cities but only about 2 hours apart, so I saw him almost every weekend. Where do I start with C? He was a unique person. Uniquely weird and hard to read and uniquely serious in all the wrong ways.

C had two great passions in life: gambling and bowling. Sounds like a real winner, RIGHT? He literally was a winner once, when after many nights of online gambling on offshore casinos, he won $1800 and funded our trip to Las Vegas where he GAMBLED SOME MORE. During that trip, I lost my purse and had to go to the police in one of the casinos and do a report, THEN had to cancel all my credit cards, and THEN was so upset that I was choking on my tears and he went down to the casino to gamble! I mean he was up, why not! Don't worry about me, I'll just soak my pillow with a river of salty tears BY MYSELF.

C's other passion, bowling, was serious business. He was on a college bowling team. He had 11 balls...try to read that last statement and not giggle. He was in a couple leagues. You know how cheerleaders will go off on you if you say their cheering is not a sport? He was totally like that. I'm sorry, but if you can drink while playing, it ain't a sport.

The first time C met any of my friends, we decided to go bowling. MASSIVE FAIL OF EPIC PROPORTIONS. I knew it was over when he rolled his huge bag of balls into the bowling alley. JP remembers this well and we'll often laugh at how ridiculous that moment was. Laugh so we don't dry. Three years, folks!

 (P.S. he's married now with a child, so I hope that bowling and poker moved down to passions number three and four. Also, I am still friendly with this dude because it turns out we had nothing in common...IMAGINE!)

After that relationship was over, I didn't date much. I was pretty torn up about it (who knows why). I became the wingwoman to a friend and sorority sister who liked to party and loved men. I became the little angel on her shoulder who tried to get her to close her tab, say goodnight to the feller she was trying to hook, get into the passenger seat of her car and give me the keys. That happened about 2 out of every 10 visits to the ol drinking hole.

Mostly I just talked to the friends of her conquests. One day she was talking to a guy, I'm going to call him Kevin, and I told her it was time to leave. Kevin's wingman, Dan, struck up a conversation with me and tried to get my number. I started to give him the wrong number, then just told him I'd see him around, because I was in NO MOOD to deal with his crap. I was so disillusioned with men that I had no interested in even getting to know him.

Next time we were at the Union (that was the bar we all frequented), my friend and Kevin had more time to talk and by default I got to hang out with Dan. He asked me out on a date and my internal monologue went something like this:

"He's not entirely awful looking, he's asking you out on a date, just say yes. What's the worst that could happen?"

WHAT'S THE WORST THAT COULD HAPPEN.

We went out a few days later. He took me to a nice restaurant but I knew from the second we met (yes, we met there because I didn't want to be stuck in a car with him if it was awkward). The conversation was absolutely terrible. We had nothing to say to each other. There was a lot of small talk and talking about how good our food was. After the date was over, he asked what I wanted to do and the only thing I could think of was going to the Union (duh) so I could (hopefully) be rescued. At the bar, the lame conversation continued, he spilled beer on my new black capris, and finally...FINALLY...God answered my prayers and my friends came to join us. He left later on and asked if I'd like to go out again sometime.

I said yes....WHAT WAS WRONG WITH ME?

A week or so later, we were (again) at the Union and Dan asked what I'd like to do on our next date and also mentioned he didn't have much money (smooth). I suggested we just cook dinner at my house or his house and asked what he wanted. He said fried chicken and mashed potatoes and the sides, like am I KFC over here? But for some unknown reason I said, that's a FABULOUS idea. Maybe it's because I knew I could blog about it 7 years later.

The day of the date, I was finishing up cooking when he arrived at my house.Everything was looking good -- fried chicken tenders, (instant) mashed potatoes, green beans and corn....I'd remembered everything but the gravy.

Me: Oh hey, Dan, I totally forgot the gravy! Would you mind running to the store for me to get it...it's only a block or so away.
Dan: Sure, babe. Do you have money?
Me: Excuse me?
Dan: I'm just out of money right now, so could you give me money to get gravy.
Me: It's only going to be, like, $1.50.
Dan: yeah.....

I gave him the money but knew that it was a terrible sign that I should end this quick, like pulling off a band-aid.

But instead I gave him one last chance...3 times a charm?

A few nights later, we went to get ice cream. I was searching for something, ANYTHING to talk about. I talked about a class I had in which we talked about certain words in the English language meaning nothing because they were overused -- like the word "nice". Then, later, I told him a story about the ice cream place.

Dan: Oh, that's nice
Me: Nice? That's the only thing you could think about saying after we JUST talked about how nice really doesn't mean anything?
Dan: Yeah..it's nice.

*sigh* Strike three. You're out.

Then a year and a half or so later, my husband and I started dating, so there is eventually a happy ending to my dating saga. You'll hear that tomorrow!

bowling ball image via | gravy image via