Tag Archive | comedy

The Double Date Gone Seriously Bad

THE DOUBLE DATE GONE SERIOUSLY BAD

 I’m sure a lot of people have Bad Date Stories and I’m no exception. This one was a doozy and I’ll never forget it.

My friend, Tracey, met some guy (I’ll call him Octopus – you’ll see why) and wanted to go out with him but for some reason wanted to double date with this guy’s friend (I’ll call this friend Jalubbo since he was one and I have no idea what his name was). She literally begged me to go out with the yet unseen Jalubbo and I kept resisting. I really wasn’t interested in a blind date with some gumbah. Tracey persisted and finally wore me down and I reluctantly agreed.

It was decided we all would go see “The Godfather” which had just come out as a movie. I had read the book and absolutely loved it. It was a great story and so I did look forward to seeing the movie adaption.

The guys had picked up Tracey and they came to my apartment for me. Her date, Octopus, was a fairly nice looking guy and I could see why she wanted to date him. The friend, however, was an ugly, fat guy who obviously couldn’t get a date on his own which was probably why I was roped into this goat rodeo. It was too late to back out now.

We arrived at the theater and I suppose we made small talk. I don’t remember much about that. We later found seats upstairs in the balcony section, Octopus, Tracey, me and Jalubbo. The movie plays and the groping began.

I sat as far away from Jalubbo as I possibly could which put me smack up against Tracey. I don’t think Jalubbo understands body language, but eventually he got the hint he’d better not even try to touch me. I could have killed (not literally, of course) Tracey for putting me in this mess.

Meanwhile, Octopus, true to this nickname, was all over Tracey. His hands were everywhere! She kept trying to slow him down and slap his hands away to no avail. I was getting more annoyed every second and it just went on and on. I couldn’t even enjoy the movie from all of the distractions.

Finally, we came to an intermission and we went to the lobby.  I don’t quite remember what was said, but I think I told Octopus to keep his hands off Tracey and of course, he didn’t like that. Something in me snapped and I did the only thing I could think of: I bit him hard on the arm.

He howled, not expecting this sort of behavior and needless to say, he wasn’t pleased. We were all yelling and it was decided that they would just take us home. Octopus especially was pissed off and ready to dump both of us as soon as possible.

So we piled back into the car, but this time, Tracey and I both got in the back seat, frightened of these guys because we had no idea what they might be capable of doing to two girls who had pissed them off so badly.

For some reason, Tracey decided to pretend that we were lesbians so they wouldn’t bother us. It was very strange but I played along.

The next problem was that they were going to have to drop us off one at a time like we had been picked up.

“No way,” I told Tracey. “I’m not going to let you be alone with those two. I don’t trust them and they’re very angry.” I dreaded to think of the possible consequences. In the end, Tracey and I both got out at my house and the car’s tires squealed as they peeled away in a major huff.

It was quite late and Tracey said she would just walk home by herself. I didn’t like that idea much either since the streets of New York were potentially dangerous too. She called her mother and told her she was on the way home.

“Call me when you get there so I know you’re okay,” I told Tracey. She did and we managed to get ourselves out of the situation.

We never did get to see the ending of the movie.

Much later, I did see all of “The Godfather” and its sequels, but frankly, they weren’t as good as the books, in my opinion. In the book, you fully understand why things were happening as it was very detailed. In the movie, it was just the scenes with less explanation.

In any case, every time I hear about that movie, all I think about is the Double Date from Hell!

 

The Odd Couple: Messy vs. Neat Freak

The Odd Couple: Messy vs. Neat Freak

My first clue my new husband was a Neat Freak was on our honeymoon. There I was, naked and extremely eager for the consummation to begin. My clothes were strewn upon the floor, as usual. There he was, slowly taking off his shirt and hanging it in the closet. I groaned at the delay. Then he pulled off his pants, neatly folded them and placed them in a drawer in the hotel room.

“Jesus, honey. Just throw them down and let’s get on with it!” I pleaded.

But, of course, the socks had to be neatly placed together first and stowed away carefully.

Patience is not one of my virtues. Neither is being overly neat. So I was in for a big shock when Hubby turned out to be Felix to my Oscar.

Thirty-seven years later, we’re still together and have learned how to cope with this vast difference in our habits. It hasn’t been an easy task.

As soon as we began our blissful life together as a couple, I discovered he also had this obsession with cleanliness. Now this isn’t a bad thing in itself, but it can be taken a wee bit too far. At least for me.

My opinion is that it is time to dust only when you can write your name in it. What’s wrong with a week’s worth of clothes lying on a chair or on the floor? Why make the bed up when NO ONE is going to see it? So what if the dishes are still in the sink and it’s bedtime. They aren’t going anywhere. So I have other stuff lying all around. Who cares? It doesn’t bother me.

However, I soon found out it bothered him. A lot. That’s when we clashed.

I had an aunt whose husband was a fanatic about cleanliness to the point that she had to scrub baking potatoes until there was no skin left. She would follow people around with an ash tray to make sure nothing fell on the floor. It was pitiful to watch her because this was not her nature and it was annoying to be around. Eventually, she dumped him (Thank God!) and she told me later that it made her literally sick trying to keep things up to his standards. This was NOT a fate for me.

I stood up to Hubby early on and announced, “If you want this place THAT clean, DO IT YOURSELF!”

So basically he did. He became the one to do the cleaning. My job was to make the mess and he would clean it up. That hasn’t changed in all these years. He jokes that my middle name is “Messy”. I even have a T-shirt that claims: “I’m not Messy, I’m Creative.” I like that better.

When I cook, he cleans up the resulting mess to his satisfaction. It works for us.

Of course, after a while, he began to bitch that he was doing all the work while I was sitting my ass. So I said, “Okay. Let’s make a list of chores and divide it up. You do some and I’ll do some.” Fair, right?

His response to every item was, “I’ll do that.” The only thing he would trust me with was washing dishes and he didn’t really like the way I did that either, so were basically back to square one. I gave up and just ignored his occasional grumbling from then on as he vacuumed and dusted to his heart’s content. This later prompted him to hire a company to come clean the house every two weeks. Situation resolved. Almost. He still cleans some in between their visits. I just go about my business ignoring the overkill.

One of the funnier things we laugh about now happened when our son was young and I was home with him while Hubby was at work. As you can imagine, by the end of the day, toys were strewn all over, the bed was still a rumpled mess and dishes were crusting over in the sink. About 15 or 20 minutes before Hubby was due home, I would jump up and declare, “Time to clean up, Adam! Daddy will be home soon. Pick up all your toys and put them away, NOW!” I would then quickly straighten up just in the nick of time. Hubby would walk in and at least the place didn’t look like a bomb had gone off. Phew!

One time a neurosurgeon got into his car which he kept cleaner than the day it rolled off the showroom floor. The doctor was amazed and declared, “Damn! I could perform surgery in this car!” I kid you not!

Our lawn was the envy of the neighborhood. It looked like it had been manicured with a nail clipper, every blade just perfect and green as the hills of Ireland.

Many times I would throw something in the garbage can only to see an item I wanted to save inside. My mistake was leaving it where it didn’t belong and Hubby decided it was junk. It took me many hissy fits to break him of this bad habit.

Anything important I want to keep I have to put in my art room. By prior agreement, he won’t trash anything in there. It’s my private sanctuary where I can be…me. Messy, messy me.

While Hubby has mellowed a lot in his later years and isn’t quite as fussy as he used to be, he still amazes me with all the things he can find to clean. Yesterday, he took all of our fake flowers outside and sprayed them with some kind of cleaner.

Frankly, doing that would NEVER have crossed MY mind!