#3: Mr. Pin Head

OK. This one is more my problem, but even with a drink in hand I couldn't get past the fact that this man's head was ABNORMALLY small for his body. Not just kinda sorta disproportional, but so off-balance that I wanted to ask if he pissed off a witch doctor in Tonga. And you know what they say about men with small heads... Yes, I should not be this judgmental on looks, but I am. No second date here.

#2: Mr. Ass

This story is short, but *sweet.* A co-worker decided to introduce me to her friend. Nice enough guy - professional, good looking, but older and not someone that you would label as HOT.

We were introduced over happy hour. We had a beer or two and then I went home leaving him with my number. Apparently, later he met friends out at what I believe to be Pesos.  

About 12 am, "the bewitching" hour if you will, he sent me a picture of his bare ass - taken IN THE BATHROOM OF PESOS by him in the mirror. 

1) Not a good looking butt. 

2) Dude... get friends that take your phone away from you if you want to drunk text. 

3) He must only go to Pesos on a Tuesday, when there is no one in the bathroom. 

#1: Mr. Secret Agent

Let's set the stage: 

It's Starbucks. Oh… visualize anyone of them in your head. they are all the same. A typical Seattle day weather wise. Overcast. Maybe a little bright, but certainly NOT sunny.  

Mr. Secret Agent wore sunglasses inside. He refused to take them off. Sign #1 that he was a douche bag… of course, as I learned later, maybe he was on a secret mission. 

Mr. Secret Agent: So what do you do for fun?

Me: Well, I like to run. I like to travel. And love, love to ski. I have actually traveled a fair bit around the world to hit up different mountains. Do you ski?

Mr. Secret Agent: No, I'm not allowed to.

Me: You are not allowed to?

Mr. Secret Agent: Yes, my work does not allow me to ski.

Me: What do you do?

Mr. Secret Agent: That's classified. I'm not allowed to talk about it. Let's just say the military has spent $18 million dollars training me.

Hmmm… this guy has a lotta rules and seems to be full of a lot of shit. $18 million dollars? Really? Why don't you just round it off to a cool $20 mil.

Now, not skiing or willing to learn to ski is a deal breaker for me and I should have got up and left right then and there. My mother raised me to have good manners, however, and we were only 10 minutes into this ordeal.

Mr. Secret Agent then proceeded to question me – 1) what's your favorite color, 2) what is your favorite food, 3) where do you like to eat in Seattle, 4) If I was to go into your car right now, what would be on the radio?

Now by themselves, these questions are normal. I might ask some of the same ones myself to get to know someone. Asked one after the other, however, they were scary and I quickly felt this “date” had an interrogation room theme. Again, probably why he was still wearing his f’ing sunglasses.

Next question: What is the coolest thing you know how to do?

I know how to do a lot of cool things. I can hang spoons off my cheeks, ski the couloir on Blackcomb, tell you the capital of Liberia and bake a mean cupcake. However, after the barrage of questions – I drew a blank and decided to turn the tables on him.

Me: I don't know. What is the coolest thing you know how to do?

Mr. Secret Agent: I know how to dismantle a nuclear warhead.

Me: Well, that is an important skill to have in any relationship.

We did not have a second interrogation….err… I mean date.  I am also thankful he doesn't know where I live. We might not have caught Osama Bin Laden if I had told him. I am pretty sure that he is the type to re-program spy satellites to look in girls bedrooms.