Jesus take the wheel

So, part 3 begins with the actual movie portion of this date. I needed Jesus to take the wheel at this point, to protect me from Sinister 2 (and I’m not even religious) and because he would drive faster than 2 MPH around the parking lot.

He pulls into a parking spot, and turns the car off. As I’m opening the door to get out of the car, he asks for a kiss. I say fine, because I’m trying to be nice, but there’s no french kissing involved. Then, as I have one foot out the door, he tells me, in the proudest voice I have ever heard, “I have coupons!” I stop dead in my tracks, look at him with what I can only imagine is horror, as he pulls actual coupons out of his pocket. Not like the kind you print for Bed, Bath and Beyond. Actual paper coupons, like from a penny saver, or your grandmother would cut out from the Sunday paper. I’m all for saving money and what not, but if you’re trying to impress a girl for a second date, save the George Constanza-esque cheapness for a later date. At this point I realize this is going nowhere, but I grit my teeth and smile, ready to get this over with.

He grabs my hand as we walk towards the theater, and I forget about the coupons and the horror about to unfold. We get in line to pay, and he pulls out his coupons, announcing this to the world, like he cheated the system or something. The poor 17 year old kid behind the counter is having trouble trying to figure out these coupons, and there is now a line forming behind us. I start to panic, and just want to GTFO. I look behind us, and try to say “Sorry” with my expression to the people behind us. I want to yell, “This is only our second date, I had no idea!” but I refrain. We get our tickets and get out of line, probably the subject of stories for the people behind us.

At this point I mention again how I had not eaten, since, as you remember, he 86’ed the dinner portion of our date. He motions to the snack stand. I can feel my eye lids lower and my mouth do my, “Are you kidding me?” face that even Stevie Wonder could read. This guy still doesn’t get it. I go over to the snack bar, order a pretzel and candy for my dinner, because that’s what every girl wants on a date, and whip out my debit card. I say to the chick, “I’m paying for dinner,” as he’s standing next to me. As we walk away, he asks, “Why did you say that?” I answer, “Because it’s true. This is my dinner, and I paid for it.” I am by no means a gold digger, but when you say it’s going to be dinner and a movie, and you decide that dinner is going to be dropped from the equation, be prepared for some sarcastic, bitchy remarks. I’m not all about money, because I’m not rich. But don’t bring out your cheap side until later on. You can’t spring for a pretzel and some skittles?

We walk into the theater, and there are 10 people, all under the age of 18. I now regret not bringing a big gulp of vodka. The movie previews start, and every movie is something I’d rather see than the hot mess that is Sinister 2. He actually says he’s excited to see it, since he liked Sinister 1. It’s dark, so he can’t see me rolling my eyes. He does the most uncomfortable snuggle moves, not even the stretch and yawn, trying to hold my hand in the most awkward way possible with his other arm, that I am crushed up against the arm rest. This movie is the worst thing I have seen.

Finally, this abomination of a movie is over. Since I know Gramps doesn’t want to spend money, I suggest just walking around the stores and stuff. We sit and talk for a while. Then he mentions being against drinking and drugs. Marijuana is awful, he says, and should be banned. I’m not even going to get into it with him, and explain that there are medical uses for it. I see this as a huge waste of my time. He’s boring me and I’m ready to go somewhere else. He was a decent kisser, so I would at least get him to shut up that way. We get to the car and make out for a bit. We wonder where else to go, since, as we all know by now, he doesn’t want to spend money. I suggest just going back to my house to hang out on my deck for a bit. He starts to get nervous, saying he’s not ready to meet my parents. It’s 11, and we’re not going into their room, so there’s no need to freak out. Not to mention, I have no desire for this dud to meet anyone in my life, at anytime, ever.

We got up to the porch, and I tell him I’ll be right back. I come back out to the porch about 30 seconds later. He’s pacing around, like a caged animal. I’m not sure what he thought was going to happen, that I’d call up everyone I know to come meet him, this moment, at 11pm, on my porch? He was nervous, I’m not sure about what. I keep asking him what’s wrong with him, but he keeps saying nothing. So I get him to calm down, we make out for a bit, then he says, “I need to go home.” I assume this is because it’s now about 11:30 and it’s past his bedtime, or he’s about to turn into a pumpkin. He loooooves french kissing me, remember, so this is all a little weird. I walk him to the door, and he’s gone.

I’m fuming at this point. I got nothing from this date but a pain in my side from his aggressive and uncomfortable snuggling in the movies. I decide that was the second and last date, because I do not have time to deal with this shit.

I get a text from frenchie, saying he had a good time, but that he doesn’t know if we’re good for each other. My answer? “LOL.” To every text he sends, where he tries to explain himself, I answer with the same. I’m not sure where he got the idea that he was going to get a third chance with me, because I was not planning on texting him after that debacle. I also don’t know what he was expecting me to say, did he think I would try to convince him we were meant to be? That I would ignore all of the warning signs and say, no honey, I think we’re going to make it. I am not wasting my precious texting energy on this weirdo, who may have tried to sinister 2 me under his floorboards or something. After the 10th “LOL,” I block his number and go to sleep.

A couple of days later, as I’m back on match trying to get back out there, I see he’s viewed my profile. I let it go. But this happens several times over the next couple of weeks. I decide he doesn’t get to look at my pictures or put them in his spank bank or whatever, so I send a message telling him to stop looking at my profile, and block his ass.  I am not going to end up on the 11:00 news as a missing person.

What a waste of 3 weeks…

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