The time I dated Jesus and why reading is dangerous.

So there was a period of time about five years ago where I found myself newly single and lovin’ it. Also, the lovin’ it part manifested itself by me being curled up in a ball on the floor for about 6 months until my friends finally said “Um, maybe you should brush your hair. And perhaps do your laundry. And maybe shower. Oh, and we all collectively agree that you should go on a date. You know, just to flex that dating muscle.”

Uh, not only couldn’t I find the dating muscle to flex because it was so atrophied, but I was quite sure I didn’t have that muscle to begin with. I was like one of those people born without the ability to smell….or without their pinky toe…or like one of those people who never, ever went on dates. Ever.

Wait, that’s a lie. I went on dates. I mean, who wouldn’t want to date this girl? There was that one time in between my on-and-off relationship in high school and college and the other relationship in my mid-late twenties, where I went on a date with a waiter at a restaurant where I worked for a summer in college. I don’t remember his name, I kind of remember what he looked like, and I definitely remember that he wore a giant gold chain and Jesus sandals with socks. You know, because I’m obviously the type of girl that you take out and dress to impress.

Obviously.

And so we went to Starbucks. No, I’m not kidding.

He reluctantly picked me up wearing his Jesus sandals, we drove 10 minutes to the Starbucks in the strip mall, and sat outside awkwardly for what was probably 30 minutes but felt like 3 hours until I think we both just kind of stared at each other, looked at our empty cups, and got back into his car without a word.

I honestly have no recollection of what we talked about or why on earth either of us thought this was a good idea. It may have been because he was one of two guys that worked at the restaurant that summer, and my best friend was going on a date with the other guy who was friends with this guy (I believe he took her to an arcade…) and she said something along the lines of “C’mon, go out with (insert name of Jesus Sandals here), it’ll be fun and maybe we can double-date if it all goes well!”

Uh, I never saw him again. Well, other than the next day at work. But we never spoke again, which is pretty much the same thing. Also, a tremendous loss for us both.

So I’m pretty sure my dating history at that point in time was the equivalent of someone lifting a can of soup for ten minutes and calling it an upper-body workout. That’s the dating muscle I flexed. That was it. I was the emotional dating equivalent of that really flabby arm you tried to work-out before prom a decade ago and gave up to watch 90210 and eat ice cream. And I’m pretty sure there wasn’t anyone else in there…and if there was, he was less memorable than Jesus Sandals, so let’s just call it a draw.

So, since I apparently needed to: (a) shower and (b) date, I figured “What the hell? How bad can it be?”

Ooooh universe, you saucy minx, you. You sure showed me!

First of all, I’m sure that some of you thought that this story was as bad as it could get. But you would be sorely mistaken and also probably have friends who like you and would only set you up with someone normal. Anyway, I decided to give it a go and got set up with a friend of a friend after having the really in-depth conversation about our compatibility: “You’re single and so is he! It’ll be perfect!” But don’t think that I gave in that easily. He also had a pulse, you guys! I mean….c’mon. A girl’s got standards.

From the start, he was a charmer who really swept me off my feet. When he showed up 15 minutes late throwing around homophobic slurs about the drivers in front of him, I was sold. OR, I grew up in the Midwest where we’re taught manners and also to never, ever, ever offend anyone, even if their mere presence is offensive to you. So I stayed. And the universe just laughed and laughed…….

Anyway, fast forward through the next very painful 30 minutes or so when he finally came up for air after talking all about his really awesome car and his super-interesting job. Also, I believe I ate an entire basket of bread (sexy) without speaking because, you know, a lady knows her place. But since he was raised right, he eventually, grudgingly asked me about my job at the time. And then it happened:

Me: “Oh, I work in publishing on chemistry books-“

GIANT MAN HAND IN MY FACE: “-Hold it right there! You work on chemistry books? Ok. Not only did I hate chemistry in high school, but I really don’t like reading, so we don’t have to go any further with this conversation.”

Yep. I know.

Shockingly, after he put his hand in my face a second date somehow fell through the cracks, inexplicably. But not before the really awesome text I got from him the next day:

Him: “Wanna go out again?”

Me: “I really didn’t feel any chemistry (YES PUN INTENDED), but thanks anyway.”

Him: “Weird. Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

And that, my friends, is the story about how CB and I met.

JUST KIDDING! Oh man, if that were true, I’d insist that you all immediately stop reading this blog by virtue of the fact that I would be a complete and utter a-hole.

*I got a text from one of my best friends yesterday asking me what CB meant, so for those of you late to the party, you can find that storyhere. Also, she definitely reads every single blog entry and pays really close attention to the fascinating details of each story. The End.