"Jill's Bad Date "

So, my best friend Lesley set me up on a date with a guy named Rob, who lives in Pacific Beach, San Diego. Lesley had met him on a business trip when they were both in Washington, D.C. She talked highly of him, so I made plans to go to San Diego for the date. He told me that he had a new two bedroom apartment and I could stay in the other room. I decided I'd rather go there and be able to leave, than have him come to LA where I had no escape route. We said if the date went well, perhaps we would spend the next day at the beach.

I drove down to San Diego on Friday after work. The traffic was terrible. It took 4 hours and I didn't arrive until 10:00 p.m. By the time I was nearing San Diego, Rob had called me on my cell phone 3 times. The last time, he told me he thought I had just driven by so he ran inside to sprinkle water on his hair and brush his teeth. I was thinking "what the..?" Anyway, the last call is what set off my first panic bell.

Finally I arrived. When I drove up to his apartment, he was standing out front waiting for me. I could not believe my eyes. He was wearing black acid-wash, tapered jeans. Still, somehow, he'd managed to tuck in his Doc Marten boots and blouse-out his fish-printed "blouse." (You know how girls do it; you tuck in your shirt and then pull it out half way so it looks a little puffy? That's what he did. His fish shirt was bloused-out.)

Reluctantly I got out of my car and he immediately took me into the kitchen, which was the only room in the house with a light on. He handed me a shot of tequila and a lime and said, "Lesley called you her drinking buddy!" He put out his shot glass as if to say cheers, but instead of taking a shot he pretended to make out with his slice of lime, making "mmmm mmm mm" sounds. Immediately, I took my shot. Then another. And another.

Next he took me into the living room, where there were 3 candles and FIVE sticks of incense burning. Not only was this a fire hazard, but it was stinky and you could barely find your way through the room. He showed me the guest bedroom (where I had been planning to stay) first. It contained two boxes. That's all. No bed. No curtains. No chair. Again, my panic bell went "ding, ding, ding!"

Then we went to his bedroom, which had a poster of a naked women lounging on a tiger. He turned to me and said, "I think tigers really bring out the wild side in women, EERRRRR!" (That's right, he growled at me.) He opened his closet and brought out a black coffin-shaped box that was about 2.5 feet long. He opened it to reveal 4 or 5 old marijuana bongs and pipes. He said he doesn't smoke anymore, but he used to smoke a lot of "doobage." He pulled a lighter out of his pocket and picked up each pipe one by one, lit them and sucked through them ‘til he turned red – "just to see if there was anything left in them."

Literally I was in disbelief. Was all this really happening? He wanted to show me his car so we went back outside. Luckily we had to walk through the kitchen to get there. One more shot of tequila for me. He opened his car door, and like Vanna White, showed me the dashboard, the steering wheel, the radio, folded the driver seat forward to show the back seat. It was a red Chevy Cavalier. Circa 1985.

Are you kidding me?

At this point in the story most people ask why I didn't just leave. THAT is a good question. I decided if this date was ever going to end, we'd better get moving. (I don't know if you know what Pacific Beach is like, but it's kind of like Venice Beach, crazy during the day, but pretty dead at night. He'd just moved in, so he didn't know that – or so he said.) Anyway, the only place we could find that was open was an 18 and over club with a loud teenybopper rock band. He took my arm and said "Ross and Phoebe need another drink!" (Yes, that would be a reference to the Friends sitcom. Yes, I was about to throw up – because of the boy, not the alcohol.)

We went in and he bought us a couple of "well" drinks – you know cheap liquor. He handed me mine, acted as if he had to tell me something so I leaned over ‘cause I couldn't hear him. He licked my ear. My stomach dropped out and I told him I REALLY didn't appreciate that. I told him I had to go to the bathroom and I went and stood on the other side of the bar for about a half-hour while I developed a game plan. When I returned, I told him the reason I was gone for so long was ‘cause I wasn't feeling well. I said it was the wrong night for me to come down, and I thought we'd better go back to his house ‘cause I needed to get some sleep. It was about 11:00 p.m. by this time.

We went back to his house and I laid down on the couch in his living room. He offered me his bed and I said, "No, the couch is fine. I'm sorry I'm a party pooper but I really need some sleep, so if you wouldn't mind giving me some space I would really appreciate it." I'm a heavy sleeper and I knew I'd be fine if I could just get him to leave the room.

He was trying to be nice and insisted that he fold out the couch. Honestly, I was afraid it had things living in it. By now I was determined to do whatever it took to lie down and make him go away, so we folded out the couch, and I got under the grimy sheets in my clothes – (an ankle length skirt and a long sleeve shirt).

I thought he had finally retired to his bedroom, so I took a deep breath, mentally cursed my best friend, and closed my eyes. Not one second later did he return with a folding chair, which he propped 12 inches from my face and a guitar. He began crooning. I began groaning.

"LISTEN BUDDY – I DON'T MEAN TO BE RUDE BUT THIS JUST WAS NOT MEANT TO BE. I DO NOT FEEL WELL AND I WOULD REALLY APPRECIATE IT IF YOU WOULD JUST GIVE ME SOME SPACE!!!!!"

So he pulled his chair back about 3 feet and began singing again.

"OK. THIS TIME I DO MEAN TO BE RUDE. CAN YOU PLEASE GO TO BED? I REALLY DON'T THINK I'LL MAKE IT HOME IF I DRIVE AND I REALLY WANT TO GO TO BED. PLEASE GO TO YOUR ROOM. OR GO BACK OUT. I REALLY DON'T CARE WHERE YOU GO AS LONG AS YOU'RE NOT SITTING IN FRONT OF MY FACE SINGING."

"Jeez. Sorry, man," he replied. But at least he left.

--fast forward the clock about six hours--

I awake to a tingly feeling on the right cheek of my "bottom." I turn to peer over my right shoulder and what do I see? The boy looking up at me, proudly displaying a tube of Icy Hot (the tingly ointment used on sore muscles.) Did I mention I'm a VERY sound sleeper? He had lifted up my skirt and was rubbing Icy Hot on my leg.

"WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM? YOU ARE ONE @)*^#$)&@ GUY! GET OUT OF HERE. DO YOU HEAR ME? GO TO BED!!!!!! YOU SICK PERVERT."

Again he says, "Jeez man, I'm sorry." He turned around and went back to his room.

Most people ask why I didn't get in my car and go home. THAT is a good question. I slept for about 3 more hours and when I woke up I quickly began to gather my belongings. He came out of his bedroom and asked me where I was going, and wanted to know if I still wanted to spend the day at the beach with him. "Uh, I don't think so," I said. "I gotta go."

I immediately hopped in my car and couldn't dial Lesley's number fast enough. In somewhat of a rage, I told her roommate about the date and told her to have Lesley call me immediately. Of course, four days go by before I get a message from Lesley. She was used a wimpy little voice and said, "I think I'm in trouble with you. Call me if you want to." By then I was starting to have a sense of humor about the whole thing.

About 4 months later I "healed" from the entire experience and had the courage to tell me mom and my sister about the date. My mom said, "Leave it to Jill to go back to sleep on a date like that!"