Awful date? Yes please!

Ah, nothing like getting back into the casual dating scene by going out on a couple of really, REALLY, awful dates to bring you back down to earth.

I tell this tale not only for cautionary purposes, but I figure some of my mates could use a good laugh. I sure giggled my head off.

This younger guy who'd been messaging me asked if we could meet IRL (I know, gross acronym, but whatever) so, being single and game for anything, I said sure. He seemed like a decent enough kid and I thought I would at least get a free meal out of it.

Boy, was I wrong.

So as I'm quite the busy bee, I tell him the only night I have free is a random Wednesday after work, which he agrees to - we also agreed to meet at a midway point, which happened to be a local wing place (I'm not expecting candlelight and roses at an impromptu meeting, so I wasn't too bummed). However, it became clear to me while arranging the meeting that the boy was quite obsessed with wing places. Clue No. 1, staring me in the face, and I ignored it. On we go.

So I arrive at the wing place, 5 minutes late and I give said kid a call to find out if he's inside. Not only is he not inside, he's "just leaving" his place. 25 minutes away. Clue No. 2, coming at ya!

He finally gets there and it's apparent he has grossly misrepresented his attractiveness level. I've never claimed to be Angelina Jolie, but I don't lie about my appearance either. Now I know why all his pictures are taken from far, far away. Oh, and he has a diamond earring. And a receding hairline. At 22. The clues are coming just too fast now.

Not one to be shallow and judgmental, I go ahead with gusto anyway, willing to give the guy a shot despite his lateness and apparent lack of attention to detail when it comes to self-description.

He held the door open for me, which was nice. It was also the nicest thing he did all night.

We get to the table, waitress comes, takes our orders and Senor Douchebag proceeds to unload on me the most ridiculous, cotton-headed nonsense I have had the misfortune to bear witness to. Not even Bush speeches have made me this mad.

Seems kid has a problem with rich people who he thinks should be taxed 75 percent (which, when I said would remove all incentive for high financial gain causing a further economic stimulus slump, I was told is "what they get for being so f***ing rich, and what am I, a rich girl?) and that he gets all his news from Comedy Central because "the real news is fake anyway" and he thinks journalists are lying scum and should be shot on sight. Huh. Guess he didn't read my profile that well, being that I'm a journalist and all ... and now in fear for my life.

So we eat, I continue to try and make small talk with this person (which included him asking me what I was going to school for, I told him my master's degree, and he said "wow, I guess four years of school wasn't enough for you - are you bored or just stupid?" - thanks, Mr. Construction Worker who lies and has zero social skills) and the best part of the date hits me in the face like Mr. T pitying me for the fool I am.

Cue waitress - "will this be together or separate, guys?"

Cue long, glazed stare from across the table by Dickwad Supreme as it's apparent he's not even picking up the check ... which, for both of us, including drinks and tip, was $15.

I say: "I guess that will be separate" and he doesn't contradict me.

Well.

So we're leaving (no holding the door this time) and I'm walking (nay, running) to my car and he goes in for the kiss - I honestly think I threw up in my mouth a little - which I tactfully sidestep as I say "Thanks for an evening" and jump into my Civic as fast as my 5'5'' self will carry me.

Best part? A week later, I get a text from this idiot - "Hey - wanna come get shitfaced with me and my friends in my parents' basement? We can totally make out."

What. The. Hell.