Date of Doom: Frying Pan Head ManPosted: March 16, 2011
Sitting here, trying to picture myself with a, oh hold on, what are they called again? Oh yes, a MAN. I’m remembering some of the worst dates of my life.
This story is about ‘Stephen’, the writer for SNL.
We met when I answered his ad on Craiglist, advertising tickets for the Academy Awards. We emailed a few times and then arranged to meet for a drink.
He had a head shaped like a frying pan, and a voice louder than an American Idol contestant trying to sing like Beyonce.
Our first, and only, date took place at the Library Alehouse in Santa Monica. Only we couldn’t get a seat so we moved to the bar next door.
He kept looking over my shoulder. Talking to thin air. I turned around to see him fixated on a girl drinking at the bar.
Without taking a breath, he then yelled a story about his dad playing golf with Bill Clinton, and some other non-funny anecdotes, that made me realise just how right he was for SNL.
My hairline receded as his foghorn voice exfoliated my face and my soul to the very core.
Still, he remained goggle-eyed at bar-girl. It was irritating and rude, and his head seemed to expand as the hour wore on.
I went to the restroom and on the way back paused by the girl he’d been checking out. I tapped on her shoulder, and told her that that guy I was on a date with hadn’t stopped staring at her all night.
I gave her the heads up that I was about to leave, and that she could make her move but to be warned: his voice was very loud.
Sliding my jacket off the back of my chair, I told him what I’d just done, and left. He looked shocked and then – probably the only honest reaction from him all night – pleased that I’d smoothed the way to bar-girl.
And me? Well, I left happy in the knowledge that I had another crappy dating story to tell.*