The Date

Ok. So I've been doing all sorts of serious stuff. Time to have a little fun. Here's "The Date":

 Here's the situation. I'm on a blind date. Cute, right? Not really. See, this isn't how I usually like to get girls. I go to parties, get them drunk as hell, and then never see them after the following morning. This works for me. Good time, no attachments. And a lot of times, it's free!

But here I am. Sitting outside Red Bowl, waiting for my date. I have John Mayer playing in my car so I can chill out and get in the romancing zone. This will be a challenge. I literally know nothing about this girl, except that my mother approves. Oh did I not mention it? My mom set this up.

I should probably stand outside now. It's 6:59. Open door, get out, shut it, lock it, and now I'm standing right outside the entrance. An old couple walks by. Very very cute. I should probably get married sometime before I'm thirty. Then I won't have to be creeping with gray hair. Oh wow. Big group. Some kids, young couple, then the grandparents. Also very very cute. Oh God. Here comes a grenade. Why is she wearing such a tight dress? If I wanted to see rolls, I would've gone to the bakery. Why is she smiling at me? Are those braces? No no no no no no no no.

Grenade: Steve?

Me: Hi.

Grenade: You look much better than your mother described you.

Me: How did exactly did she describe me?

Grenade: Average at best. She told me not to expect too much but that you were a nice enough guy.

Now, for everyone's info, I'm actually a very attractive guy. I wasn't a model for GQ's 2009 suit expo for nothing. They like to call me "ruggedly handsome." My hair is done by a lovely lady who used to do Will Ferrell's and my grizzle is maintained by the guy who used to maintain Zack Galifinakis's  beard (pre-The Hangover). So yeah. I'm kind of a stud.

 Me: So you ready to go in?

Grenade: Yea, baby.

She then winks at me and grabs my arm. Stage five clinger already? Makes sense. This busted broad probably hasn't gotten anything since she met Ronald McDonald. We step up to the reception podium.

Waitress: Table for two?

Grenade: Mhmmm. We're on our first date.

She proceeds to crack a huge smile that shows off her braces. After an initial look of shock, the waitress smiles and tells us to follow her to our table. I just wish that the grenade had noticed the waitress eyefucking the shit out of me right before she cockblocked me with her train tracks. Oh well.

When we get to our table, I try to be sweet and I pull the chair out for her to sit in. As she goes to sit, a speedy waiter comes out of nowhere and pushes me out of his way. My hands are still gripping the chair. I move back. So does the chair. And thus the grenade hits the floor. BOOM!

To say that I felt a vibration would be an understatement. It'd be more accurate to say that the floor shook, a few tables lost their plates, and everyone was staring at us. I look around. The Usain Bolt of Waiting is gone and I'm left with a fat chick on the floor. Just lovely.

Me: Are you okay?

Grenade: Ha. You think a booty like this can't handle a little tumble? I've broken flat screen tv's with this thing!

After that little conversation, we sit down. A waitress comes up. Older lady, so I can't spit any game to distract myself from the big problem sitting across the table. She says her name is Sam and asks us what we want to drink.

Me: A water will be good.

Grenade: I would like a bottle of your Perrier Jouet.

I frantically grab the drink menu off the table and scan through it. My heart starts racing a little when I see what she ordered. A $58 bottle of French champagne. Thanks a bunch, mom. You got me a real keeper.

Soon enough, Sam returns, bottle in hand. She goes to pop it when the grenade interrupts her.

Grenade: Wait!

Sam: What? Isn't this what you ordered?

Grenade: It is! I just love to pop bottles. Do you mind?

Sam: We usually don't let our customers...We've had some issues in the past. I'm sure you understand.

The grenade gives her a death stare. I've seen my mother give me that look way too many times. The only thing worse than a woman entering bitch mode is the female version of The Incredible Hulk entering bitch mode. I said a prayer for Sam and watched the chaos unfold.

Grenade: Give me the fucking bottle.

Sam: What?

Grenade: I didn't stutter, bitch. Go get some fucking hearing aids so you can understand what this fucking princess is saying. Did you catch that?

Sam is frozen to the spot. I said another prayer. And one more when I saw the grenade grab the bottle. She looks at me.

Grenade: Hey sweet cheeks. Ready for a good time?

Me:..Sure.

The grenade starts shaking the bottle. Hard.

Grenade: I have a lot of practice moving my hand up and down. You like it?

Me: Yeah....You seem like you have a lot of practice. But I don't think we want it to spray everywhere. Maybe we should stop so you don't make a mess.

Grenade: That's what he said.

POP! The cork wizzes by my head and is soon followed by a stream of foam. Except the foam doesn't miss me. Looks like this Ed Hardy shirt is going to the dry cleaners tomorrow. And right when I thought it couldn't get any worse, it does. The grenade takes the bottles and pours it all over her chest. Oh I just realized something. I forgot to mention that this tight dress she was wearing was very low cut. So as I'm sitting here, covered in bubbly pussy drink, she's wasting MY $58 by pouring it all over her tits.

Me: Wait! Stop! [she does] Why are you wasting that?

Grenade: I feel sexyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy.

Me: You'll be feeling even sexier when I actually start drinking some of it.

I take the bottle out of her hand and I pour myself a glass full of champagne. But not a champagne flute. I pour myself a water glass full. And I go to town.

Pretty soon, the waitress returns. I keep it simple and order some sesame chicken. Of course, the grenade can't do anything small.

Grenade: I want the Seafood Saguo.

Me: What is that?

Grenade: I don't know! I just like the name.

The waitress leaves and I notice the grenade waving at some people on the other side of the restaurant. I look. It's that big family group I saw coming in earlier.

Me: Who are those people?

Grenade: Oh them? That's just my family. They wanted to be here for my first date.

Me: Your first date?

Grenade: Oh yeah, didn't your mom tell you? This is my first! Congratulations. You're the lucky guy who gets to give me the night of my dreams.

Me: But you said you had experience....

Grenade: I do! I just don't remember any of it.

Every family has that one cooky family member who has no class. Turns out, that was the grenade's grandfather. Not only was he on the other side of the restaurant, his hearing aid batteries had run out.

Grandfather: HEY KID! GIVE MY BABY A WONDERFUL NIGHT.

I muster up all of my strength and I lie straight to his face.

Me: It'd be my pleasure.

Grandfather: WHAT? SPEAK UP, WHIPPERSNAPPER

Me: IT'D BE MY PLEASURE.

Grandfather: WHY ARE YOU PLEASURING YOURSELF IN A RESTAURANT?! KIDS! CLOSE YOUR EYES!!!

Me: IT'D BE MY PLEASURE TO GIVE YOUR GRANDDAUGHTER A WONDERFUL NIGHT.

Grandfather: THAT'S WHAT I THOUGHT! AT YOUR AGE, I WAS IN GERMANY SHOOTING NAZIS. I WOULD'VE LOVED SOME FRESH PUSSY BUT I WAS STUCK WITH PRIVATE SMITH'S ANUS.

Dinner comes. She doesn't talk at all, not that I'm surprised. What kind of grenade doesn't love her food? Sam comes, takes our empty plates [hers was actually shining. I must have missed her licking it clean], and I give her my credit card.

Grenade: Can we get ice cream?

Me: Do we really need it now? We just ate.

Grenade: I LOVE ice cream.

Me: I bet.

Sam returns and gives me the receipt and a pen.

Grandfather: HEY BABY! HOW MUCH IS HE TIPPING?

Grenade: FIFTEEN DOLLARS, GRAMPS.

Grandfather: CHEAPASS BITCH.

Grenade: WAIT. FIFTEEN DOLLARS AND ONE CENT.

Grandfather: GOOD MAN.

I'm ready to get the hell out. I still have ice cream and a movie to survive.

Me: You ready?

Grenade: Let's get out of here and go somewhere special [winks].

As we get close to the door, my favorite person gets my attention.

Grandfather: HEY YOU. COME OVER HERE.

I walk over and he pulls me close to his ear. I hope he actually whispers. Tonight isn't exactly my lucky night though.

Grandfather: SHE LIKES IT IN THE BUTT. I WOULD KNOW.

Grandmother: HOW WOULD YOU KNOW?!

Grandfather: SHUT THE HELL UP, WHORE. I KNOW YOU'VE BEEN FUCKING AROUND WITH CRAIG JENNINGS BEHIND MY BACK.

Grandmother: HE'S BEEN DEAD FOR TEN YEARS.

Grandfather: SHIT. I MEANT ROGER FREDRICKSON.

Grandmother: HE'S IN A WHEELCHAIR.

Grandfather: HIS DICK STILL WORKS AND WE BOTH KNOW THAT YOU PREFER BEING ON TOP.

I can't believe this is happening. I walk away and grab the grenade by the arm to escort her out. Of course, she loves this and thinks that she HAS to respond back. So she takes my hand in hers and death grips it. I finally get a reprieve when we enter Coldstone a.k.a. Grenade Heaven.

Sweets EVERYWHERE. She immediately drops my hand and just stares.

Me: What do you want?

Grenade: Everything.

Me: Haha you can't have everything.

Bad move. I get the death stare.

Grenade: This is my first date and you will treat me like a fucking princess. Got it, bitch?

We wait in line and finally, our turn comes up. More specifically, her turn. A cute coed is serving her. I was jealous.

Coldstone Worker: What would you like?

Grenade: Birthday Cake Remix. Gotta Have It.

The Coldstone Worker laughs and starts scooping. I watch as she gets does her thing on the big marble slab.

Grenade: Ahem.

No response from the Coldstone Worker.

Grenade: AHEM.

The Coldstone Worker looks up at her.

Grenade: I want candied apples and strawberries on my Birthday Cake Remix.

Coldstone Worker: I don't think that'd taste too good. You know it costs extra right?

Grenade: I don't give a fuck. Give me my fucking fruits and you'll live,

The Coldstone Worker is shocked into silence and starts working harder. Another worker comes up and asks if I want anything. I can't eat anything. Few things take away from a guy's appetite like seeing a pig at a trough. I go over to check out and swipe the debit card while she sits at a table. I get my receipt and tip the worker handsomely.

Me: You don't have to sing.

Coldstone Worker: Thank you so much. I owe you big time.

I go over to sit with the grenade. She eats and eats and eats. Ice cream is everywhere, She has ditched the spoon and has stuck her head inside of the cone. She pauses

Grenade: You like it when I have white stuff all over my face?

Me: I need to go to the bathroom.

I enter the bathroom, lock the door, and sit down on the toilet for a few moments before standing up to pee again. I wash my hands for an inordinately long amount of time, hoping to delay the inevitable. I finally ball up and get out, only to enter hell.

The grenade walks up to the register, where the cute Coldstone Worker has just finished checking out a customer.

Coldstone Worker: Can I help you? Napkins are right here.

The grenade puts her purse on the counter and starts rummaging around. As I get closer, I see her pull out a penny. And drop it in the tip jar.

Coldstone Worker: Is this a joke?

Grenade: No. Why would you think that?

Coldstone Worker: You tipped me a penny.

Grenade: So? I tipped you.

Silence.

Grenade: Sing, bitch.

The Coldstone Worker starts a less-than-raucous chorus of one of their silly jingles as I pull the grenade out of there.

Me: Why'd you do that?

Grenade: That broad eye-fucked the shit out of you. On MY first date.

I hadn't even noticed the eye fucking. Bummer. I should have gotten her number. Too bad I was too busy taking the Dairy Queen on her first date. Eventually, we progress to the movie theater. I get the movie tickets, she orders a large popcorn and drink, and we finally sit down in our seats. I feel like I can finally relax. And then the lights dim. Paranormal Activity was probably not the best movie choice.

Within five minutes, she has taken my left hand out of my lap and is death gripping it. I can't move my fingers. Within ten, they are numb.

Me: I gotta pee.

Grenade: I'll miss you.

I enter the bathroom and look at my hand. It's blue. I take some time to run hot water over it until feeling is restored. My moment of tranquility is interrupted. The grenade walks in.

Me: What are you doing in here? This is a men's restroom.

Grenade: I came to update you on what's happening in the movie! They think the house is demented and...

Me: Have you ever considered you may be missing an important part right now by being in here with me?

But she's not listening. She's watching some sumo wrestler-size guy pee.

Me: Hey! Let's go.

We re-enter the theater...right to some almost-sex scene. The grenade takes this as her cue to start getting "sexy." I feel a hand on my crotch. No no no no no. You know that scene from Wedding Crashers? When I was watching it, I was always like "I can't imagine what that'd be like." After tonight, I'll never have to even try to imagine what it'd be like any more.

Thankfully, the movie gets scary again so she stops. She goes back to the death grip. More movie progresses, my hand loses feeling. FINALLY she lets go to answer her phone, right at the climax.

Grenade: Hey baby...Yea girl it's good...Look I gotta go. Movie...OH OH OH...You know that scene from Wedding Crashers?..Yes I did!...Uh huh....Later girlfrand."

She puts the phone up and grabs my arm instead of my hand. Clearly, somebody upstairs is reserving me a spot in heaven.

Then the dead body hits the camera. And she clenches. I feel my skin break. I look down. Yup. Blood.

Grenade: OMG  I'm so sorry!

Me: I'll be ok.

The movie ends and we leave the theater. She looks at my arm. Blood is running all over it.

Grenade: Don't worry. I'm good at this.

Me: What?

She sticks her tongue out and starts licking my arm. Right in the center plaza of the theater. I don't need to describe the looks of the people around me. An old lady fainted. A mother covered her son's eyes. A Gothic guy looked like he would join her. I pulled my arm away.

Grenade: What are you doing? I love the taste of blood! And I only get it once a month. This is a treat.

Me: I think it's time to leave.

I walk her back to her car. She gives me that look every girl gives a guy that says "I want you to kiss me." In most cases, I would do it. And then she smiled and I saw my blood on her braces.

Me: It's been fun.

I hug her and start to walk away.

Grenade: Wait! I have something to tell you.

I have to stop, unfortunately. I guess I'm not totally out of dodge. I turn around.

Grenade: I love you.

Me: Ok. Later.

I walk away.

Grenade: I SAID I LOVE YOU.

I start walking away.

I hear and feel the earth shake.

I start running.

Why did the concrete in front of me just crack?

She's getting closer.

I hear a car.

She's breathing on me. It smells like shrimp birthday cake.

I hear a car gun its engine and hit something. Heavy. I turn around and can hardly believe my eyes. Somebody hit the grenade with their car and now she's laying on the parking lot. The car is totaled. The hood is completely bent in. Someone steps out. It's the Coldstone worker.

Coldstone Worker: I told ya I owed you.

She walks to me, smiling. Gosh she's pretty AND she just saved my life. I start walking towards her. I go in for the kiss. She goes for the kiss.

Interception.

I can feel the braces rubbing against my teeth. She grabs my hand and puts it against her tits. I open my eyes and I can't see my hand. I try to pull away but the grenade bites my tongue. I start screaming. The Coldstone worker hits the grenade. My tongue was release and I step back. The grenade turns around and stares at the Coldstone worker. I feel fear coursing through my veins.

The grenade walks up to the Coldstone worker, teeth bared. She grabs hair and pulls her close. Her teeth close on an ear and in one fell swop, she bites the Coldstone Worker's ear off. Then, she crunches twice and swallows the whole thing.

At this point, I realize where I am. I'm right next to my car. I hit the unlock button on the fob, open the door, hop in, and throw it in reverse. I slam on the pedal but I hit something. I look back. The grenade, covered in blood is staring back. I slam on the pedal again, stop, change gears, and I fly. When I got home, I checked out my car. The trunk had an indent the size of a baby elephant in it. Blood was every where.

You're probably wondering what I did after that night in hell. Well, I did what every man would do. I called my mommy.

Mom: Hello?

Me: Fuck. You.