Sex Toy Shop and McDonald’s

I went on a date yesterday. I put on a little bit of make up… because I thought of it as war paint… because I was pissed off at this dude. Let’s rewind!

Here’s the quick and dirty: This fucker asked me to hang out on Friday. After a long time of saying how comfy I was watching Netflix in bed, I finally gave in and took an Uber over to his place. That asshole fell asleep on me. I stayed out on his stoop for 45 minutes in the cold, in a shady part of town waiting for my Uber to show up. I was livid. I was so mad I think I went blind. I wanted those crack addicts making a deal in the parking lot to start a fight with me.

“Hey girl, what dat mouf do?”


And that’s exactly what I did with Malik (my faithful Uber driver); we had a shit talking party in his PT Cruiser. “That guy doesn’t deserve to have a nice girl like you as company, Miss Jessica.” “THAT DICK NUGGET!” “His manners are lacking, Miss Jessica.” “I’M GONNA BITE HIS EAR OFF!”

I don’t know why I agreed to go on the date we had planned prior to that shit show. Fixing that fuck up is like putting toothpaste back in the tube. Actually, I know why I decided to go through with it. I’m too curious. I wanted to see if he was a real jizz towel in person.

He took me to a Korean restaurant where I watched him use chopsticks out of the corner of my eye (they’re slanty so my peripheral vision is phenomenal. WIDE SCREEN, HI-DEF). It was like watching Bambi learn how to walk: cute but almost embarrassing to watch. He didn’t starve.

Then we went to a sex toy shop just a few doors down the best idea for a first date! They had an ass ton (tee hee) of lube, massage oils, vibrators, dildos, artificial vaginas, costumes, cock rings, books, a spool of rope… Bruh. They had this tingly oil you’re supposed to rub on your clit for extra sensation. I tested some out on my lower lip. I have every intention of going back with a few of my lady friends for that bottle of Jesus’s tears.

We looked at some Christmas lights (apparently they’re really popular in Baltimore; 34th street in Hampden) and then… we went to the grocery store so I could buy ingredients for grilled cheese sammiches. Bread, butter, cheese… and bacon. Apparently people put bacon on their grilled cheese thingies. This was news to me. I shouldn’t have been surprised since bacon goes on everything in America.

Oh but the date didn’t end there. We drove to his old high school and broke into the gym…and got busted by a security guard. Well, it wasn’t really breaking and entering since the building wasn’t locked, and the security guard told us to leave the building before he locked up. I remember I had to pee really badly, but since it was an all boys’ high school, there were no female restrooms. I have no qualm with taking a whiz in a men’s bathroom… but dude, I didn’t want him to hear me peeing. I have a weird problem with that. Call me crazy. Sue me. Take a flying fuck at a rolling doughnut. I DON’T LIKE IT WHEN PEOPLE LISTEN TO ME PEEING!

To top it off, we went to McDonald’s for soft serve (I can finally say I went to McDonald’s for a first date), bullshitted about the Ravens and Colts in his car (GO COLTS), and I Skyped with my mom… while on my date. When Satan tried out the mould for the quintessential asshole, I poured out. In my defense, my mother had left some pretty frantic-sounding voicemails on my phone that needed to be addressed. When her emotions are running high she starts speaking a mash-up of Korean and English (Konglish), the stuff that swatted my eardrums that evening.

Anyhow, no moves were pulled, I went home, and I finished watching the rest of season three of American Horror Story. And now I have my last two finals to study for. Fuck me sideways and call me Pamela.

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