Really effective pickup line...

I was out the other night and walking back to my friends when a guy grabbed my arm and proceeded to introduce himself. His introduction didn't include his name but did include the phrase, "I do diamonds." I said, "Excuse me?" He said, "Diamonds. I do them. Like that guy that cheated on his wife and bought her a giant rock." Wow... we're in love. Obviously.

Don't try this at home...

I was talking to a guy at a bar the other night and I asked him what he does. He replied and then said to me, "You strike me as a day laborer." WHAT?

"JewB" - In the beginning...

I was actually excited. Excited and proud. I had managed to meet a Jewish guy that was moderately attractive, very interested in taking me out, and TALL. Sure he was two years younger than me and I had met him slightly boozy eyed at a Jewish event where we mainly danced and nodded over the music. None of that mattered. I mean, I live in L.A. Can I really afford to be that picky? Besides, he called within a week of getting my number, asked me to dinner on a Saturday (not drinks on a Wednesday), and picked the place himself. Perfect.

Cut to date night: After 9 outfit changes and 3 blush applications, I’m actually ready on time and waiting for him to arrive. The doorbell rings. I open the inner door, unlock the outer gate and proceed to open the gate when my date (let’s call him JewB and B for short) flings the gate open with such excitement and force it actually hits the porch banister. I barely have time to take all of this in before he wraps his arms around me in a full body bear hug. I think, “Okay, he’s just nervous,” grab my purse and head on out.

There is a bit of awkward silence in the car so I ask B how that day’s haircut had gone. (You know you’re digging when the first thing you really say on a date is, “So, how was your haircut?” I mean, I can see it with my own two eyes.) He goes on to tell me in what can only be described as the speech pattern of an ADHD nebbishy old jewish man that it was just fine. You see he and his “barber” have gotten comfortable with each other over the last few years and have rather candid conversations whilst she trims away. (Is it just me or does the term “barber” remind you of someone big, and tough, and MALE?) On this particular day their conversation turned to a rather interesting statistic regarding stalking. Yes, you read correctly, STALKING. As we drive B asks me, “Did you know that 1 in every 6 people have been stalked?”. He says, “I’ve never been stalked, but I asked my barber if she had been stalked and she said yes, 2 times, and the first time was in highschool, when she had this boyfriend, and then she didn’t want him to be her boyfriend, but he wouldn’t leave her alone, so she got a restraining order, because he wouldn’t leave her alone, but it didn’t work, ‘cause he beat her up, and she had to be hospitalized.”

How does one even respond to this? We aren’t even out of my neighborhood yet. Why, oh why, didn’t I make him pull over then and there and let me out of the car?

The straw that broke the camel's back...

I got home from a date a couple of weeks ago and seriously considered a mail ordered husband. After telling my friends the events of the evening, I was told I should share them with the world. So here we go...