by Steve Clem on April 13, 2012

Fresh on the heels of a date with Mrs. Jani Lane/Nina Blackwood…I got a text from a woman who I was supposed to meet the night before, but we had both been sidetracked and couldn’t make it work.


I texted her back and said,  “Nope, I’m just getting home actually.”


Looking to wash the proverbial taste of Marlboro Reds, Mr. Pizza and Hair Bands from my palate, I texted back “Definitely.”

I’ve been down this road before many times. It was time to take an awful night and make it awesome.

We picked a place close to her house. I arrived a few minutes before here. Sipping on a beer, I reflected on my 80’s flashback date, and was thinking “How lucky am I to get a chance to rebound from that?”

Jody listed herself as 5’1 on her dating profile. When she finally walked in, I estimated her at 4’11 at best.

I have no problem with that. In fact, my dating history leans toward the shorter women. But apparently Jody did. “I’m technically listed as a midget, or a little person, whatever they say.”

Listed where, exactly,  I wondered.  Some master circus recruiting list?

“But I’m not a midget! Do I look like a midget?” No. You look properly proportioned. And very small.

Once we got past the midget issue, things started to go well. The next half hour or so, we just sat and talked about stupid topics. We first talked about the fact we both had cats. She apparently loves cats. I myself was talked into buying a cat, and I’m simply waiting for her to die so I can be pet free. But I played along. “Yeah, my cat is great,” I said, nodding.

We then started talking about kids. She had two daughters about the same age as my sons. She said she left her daughters home alone for this date, which didn’t throw me off. My sons have been known to spend a few hours on their own while I went out with friends or on a date in the past. Then she said “And my oldest daughter has three friends over, too.” Wait. There’s five girls under the age of 15 alone in your townhouse right now? “Her fourth friend is coming over at midnight, so I can stay out until then if you want.”

Things were going much better, overall, then my first date of the evening. I decided I made the right choice to get back on the horse, so to speak, after the disaster in Red Wing. If I could fist bump myself in public without looking stupid, I would have at that moment.

And then I felt HIM looking down on me. And by HIM I don’t mean a deity we sing HYMNS to. I mean HIM. 6’9. Looked like Napoleon on stilts. Not knowing yet who HIM was, I just stared at my glass.

“Hey, Jody! Why didn’t you call me back? Is your phone not working? I thought you said you were going to call me back,” 6’9 HIM said.

Staring more at my glass served no purpose other than to make me realize that there was a 50/50 chance I would leave this bar with a scar or injury at this point.

6’9 HIM looks at me. “Who’s your friend, Jody?” I avoided eye contact. I looked at my phone, and decided to post a Facebook update about 6’9 HIM. By now, as you can assume, I figured out that 6’9 HIM must be 4’11 Jody’s boyfriend. I’m quick like that. So here I was, sitting between 6’9  HIM and 4’11  Jody. And all I could think about was how many 4’11 non-midgets can you fit inside a 6’9″ HIM?

I got up from my bar stool and tried to defuse the situation. “It sounds like the two of you have things to talk about, so I’m going to take my drink and go sit over there for awhile.” I made my way to the furthest corner of the bar from them, and continued to update my Facebook friends on what was going on.

Now I’ve had my share of crazy dates. The Hickey Girl. Tongue Ring Girl. The Parking Lot Date. But not one time, not once, had I ever had a date’s boyfriend show up. I would occasionally look up to see 6’9 HIM talking down to 4’11  Jody. Literally. From their body language, I could tell this was going to go one of two ways: He leaves, angry, but leaves, and everything is fine, or he stays, starts a fight with me, and I’ll be memorialized all over the Interwebz for sacrificing my life doing what I loved…dating (not).

And just then, he walked out of the bar, angrily, but leaving. Jody sat at the bar stool texting on her phone for a bit, and I was wondering if I was supposed to go back over there, or she was going to come over where I’m at. I continued fielding questions from my Facebook friends about the 6’9 HIM, and about five minutes later, she sent me a text.


Me: It’s OK, I’ve had worse dates. I promise.


The common sense Steve was saying “No, just finish your beer and call it a night.” The curious Steve said, “Eff that…let’s see how this train wreck ends up.” Curious Steve won.

As I sat down next to her, she looked at me with a panic in her eyes. “You know, I understand if you want to leave. That was really awkward, and I feel like I owe you an explanation, but I don’t even know you.” Little sister, I thought, you don’t owe me a damn thing unless I end up in the hospital when we walk out of the bar.

“Forget about it, let’s just move on. Pretend it didn’t happen,”  I said. Although I knew at this point I wouldn’t pretend it didn’t happen, nor would my Facebook friends let me.

And that’s when it got even MORE interesting. For the next few hours, Jody proceeded to order beer after beer (did I mention it was 2 for 1 night?). And tell me all about her ex-husband (and baby daddy), her ex-boyfriend (the 6’9 HIM), and how they were all friends in high school. She then started telling me about another guy, who was friends with all three of them, who she messed around with. And HIS friend may or may not have taken advantage of her when she was passed out one night.

She then went on to tell me that she drinks a lot. Every day. And in fact the reason she couldn’t meet me last night was because she was too drunk to leave her house. “I might have a problem. I don’t know for sure.”

As the beer kept flowing, she proceeded to tell me her entire drunken sexual history, and how when she gets drunk she does dumb things. She then says, “You better nooooot taaake advanaaage of meeee tonight!”

“Don’t worry, I won’t. I don’t do that,” I told her.

“Bud how dooooo I KNOWWW thattt. I doneven knowww youuuu,” she slobbered back. The 2 for 1 beers were having quite the impact on Jody by now. I was beginning to worry about how she was going to drive home. The bartender was taking notice of her drunken state, too. The last thing I wanted was for her to get a DUI tonight.

I suddenly felt like a parent, and not a guy on a date. “Jody, I don’t think you should have any more beer, and if you do, I think you need to let me drive you home, and you’ll have to get a cab to come get your car here in the morning.”

“Sheeeeeeee, your trrryyyiiinnn to get me intoooo beeddd!,” she slurred.

“No, I’m trying to get you home safely,” I said. “I don’t want you to get a DUI tonight, and you seem to be feeling the effects of the beer.” If that sounds like a sober statement, it was. I was now on hour 10 of my back-to-back dates from hell, and I had drank a total of 2 beers throughout. Not my typical Saturday night numbers.

Jody had a different plan. “I finnnnnnk we should playyy pooooool or darrrrrrts! I know a greeeeeaaat place by my houuuushe. Weeee cun just haf ONNNE drrriinnnk theeeereee an’ then I’ll shober up an’ drive hommmmeee.”

I looked at my cell phone to check the time. 1:15 a.m. Shit. Prime time for cops to be patrolling the streets of the Twin Cities looking for drunk drivers. Luckily it also meant that was only about 30 more minutes left of drinking for her. Glass half full.

Finally after repeated attempts to tell her she should just let me drive her home now, met with repeated exclamations of ìBuuudddidontevenknoooowwwwwyou!î I finally agreed that I’d take her to play one game of darts, she would drink water, and then hopefully by the time we got back to get her car at the original bar, she’d be sober enough to drive.

Then began the battle over which vehicle we were going to take to the next bar. “Weeee neeeeeed toooo taaaakee myyy carrrr! I have insurannnsshh.”

“I have insurance, too. I wouldn’t drive my car if I didn’t have insurance,” I replied.

This same conversation over insurance occurred repeatedly about 20 times in the next 3 minutes. Finally I told her I’d agree to drive her car to the next bar.

“Leeettt meeee sheeeeee your driverrssshh liccenssshe. Issss itt vallllliiiidd?”

I handed Jody my Driver’s License. She squinted at it for about 30 seconds. Then looked up at me. Then squinted at it for another 30 seconds. Then looked back up at me again. “I haaaveee inssssuraaaansssssh.”

Off we went to find the new bar. Let me explain that I don’t know this suburb of St. Paul at all. It’s not real far from where I live, but I’m just now starting to get to know the area since moving here last Summer. Most of my free time in that span was spent in my hometown, seeing the Now Ex-Lady Friend.

And Jody was flat out drunk. She was more obsessed at this point of finding “THIISSSSSH SHOOOONGGG YOU GOTTTAAA HEEAAARRRR” on her CD player. As I asked her what direction to go at each intersection, she’d look up from the CD player, squint her eyes and scan the horizon, and I think would randomly shout out “GO RIIIIGHHHT”, “GOOOO LEFFFFFTTT”, or “GOOO STRRAAAIIIGHHHHTT.”

After passing the same parked police car 3 times in 10 minutes, I decided that she obviously had no clue where we were at due to drunkenness. And I had no clue where we were at due to, well, I didn’t know where I was. The date that started out in White Bear Lake somehow had made it’s way into Little Canada. Ugh.

Finally, I’m pretty certain by pure miracle, we arrived at the bar where they had darts and pool. As we pulled in, I was trying to explain to her that it was 1:45 a.m., which meant they probably already had last call, and she wasn’t going to be able to get a drink. “Ok, buttt I haaaveee to peeeeeeeee!”

I followed her into the bar, to make sure that she didn’t try to order another drink. I waited for her to come back out of the bathroom. I looked at the bartender, smiled, and said “Don’t worry, I’m not letting her have a drink. She’s just borrowing the facilities.”

He sent an odd smirk back at me, and said “No worries, bro.”

When she came out of the bathroom, she began walking around, squinting her eyes and scanning the horizon. I walked over to her and said “Let’s go. I need to get my car and go home. I’ll drop you off at your place on my way.”

“I wanna sheeeee iff I knowwww anyyyboodddyy I know,” she said as she walked in the opposite direction. Oh shit. A runner. And she had the car keys. I finally cornered her near the dart board, and told her, “I’m not kidding. I seriously have to get home. I have a long day tomorrow. Can we please go?”

Reluctantly, she agreed, handed me her car keys, and we headed for the exit. Now I was figuring out how she was going to get home. As the door was shutting behind us, I heard someone yell from the bar “Nice to see you, Jody!” Great. Maybe it was one of the drunken sexual trysts she told me about earlier?

We made it back to my car, and after what felt like an hour long discussion about “insshhhurrrannnshh” and my car and whether I had a valid driver’s license, I got her to agree that she would let me drop her off at her place, and she’d figure out a way to get her car tomorrow.

Before we left the parking lot, I asked her for her address and put it into my GPS on my phone. “Youuuu arrreeeennnt gonnnnaaa tryyy and hafff sexxx wif meeee are yaaaa?????” she said as she squinted at me.

As I dropped her off, she acted offended when I told her to have a good night. “Yoouuuu donnnnn wanna come innnnn?” To a house full of young teenage girls, with their drunk mother? Of course, why didn’t you ask sooner?

“I really have a long day tomorrow. I should get home. Glad you are home safe. Good night, Jody!”

As I drove off, I saw her squinting at me through the rear view mirror. Shit, I thought, I hope she can’t read my license plate number. Then I punched the accelerator.

{ 5 comments… read them below or add one }

YODER April 14, 2012 at 3:02 am

Was this her real name?


YODER April 14, 2012 at 3:03 am

Did you change her name, or was she really a “Jody”? I feel like I should be offended either way. HA HA HA! Can I come with you next time you have a date?


Steve Clem May 2, 2012 at 1:28 am

Yoder…not her real name, no. It was Close to it. Change one letter (and no, not the Y to an I). 😉

I’ll tell you next time I have a possible psycho date lined up. You’re welcome to come along.


G April 14, 2012 at 9:22 pm

Lol, Well done!


Steve Clem May 2, 2012 at 1:29 am

Thanks, G. 🙂


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