Stupid woman.
But I didn’t want to catch anything! EWWWWW!
Creeps like that are the reason women in Spanish comedies always use a vase. Vases don’t give you cooties from breaking them darn good.
Or criminally insane.
[bad french accent]
“You have been carrying that vase around all day. May I ask what it is for?”
[/bfa]
“Oh, you’ll find out…”
Please remind me never to invite ANY women named Rhonda to the next social we have at our house. Russ and Kim? Fine. But NO Rhondas.
My freshman year in college, I was living in the dorms. This was in 1996 (god I feel old) when chat rooms were really popular, even for normal people. Anyhow, I met this guy in a chat room and we started instant messenging. He seemed somewhat normal and love, love loved Rocky Horror Picture Show. In retrospect, I probably should’ve paid more attention to the intensity with which he referred to the Show.
My friends and I decided to go see Rocky Horror one night. I had never been. We thought it’d be fun to get all dressed up and go out. I was chatting with Freak Show and mentioned we were going to see Rocky Horror. He practically leapt off the screen, wanting to go. I told him he could come with, and to meet me outside my dorm.
My friends and I were in my room getting ready. All the sudden there’s a knock on the door. One of my friends opens the door and we all see…Freak Show. I still don’t know how he made it to my actual dorm room. The guy had his face painted white, with some crazy eye make-up, making him look more like a clown than an actual person. I forget what he was wearing but it had to have been equally frightening. He asks “which one of you is lezlers?” All my friends, who I have never forgiven for this, all point in unison at me, yelling “her!” I just sat there in shocked silence, silently vowing to never, ever meet anyone online again.
We go to Rocky Horror. Freak Show starts pulling out rolls of toilet paper from his trench coat and throwing them at people in the audience. People around us start getting pissed off. It was horribly embarrassing. Freak Show is yelling and being generally obnoxious. I believe we managed to ditch him at the show, although the memory has faded somewhat, as most traumatic experiences tend to do.
The remarkable thing about my “date” isn’t the event itself, but rather the aftermath the next day.
Back in college, I ran into a girl I knew – freind of a friend – at a party. Nice enough girl, but very unattractive, and thought she was a little bit smarter than she was. Of course, I was pretty drunk and so proceded to chat her up and flirt for an hour or two. Whoops, my bad.
This led to a solid week of her constantly IM’ing me and asking if I wanted to go do this or that – not explicitly asking me out, but it was obvious what she had in mind. After several days of making excuses, it was finally impossible for me to say no without being outright rude, so I agreed to go see Death to Smoochy (ugh) with her. The whole evening I’m trying desperately to keep it platonic – making sure she buys her own ticket to the movie, leaning away from her during the film, not laughing too loud at her jokes, etc. When we get back to the entrance to my dorm, she’s subtly leaning in for a goodnight kiss when I say “Well, goodnight, talk to you later.” I get upstairs and procede to slam my head into the wall.
Figuring that I can’t stand another week of this, I send her an IM that night saying that the night felt like kind of a date, and I like her a lot and find her attractive (lie), but I just don’t think we’re a good fit. I hit send and go to sleep.
Up until this point, the whole awkward situation was definitely my fault. That would change. The next day she asks to see me to talk. We meet up and sit on a bench in the middle of campus, at which point she demands to know why I don’t want to go out with her. I mumble something about being very different people, but she’s determined. We spend a good ten minutes on this topic. Every vague evasion on my part is met with more questions. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her that I just wasn’t attracted to her (she was really unfortunate looking, would’ve been devastating point that out, I think), so it just went on and on. Bar none, the most uncomfortable conversation of my life.
She finally got tired of my mumbling non-answers, I guess, and we parted ways. Surprisingly, things weren’t that awkward between us afterwards, and she was actually pretty good company for the next couple of years. Go figure.
This is an inverse bad date story.
This girl I knew at University in whom I’d never had an interest and who had never shown any interest in me, asked me to take her to a concert saying it was something she really wanted to go to but didn’t want to go to on her own and none of her usual friends were into this band and wanted to go with her. It was an Oils concert, for those of you who know what that means. Hard rock, lefty environmentalist, anti-american lyrics, not something I would have thought that her quite preppy, snooty friends would be into, but she was just “different” enough that it was believable that she might have a hankering to go.
Looking back, it was pretty obvious that she just thought I’d want to go to see them and she was asking me out. But I didn’t realise that at the time. She would probably have *thought * I was into the Oils (lots of my friends were), though I wasn’t particularly.
Anyway, these guys play loud and hard, and for literally the second time in my entire life I started to get a serious, serious headache. Migraine, really. Spots before the eyes, dizziness, the whole bit. The music is feeling like a sledgehammer on my skull. I can’t wait till it’s over.
When it was, I didn’t say anything to her about my head, I just thought the concert was over, I’d done my escort duties, now I could go home.
But when it was, she mentioned that she’d thought we might be hungry after the concert and she’d kind of made a bit of of a booking at a particular very nice restaurant (not that she was asking me out to dinner, you understand). I have no real option but to tell her that I have this terrible headache and really I just am going to have to go home. She offers me painkillers but I’m in such pain I know that’s going to be like putting a bandaid on an amputated leg, so I accept her offer but say I’m sorry but I’m going to have to go home.
At this point it’s dawning on me what the evening was supposed to amount to, but I am just sick as a dog, in a lot of pain, and starting to feel nauseous. I can see she’s very upset to the point of her lip trembling: she’s screwed up her courage to ask me out (not something her mother would have brought her up to do) arranged concert tickets, booked a nice meal, dressed up in a way that I should have been highly appreciative of, spent hours on hair and makeup (she was quite attractive) and here I was, a guy saying to a nice girl “not now I have a headache”, which is of course the classic fob off, without visible external symptoms to allow verification.
In hindsight, me having to pull off the freeway into the emergency lane to vomit out the window while dropping her home at least had the benefit of confirming that I really was sick…
That story didn’t go in the direction I thought it would. I agree, very uncomfortable nonetheless.
I know what you mean. It’s not so much that Eddie Murphy’s language was very raw during his standup years, but most of the jokes made me wince rather than laugh. It seemed to be all about family arguments – couples fighting, parents hollering at their kids, etc., etc., etc. I seem to remember he went over and over about a pissed-off mom throwing her shoe at her kid. Then didn’t he also do the gay Ed-Norton and Ralph Cramden bit? Just, ewww.
I guess the culture of audience particpation at Rocky Horror screenings is fading away. Back around 1979 (You wanna talk “old”?) you were supposed to throw TP when Dr. Von Scott appears (“Scott”, toilet paper, get it?)
You mean people don’t do that anymore?
I forgot my own little bad story. I’ve told it before, but not everyone reading this thread will necessarily have seen it.
During my first year of grad school (the first time, back in '82 through '84), I was casually friendly with this girl whom I’ll call S. We used to have coffee a couple of times a week and talk about our classes, nothing more. She said she was living with a boyfriend, so I considered her off limits that way.
She dropped out of the program, but a couple of years later, I was taking an evening extension course and I ran into her while walking across campus. It was really quite a coincidence. We exchange numbers, and agree to get together for the weekend, for a movie (oddly enough, at the Nuart in West L.A., famous locally for midnight showings of Rocky Horror). We’re supposed to meet in front of the theater. So I get there a little early and wait. And wait. And wait. Suddenly I hear a voice calling my name, and it’s the guy in the box office. He passes the phone to me through the little hole. It’s S., calling to tell me she won’t be coming–seems she was already involved with a guy and was having moral qualms. Or maybe she was planning the whole thing for a standing up from the beginning.
I think you’re the one who’s confused, here - that’s what going to Rocky Horror is about. I’ve only been once or twice, but everyone was dressed up like a “freak show” and shouting and throwing stuff. That’s WHY people go to it! What were you expecting!?
Just in case we haven’t all been whooshed: Lezlers, please read up on Rocky Horror Audience Participation if you ever plan to see the movie again.
Also, please do go again, it’s really fun to yell obnoxious things and wear scary face paint!