Monday, November 17, 2008

Triple Threat

I spent time with my aunt from out of town tonight and was asked if I am seeing anyone. I'm seeing everyone. And coming up empty handed.

I told her that the dating game has handed me lemons, and I am trying to make lemonade, bitter as it may be. She asked for a story and as I tried to pluck one that was family-friendly, I was reminded of the guy I went on a date with who threw me off in more ways than one.

Another blind date (you'll notice this is a trend...also helps keep these poor schmucks anonymous). We exchanged a few e-mails and this guy had a great sense of humor and was a pretty good story-teller. Lots of funny anecdotes about his law firm (yep, a lawyer, this one). One thing we found that we have in common is a head-over-heels love for the movie Waiting For Guffman. A cult classic.

I arrive at Marbles*, a restaurant/bar near Union Square and walk toward the only guy who could have been my blind date. It would have been harder to figure out who he was if anyone else was in the establishment. So I waltzed right up and, as he turned to me, I asked if I should pull up a bar stool.

"Oh, well we can get a table." His lips were very red and pretty slimy. In fact, if he could bottle it, women around the world would pay for that kind of sheen.

Table = potential kiss of death because it can mean a meal. Dun dun dunnn, "Thought we c-could grab a bite to eat."

We all have these grandiose ideas of staring into the eyes of a guy we're crazy about. But what do you do when you don't know which eye to look into - because one is lazy and you can't tell which it is? I looked left, I looked right, I looked at his nose - and he looked at me, looking at him. Aaaaaawkward.

I wanted to get into a conversation to avoid my eyes darting all over the place. Little did I know, getting this guy to say more than two words at a time could have been an Olympic sport. Seriously. I talked about myself for a while; then, I started asking him more questions about himself.

I was running out of things to talk about and he wasn't through with his salad (oh yes, this was a multiple course meal for Lawyer McGee).

"Gosh, I'm sorry. I feel like I'm grilling you. Do you feel like you're being interviewed?" I asked trying to lighten the mood, looking at the table - his forehead - the window - anywhere to avoid the eye(s).

"No-no, it's fine." Three words! Woohoo - with two repeats and a contraction to boot!

The salad was cleared and I almost got up and left with it. Then, in a stroke of genius, "So, Waiting for Guffman. Favorite scene?"

His lazy eyes sparkled with enthusiasm I rarely see in grown men. And then came stumbling block number two.

"I-I-I don't think I could p-p-pi - choose one part."

Oh man. I've got a lazy eyed stutterer on my hands. And I've gotten him all worked up over Waiting for Guffman.

"I love the s-s-s-scene where he (insert bizarre exhale snort sound while chin violently swings to the side) pretends he shops for his w-wi-wife."

Lazy eye? Check. Stutter? Check. Suppressed Turrets tick? Check check check.

What's more, I couldn't get him to stop talking at this point. He just kept going and going.

"It's a z-z-zen thing. Like how many babies (grunty-grunt noise) fit-fit-fit in a tire?" There's nothing like having a joke delivered as a remix.

"Yeah, that's a good one. I also love when Eugene Levy -" I tried to get a sentence or two in.

"Oh w-w-when he auditions he is so f-f-(grunts)-funny."

After having the entire movie recited - with stutters and grunts and a jaw darting about sans boundaries - the check came. He paid (yes, that is worth pointing out. and yes, there is another post to come about that).

We walked out the door and I knew if we were taking the train, we had a 5 min walk together.

"You taking the train?"

"Yeah."

"OK. I think I'm going to head this way and walk home. It's such a nice night."

We parted ways. At least we both recognized there isn't a shot in hell that is going to work out. He didn't ask if I wanted to get together again or ask if he should call.

Two thoughtful and stutter-free text messages and an e-mail later, he stopped trying to get in touch. And that is how the story of the triple threat lawyer came to a close.

Lesson learned: ladies, if you have a blind date, have a blind phone call first - and think of something thrilling enough that it has the potential to uncover any excitement-fueled speech impediments. Not much you can do about detecting a lazy eye...

*UPDATE, FOLKS: I was wrong about the name of the place we went to. Get this: it isn't called Marbles - it is called MUMBLES. I kid you not.

1 comment:

ktmccoy said...

Oh, if only this were the only stutter you've ever met!! I'm still thinking about those lips!!