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A Split Decision
by Ali Ashton
aashton@armadamag.com

A cross between "Welcome to Atlanta, where the Playa's Play," and "The Freaks Come out at Night" pretty much sums up my idea of dating in Atlanta. It's safe to say I have experienced my fair share of player's, but we cannot forget those ever so charming idiots that baffle us women as well. Lets face it, we owe these "freaks" some sort of accolade for leaving behind such great memories and stories to share with friends! Therefore, I dedicate this story to all the buffoons I have met thus far! 

I know, I know, you aren't supposed to go out to clubs or bars expecting to meet Mr. Right or at the very least a Mr. He Will Do For Now. After all, it's obvious twenty and thirty-something's partake in Atlanta's nightlife on a semi-regular, if not regular, basis. So, where else are we supposed to manhunt? The far-fetched fairy tales of meeting a husband while both simultaneously reaching for the same cantaloupe in a grocery store just don't happen nearly as much as they used to. Ladies, don't play dumb. You know exactly what fairy tales I'm talking about, too. The one where velvety hands rub up against each other, eyes meet and it's love at first sight in the fruit section. Blah, blah blah...it just doesn't cut it for me. 

The stories that I tend to walk away with usually involve a lethal combination of loser, jackass and idiot characteristics men seem to have duct-taped to their foreheads. For instance, I was introduced to a guy one night at a bar in Buckhead, we will call him Joe (in lieu of Joe Millionaire, since he, too, looks like he has the brains of a pigeon). Joe initially interested me with a witty personality, aspiring goals and an adorable British accent. We exchanged contact information at the end of the night and we e-mailed throughout the week getting to know each other. The next Saturday night rolled around and he met me out in Midtown with my friends. I thought this was safe since I would be with my crew. Not only did I have the home field advantage, but I also had a getaway car all gassed up and ready to roll. 

Get this! Joe not only lost his aforementioned British accent, but also established an interest in nibbling on my arm. The night went on and thank goodness his personality never dwindled. We got into a conversation regarding his family and I learn his mother is from Borneo, Malaysia. This is different and interesting in my book, until we dug a little deeper. Joe's mom apparently has roots from a cannibalistic background. Mind you, he was just nibbling on my arm!!! (Note to Self, if he sprinkles salt or pepper or any condiment for that matter anywhere on your skin, run like hell and get out of here!) 

No, no.... It's not over yet!! Most women would end the night right there out of pure lack of interest or insanity due to his antics, but I thought there was still something to be unveiled about this guy. We met up one more time, again with my friends for safety purposes. I finally got to meet his roommate and the roomies' girlfriend, who seemed completely normal compared to this wisecracker. After a drink, and already feeling the need to ditch Joe, I turn my head to a complete surprise! Remember I am not at Cirque du Soleil here, but Joe is making his way to the floor to perform a trick for us. The SPLITS!! In a BAR!!! Not only was it a bar that will ruin your pants with party gravy, broken glass and potentially someone's dinner on the floor. Never mind that. I have to seriously question any guy who does gymnastics this day in age. Before I could applaud him for being able to touch his "assets" to the floor, I made my way to the bathroom to plan my escape route. That was his grand finale in my book! 

A few suggestions for those unattached men (and even women) out there:

1. Never perform acrobatic stunts in public areas, unless you truly are a clown or in the Olympics.
2. Don't fake accents.
3. Nibbling on arms of someone you barely know is creepy enough, especially if they explain their past family heritage consists of eating body parts.

Please feel free to make comments, suggestions or tell your own personal stories to Ali at aashton@armadamag.com.

Thanks,
Ali ;)