A couple months after Morgan relocated to Delilah’s bed*, my friend Anna, fixed me up on a blind date with a guy named, Mark, who was home on leave from the Army.
I wasn’t thrilled about some beefcake who probably hadn’t read a book since discovering Cliff Notes in sixth grade. Plus, I was still mooning over Morgan (like a dumb-ass)…but Anna wouldn’t let up. She taunted me for a week about “The nicest guy next to Jesus himself.” In order to abolish her nonstop yammering about Jesus’s long lost twin cousin’s brother, I finally caved.
“Hi, I’m Mark,” said this BABE with lusciously bronzed skin, cerulean blue eyes, and biceps the size of Redwood logs. AND he arrived with three red roses. To date, I’d never gotten flowers from a guy, much less ROSES on a first date.
“Hi,” I said, genuinely PLEASED to see him and not an acne-studded troll. “Thank you. They’re beautiful!” I said, smiling when he handed me the roses. Of course, I thought, okay so, maybe, he IS a nice guy, or heaven forbid, could he be the ONE? Oh, but I was so SO wrong.
First mistake: His Jeep was wall-to-wall trash. With a mumbled apology, he tossed several Mcdonald’s bags in the back, so I could sit down. He couldn’t have taken five minutes to chuck the rubbish BEFOREHAND?
Then, as he started the car, he asked, “Is Long John Silvers okay for dinner?”
Fast food fish, really? Please NOTE: When cash is tight, guys, suggest LOCAL eateries like Midway Drive-Inn** that will probably have MUCH better food or even somewhere like Denny’s or Fuddruckers. Their milkshakes totally ROCK, but fast food fish? Not so much…
“Unless you don’t like fish?” he asked sheepishly.
“No, I like fish,” I said, wondering if what Long John Silvers slops onto your Styrofoam plate is actually FISH and not dirty, deep fried mop strings, maybe?
By the concerned glint in his eye, I assume he realized something was amiss, but he didn’t get WHAT exactly, “Or there’s a McDonald’s down-”
“I don’t like McDonald’s. Long John Silver’s is fine.”
He nodded, and I was now too glad to force the greasy fish down my gullet because McDonald’s fare sends me hurling for the loo while I pray to God that my intestines won’t be eliminated as well…and after too much fast food, my ass could be mistaken for flesh-colored cottage cheese…but I digress…
I talked little during dinner because he was less interested in ME and more interested in touting how COOL he is. Thus, I was ready to bail after his fourth, I was so drunk in boot camp story that ended with “And then, I threw up in my own boots!” he said, howling with laughter.
I gave a weak smile.
“In my boots, GET IT?” he said, nodding, wide-eyed as if I were completely retarded. “At BOOT camp?”
“Yeah, I get it… just hysterical,” I muttered with a hefty HINT of sarcasm.
His face plumed red, and he looked away.
Despite stabbing guilt pangs, I asked, “Could you just take me home? I don’t…feel very well.”
He nodded, seemingly peeved that he’d spent $5.72 on me, and now, I’m faking sick, which meant he wasn’t getting any…
As soon as he parked his Jeep, I said, “Thanks. It was nice meeting you,” and I SPRINTED up the sidewalk, hoping to slip inside before he could get anywhere near my front door.
No. Such. Luck.
“I screwed up, didn’t I?” He asked just as my foot landed on the front step, a mere 22 INCHES from the safety of my abode.
Turning around, I said, “No, look, Mark, you’re a nice guy, but I just went through a really bad break-up-”
“Could we maybe just go inside and talk?”
OMG! He’s going to play the lonely card…
“I um, well, talking to someone without bullets and shit flying over my head is rare for me.”
“Bullets? In Oklahoma?” I said, with a slight chuckle. “You been pissing off the COWs?”
“We don’t have any cows,” he said laughing as if my I.Q. were lower than your average dung beetle, “I work at a testing site, testing weapons?”
“I was joking about the cows….and you didn’t mention what you do.”
He nodded. Awkward stares flicker between us. It was a beautiful spring evening. The sun a brilliant orange shimmer on the horizon, and the crickets chirped, cooing at us to try anew. So, again, I caved.
We settled in on my scratchy, green plaid couch, and after about seven minutes of small talk, he suddenly kissed me about as passionately as a vacuum cleaner sucking on a bathmat.
“Stop,” I balked, “What happened to TALKING?”
“Oh, come on, you know you want it. I could tell the minute you saw me.”
After a convulsive peal of laughter, I said”Really?” And HELLO, if you weren’t already aware, ANY man who sputters that loathsome phrase of Testosterone-enhanced bullshit about women: “Wanting IT” has just killed any chance of EVER seeing said woman SANS knickers now and forever, praise the LORD and please pass the collection plate! 
“Seriously, the I’m sick routine was an obvious ploy to get me here.”
“Yeah, right,” I replied, noticing that my eye darts berating him had NO affect.
Whereupon, I decided that FIRE must be-get FIRE…”Oh, God, you’re right. I’m sorry,” I said, batting my dark lashes at him as seductively as I could muster.
As he lunged for me again, I smiled, and in a voice so syrupy sweet it evoked JENNA*** vibes, I said, “Oh, no, you gotta wait, Mister bad boy,” I said, winking. “I’ll go change into something black and naughty.”
“Okay,” he said with the horniest grin I’ve EVER seen…
I slipped into my bedroom, shut the door and kicked off my 4″ heels. I grabbed my Reeboks, quickly fumbling to put them on. I tumbled onto my water bed when I heard the floorboards CREEK. My heartbeat nearly lacerated my rib cage until I heard the wind BASH against the eaves. I exhaled with major relief, opened the window above my bed and climbed out onto the roof over my porch. The shingles scraped against my knees, nearly shredding my best black jeans. I winced, feeling a dribble of blood descending down my shin toward my ankle.
I crept toward the edge of the roof, tentatively looking down at my sloping yard, contemplating the depth of the drop to the ground. No more than six feet, I guessed.
Heartbeat THRASHING again, I reminded myself that Mark couldn’t see me even if he did look out the front window. Taking a deep breath, I leapt off the roof. I landed on my feet with a THUMP, tottering sideways for a moment. I listened. Nothing but crickets until…
Mark called out, “Hey, Kennedy, what’s taking so long?” And, then after a long pause, “Kennedy?” followed by the unmistakable sound of BOOTS clamoring up the stairs.
At which point, I BEE-LINED across the street and hid behind my Volkswagen, peering over the hood at my house while pondering where to go without money or CAR KEYS since my purse was in my living room.
And there you have it, my SECOND, not the least bit methodical ESCAPE, from a worthless man-ho.
Stay tuned, EVERYONE, to see what happened NEXT…
OVER and out from the center of CRAZYLAND…
KS/Tenaciousbitch and company~
*See Blogs #36-37 – NYC or BUST for the 411 on MORGAN if you’re new to my Stop and Smell the Crazy Life.
** An awesome burger joint in Huntington, WV, my hometown.
*** Jenna JAMISON, the ga-zillionaire porn star.
