A Date You Would Love to Go On
This is so difficult…I actually attempted to write this about 5
times last night, and could not make it work….
You see, a “date’ is something I used to suffer through (all
those awkward and uncomfortable ‘what do you do’, ‘where did you grow up’ ‘yes,
I would LOVE to see a picture of your dog/kid/car’ moments…urgh!) so I can get
the feller into the sack and see if it’s worth my time to offer him a second
date...
OK, that was how I dated before….now, I Just Say No. (See, Nancy Reagan, SOMEONE paid attention to
your crap in the ‘80’s…not about drugs, mind, but about something…winning!)
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| I am, Nancy, I am!! |
That – combined with my utter lack of faith in my own judgment--
makes describing a date I would “LOVE” to go on a virtual impossibility…hence
the massive revisions. I made a deal
with myself that I would follow through with this blog challenge, though…so
here is what you get:
Scene: It is November 29,
2015. I have just suffered through enjoyed
a lovely Thanksgiving with my entire fam-damily, as well as a 9th
birthday party for Roo, full of screaming children....without valium OR Kung Foo!
Chelsea Handler and I have just come from the launch of the
iPhone2467, and I have nicked about 14 swag bags from the party, which means I
don’t need to do the Christmas shopping for any friends or family this
year. We are sharing a bottle of Taittinger
Brut Rose, and demolishing a seafood tower as Chelsea tells me jokes about all
the famous people she knows. There is a
full moon out which, along with the dazzling array of Christmas lights, has
turned our view into a Christmas Nirvana.
 |
| *sigh* I want this more than I want Matt Damon |
Just as our waiter rolls a cart to our table and starts slicing
the Chateaubriand onto our plates, the doors to the restaurant burst open. Sarah Palin, Michelle Bachman, and a load of
porky, bloated old men with gin blossoms on their noses and bad comb-overs
burst into the room. They are armed with
signs protesting gay marriage, increased minimum wage, and Obamacare, and
waving them around in a lethal fashion. They
round us all up against a wall, and tell us we are being held hostage until
Barack Obama arrests every public official in Colorado, and declares marijuana
illegal in every state in the Union.
 |
| Be afraid, be VERY afraid!! |
These clueless Tea Baggers have failed to notice that Chelsea and I swiped
the carving knife and skewer from our table.
Suddenly, Chelsea jumps up, looks over the shoulders of our captors and
cries, “No, Hillary, save yourself!”
As all head turn in horror, expecting to see Hillary Clinton at
the head of a wave of angry Democrats, Chelsea and I grab the two Horse-faces
of the Apocalypse by the hair and put our kitchen implements to their throats.
“Freeze, Teabaggers!” Chelsea shouts. “No sudden movements or we will turn these
crazy pirate hookers into hamburger!”
(see why I can’t sell my screenplay???
No feel for dialogue!)
The poor schmucky Teabaggers throw their signs to the floor and
beg us not to harm their icons. They are
quickly trussed with strips of napkins and tablecloths, and rolled out into the
snow where the Fox News reporters are delving into my sordid past, and pointing
out that I must have been planning to sleep with Chelsea Handler, since it was
our first date, and saying how slutty single moms are. They use interviews with
my two retarded exes to prove my loose morals, and point out that Chelsea is also a slut AND a lesbian, as she is famous, and everyone knows Hollywood is
overrun with the gays and the tramps...
 | ||
| She's hot, drinks a lot, AND is BFF with Jennifer Anniston....so, yeah, I might have a girl- | crush on her too! |
The sound of a helicopter causes all and sundry to hit the deck
with their hands over their heads…Who could it be?
Ron Paul and Ted Cruz, rescuing their
compadres?
50 Cent, coming to rescue his ladylove?
In fact, the helicopter is being flown by none other than
Harrison Ford---that’s right, mofo’s Han Solo is a licensed helicopter pilot!! It turns out that Harrison was at
the iPhone2467 launch, hanging out with Ryan Gosling, Christian Bale, Bradley Cooper, Eminem, and Liam Neeson. They
land in front of the Chophouse and motion Chelsea and me onto the chopper.
 |
| Decisions, decisions! |
We take off in a swirl of snow and flashbulbs, and head over to
Ryan Gosling’s Aspen ranch. Han—I mean
Harrison—explains that the Fox News coverage has created a firestorm of bad
press, and Chelsea and I are going to be smuggled out of the country until the
heat dies down.
Although there is clearly
an insane amount of sexual tension between Ryan Gosling and I, I refuse to make
out with him on the way to his house, as his daughter and baby mama are
there. Sadly, Christian Bale’s wife is
there as well, hanging with Eva, so there will be no making out with him either.
We switch from Harrison’s helicopter to an Emirates A380, bound
for the airport in Naples. We leave the
two hot but committed hunks behind, and Liam Neeson and Bradley Cooper take
turns making passes at me until I fall asleep.
B-Coop wakes me up at the airport and hustles me into a
Ferrari F12 Berlinetta, and we race off to his friend’s house on the
coast. The house, called Casa Peppe, is
owned by his friend, Lee Crooks, who is a reclusive zillionaire.
 |
| Pac...er...Lee's bad ass villa. |
As the sun sinks over the horizon, Eminem and this ‘Lee’ dude—who
sounds an awful lot like 2Pac---are making up kick-ass rap songs while Bradley Cooper gives me a back massage, and brings me glass after glass of Jameson on
the rocks without even being told to.
Liam Neeson keeps texting me about going to hang out on his yacht which
is anchored off of Santorini, while Chelsea flashes her boobs at the Lee
Crooks dude, and asks him over and over if he knows any songs by Sexual Chocolate.
***ALARM GOES OFF, DREAM DATE IS OVER!!***
And THAT, my dear ones, is a date I would like to go on....how about you???
'Night!!
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