Douchey Mcdouche

Infamous internet celeb and wannabe actor:

http://arthurkade.com/2009/05/27/philadelphia-magazine/

He said WHAT?

I wonder if there's something about me that just screams IF YOU'RE A STALKER, COME TALK TO ME.

I had a meeting in midtown today. As I waited in line at the security desk at the lobby, the man in front of me offered to pass my ID to the security desk. I almost handed him my ID, and then he laughed and said he was joking. He did, however, want my information so he could call me some time.

I "laughed" and politely told him I didn't think it was a good idea.

Unfortunately for me, we ended up in the same elevator together (with a poor woman who tried to pretend she was invisible). The man was very persistent and asked again if he could have my contact information.

Once again, I said, "NO."

He asked why I wouldn't give it to him. Since I was in an elevator, it was extremely awkward and uncomfortable for me to continue to have a conversation that I clearly didn't want to have, and I couldn't leave, I tried to be polite and make a joke out of it.

"I woke up this morning and decided that I wasn't providing my contact information to anyone today. Sorry," I told him.

He promised that he'd be back tomorrow to sit in the lobby and wait for me all day.

"Well," I said, "seems like it might be hard for you to get any work done that way."

It reminds me of someone I dated someone briefly last spring. Let's call him X.

X pushed things between us to become serious and exclusive (I'm not a huge fan of exclusive dating. What's the point, unless I plan on marrying someone?), and then quickly decided things weren't working out because he needed "to be free and to see what else was out there." This was after he already already made ridiculous declarations of his love for me within our first month of dating (which made me extremely uncomfortable because WHO DOES THAT?!?).

While I wasn't particularly happy that X had insisted I jump through hoops to "commit to an exclusive relationship with him" when I clearly didn't want to be exclusive only for him to realize that he needed to be "free," I didn't object too much because if I were honest, I agreed with him. Plus, I don't want to be with anyone who needs to see "what else is out there" before knowing if they want to be with me. If they haven't already figured it out, then they ought to go find out without my participation.

X was an inappropriate partner for me in every way possible. The only reason we began to date was because I had just ended a very important relationship with A (who is amazing and now a close friend), and I was in a vulnerable state. X had been persistently pursuing me for over a year, and he happened to call and ask me out at a time where it was hard for me to say no.

A month after X ended things, he came back and wanted to try again because he thought he had made a mistake, and he missed me. I had started to come out of my A-break-up-induced funk by then, and I didn't cooperate with X's attempts to restart things because he wasn't someone I wanted to be with. I was polite. I went through the motions of going on a date with X, but...eh.

I don't trust wishy washy people, especially men. There's something about wishy-washy men that reminds me of temperamental children. They always want the shiniest and newest toys, but they lose interest quickly. I've heard my share of stories about wishy-washy men who decide, after 20 years of marriage, a mortgage and 3 children, that married life isn't for them. It's sad and a little selfish for them to make that decision with disregard for how their actions will affect their ex-wives and children. If that's the way they felt, perhaps they ought to have realized that before having a family? Anyone who starts throwing "I love you" around after only a month of dating someone is one of those men.

After X's second attempt to "date" me, I didn't hear from him for a while. Then, I ran into him a few times, and we were polite to each other each time. I had no hard feelings towards him, and I can't imagine that he'd me mad at me in any way. The last time I ran into him, he called me within minutes of seeing me to ask if I wanted to stop by his home to check out ___________ (insert whatever hook here, like art, gadget, whatever). I may have an annoying tendency to take people at face value, but I am not completely naive. I politely declined.

Since then, X occasionally emails, texts or calls (and usually leaves vmails, since I almost always screen calls unless I'm in a rush). It seems to happen about once a month, probably when he's a little bored and lonely and wonders where his friends are or what everyone's up to. According to my apartment super, a man fitting X's description even stopped by my apartment once to ask if I still lived there. Every once in a while (about three or four times now), I'll get a voicemail from X telling me he's at my gym and hoping to run into me. (I live in the West Village, he lives on the East side, and we both have gyms within 2 blocks of our respective apartments.) While I want to tell X to bugger off, I don't because we operate in similar social circles and I would prefer things to remain friendly. But, I do think that X is a stalker if I've seen one.

Even better than LOLCATS!!!!

OK, just kidding b/c nothing can ever top LOLCATS in that saccharin hurt your teeth way, but this comes pretty darn close:

http://www.latfh.com/


Although more in a hurt your eyes and your brain sort of way.

Ah, you fucking hipster. How is it possible that I both love and hate you...

Will the Real Slim Shady please stand up?

Forget about Bernie Madoff for a minute. Let's talk about Marc Dreier. His story is the stuff movies are made about. I can't believe it's not getting as much press as Madoff.

http://nymag.com/news/features/55863/

Dreier’s motives were at once shallow and profound. Even by New York standards, he was wildly ambitious. It wasn’t enough for him to be a successful lawyer; he had to be the most successful lawyer in town, and he needed everyone else to know about it. You could see his obsession reflected in the $10 million Beacon Court condominium, the fully staffed $18 million 123-foot yacht, the $40 million in Warhols and Lichtensteins and other artworks, the Aston Martin, BMW, and two Mercedes, the two Hamptons homes, the Anguilla property, the Park Avenue headquarters with his name emblazoned on the side, the star-studded charity golf tournament, the girls. When he’d couldn’t come by all of that honestly, it seems, he found another way. The whole operation was audacious to the point of sheer recklessness—from the start, he was just one due-diligence phone call from being found out—yet the very boldness of his plan was central to its success. Who would believe that such a respected and apparently successful attorney would knowingly peddle hundreds of millions of dollars worth of nothing?

...

After law school, Dreier went to work as a white-collar defense litigator at the New York firm Rosenman & Colin. “He was one of the shining stars,” says Donald Citak, a former colleague. “He was ambitious, bright, and full of energy—hyper but personable.” Dreier pitched on the company softball team and was always up for drinks, often at the Beach Café at 70th Street and Second Avenue, a few blocks from his bachelor apartment on York Avenue. But even Dreier’s friends didn’t fully trust him. “He never put other people’s interests first,” one friend says, “and he’d make no bones about it. Part of him wanted to have friends, but all of him wanted to be admired.”

...

Goodbye Silver Fox

Goodbye Silver Fox.  Here's why things will never work for us:

1. I eventually figured out that you are close to 20 years my senior, and when I jokingly mentioned you were twice my age, you got offended. Let's call things as they are and admit that you are not as young as like to pretend, and you are not good at pretending.

2. You made me go outside an admire your new BMW on our first date as if I cared what sort of car you drove.

3. You drink too much and then start shouting random Rolling Stones lyrics even if they aren't playing at the time.  We were at Crispo for dinner, and every few minutes, you'd get up and start belting out Rolling Stones lyrics even though there was no music and we were in a sit down restaurant.

4. You drink too much and then start telling me that I'm not going to do any better than you because you're extremely good looking, very successful, tall and in the best shape of your life.

5.  You drink too much and then imagine yourself friends with everyone. We went for drinks at Cibar, and you proceeded to yell Rolling Stones lyrics across the bar at the British DJ and explained that you two were great friends.  Later, the DJ asked me what was up with the annoying guy who kept yelling Rolling Stones lyrics across the bar, because every time he was at Cibar, that's all he did.

6. You told me you when to Yale at one point, and when I started to ask you about it (because I know people that went to Yale), you explained you attended a high school gifted program at Yale University one summer.  We both know that is very different from "going to Yale."

6. You enjoy hanging out in the meatpacking district and spend most of your weekend evenings there.  The one night I got to pick the bar, we ran into Heather Mills at the Rusty Knot.  When she left, you told me that you two were part of the same social circle in the Hamptons, and Heather has thrown herself at you numerous times, but you weren't interested.  At this point, I'm certain you had drank too much.

7. On our second date, you tried to get me to go home with you, using the very convincing and original rationale that you are very good looking, successful and tall.  I went home alone.

8.  On our third date, you upped the ante, and in addition to good looking, successful and tall, you also told me that you really really wanted a girlfriend, and if I went home with you, you'd take me shopping.  I went home alone.

9.  The morning after our third date, you sent me an email with a subject line: let's consummate our friendship tonight.  intimacy is very important to me."  In the body, you had attached a picture of two women in various stages of undress.  That's when I finally picked up the phone and politely ended any interaction with you by telling you that despite your height, success and good looks, we were in different places in life.  You agreed and told me I was boring.

Well, it's a good thing that I'm wishing you a goodbye then, Silver Fox!

She said WHAT?

Et tu, Miley?

After hearing about my latest He said WHAT episode, B suggested we introduce Mr. Foot-in-Mouth to Miley Cyrus. It seems like they have a similar sense of humor.

He said WHAT?

I just got back from a snowboarding trip to Jackson Hole. I had an awesome time and will write more about the week in a bit, but first, I wanted to post a "He said WHAT" entry.

The day our entire group was to arrive in Jackson, WY, flights were delayed by a winter storm. The half of the ski house I didn't know ended up catching the last flight from Salt Lake City to Jackson. My friends (the other half of the ski house) were either delayed for the night in Chicago or were going to arrive the next day. It was just going to be me and five guys for the night.

It was late. We were tired. Someone asked me what I did for a living. I explained I was unemployed. Out of automatic politeness, I asked what he did for a living although I could care less since an occupation doesn't make a person. He responded, "I work for the Japanese government" while pulling on the outside corners of his eyes and making stereotypical slanty Asian eyes. I kid you not.

When my mouth dropped open in disbelief, he explained he was joking, "I'm just kidding. My ex-girlfriend is Chinese, and she used to make all these jokes about Chinks, Asian eyes and stuff. She was so racist."

When I'm in uncomfortable situations, I have two visceral reactions:

1. Run away. When that's not possible, I

2. hide behind politeness and act as if I'm completely unaffected by the situation.

I'm sure it's a combination of my cultural upbringing as a female in a traditional Chinese home, my parents and my natural desire to please people. It's taken a lot of work for me to be comfortable with expressing myself in potentially confrontational or hostile situations.

It was a lot like learning how to drive. Sometimes I'd step on the gas a little too hard and my extreme emotional reaction wouldn't match the situation. Other times, I wouldn't step on the gas hard enough. My tepid reaction would be overruled or dismissed by others, especially those that spoke louder than me, had stronger personalities than mine or made more demands than I did. I definitely have feelings of anxiety when I know I have to have a very direct and frank conversation with someone, but it gets a little easier every time I do it.

When Mr. Slanty Asian eyes used the word Chink and told me it was okay for him to make offensive gestures because he knew one Asian person, I worried that he was indicative of the rest of the people in the ski house (fortunately, it wasn't). If I had been less tired, I would have pretended to laugh it off, but I had been flying for 12 hours. I was too tired to care or to pretend. I didn't care if I was the only person in the ski house that night who thought making slanty Asian eyes and using words like Chink were offensive. I didn't care if my response was going to open me up to more ridicule and stereotypical Asian jokes for the rest of the week. I spoke up, "Wow, that is so offensive. I can't believe you just did that."

He said WHAT?

"You're an idiot," said the policeman that had been yelling at me for some indeterminate time. He and five other policemen gave me stern, angry looks and then walked away.

Or maybe I walked away. I can't remember it very well. It was 4am on January 1, 2009, and I was B-E-A-T. I was lucky I wasn't called worse. Spending the night in jail would have been an inauspicious start to a new year.



After a hectic night at two New Year's Eve parties in Brooklyn and the West Village, I eventually landed at the The Red Lion where I counted into 2009 with B and J. Somewhere on my way home from Bleecker Street, as I waited for B and friends to catch up to me, I thought it would be a good, no, GREAT idea to check if the police golf cart I was next to was locked.

Well, the door wasn't locked.

I opened the door and then I shut it. Thanks to my tiredness and impaired judgement, I didn't think it was a big deal. I was feeling GREAT -- I got to see tons of friends, and I had had a martini over dinner (courtesy of Pookie), a scotch at M and L's house party in Brooklyn, and four or five scotches at the Red Lion (courtesy of J).

I walked away from the golf cart and would have forgotten about the whole thing if it weren't for the six policemen that had started to run towards me the minute my hand touched that vehicle. To my hazy memory, they suddenly appeared out of nowhere, yelling at me. According to B and J, they RAN towards me.

"Why did you open that door?"

"What did you think you were doing?"

"What were you going to do?"

I was confused. I mean, I didn't even get IN the car! Why were they so upset? I was just checking to see if the door was locked!

They looked at me like I was stupid. Which I'm chagrined to say I was. They called me an idiot. Which I was. I was then summarily dismissed. Dismissed by six angry cops.

Happy 2009!

He said WHAT?

This guy is such a tool. I can't believe he quoted Kipling and left out the next line. I wish he'd resign already so we can move on with our lives.

Visit msnbc.com for Breaking News, World News, and News about the Economy

He said WHAT?

"I want to put this in that."

That's what he said to me at the end of our date the other night.

A date that began with a dinner where I tried to order a salad as a starter.

He wanted us to share a starter and an entree, which I was happy to do.

I wanted the salad.

He "suggested" several times that I order the hummus or the chicken lettuce wraps instead because it was more value for the money (a salad was "just lettuce and croutons").

Unwilling to have to negotiate for my dinner, I decided if he didn't want me to order the salad, I'd just share the entree with him and forgo the starter. We ended up sharing a salad and entree for our dinner.

By the time the movie ended, it was late. He walked me home and wanted to come upstairs. I was tired and had an early day ahead of me, but he had tried SO hard to be sweet that night. After having known him for only three months, I knew it was difficult for him to part with money spent on someone other than himself. I let him up but warned him it was only for a few minutes because I really needed to go to sleep soon.

We sat on my couch, channel surfed the telly, talked and cuddled a bit. It was all very PG-13.

Despite his many personality traits that are incompatible with mine, he's smart and has interesting ideas. The conversation was good. His attempts to get me to lay down on the couch with him were not so great though.

He interrupted me mid-sentence and said, "I want to put this" (grabs his crotch) "in that" (pokes my crotch with his forefinger).

I kid you not. It really happened. The date was officially over.

Engineers Explain Women

Sarah Palin fowls up

I love mascots

Just not necessarily Olympic ones.

New Olympic Mascot A Trainwreck As Always

In a classic case of overthinking something into oblivion, cities obsess over the stupid mascots for years, until they create some sort of awful mutant-by-committee. The WSJ reports that the Beijing mascot is disliked even by the artist who created them.

Throughout the 70s and 80s, mascots were fairly normal: a tiger, an eagle, a bear, a beaver, a gay dachsund.... In 1992 abstraction took over... Pictures of the Olympic mascots from '92 onwards.

Barcelona 1992: "Cobi." WTF.

Atlanta 1996: "Izzy." No.

Sydney 2000: "Syd, Ollie, and Millie." Why?

Athens 2004: "Athena and Phevos." God.

So true, it's not even funny...

Every office has one, even Oprah's...

http://www.cnn.com/2008/LIVING/personal/05/06/o.tinkler/index.html

I mosey into the ladies' room, glance at the mirror, remind myself that fluorescent lights make everyone look as if they're in the final stages of tuberculosis, and head for a stall. And then I see it: The seat, even the floor, is covered in little yellow droplets. The Tinkler strikes again.

To date, I have been able to deduce only four things about her:

1. She is female.
2. She attacks between the hours of 10 a.m. and 8 p.m.
3. She works alone.
4. She was raised in a barn.

I've been her victim more times than I can count, and it has turned me from a happy-go-lucky columnist into a bitter, paranoid germaphobe.

He said WHAT?

"Yeah, I should be punished a little. Like no video games for a week or something."

He said what?

GM Vice Chairman calls Global Warming a "Crock of Shit."

read more digg story

Ccan someone tell him that temperature has been trending upwards since the industrial revolution? Perhaps it's not related to carbon emissions, but the globe IS and HAS warmed. Uh, helloooo.

he said what?

2am on a Thursday night at Manor:

"Excuse me, are you Vietnamese?" the guy standing behind me at the coat check asks.

"Why, are you black?" A question like his deserves an equally inappropriate response.

This reminds me of B

As B and I are coming upon our three year anniversary, I'm reminded of this forward I got a while back. B reminds me of Martha.

Let's say a guy named Fred is attracted to a woman named Martha. He asks her out to a movie; she accepts; they have a pretty good time. A few nights later he asks her out to dinner, and again they enjoy themselves. They continue to see each other regularly, and after a while neither one of them is seeing anybody else.

And then, one evening when they're driving home, a thought occurs to Martha, and, without really thinking, she says it aloud: "Do you realize that, as of tonight, we've been seeing each other for exactly six months?"

And then, there is silence in the car.

To Martha, it seems like a very loud silence. She thinks to herself: I wonder if it bothers him that I said that. Maybe he's been feeling confined by our relationship; maybe he thinks I'm trying to push him into some kind of obligation that he doesn't want, or isn't sure of.

And Fred is thinking: Gosh. Six months.

And Martha is thinking: But, hey, I'm not so sure I want this kind of relationship either. Sometimes I wish I had a little more space, so I'd have time to think about whether I really want us to keep going the way we are, moving steadily towards, I mean, where are we going? Are we just going to keep seeing each other at this level of intimacy? Are we heading toward marriage? Toward children? Toward a lifetime together? Am I ready for that level of commitment? Do I really even know this person?

And Fred is thinking: ...so that means it was...let's see...February when we started going out, which was right after I had the car at the dealer's, which means...lemme check the odometer...Whoa! I am way overdue for an oil change here.

And Martha is thinking: He's upset. I can see it on his face. Maybe I'm reading this completely wrong. Maybe he wants more from our relationship, more intimacy, more commitment; maybe he has sensed - even before I sensed it - that I was feeling some reservations. Yes, I bet that's it. That's why he's so reluctant to say anything about his own feelings. He's afraid of being rejected.

And Fred is thinking: And I'm gonna have them look at the transmission again. I don't care what those morons say, it's still not shifting right. And they better not try to blame it on the cold weather this time. What cold weather? It's 87 degrees out, and this thing is shifting like a garbage truck, and I paid those incompetent thieves $600.

And Martha is thinking: He's angry. And I don't blame him. I'd be angry, too. I feel so guilty, putting him through this, but I can't help the way I feel. I'm just not sure.

And Fred is thinking: They'll probably say it's only a 90-day warranty...scumballs.

And Martha is thinking: Maybe I'm just too idealistic, waiting for a knight to come riding up on his white horse, when I'm sitting right next to a perfectly good person, a person I enjoy being with, a person I truly do care about, a person who seems to truly care about me. A person who is in pain because of my self-centered, schoolgirl romantic fantasy.

And Fred is thinking: Warranty? They want a warranty? I'll give them a warranty. I'll take their warranty and stick it right up their...

"Fred," Martha says aloud.

"What?" says Fred, startled.

"Please don't torture yourself like this," she says, her eyes beginning to brim with tears. "Maybe I should never have...oh dear, I feel so..."(She breaks down, sobbing.)

"What?" says Fred.

"I'm such a fool," Martha sobs. "I mean, I know there's no knight. I really know that. It's silly. There's no knight, and there's no horse."

"There's no horse?" says Fred.

"You think I'm a fool, don't you?" Martha says.

"No!" says Fred, glad to finally know the correct answer.

"It's just that...it's that I...I need some time," Martha says. (There is a 15-second pause while Fred, thinking as fast as he can, tries to come up with a safe response. Finally he comes up with one that he thinks might work.)

"Yes," he says. (Martha, deeply moved, touches his hand.)

"Oh, Fred, do you really feel that way?" she says.

"What way?" says Fred.

"That way about time," says Martha.

"Oh," says Fred. "Yes." (Martha turns to face him and gazes deeply into his eyes, causing him to become very nervous about what she might say next, especially if it involves a horse. At last she speaks.)

"Thank you, Fred," she says.

"Thank you," says Fred.

Then he takes her home, and she lies on her bed, a conflicted, tortured soul, and weeps until dawn, whereas when Fred gets back to his place, he opens a bag of Doritos, turns on the TV, and immediately becomes deeply involved in a rerun of a college basketball game between two South Dakota junior colleges that he has never heard of. A tiny voice in the far recesses of his mind tells him that something major was going on back there in the car, but he is pretty sure there is no way he would ever understand what, and so he figures it's better if he doesn't think about it.

The next day Martha will call her closest friend, or perhaps two of them, and they will talk about this situation for six straight hours. In painstaking detail, they will analyze everything she said and everything he said, going over it time and time again, exploring every word, expression, and gesture for nuances of meaning, considering every possible ramification.

They will continue to discuss this subject, off and on, for weeks, maybe months, never reaching any definite conclusions, but never getting bored with it either.

Meanwhile, Fred, while playing racquetball one day with a mutual friend of his and Martha's, will pause just before serving, frown, and say: "Norm, did Martha ever own a horse?"

And that's the difference between men and women.

He said what? (redux)

Mr Please-pour-me-a-glass-of-sperm called Thursday and wanted to see when we could hang out again.  As I mentioned in my previous post, I have no plans to go on a second date with him.  But, I'd like to keep things on friendly terms if possible.  It was R's birthday party on Friday night, so I didn't want to have other plans.  I told Mr Sperm that we could possibly hang out Saturday afternoon.  He must not have believed me, as he texted me repeatedly to ask me if I was free on Friday. I explained (again) that I had a birthday party but we could talk about hanging out on Saturday afternoon.  On Friday night, while I was at R's birthday party, he called me every five minutes starting at 10pm until I finally put my phone on silent b/c it was ringing off the hook.  When I woke up this morning, I checked my phone and found that the last phone call he made to me ended at 3am.  Uh, can anyone say STALKER?  I texted him and asked if he was aware that he drunk dialed me last night, and I suggested he never call me again.  I guess that's a way to not have to go on a second date with anyone!

He said what?

You know, I don't care what anyone says.  My gut instincts can be pretty right on, and I'll keep listening to them even if it means I'll be a spinster.

Last weekend, I attended a former coworker's 29th bday party.   Before I left that night, the birthday girl's 31 year old brother pulled me aside and asked, "I know it's a bit weird because you're my sister's friend and all, but do you mind if I give you a call some time?"

Under most circumstances, I would have said nicely, politely said "no" right on the spot.  I wasn't particularly into him, and he's my friend's brother.  However, I've been getting a lot of flack lately from friends about how I never give men a chance before I shut them down.  Plus, I really would like to meet a nice young man to date, so I should at least put in some effort.  I gave him my number.  We agreed to arrange date details during the week.

I thought it rather sweet when he called me the next day to chat, but by our second phone call, my instincts began to prove themselves true.

Him: "Hey, when do you want to meet up?"

Me: "I'm pretty booked this week, and this weekend's going to be pretty bad too. What do you want to do? I can make time this weekend.  How about Jersey City or Hoboken?"

(I knew he lived somewhere in NJ, so I thought that was pretty considerate for me to offer to go somewhere where he could drive and park.)

Him: "Why don't you come to Pacific Palisades [his neighborhood]?"

Me: "Where is that?"

Him: "In New Jersey, past Edgewater."

Me: "How would I get there?  Is there a ferry?"

Him: "I don't know.  I think you can take the ferry or PATH and then a bus."

(He has a car.)

I'm by no means a prima donna, but I've never been asked out on a date by a guy who then expects me to go to his neighborhood but doesn't offer to meet me or at least explain how I get to his neighborhood without using 3 different modes of transportation.  I've driven to Edgewater before.  It's a good 45 minutes away from where I live by car or by bus. While I was willing to meet in Hoboken or Jersey City, Pacific Palisades is pretty far out of my way.  There was no way I was going to his neighborhood -- I didn't want to be in a situation where I show up only to find that he had no plans in mind and just wants to "hang out" in his apartment.

Under most circumstances, I would have found a non-confrontational way to flake out on our date, but I was trying to be "open-minded."  So, let me tell you about our date tonight...

We met around 10pm to grab a bite over drinks.  I quickly realized there was a language and culture barrier.  I'm Chinese, but despite being born overseas and emigrating to the US when I was six, I'm a Twinkie.  I don't have a lot of Asian friends (but would like more, if you're offering), and if you met me, you'd never realize I wasn't born in the US.  I think and dream in English even though Chinese was my first language.

He's Korean.   While he grew up in suburban NJ and went to an Ivy League Uni in upstate NY, all his friend are Korean.  He worked in Korea for a while, and he lives in a very Korean part of NJ.  He thinks in Korean, and when he speaks English, he must first mentally translate the Korean to English in his head.

It wouldn't have been an issue except that he took everything I said literally (even the ridiculous things) so we were left having a literal conversation about very concrete things. For me, so much of the flirtation and attraction factor resides in verbal wordplay.

I asked him what he liked to do for fun, and he looked at me blankly.  I asked him what he normally did on weekends. He spent 20 minutes giving me an hour by hour run-down of what he did that weekend.

He likes saunas (not a big deal).  He insisted that I need to visit him in New Jersey, and he'd take me to one.

Him: "You come to Jersey, and I take you."

Me: "Well, we can figure that out some other time."  (It was our first date!)

Him: "No, you come."

Me: "We'll see." (I have commitment issues, and I don't like being told what to do.)

Him: "No, you come."

Me: "What's your obsession with having me go to Jersey?"  (Only half playfully.)

Him: "You come. You come. I take you. You come."  (Voice rising.  Hands gesturing insistently.)

In an effort to gloss over what was obviously going to be a difference in opinion, I let the issue drop.  It wasn't the greatest date in the world, but it wasn't unbearable either.

Until we began talking about what he does for a living.  He's a marketing guy, and he was trying to convince me that with proper marketing, companies can sell anything.  Sometimes, it just takes shock value.  Like the short lived energy drink, Cocaine.  The example he gave was what made the date officially unbearable:

Him:  "You can sell anything, as long as you call it by an interesting name.  Take beer.  If I decided to name beer cum, sperm or jizz, I guarantee you someone will buy it."

I put down the burger I was midway through.  I just wasn't that hungry anymore.

He gets louder, "I mean, there's going to be at least one guy who will dare his buddy to drink a nice cold glass of jizz."  He gestures at the beer on tap.  "And, someone will be like, pour me a glass of cum."

I tried to pretend it didn't bother me, but it did.  I changed the subject, but he kept finding ways to bringing it back to glasses of male ejaculate.  It was completely gross, and by the end of the date, I was convinced that he was just passive agressively trying to find ways to use inappropriate words in a sentence to see if it would bother me.

Even worse, however, was that at the end of the date, he asked if he could see me again.  Since he's the brother of a friend, I treaded cautiously and told him that he could call me, and we'd figure it out.  I knew by then, however, that I'd never go on another date with this guy again.