“I like to think of myself as more of a wheeler and dealer per say…”

Okay, so it is official. Never trust a picture where a guy does the chin up move, it will only end in disastrous disappointment. This guy, who from here on out, I will refer to as “The Lisper,” strategically used the chin up move to disguise the deformity of his entire being. I think that JDate should have a sound bite for each person’s profile, so you can listen to their voice. I thought looks were really my only priority until I met this kid, and realized that I would be more inclined to deal with a glass eye or an arm nub over what turned out to be the thickest lisp I have ever heard. Tri-state area accents, like those embodied by New York and New Jersey natives, can be grating as it is, but put a lisp on top of those already characteristic voices and you have a whole other breed of unappealing.

I mentioned in my pre-date entry that I tend to be able to tell whether or not I like a person within five minutes of meeting them. I forgot to mention that I can also tell whether or not I would bang a person within that same short time frame. Unfortunately, whether or not I decide a person is bangable, I still find myself envisioning what sex with them would be like regardless. For instance, if I decide that a person is unbangable, I still find my mind wandering in the direction of “what if” this person somehow conned me into thinking their penis could come anywhere near my cooch. Unfortunately, throughout this entire date, as this guy was lisping away about his staunch conservatism, his love for his step-dad “Haaahvey” [read “Harvey”], and how identifying the brand of paper products used in public restrooms is something that is now ingrained into his blood for life, all I could think about was the kinds of noises he would probably make in bed or how I would probably laugh at him when he tried to moan my name (My name has an L and two S’s, so I am assuming it’s like the special Olympics of names for lispers).

I also couldn’t help but wonder what kinds of poor souls HAD actually slept with him. As stated previously, he had pictures with attractive girls in his profile picture. Now upon meeting him, I decided that there were numerous possibilities as to why these girls would agree to take a picture with such a Shrek-like figure. My first theory was that they were either special education teachers or speech pathologists. My second theory was that, because he went to the University of Miami, these girls were probably coked out of their minds (not my stereotype, but his—read on). My third theory was more basic—they were his sisters or cousins and he was just the genetic mishap (or more appropriately, the redheaded stepchild) of his family.

I know I sound superficial right now, but I have to get to the actual parts of our conversation that really just added insult to the injury of his lisp, moobs, overgelled hair, and 5’6” (not 5’8” as his profile stated) George Costanza-like frame. So apparently he works for his step-dad (the aforementioned “Haaahvey”) at a paper and chemical distribution company. In other words, he distributes paper and chemical goods to businesses/organizations all over the tri-state area. Now while most people just say what they do, and leave it at that, especially when it is a job that I concluded was that of a glorified truck driver, he could not shut up about it. I was slightly relieved that I could not get a word in edgewise, not that I have much to talk about since I am currently unemployed at the moment, but it was hilarious when he broached the topic of “graduate students” like myself.

The Lisper: Yeah…I always considered going back to school. [with a hint of inferiority about the fact I have a higher level of education than him but am 3 years younger]

Me: Oh yeah? I’m pretty much done with it, I need a break.

The Lisper: I guess I never really saw myself as a student. I hate studying. The thought of writing papers terrifies me. I like coming home and doing nothing.

Me: Yeah, I am still getting used to not having any obligations.

The Lisper: I’d say I would totally consider going back to school [here we go, the “I could totally do it! I’m so capable! But it doesn’t apply to my life.”]….but I always saw myself as more of a wheeler and dealer. I like being out there, selling things. I’m very much a salesman. On the road all the time, day and night, just selling things, meeting people, making friends. I like making people happy with goods.

It was at this point where I all but had a Tourette’s-like outburst along the lines of “Yeah I guess I wouldn’t be very happy if I took a shit in a public restroom and reached over only to find that there was not only no toilet paper, but also no paper towels, and I had to walk around the rest of the night with a giant skid mark developing on the ass-string of my thong” but I took another large sip of my Jameson’s on the rocks (or Jameson’s on the “wocks” as my date would say) and kept my mouth shut. And WTF, “wheeler and dealer”??? I didn’t realize it was the year 1925 and I was hobbling around the Lower East Side in a babushka getting conned into paying two cents more for a moldy herring sandwich over at Jewey Lowenstein’s food cart.

When I could no longer handle it, I excused myself to go to the bathroom, on two separate occasions within a half hour of one another, not to actually pee, but to text everyone SOS messages slash see if there was a window out of which I could climb. Unfortunately, there was not, and I was forced to return to the table and face a line of questioning about the texture and brand of the paper products in the bathroom. Once again, I had to resist the urge to say something like “the paper product was subpar, my lisping friend, in fact, so subpar, that there are paper pieces stuck to my cooch. It’s quite a sight to see.”

We also talked about our proudest accomplishments. I don’t really think I have accrued many accomplishments in my short lifetime, save not getting food poisoning from a McDonald’s yet. His proudest accomplishment, which surprisingly had nothing to do with paper towels, was the fact that he went to University of Miami and never tried coke despite the fact that everyone in his fraternity was a cokehead and that he had actually seen girls “beg for it” (Case in point: the girls in his JDate picture slash the only way he was able to lose his virginity. In my opinion, he should be thanking this drug for his good fortune.). As a “scholar” in the field of Higher Education Administration, I cannot imagine that UMiami would be very pleased that out of all the offerings their fine institution has for its students, the greatest accomplishment of this particular alum was his ability to resist doing coke while on campus. He also felt the need to specify at this moment that he still loved pot, with the kind of love that one has “for their own mother,” and that at any given time, he had a large bottle (yes, “bottle” was the exact word) of pot “this big” [made some exaggerated gestures with his arms—exact measurements unknown].

The date went on for about two hours. I want them back. Time passed just about as slowly as when you are high and waiting for some goddamn bagel bites to finish cooking in the microwave. He had two vodka-lemony girly looking drinks, insisting that he loved Jameson’s on the “wocks” just as much as I did, but that this was really his “jam.” Glad to know that you’re still a real man buddy. Those lemon drops will really put hair on your chest, though I wouldn’t know because you shave it so the gold from your three chains shines ever so brightly. Also his profile claim that he “always smells good” was a sham. I’m pretty sure “Curious” by Britney Spears does not count as respectable male cologne, but what do I know.

He texted me about an hour after the date ended, saying he had a good time and trying to invite me to his friend’s birthday party at a bar near the one we went to in Union Square. Clearly he was too blinded by my ginger charms to read more deeply into my overactive bladder and constant texting. I hoped for his sake that the next bar he went to carried his preferred brand of toilet paper.