You can't make THIS Sh*& up.

**Names and faces have been changed to protect the innocent.  And I did receive clearance to keep this up...**

If you are the avid reader of my blog that I expect you to be...or at least check in from time to time you may have read about the first night I really felt single again:  The New hand-shake?
What I didn't mention is that night, I actually met a nice guy on my way to the bathroom after the 'ass-man' assault.  It was the end of the night, and we chatted and got along really well.  It was nice to talk to someone normal who started conversations with something like 'Hi, you sounded great singing up there, my name is so and so'.  Refreshing.
He wanted to make plans to go out, but I just was not ready and I told him so.  Just the same we exchanged numbers and called it a night.
Naturally his next step was friending me on Facebook.  He sent me a text and let me know he had checked out this blog, and I thought that was really nice.  Whether he was interested or not in what I had to say in this forum, it didn't matter.  He did his homework.  That scores you points.  He was a little upset that the 'assman' made my blog and as he said 'the nice guy' did not.  I told him sometimes it's a good thing not to make the blog, did he really want to be the 'assman'?  Of course not.
I have to say the guy was persistent so a couple of weeks  ago when he made me laugh out loud in line for coffee while reading my e-mail on my phone I said 'What the hell.  I am single.  This is what you do.  You go out on dates.'   Dinner last Thursday was set up halfway between where we each lived.  I was a little put off with a couple of comments about my 'nice feet' via e-mail.  I don't really need to know your fetishes right off the bat.  Let me find out in some other creepy way like normal women do.  Can we get through the date before you tell me why I should run?  Apparently not.  Fasten your seat belts.
So, we are eating dinner--the only table in the restaurant.  He has me laughing pretty good so my cackle is in full effect.  At least we are having fun.  Then he starts to talk about this blog.  Now.  I just want to say, I don't have many boundaries in conversations.  I can take pretty much whatever is put out there and not be put off.  Go ahead throw it at me.  However, this guy...gambled and lost.
I realize it is mostly my fault.  I wrote this blog back in December:  Get back in the saddle or get off the pot.  It is about my first day at a new job, and also..a bit about bathroom etiquette at work.  I think it is funny because, well... it's in writing and you can laugh at the privacy of your own computer about going to the bathroom at work and not tell anyone else about it.
I would just like to say...just because I said it on here does not make it OK to talk about your work pooping habits on a first date over dinner.  It just doesn't.  But, I wrote it...so I have to go with the conversation.  From there on it is a like a train wreck.  The conversation keeps going and neither of us can seem to jump off the train.  Suddenly, my Shrimp Scampi was not so appitizing.
Add to this the fact that he told me 'feet are equal to boobs', guessed my shoe size, thought it was then an invitation to also guess my bra size and you can see why I already know this isn't going anywhere.
Now I know he has a foot fetish (as told by his e-mail) and he keeps talking about how not a big deal it is....then why are we still talking about it?
My next favorite question was:  What are you?
Um...In what way?
Heritage.
His guesses were:  Pacific Islander, Eskimo, Native American, and Asian.  All of which are fine things to be.  More than fine. I wish I could say I was any of those things.  If you know me in person..you know why this is the silliest thing you may have ever heard. I laughed out loud. Hard.   I wish I had a better answer than:  Mostly Irish and Swedish.
He then told me 'someone must have jumped in your gene pool and stirred things up a bit.  He never would have guessed that.  (Really?  The casper white skin and freckles don't give anything away?)
He assured me this was a complement.  I will take his word for it.  He was upfront about the foot fetish after all.
The next day, he emailed about what a nice time he had.  He would like to do it again.
Then, at about 1:30 that afternoon, I got the text.  'I just pooped at work'.  There was more to the text but after that statement it is irrelevant.  If you ever go on a date and then feel the need to text the woman at any point in the message 'I just pooped at work'..and it was your first date, rest assured it was your last.
No matter how nice you are, you can't come back from the poop text.  Even with me.