Steve had so many quirks I don’t even know where to begin. I can’t think of one of them that was actually a turn-on.

For one, he prided himself on his seriously weird t-shirt collection. Yellow shirt with the phrase “best service in town,” green shirt with Elmo…that kind of thing. Guys, stop dressing like a 5 year old who shops at Kohl’s and get some personal style.
Buffalo Exchange anyone?

Ok back to the story. Steve was also Jewish, which isn’t a quirk at all, but what was seriously demented was the fact that he pretended to be an “Italian Catholic” rather than pride himself on his Jewish background. He went so far as to even speak with a mock Italian accent at the Italian restaurant we went to on our date in Yardley (“Yo, we’ll have an order of the bruchet”, completely cutting off the “a”)

He was also a complete Momma’s Boi. I can’t even tell you what Steve does for a living..but I saw his house and it’s a really nice effin house. All paid for by Momma Dukes.

So Steve and I decide to meet at this Italian restaurant, and he pulls up in a Cadillac Escalade. Also paid for by Mommy. Perfect. Couldn’t fit the stereotype better. He has a popped collar and spiky gelled hair. And a silver chain around his neck. Which I can see because the first three buttons on his shirt are undone.

Steve’s very forward with the compliments and the stares, and I down a glass of red wine within the first ten minutes of him ordering the tomato deliciousness that is bruschetta. I’m feeling like a piece of meat that this “Italian” can’t wait to devour.

The dinner conversation is where Steve starts to reveal some of his quirks and really win me over. The shirt collection makes its first conversational appearance here, as well as his throw back Nintendo collection including one of my personal favorites, “Bubble Bobble”…which is eventually how Steve gets me to come back to his place.

That and he has a chocolate lab that might as well have been named Fruit Cup.

Once back at his place, he turns into Annoying, I’m Trying to Impress you with my Dog Trainerman Skillz because my personality leaves so much to be desired you’d rather have a Dry Cleaner steam your tongue than sit here with me on this god awful date.

And weird weird thing. He has turned his office into a jail cell, I mean, bedroom, for Fruit Cup. Complete with baby gate and all…and poor Fruity is locked in there so often that there are like serious nail scrapes up and down the walls, as well as newspaper all over the floor, and furniture legs that have been chewed upon.

Somehow, my horniness that evening gets the best of me, and I find myself in Steve’s bed, only to be greeted by one of the smallest penises I have ever seen. Before he could even get within five inches of my pachanga, Steve ejaculates all over his brown Nicole Miller duvet. I’d like to claim it’s my mad skills in the bedroom, but this, my friends, was just a sight to be blindfolded for.

As I’m getting up and trying to get fully clothed, Steve shoots me a look that could inflict guilt on the Devil himself. “Aren’t we gonna cuddle?”

Kelly:“Ooooh. Ok, sure, yea, definitely. Um, but I can’t stay long, I have to go to (fuck think of something quick fuckface) um, I have to go soon.”

Steve:“You don’t have anywhere to be but here with me(and as I sit down, he squeezes me into the most uncomfortable little spoon I have ever been) and besides, I want to tell you something.”

Literally THREE hours later, I am finally behind the wheel of my blessed freedom mobile…emancipated from this cum covered duvet shitstorm of a date, only to be shaking my head in utter congestion.

Around ten minutes into the spoonfest, Steve had started to tell me that he was, in fact, an Indigo Child. And I actually did look this up when I got home, because it was at that point that I started to zone out completely. Have you ever had to fart so bad that it literally made you short of breath because your lung capacity was being shrunken by the huge amount of gas taking up your abdominal cavity? I was concentrating so hard on not farting that I’m surprised I even remembered a word of it.
I might have even fallen asleep for a few minutes in there.

Here’s what I found on Wikipedia: In the New Age movement, indigo children are children who are believed to represent a higher state of human evolution. The term itself is a reference to the belief that such children have indigo “life colours.”[1] Beliefs concerning the exact nature of indigo children vary, with some believing that they have paranormal abilities such as the ability to read minds, and others that they are distinguished from non-indigo children merely by more conventional traits such as increased empathy and creativity.”

And part of Steve’s belief as an indigo child, was that he had me figured out completely, despite the fact that he did most of the talking on our date and probably asked all of one question…which was “how big are dem titties?” He believed he had the ability to read minds and see the dead, along with other indigo talents.

He also wouldn’t let me leave. Every attempt I made was shot down with a tighter squeeze or Steve just continuing to talk despite my futile attempts. He told me that I was sleeping over, and I finally had to literally unglue his arms from around my body and yell at him that I was by no means staying any minutes longer.

The drive home was one of those ones where even listening to music would taint any poor band you heard so badly that I wasn’t even willing to risk it. Plus, my hands could do nothing but grip the steering wheel so hard because it was the only thing that could help me withstand the labor pain of birthing my ass gas.