At Least I Lived to Tell the Tale

The weekend was filled with frog tales including a double header (both lunch & dinner dates) on Sunday (more to come on those two later).  But first, I must update you all on the paramedic who was cynical, deranged and an obsessive caller - a real winner, huh?

This guy seemed like a jolly, level-headed guy.  He actually called instead of the impersonal text, which I really like (until he started with the 5+ calls per day in addition to the good morning/noon/night texts).  He's easy to talk to (better be as much as he calls) and has a quirky sense of humor.  He's a huge planner (a breath of fresh air from the procrastinators that I historically date) and has confirmed every detail of his January vacation (yes, 6 months in advance) from airfare, hotel, car rental, cruise, excursions...the whole thing!  In addition, he has already started PACKING!  He has the cruise-only items already in the suitcase and a list of the items that he will need to pack but are currently in use.  For those of you who know me, you are thinking this is my dream guy but continue reading.

So we sit down for dinner, and he proceeds to inform me how lucky I am that he dressed up for me.  Let me explain - he is wearing a black faded t-shirt, jeans that look like they came from 1981, and his white socks show with what looks like black jazz shoes.  I realize at this point that I'm in big trouble, but am trying to reason with myself that all he needs is a good makeover.  When the waiter comes by, he orders iced tea so I order a diet soda and immediately get the paramedic speech about how that causes bubbles in my brain and by 50 I will likely have total memory loss.  

He proceeds to describe his reservations about me due to the fact that I would choose to live in California for 5 years of my life.  He believes that celebrities have distorted humanity's view of reality and that everyone who lives in California has an obsession with fame, money and looks.  This guy isn't stereotypical or anything.

The conversation continues to get worse.  Throughout the course of my meal, he tells me about his "toy collection" which includes every type of gun imaginable.  I'm sorry, I don't want a man who likes to play with deadly weapons!  The creepiness continues as he describes his "passion" for horror movies and informs me of the grim reaper costume in his nightstand.

All I'm thinking is, "Check please!"  At least I lived to tell this tale!