Jo Jo’s Mojo – Diary of a Trump date

Jo Jo Lyons

Friday Night

6:55 pm – I just pulled up and parked in front of what I can only is assume is a mildly-overpriced, but hopefully-decent-quality Italian restaurant in the heart of the pasta district of my great city. My date has informed me that he heard this place was really good from a friend of his. My date is not from here, nor is his friend, but I like when a man makes a plan, so I went with it. Plus, I’m not going to lie, the mention of Italian gets my mouth watering just thinking about getting some tortellini, so I was definitely on board.

This week’s date is a new match off of POF (Plenty of Fish, for you non serial online daters). We started talking last week and made plans on Tuesday to meet up for dinner tonight. At first, I found him to be very nice and genuine and easy to talk to, which was refreshing to me, as I have just gone through a string of dates with men who were not quite as conversational. However, earlier today, after I received the seventh diatribe in a row from this guy diagraming out his entire day/life story, I am starting to think he is maybe a bit too chatty. I mean what was left to even talk about at this point?? I want to give this guys the benefit of the doubt though. Sometimes people get excited, I can’t fault him for being excited to talk to me, right? Plus, I didn’t eat today in preparation for tonight’s tortellini throw down, so there is really no way I’m backing out now.

7:02 pm – Last minute make up check, perfume spritz and Chap Stick application. Good to go, let’s do this!

7:05 pm – Basic first gut reaction was not good. He’s cute … I guess. He seems tinier than I had imagined, I think because he has small hands. When a man has small hands, I immediately equate them with a leprechaun in my mind. He’s also wearing a green shirt, so that’s really adding to the immediate leprechaun vibe. I said hello and then immediately excused myself to the bathroom to wash my hands and wash the disappointment off my face. On the bright side, it smells delicious in here, this tortellini is bound to be the bomb.

7:09 pm – I think I have said five words so far. He will not stop talking. I know the names of all of his coworkers and that Kathy in accounting is a huge bitch. He has also already brought up his ex, twice. My stomach is growling. I can’t wait for the tortellini.

7:14 pm – The waiter brought some bread. Side note, the only thing I love more than tortellini is good bread. This bread is mediocre, but the butter is spreadable and not frozen, so I’ll give it an eight out of 10. This man is still talking. He made a subtle racial slur a minute ago and it took me a minute to realize that he did in fact say what I thought he said. After I realized what he said, I stared at him indignantly for a few minutes. He did not pick up on my look however, so then I was left with the choice of confronting him about it or just letting it slide. I chose to let it slide. The tortellini has to be here soon.

7:22 pm – The tortellini is here. It’s quite possibly the worst tortellini I’ve ever had. Its official, this date is horrible. At this point, I can’t help but to feel as though I brought this juju upon myself by letting the racist thing slide. Karma is a quick little bitch sometimes.
Okay, time to plan my exit. Dinner is almost over. I can respectfully pay my part and let him know it just isn’t going to work out. Easy Peasy.

7:26 pm – He just mentioned he has some really good home grown weed in his car and asked if I wanted to smoke after we were done. Damn it, good weed is my weakness. Much like tortellini and bread. Okay, fine, I’ll smoke some weed and then figure out an exit plan from there.

7:42 pm – I just got in his car, which is impeccably spotless by the way, like almost creepily so. It’s as if he just got done cleaning every inch it in case Forensic Files shows up. He has pulled out a vacuum-sealed container that has in it a Sherlock pipe and what appears to be some dank ass weed. He is explaining his whole home grow system to me, which is actually kind of interesting. Okay, maybe this guy isn’t the worst after all.

7:46 pm – Wrong, so wrong. He is officially the worst. I was just taking a puff off of the Sherlock pipe as he stated, “Well, when Trump becomes President we won’t have to worry about that anymore.” My mind is imploding!!!!!!!!!! Wait … this is it. This is my out!

7:48 pm – AHHHHHH!! THIS NIGHT WENT FROM THE WORST TO THE BEST IN THE MATTER OF A MINUTE! I put the pipe down and immediately stammered, “I don’t like to get political on dates, but I truly don’t think I can spend another second with someone who wholeheartedly believes Donald Trump is best suited to be our next President.” Then I opened the door and started to get out. I looked back over at him, as he was sitting there absolutely stunned (silent for the first time the entire date) and because the moment was too perfect to resist, I left him with one final statement: “#FeelTheBern”. Then I closed the door and felt so content that I had to keep myself from skipping as I walked away.
Moral of the story: Take her out for Italian, women will overlook a lot of things if there is a promise of good pasta in return.

Jo Jo is a 30 yr old professional who hails from a bigish city out yonder. She is single and always ready to mingle. At this point in her life, she thought she would have figured out the conundrum that is adult dating, but each week she finds herself on a new romantic entanglement that proves there is still so much to be learned about love, life and everything else in between.