One upon a time there was a period where Sea Hag wasn't so...well... Sea Haggy when it came to dating. In fact, she was what you might term an Ignorant Doormat. Fortunately, she's learned from her past mistakes and now orbits in the Atmosphere of Extreme Fabulosity.
Besides learning valuable lessons, your darling Sea Hag has several hilariously pathetic dating stories from this time, and feels compelled to share this nugget of joy with you:
Today's lesson: Worst. Date. Ever.
Let me just first state for the record that this guy was very hot, so that you might understand why I put up with this stooge.
This guy, who I shall refer to forevermore as 'The Dipshit King', asked for my phone number, and after a few good conversations we agreed to go on a date.
This is where the fun started.
He said his car was in the shop, so I would have to come pick him up. Well...I could do that. So he gave me directions to the house he shared with his roommate and I drove. And drove. And drove. Turns out his house was a whopping 70 miles from mine, and he'd kind fibbed about how far out in BFE he lived. At one point I tried to call him on my cell phone because I was sure I was lost, but I didn't have any reception because I was pretty much out in 'Deliverance' country. Seriously, I was at a stop sign and I'm sure I heard the faint twang of dueling banjos.
I finally find his house, and he invited me inside. This house...well, let's just say that it looked like a cheap Chinese food restaurant puked in there. And it certainly didn't look like the kind of decor a 27-year-old would have chosen for himself unless he'd been on some nutty 'shroom binge in Beijing recently.
"Is this your roommate's crazy Chinese stuff in here?" I asked.
It was...if you consider his mother a roommate. So he'd already lied to me about who he lived with. But I blew it off, because, like I said, Ignorant Doormat.
Because there was absolutely nowhere to go around his house, we drove into the city (which, by the way, was about 30 more miles) and we found a little restaurant to hang out in. As I was browsing the menu, he gave me a funny look and said 'you're not hungry, are you?'
Well, of course I was, but I lied and said no (Doormat! Doormat!) so I just nursed a cup of tea while he had a Coke, and we talked for a few hours.
OK, I'm trying to make it sound better than it was...really, he talked exclusively about himself for hours while I sat there. Any time I tried to get in a word edge-wise he'd cut me off or pretend like he didn't hear me. No, really, I'd talk and he'd say 'What?' and then go on with whatever he was babbling about.
And oh, the things he talked about! Apparently, he'd been in med school in South America and flunked out. He'd dated a girl who was a model and wanted to marry him and be his sugar mama, but her father was in the Mafia and threatened to kill him. And remember how his car was in the shop? Well, it turns out that he a) didn't have a car and b) if he had one, he couldn't legally drive it since he didn't have a driver's license because c) he was an illegal immigrant.
Now, had I harnessed the power of the Sea Hag at this point, I would have just walked out, but oh no, I stayed to the bitter end. Incidentally, I had to pay for the tea I drank. On the (very) long drive back to the Dipshit King's Happy China Delight Emporium, he wanted to stop and use the bathroom, so I pulled over at a McDonald's and he went inside, then came out later with a bag full of food which he ate and didn't offer me any.
We finally got back to his house and I pulled into the driveway. I had 70 more miles to drive to get home at this point, I was hungry, pissed, and in a car with someone who bragged about failing med school in a Third-World country and didn't want to pony up $2 for tea and a Coke. I might be a doormat, but I had reached my limit and told him goodnight.
"You don't want to come inside?" he asked.
Very politely (dooooooormat!) , I said no, but he kept insisting until I finally screamed "GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY CAR!" and for some reason, laid on the horn until he got out. Then I drove home, and for all you math experts, that made the entire round trip a shade over 200 miles.
But the cherry on the top of the ass-flavored sundae that was King Dipshit was that he actually had the nerve to leave me a voicemail a few days later in which he called me a 'pissy bitch'.
If only I had been, dude. If only.