"I Pity The Fool" - Mr T.

And unfortunately, that fool would be me. Enter Mr T. This whole experience was so traumatic that somewhere repressed in my subconscious is how we actually met, but I'm not willing to unbury that bad memory. Now, I know what you're picturing...large African American man with bulging biceps, a mohawk, and some really horrible gold jewelry. You're pretty close, except that this Mr T is short with greasy slicked back hair, not so many muscles, lots of chest hair (and apparently not so good at buttoning up his shirt), but definitely equal amounts of gold jewelry. Oh, and Colombian. Have I not yet learned my lesson about sticking to dating in English?! Apparently not. I never really wanted to go on this blind date, so when I didn't see him right away at Starbucks, I got all ready to grab my coffee and go. Unfortunately, I stopped just long enough to read the front page headlines of the paper, and out walked Mr T...who had apparently been at a table in the back and around the corner. A BRILLIANT place to wait for someone you've never met before. That should have been a sign. And so started some of the most awkward conversation ever. And this is how I know it was awkward: at one point he said, "so, girl with the beautiful eyes..." And I literally almost spit my coffee out all over him, I was laughing so hard. Here's what made it even worse...the WHOLE time (and by time, I only mean the 30 minutes I could stand to be in the same room with him) he was talking he had his hand down his shirt. I do NOT want to know what he was digging for. And when I really thought it couldn't get any worse, he invited me to go back to his place. We had known each other exactly 30 minutes. What kind of creepy lunatic...?!?! "Well, would you look at the time..." I practically ran out to my car. And if this hadn't already proved the need to start dating in English, as a very cultural custom (which I'm fine with in ANY other circumstance), he leans in to kiss me. EW. So I stick out my hand awkwardly (but it worked to avoid the lean), shake his, and get into my car, wishing I had some hand sanitizer. Even worse than the date itself, is that I was so repulsed and icked out on the way home that I stopped to get gas and in my state of desperately needing a shower to remove the ickiness, I put diesel in my car. Yeah, last time I checked I'm not driving a semi. Shit. But because I was so embarrassed about the diesel, I drove to ANOTHER gas station to finish putting regular gas in my car. All I can say is, maybe I could have used some of the crap from Mr T's hair for an oil change...SO. DISGUSTING. Maybe next time I'll stick to dating the real Mr T; after all, it definitely couldn't be much worse.