I was fortunate enough to receive a link from a friend today that made me nostalgic for a few men I have dated in the past. So I thought I would re-post one of my favorite dating experiences for any new readers who may have missed my brush with potential serial killer guy.
Lola's Dating Rule # 1: Never date a guy who actually refers to himself as "the creepy serial killer guy who walks around the same block 45 times."
This can only lead to one or two different outcomes.
1) He actually is the creepy serial killer guy and when he asks me to go for a walk near the deserted docks- after he goes out of his way to mention that he is not only anti-social but also has a severe gluten allergy that does not allow him to consume any alcohol except wine which he doesn't partake in anyway because it causes him to experience sudden and inexplicable bouts of anger- he will then chloroform me and stuff me into the trunk of his white scion. And then perhaps he will wear my skin as a hat for the next 1-2 weeks.
2) He is not the creepy serial killer guy but in fact he is merely the mayor of creepytown. After I have been clear to him that I am not interested in him, the mayor of creepytown will send long, pensive emails that inform me that he has rented all of the concert DVDs that are available for my favorite band. This will be followed by a lengthy deconstruction of why the band is so compelling and why he thinks I am a deep, fascinating person for liking such music. The title of this email will wittily use the name of my favorite band in a sentence like: This is aMUSEing. He also will have a penchant for spouting poetry. Here is an example of a verse he will send me after I remind him again, politely (because I really don't want to turn him into the creepy serial killer guy in outcome #1), that I am not interested:
May your children
Bear your resemblance
In inner and outer beauty
And may they also have
Their Father's good fortune.
I guess I should be thankful that outcome #1 didn't happen to me. Or at least the skin-wearing-chloroform-stuffing-in-the-trunk bit. But Seriously? Ugh, does he think that if he insinuates that my kids will be beautiful that I'll go running to him with open arms? Or that his poetry will make me swoon?
Please. I think I might actually prefer the chloroform.
I know, I know. You all miss me desperately. I have been remiss in posting. Some call it laziness. Others call it busy. But I promise, I will be back. Because I have some disturbing dating stories to share. One of which includes an impromptu palm reading. And a little syndrome I like to call Text Tourettes.