Story Slam - The Date That Brought a Date To The Date
I failed to post this story last week. FAILED. You know who also failed? The club owner for once again having me be the one person that didn't get recorded (WTF, Phil?) and for telling me I'd be going 4th, then the emcee calling me to go up FIRST as I'm sliding a chicken nacho in my mouth. Uh... *chews super fast as I bound up on stage* Meh. Oh, and if you're guessing that I came in second AGAIN, then you guessed correctly. I'm not performing in June because I'll be out of town, and also because I'm a little bummed by how I perceive I'm being treated. They know me, they know I'll perform, and I kinda feel like I'm filler while they try and get new folks in. Meh. HOWEVER. This is one of my all time great stories, so screw it, this is funny. And completely indicative of life in Utah, btw.
[NOTE: This is an excerpt from my -unpublished- book. The story I told at the club was filled with I KNOW!s and bug-eyed facial expressions. And a jalapeño in my teeth, I'm sure. Also, there's a running gag in the book about the constant "testimonies" that Mormons are pressed into giving - that means you have to testify that the church is true, Joseph Smith is the most awesome prophet ever, and you wrap it up with "In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen." So I say that last bit as a joke a lot. In case you're wondering what the hell that's doing in the story. We in the biz call that a "joke."]
Excerpt from Chapter Three: We Are The Rising Generation, Oh My Heck, by Laura Stone Do not reprint without permission.
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The worst date of my life happened while living in the Jell-O Belt (Boise, Idaho south to Queen's Creek, Arizona) and really, unless you were murdered on your worst date ever, yours can’t compare to this one. And if you try and tell me that you were murdered, then how are you reading this, liar pants? Busted.
Oh, did I crush on this boy. Where did I first see him? A church dance, of course. And he was a really good dancer, which was a plus since that’s all we ever did as Mormon Youth. He had just come back from a mission to Korea and was full of goodness and truth and all the things a good Mormon girl wants in a man and he seemed interested in me, another plus. I have written in my journal that he was “such a stud” and that “the spirit is so strong with him.” I'm surprised I didn't doodle light sabers and sparkle hearts all around his name.
He had passed my car when I was at work one night, noticed the tire going flat, drove home on his motorcycle, brought an air compressor back, and fixed my car tire. [Note 2: the audience GASPED here, like "Holy shit, that's awesome!" BECAUSE IT WAS. End note 2.] He was chivalrous, too! You noticed the bit about the motorcycle? Totally hot, right? Right. He always came to my Sunday school class when I was teaching instead of the other class, and his sister told me that he talked about me to his mom. Clearly things were going to happen with this guy, was my thinking.
I offered to cook him an authentic Korean dinner and then we could watch a video in my dorm room. (Translation: we can kiss and you can check out my mad home ec. skills.) He’s a go, and I started getting ready for the date. He called me early in the afternoon to tell me how he’d been thinking of me all day. Awesome. An hour after that he calls and says his best friend just got home from his mission, but will only be in town for 24 hours. Not awesome.
I think the date is canceled, but he still wants to see me, so he asks if he can bring his friend along. Well, at least the food won’t go to waste. Date time comes around and at my door is my cute, funny, holy and righteous guy. And another guy behind him. And... another girl? I’m thinking my date found a date for his buddy Randy, which is terrific! Because I was a charitable sort, I didn’t mind that we wouldn’t have enough food for all of us, and I was very friendly with this girl who, truth be told, was pretty homely, had a perpetual surly look on her face, and dressed in dirty clothes. And really, she had bad acne and thick makeup painted on and dirty clothes! Who wears dirty clothes on a blind date? Did she take that too literally? I’ll give you a minute on that one.
After we ate (I didn’t) and after trying to get this girl to talk (she won’t) and trying to warm up the buddy to this girl (he wouldn’t) I offer for my date and I to go down and pick out a movie. He says that I should go with Randy and he’d stay behind. My thought at this time was the girl and the buddy weren’t getting along, so he was being graceful about the awkward situation, maybe trying to orchestrate an exit for her.
Randy and I get outside of my dorm and first off, the guy's a cheesy club dude with a slicked back ponytail and a shiny shirt. Ew. That is not a Celestial manner of dressing, people. He's also a total schmoozer, and tries to get "close" to me and says in what I imagine he thought sounded sexy, "I don't know why Mike is dating Eve when he could be with someone as fun as you."
Did you also just hear a needle scratch along a record? ME, TOO. "I'm sorry, what did you say?" [Note 3: this also elicited a huge gasp from the audience, which caused me to bug my eyes out and gesture wildly: I KNOW!" End note 3.]
"Yeah, Mike's dating her. Weird, huh?"
OH. MY. HECK.
He brought a date to the date. He brought a date for his date (me) and another date to the date. When I figured out that he was actually on a date with her and not with me on my date, and was in my home and eating my food, I reasonably flipped my lid and sent everyone away. And the just-in-town buddy still tried to hit on me, hoping for a good night smooch or something.
Yeah, that's not happening, Broseph.
Note to anyone just starting off dating: you don’t bring a date to the date. Now, I'm not a lawyer, but I do believe that contractually speaking, the person with whom you’re on the date is providing that service.
And I thought that I'd mention for those curious that the current divorce rate in Utah is 4.3 per 1,000, slightly higher than the United States divorce rate of 4.1 per 1,000 according to a 2006 report by the Center for Health Data, Office of Vital Records and Statistics. I'm just saying.
And to Mike Blunck, if you’re reading this: you’re a jerk, I was prettier and funnier than that slug of a boring, surly, dirty girl that I fed, and I bet you’re prematurely bald and have ED. In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.
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Ha ha. I still love that story, even though I hate that story. What an ass.
IN OTHER NEWS: I have to buy a dress today for the wedding that I probably will be late for and ruin everything, because that's what I do. Also, my MiL mentioned that this wedding is a "very casual affair in a garden, so [I] might want to wear pants or something." That makes me think this is a formal affair with people in tuxes and tails and I'll be like Bridget Jones showing up at a Vixen and Vicars party in a sex outfit while everyone else is dressed for church. SO A NICE DRESS IT IS, THEN.
Pro tip: it's always better to be OVER dressed than UNDER. Which is why I am always wearing tiaras and silk, even in the garden. I'm actually doing something I shouldn't, which is looking for a dress to match my adorable shoes: 4.25" stacked peekaboo heels with tan leather on the heel and toe (with a buckle) and navy and white stripes on the shoe. THEY ARE SO CUTE. A nice barrel-shaped leather clutch with a coordinating buckle would be aces. But I'm sure that doesn't exist simply because I would like it.
(And when did I become THIS girl? Eh, I've always loved heels. And my 18 year old Birks. I HAVE LAYERS.)
Lastly, if anyone wanted to buy me these amazing outdoor benches, I would not turn them down. In case you were wanting to buy me something, I didn't want you to scramble for ideas. I'm nice like that.
[ETA FOR HOLY CRAP FACTOR!!] MIKE HAS BEEN FOUND. HE IS BALD, AHAHAHAHAHA! Eff you, dude.