Pantsless Wonder of Ranchero

Happy Valentine's Day everybody!!! This blog is going to be so fun and neat and packed full of all kinds of stuff girls just love!! Lots of exclamation points to really drive home the point too!!! My buddies that know me and have asked me to blog are staring at their computers with a very confused, glazed over look about them. Don't you worry furry friends, that isn't even a little bit what this rap is about.

It's Hallmark's favorite pretend holiday. So we are going to kick it off by discussing one of the most painful and tragic things that happens to women. Breast cancer, you ask? STD's? Hirsutism? All good guesses but I'm talking about DATING! It's rough out there but also, chock-full-o same darn tasty and amusing morsels. My goal is to share my pain and misfortune with you, in hopes that will be as entertained/horrified as I am with my love-life.

We'll call the last one, the "Pantsless Wonder of Ranchero." I say last one because this particular joker is the last one of many preceding train wrecks, aka dates. We met on line; he emailed me a very LONG, detailed email with way too much useless chitchat. But he was cute enough and cared enough to think through a note that was actually written just for me. So we turn up the volume and talk on the phone. I liked his intensity and intelligence. He happens to throw out that his shorts were stolen from a Burlington Coat Factory dressing room, which housed his wallet, phone and camera. Now I gotta pause to ask, what kind of jackwagon cruises around BCF, in the pants you hope to buy, long enough to let some common thief lift your shorts? Nonetheless, we plan our first date. Turns out, he just happens to be returning home from being stationed in a state that cannot be any farther from the state in which we reside. And, guess what, he has no car. Top it off with, he is shacked with the parentals in a "retirement" community. What kind of idiot agrees to pick a complete stranger up, at his parents house, with no wallet or phone? This idiot.

So I ask for the address. He gives me the name and address for a wing joint. His parents live in a restaurant? Nope, he says it's too confusing to give this old lady directions into the retirement village. So I head to the greasy spoon to pick him up. We enjoy a frosty brewed beverage and head to our final destination, a street fair of sorts. At the locale he offers me a beer and then says "I'll take you up on your offer to buy dinner." I'm a special kind of special but I never made such offer. But since I'm so laid back, I agree. We throw down some bar food, meet up with a couple of pals for smalltalk. Pantsless has made other plans for us after some vittles. We are going to a concert. Cool. I dig live music. As we arrive at the door of the club, we are asked for cover. Ranchero has my back on this one. As we walk to the bar, he says "Do you want to start a tab?" He literally meant, "Do YOU want to start a tab?" Always a fan of a good, live music and never of pulling a complete stick in the mud move, I agree. Libations ensue. There is some flirting, playful kisses, that kind of Friday night business. The night wears on and it is obvious that driving would result in a run-in with the policia. We cab it back to my place where the night ends. (This part is not kid friendly and I have kids...I don't, but imagine if I did)

Daybreak arrives. After I make Wonderboy breakfast, and suggest we head to the beach (again, IDIOT, comes to mind here) he informs me that he's "got to get going." Funny that, because you aren't going anywhere, I'm driving you knucklehead. We head north and he tells me just to drop him off at the Dunkin Donuts, very near to this elusive retirement community.

After a few more very forgettable details, I engage my trusted friend Google. This guy, the Pantsless Wonder of Ranchero, lives in a mobile home park. I'm not hating, manufactured housing is a place to hang your hat but don't go under the guise of "retirement community." Be upfront. You already told me you had a) no car 2) no wallet 3) no phone. Why not throw me a solid and admit you live with your parents in Ranchero Village??

I don't want to go too long on this first post. Turns out, I don't think he could have either. People, you can't make this shit up.