Monday, August 11, 2008 Idiot

The Mayor calls me this morning asking me if I want to go to breakfast. I figured why not, I’m hungry plus I want to go ahead and have this I’m so not into you conversation. I tell him to meet me at the corner. Before leaving I let Jaime know that I’m leaving and that if she doesn’t hear from me in the next hour call the police. It was a little overboard but this was the first time I had gone to hang out with him without an entourage. I mean his role as a drug lord has yet to be established. I’m convinced he is a part of some type of Black Mafia. Yes a Black Mafia does exist but that’s another story for another day.

We get to the restaurant and I immediately go to the bathroom and text Jaime the address of where I am and when I should be home. You can never be too safe right?

So somehow the issue of dating comes up which is perfect. So I plainly let him know that I am not interested in him or anyone else. I think he must have a hearing problem because he goes on to say that this is a date. I’m sorry, I didn’t know that you could establish that a date was a date after you got there. You can’t do that. That’s totally changing the rules. So I counter back that we are not on a date. This banter goes back and forth a bit and finally he asks what constitutes a date. I inform him that a date is something you go on when you are interested in seeing if you would like to pursue something further. Since I already knew I didn’t want to pursue anything further with him or anyone else, this was not a date. He disagreed. I told him that he could call it whatever he wanted. Shoot call it hockey. I don’t care. It wasn’t a date.

For some reason he was already getting on my nerves, but what he did next made my stomach turn. We were done eating and he grabs a toothpick. That’s fine. But then he begins to pick food out of his teeth across the table from me. I almost threw up my chicken. How gross is that? On top of that his teeth aren’t in the best condition. Dude you are a bazillionaire. Use some of that money to fix your teeth. It’s not that they’re crooked. I’m not that shallow. It’s that some of them have brown spots or something gross on them and he is missing some teeth. I mean come on. You would be grossed out too. At that moment I wanted to take that toothpick and jam it in his hangy ball thing in the back of his throat (also known as the uvula).

By now I’m disgusted and I just want to be out of his sight. We get in the car and for some reason the topic of gold diggers comes up again. I feel like its déjà vu. Is God trying to tell me something? Do I have like a secret gold digger spirit? I mean what’s going on? So he is just rambling. As he talks I remember the advice my mom always said about being careful what you say around people. You never know their background. The Mayor knows nothing about me or my past. So first he starts talking about gold diggers and how men know that they have to pay for sex. That makes me a little uneasy. I scoot closer to the edge of my seat. He says in one way or another they pay for it. He then said that he knows that when he takes a woman out to lunch or a movie that he is paying for sex. At that moment I cut my eyes at him while simultaneously trying to see how I can jump out the car on the freeway and not break every bone in my body. So I ask a very candid question. Did you take me out because you think I’m going to sleep with you? He replies no, but I think he meant yes. Then out of nowhere he begins talking about sex and about women who say they want to wait are suppressing their natural desires and acting like they’re not human. Then he starts talking about pastors having affairs and how he doesn’t see anything wrong with it. He starts talking about priests who molest little boys. He believes that when the boys wait until they’re much older to tell it’s because they are ashamed because they are secretly gay. He used a much lewder term that I won’t repeat. At this point I’m trying to figure out if he is Satan, because he was crazy. So I’m fuming. Just mad, because he is running his mouth and doesn’t know that I don’t want to have sex until marriage or that I have been molested. He knows nothing. Nothing. In the calmest voice possible I tell him that he really needs to watch what he says because his words could be offensive. He didn’t care. He just kept talking. You know the Tootsie Pop commercial. How many licks does it take to get to the tootsie roll center of a tootsie pop?? How many dumb conversations does it take to get to the center of a shallow man? One. Two. Three. Three. Idiot. I don’t think I will be talking to him ever again.