Yet another reason to hole up and become the next Unabomber

Things not to do on a first date:

1. Bring flowers. It's presumptuous and premature and we really just want to decide whether we like you before we have a reminder sitting around on our dining room table. Unless you're a horticulturist or expert botanist. But if it has a pricetag on it, do not bring it.
2. Pat her on the ass. Really, this is inappropriate unless she is wearing a football jersey.
3. Tell her you're a genius. If you have to tell someone, you might be a bit shy of the necessary intelligence quotient.
4. Discuss her breasts as you stare at them. Not cool, dude, not cool. Unless she's a Hooters girl and you are visiting her at work. Then, by all means, have at it.
5. Elaborate on your connections to the Sicilian mafia in the greater Tehachapi area, or any other area for that matter. Girls really aren't into mobs and mafias.
6. Tell her how good you are in bed. If you have to tell someone, you probably aren't.
7. Begin any conversation with a sentece that contains the words "conspiracy theory". It just does not bode well and makes you seem a bit whacky rather than the pseudo-intellectual you're shooting for.
8. Perhaps most importantly, do not, under any circumstances, extoll the merits of your foreskin. We don't want to hear anything about your penis while we're trying to eat a baked potato. Really.

You may be surprised to learn that I came up with all those tips after spending just one hour with a man in Tehachapi Wednesday night.

I know what you're thinking, after last week's foray into the engineering world I would have the good sense to cancel a pending date with yet another local, and engineer to boot. Then again, if you've been reading this blog very long you know I must secretly like to suffer.

TJ is a local I'd met in town on several occassions. He had given me his number a few times, then conveniently started loitering in the vicinity of my office around lunchtime. He seemed a bit quirky but harmless so when he invited me to dinner I had no valid reason for refusing and fell back on my old rule of always giving someone a chance. I also thought I made it abundantly clear that it was just a friends thing. This is a problem we women have - we assume men get the subtle hints when really, we need to just tell them the human race would become extinct if they were the last man on earth and the fate of the world depended on our fornicating with them.

So, against my better judgment (Let's face it, if I had good judgment there wouldn't be a blog...), I accepted TJ's dinner invite on the condition that it be on a weeknight and casual. I was thinking tacos and a beer. I'm still not sure what he was thinking.

I was already regretting my decision to accept the invite when TJ showed up at my office after work with flowers and announced we'd be going to a local steakhouse (one of our allegedly finer dining establishments). I should have just said no at that point but I didn't.

We then walked to the restaurant, a few blocks from my office, and during the walk he attempted to hold my hand (another no-no when someone is not feeling your vibe). I declined that offer firmly only to be met with a pat on the arse just as we entered the restaurant. Yes, the guy actually patted me on the butt. I didn't believe it had happened because, really, who pats anyone on the butt anymore? When I realized what had happened I advised that if his hand strayed again I would clock him. Again, I should have just stopped things there and left, but there was a steak dinner involved and my refrigerator is on the fritz. I know, it seems shallow but somehow I figured there was justice in it.

He immediately ordered an expensive bottle of wine - to the tune of $70. Let me just tell you that in Tehachapi you can drink for three weeks on $70 so it was a bold move on his part. He then began discussing his mob connections, Sicilians, the fact that he can have medical marijuana, a conspiracy theory or two involving the local city council, and various other obscure stream-of-consciousness topics. I could barely keep up with the nonsense and, for the first time in my life, seriously contemplated walking out on a date. I even asked if he was on something and his conversation was rather confrontational and just plain nutty.

Then, just as I was starting to eat, he began discussing my breasts. Yes, right there at the table, with no prompting, he inquired about their cup size then elaborated on his love of breasts and went on to his own sexual prowess. I was a bit dumbfounded and nearly choked on my filet.

As usual, it gets better. Before I could interject, he explained that he was "as god made him". I didn't ask for any elaboration but he felt compelled to tell me he was uncut, and I don't mean in the censorship way. What possesses a man to describe his foreskin to a woman attempting to eat a baked potato is beyond me. It's not that I'm against foreskin, I just don't want to hear about it over our first meal together.

That was it for me. I called an end to things and told him I was about to walk out of the restaurant. He then had the gall to ask if I planned to help with the bill. I let him know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I had no intention of paying for a meal I didn't ask for with a man I could barely tolerate. I made it quite clear his behavior was unacceptable.

Fortunately, in this instance, I had the good sense never to give him my real phone number. Of course, I went in to my office today to find a phone message from him saying what a wonderful time he had and asking when we could do it again.

No, I haven't called him back but I may call the pirouetting, sad sapling engineer as he's starting to look pretty good...