|WEEK IN CRAIG: BAD CHILDREN ARE LIKE BAD DATES, ONLY WORSE.|
|By Amy Blair||
On Sunday morning I had to drag myself out of bed at 8:30 and trudge all the way out to western Jersey for my niece's baptism. I had been out until about 3:30 the night before, and I was definitely still drunk when I boarded NJ Transit the next morning at the crack of dawn (which was 10:00 a.m.).
After a grueling hour of renouncing Satan and welcoming babies into the church and blah, blah, blah, I went back to my sister's house, ostensibly to celebrate my niece's newly Christened state. In reality, I wanted to watch the Giants-Jets game, drink pumpkin flavored beer, and eat a home-cooked meal (something I haven't had since about 1997). Unfortunately, I had momentarily forgotten that the place was going to be crawling with out-of-control children. And even worse, their clueless and scary parents.
I was the only adult at the entire party who was neither married nor a parent. There were approximately 87,000 children there, ranging from two months to 13 years. And they were all hyped up -- the understandable result of having been forced to sit through a Christening.
All I wanted, more than anything in the world, was to kick back on the couch with a beer, watch the football game with the other dads (my only accomplices) and eat tiny sandwiches and baked ziti. The army of children was having none of that. They turned the TV room into a war zone, outfitted themselves with an array of plastic guns, knives, and grenades and started beating the living crap out of each other. They were using my couch as a fort. They ran across me, through me, climbed on top of my chair. They made bombing noises, pretended I was the enemy, shot me repeatedly.
By the time the game went into overtime I was ready to snap. And not from the fact that the Giants had just nearly blown a 28-14 lead. I was losing it because the place was infested with children and no one but me seemed to find the circumstances the tiniest bit unsavory.
At first I tried to find joy in the innocence, exuberance and overall cuteness of all these children. When that failed, I tried to ignore them, attempting to focus all of my attention on the game and the hot, tight ass of Tiki Barber. When even that didn't work, I resorted to violence. "Little Dude, that's it -- if you throw that grenade in front of the TV one more time, I'm going to, um, get mommy and she's, uh, like, totally going to kill all of you. AUNT AMY IS WATCHING FOOTBALL!"
They were hardly impressed. Neither was mommy, who proceeded to come downstairs and dump a crying three-month-old baby into my lap about six minutes into overtime.
Needless to say, I have renewed conviction in the fact that a life of
bad dates is infinitely more pleasurable than the scissors-hold of suburban
married life. Not only that, but this weekend also provided me with revived
certainty that pumpkin-flavored beer is the most vile substance on earth,
my mother would be just as good of a kicker for the Giants as Brett Conway,
and Tiki Barber really needs to give Aunt Amy some sweet, sweet love.
My god that man is lovely.
coming late to the game but my list:
- I excuse myself to use the bathroom; come out to find the guy (on the 1st date, no less) MASTURBATING in my living room (unprovoked, mind you AND pls tell me- has that as a tactic ever worked??)
- 1st date: went out with a few couples- my date excuses himself to smoke outside- after disappearing for 20 minutes- one of the others goes out to fetch him only to discover that he is being arrested
for what? to this day, I don't know
You are correct: A guy masturbating in the living room on a first date while his lucky female companion is in the ladies room has never, ever worked. However, on the flip side, I can attest, that as a girl this method is one of my more tried and true techniques. Ladies: If you're looking to get laid, this works like a charm. Every time.
'farted really loudly at dinner and ran away girl'- she really did, right there at dinner. and then she literally got up and ran away from me. i never saw her again.
'i look like carmen electra girl'- a CL date (of course), where she said she had no pics but looked exactly like carmen electra. so i show up and, of course, she's 230lbs of not very carmen electra looking blubber. as an aside, i'm not really all that into carmen electra anyway, she brought the whole thing up out of the blue.
'i will flirt endlessly and talk about sex constantly but never ever kiss you girl'- a tease of the highest order, we had 5 or 6 dates before i finally gave up. i really liked her, too. even just one kiss an i might have stuck around. oh well.
'oops it's time for my psych meds girl'- yes, it's true. the first time she popped some i thought "ok, no big deal, it's probably just Paxil or something." but she was taking different meds just about every 2 hours. i saw her take 4 different drug combos before the night was through. needless to say, i didn't call her.
'get really drunk, vomit, and then try to make out with me girl'- i was pretty hard up at the time, but damn... not THAT hard up...
'really conversational until someone else is around and then you sit in the corner and talk to absolutely no one girl'- whenever we saw another of my friends somewhere, anywhere, she would immediately clam up and try to hide.
'insanely jealous don't talk to the bartender girl'- started screaming at me when i idly chatted with the bartender while waiting for my drink, accusing me of trying to ditch her for 'some booze slut'.
there are more...
Hmm, these sound vaguely familiar although I would never, ever refer to a bartender as a 'booze slut.' When I'm out on a date, I'm the only booze slut, damn it!
Forgot an all time favorite!
Single Mother? Girl. (Found out on the date that she had an infant son. That's ok, it's the way of the world. So I attempt to be engaging, lamely I'll admit, "I'd love to meet your son." Then she says, "I actually don't care for him." "Oh, he lives with his father?" Steady cold stare across the table. "No, I don't care for him. I don't like him. I actually cannot seem to muster up any actual feeling for the child at all, outside of total indifference." I searched and searched for what to say to that. In fact I think I'm still kind of trying to figure out what to say to that.)
I think you should have called her a booze slut, then beat off in her living room, run outside and get arrested. Life's too short, man.
And with that, I'm off to work on my fantasy football team. For this
weekend, at least, all of the children are safely nestled away in Jersey,
and I'm free to do what I like: get drunk, slut it up and watch the Giants.
Bad dates, olé!
Amy Blair is eager to be called horrible names on Craig's List. Bring it.