Flirting 101 - A Guide to 21st Century Dating

Meeting someone new ... we've all been there. No matter how it starts...at a party, or a conversation struck up at the bar, or waving to someone who you think is your Tinder date but ... isn't. You may be feeling eager...nervous, even...but mostly excited over the prospect of finally telling your parents that they can stop offering up novenas at mass for God to send a man into your life. These feelings could be so overwhelming that you completely freeze up and forget the do's and don'ts of flirting, ultimately jeopardizing your chance at happiness and your parents' chance at grandchildren.       

I wanted to share with you my own short list of things not to do and/or mention when flirting with boys. Every example is, of course, and unfortunately, very real and should be self-explanatory as to why none of said dates are currently my boyfriend/fiance/husband. 

1. If he hasn’t already been repelled by what you look like from 10 feet away, that’s a good start! After he introduces himself, just...be normal, OK? That’s all there is to it. There’s plenty of time for jokes later when you’ve already tricked him into being your boyfriend and he can’t escape you. 

Him: Sorry, I couldn’t hear you it’s kind of loud in here! What was your name? 

Me (trying to make myself go cross-eyed): A girl has no name. 

Him: Haha……..what? Are you OK? 

   

No, Andrew. I’m not OK. 


2. If you’ve somehow by the grace of god managed to get a date, here’s your chance to really impress him. Don’t apologize for being late and then proceed to sit down in a hurry and tell him that you weren’t sure how much you were going to eat at dinner so you made a snack beforehand and subsequently burned your mouth inhaling a hot apple turnover…

Honesty isn’t always the best policy, ladies.  

3. If he laughed at the apple turnover story, great. Don’t push your luck and try and outdo yourself by telling him how you always want to order mozzarella sticks if they’re on the menu but you're scared to eat them because one time in the 7th grade you choked on a grilled cheese and your mom had to pull the stringy cheese out from your throat like it was a scene from The Ring…

My Best Friend. My Worst Enemy. 

Not only is this graphic, it's distracting. For the rest of the evening your date is going to have a mental image of your eyes popping out of your head gasping for air and your mom pulling cheese out of your mouth like one of those magicians and their never-ending handkerchief tricks. 

4. I think it goes without saying that you should not try and wow your date with your extensive knowledge of Star Wars, but if you do decide to throw caution to the wind, don't get emotional if he says that Return of the Jedi is better than A New Hope. Visual cues like flared nostrils and a bulging neck vein might scare him. Instead, smile and nod politely versus standing up from your bar stool and shouting in the bar that he is WRONG and to also, maybe, get his facts straight, like how Luke and Leia kissed in Empire Strikes Back NOT A New Hope and how Leia didn't know they were related until the THIRD movie. If he hasn't run for the hills just yet, he will when you try and recover with your spot-on Yoda impression saying “OooOoo. Watch the Movies More You Must. Hermm.”

That...is why you fail. 

5. Your Gollum impression. It's bad enough you look like Gollum, you don't have to sound like him, too. Clearly you haven't learned your lesson from your former Star Wars fiasco. At least Yoda was sagely - full of wise words and advice. Gollum is just a creepy, grotesque little creature. And now, to your date, you are too!! Congratulations on being responsible for your own demise.  

If you’ve somehow managed to control yourself through dinner, there’s hope for you yet. If you're still struggling and need expert advice, I would gladly refer you to my source where I get all my tips and tricks. I highly recommend the audio cassette. 

Good luck and godspeed, soldiers. 

HAPPY FLIRTING! 

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Resurrection

Dearly beloved....

We are gathered here today to resurrect Taco Therapy, the once well-maintained blog of Meghan E. Earnest, covering hot topics such as pizza and my personal dating misfortunes. 

The drought has been long, but your mystical rain dances and prayers have been answered. 

Taco Therapy will rise from the ashes like a phoenix and be reborn with wisdom and strength; a strength that creates light and shines bright enough to help, encourage, and inspire you out of your own darkness. 

*Quote definitely not taken from a random 15 year old girl's Pinterest board entitled "Tat Ideaz?"*

I came to this decision while I was on a flight back from Chicago. I had been there on a business trip for a couple of days and was eager to get home and finish watching Orange is the New Black #TrustNoBitch.

I was already peeved because Chicago deep dish pizza did NOT live up to my expectations and because our plane had not arrived on time, leaving us with no other option but to stand in line for 40 minutes waiting to board the plane. I took comfort in knowing that I had a window seat (prime location for sleeping) and that the flight had booze (prime libation for flirting with what I dreamed would be the handsome businessman sitting next to me). 

Key word: dreamed. 

A family of five was making a ruckus by my seat. All of their seats were scattered throughout the plane and they were trying to get people to switch with them so that they could all sit together. The children weren't infants or toddlers?! I would be more sympathetic if they were young, but they were at least 8 years old and up and fully equipped with Ipads and Upads and whatever other technologies are hot these days, so the fact that this charade was delaying my departure, and perhaps more importantly my booze delivery, was unacceptable. 

It took another 10-15 minutes before the situation was finally sorted out. Naturally I was the lucky passenger who got to sit next to kid #1 of 3. I swear to the old gods and the new that this child came directly from Hades himself. She had a laugh not unlike that of one of those creepy doll horror movies. I was immediately terrified, not only for myself, but for the other passengers, not knowing what our fate might be with Lucifer on board. 

The situation worsened when "Lucy" started leaning over me, her bony little body basically in my lap, so that she could take pictures of our plane.... on the tarmac....not moving....at all. She was applying filters and contorting her body so that she could take the perfect shot at any and all angles that you could possibly imagine. I thought to myself, "What are you, some child prodigy photographer?? What could you POSSIBLY be doing with these pictures?? You by God better be submitting these to National Geographic for some amateur photographer award..."

I wanted to look her dead in the eye and pull the blind down, but I thought that was too mean....even for me. 

Real image I secretly took of Lucy on the plane.

At some point during the trip I thought things were looking up. I had miraculously dozed off and woke up at the EXACT time that the flight attendant was making her snack rounds. She was at our row and everything. Lucy was a little more hype than usual, which I could only assume meant she had gotten into the Fun Dip that her Dad SPECIFICALLY told her not to eat before he fell asleep ... his only sweet release from the warlock to my right. 

Thanks, United. 

Lucy ripped open the bag and spilled her zesty ranch snack mix ALL OVER US. If there was ever a Jesus Take the Wheel moment, this was it. I had the pleasure of flicking cajun corn sticks and ranch soy nuts off my pants, which ultimately left a trace of orange powder on my pants, a residue I am all too familiar with being the nation's #1 Cheeto consumer.

The shade I threw this little girl.....

God took swift action by coming over the speakers to announce we were arriving 10 minutes early. I definitely recall letting out a celebratory "Thank Christ," loud enough for the father to hear in the hope that he would restrain Lucyfer from leaning over/on me for the remainder of the flight. 

No such luck. The Manhattan skyline was unfortunately more alluring than the tarmac back in Chicago, so Lucy gave the finger to the fasten seat belt rule and proceed to photograph her way into my zesty ranch powder-covered lap. 

I basically tripped over myself running off the plane, making myself suspect to the pilot, flight attendant and other passengers, but was willing to embrace my status on the airline's security screening/no-fly list to get as far away as possible from the Family von Freak. 

It was in the Uber ride home that I decided to resurrect Taco Therapy. I hope that you regret my decision as much as I do, but mostly I hope that we can share many more awful and awkward moments together. 

- M

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The Plight of the Pale - My Weekend in Fort Lauderdale, Part 2

DAY 1 - Mistakes Were Made

We arrived at the marina and took a tour of Kathleen and Emily's apartment. The Pittsburgh winter had not been kind, so I welcomed the view of blue skies, palm trees, and luxurious yachts outside of their window.

After settling in, we made our way to the pool to join the rest of the girl squad. Little lizards darted all over the place and I nearly shat myself when one of them lunged from the bushes and landed centimeters away from my exposed, flip-floppy feet.

We joined the rest of the girls around the pool for some much needed sun therapy. Assuming the shade of the palm trees would temporarily protect my pale skin, I dismissed the suntan lotion and dozed off. All I could hear was the sweet sound of Hispanic gardeners shouting about the "chica gorda" laying by the pool. My Spanish is a little rusty, but I think they were calling me pretty.....

When I woke up I knew instantly that I had made a huge mistake. It had only taken me 30 minutes to achieve a full-body sunburn. Nothing says Yankee tourist like splattered burn marks all over your body, and this particular pattern looked as though I was the survivor of some severe house fire.

Hey boys, let me attract you with my double chins and burnt bod!! 

Nevertheless, I wasn't going to let a little sunburn ruin my vacation. As the night drew closer, we prepared drinks and got into our finest Florida-esque outfits. For everyone else that meant crop tops and tight skirts. For me that meant a garbage bag that would cover my whole body.

It was Ladies Night at the bar which meant FREE drinks from 7-12pm. To this day I am not sure how that can be a real thing. After taking advantage of this deal for a few hours, you could say I was juiced up.

Now there are three horrible, horrible things that I do after I've had one drink too many:

1) Adopting accents -- I don't care if you are from England, Jamaica, or Neverland. I will take your accent. I will take your accent but only speak in a male tone. Like, I know there are women from these lands....why I choose not to use a female tone is a mystery we may never solve.

2) I impress everyone with Star Wars trivia and my spot-on Yoda impression. No one asks me to do this...

3) I clear out the dance floor and make sure all eyes are on me. I proceed to wow the crowd with my moves and, on more than one occasion, have held people hostage until I am convinced I am a better dancer than they are. This one wouldn't be so bad if I didn't hurt myself and other people in the process (e.g. karate chopping to the neck).

Together these are a lethal combo. The trifecta of humiliation. A one-stop entertainment center of sorts. To book for birthday parties and bar mitzvahs, please comment below or call 1-800-WTF-MEGH.

Luckily, someone made the observation that there was a FREE henna tattoo artist at the bar that night. Not knowing a thing about henna, I assumed it was a weekend ink kind of deal that would wash off before I had to return to work (This is the second time of the trip that I have "assumed" something).

Deciding to go full-biker mode, I get the largest skull imaginable "tatted" on my arm. "So cool," I thought, "So bad-A." Plus, guys love girls with ink, so let me strategically smear half of what was supposed to be on my arm down my garbage bag outfit while I dazzle you all with my dancing. Really nailing it.

So gnarly. 

Little did I know, henna lasts for approximately 3 weeks. I know this because it is still on my arm as I am writing this. I had a great time explaining to my co-workers that I did not, in fact, grow a horribly disfigured birth mark overnight.

Some time later that night/morning (since the bars are open much later than in Pittsburgh), we corralled our friend Cory who had, in no way shape or form true to her character, gone rogue at some point in the night, and we made our way back home to rest up for Day 2 of our vacation.
   

DAY 2 - SOMEONE FILL ME IN

I have no idea what happened on this day. Literally no idea what happened. My only memory is it being late at night and basically fighting the rest of the group for the lion's share of a microwavable pizza.... 

DAY 3 - THE LAST DAY

Saturday morning I presumably wake up happy having eaten a whole frozen pizza to myself the night before. Flashbacks of me racing to the kitchen to protect/guard the pizza from my fellow friends haunts me to this day.

We caravan back to the beach for another day of blissful relaxation, only stopping once along the way to pick up snacks. Unsatisfied with the choices made by our Snack Committee, I made a secret reserve purchase of Flavor Blast Goldfish to assist me throughout the day as we enjoyed our seemingly endless supply of Mimosas and Margaritas.

We raised our red solo cups in recognition as a couple was married on the beach a few hundred yards away from us. I adjusted my makeshift "towel-frock" to protect my burnt chest and reached for my secret snack. Gone. A wave of panic came over me as I considered the possibilities. Maybe they fell out of the bag and were stranded in the car, all alone. A seagull, perhaps, had swooped down and carried them away.

Betrayal.

I look over at Kathleen, sitting on her towel looking smug, her filthy traitor hands shoved into my bag of Flavor Blast Goldfish. Seconds passed before Nicole reached for the bag and committed the same crime.  

Et tu, Brute?

Betrayal. Their friendship ban will be lifted in 2020.

We decide to make our way down the beach and socialize with the locals and the other youths that were there on SPRANG BRACK (as narrated in Jimmy Fallon's "EW" voice). We choose Fat Tuesdays, the mecca of inebriated tweens, to begin our pilgrimage. For $10 you got a koozie wrapped water bottle that was filled with what can only be referred to as Giggle Juice.

Readers note: assumptions have been made as to whether the Giggle Juice was strictly alcohol and/or a combination of sugar and crack cocaine. Whatever the formula, it is highly unlikely that it is FDA-approved.

Coming down from our Fat Tuesdays 'high,' we decided it was best that we eat, return home, and prepare for our final night out together.  We declared it Nicole's Bachelorette Night and hit the town in search of an epic last night. Knowing that I had a 5AM flight to catch, I was bummed I had to regulate my activity. Nevertheless, we drank, we danced, we (I) polled strangers on which pizza topping is best.

As the night came to an end, Nicole decided to throw an after party in the backseat of our Uber van. She demanded that we drive through McDonald's and ordered enough chicken nuggets to feed a small to medium-sized family. Jackpot. While I applaud everyone's effort to share in the feast, I think it goes without saying that I consumed approximately 65-75% of the nugs. After wiggling my way back into my hole-crotch yoga pants, I bid adieu to my friends and made my way to the airport.

I had arrived in Florida pale and sober. I left hungover, burnt, and with what looked like the mark of Satan on my arm. I'm convinced my Mom prayed the rosary for me after I convinced her it was a real tattoo, but if she didn't, I know she is now after reading this blog.

M

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The Plight of the Pale - My Weekend in Fort Lauderdale, Part 1

THE BEGINNING

It all started as an impulsive purchase at work. It was February in Pittsburgh, so naturally we were all hunkering down for what was likely the fifth snowmageddon we were experiencing this winter. 

"Frick it," I said, and dug around my wallet in search of my credit card, lost among a sea of Taco Bell receipts. 

Hunched over my keyboard and smiling like a maniac, I clicked "confirm" and booked my weekend trip to Fort Lauderdale. Nine girls. Three days. One house. What could go wrong?

PRE-VACATION PREPARATIONS

My weekend vacation was a mere month away and there was so much to do. I needed to buy a bathing suit. I needed to plan out all of the exercising I was never going to do. I needed to prepare and adhere to specific meal plans only to abandon them for 25 cent Wing Nights.  

The night before the trip snuck up on me quickly. I went to Target to gather the remaining essentials with my friend and travel companion, Nicole. 

Chapstick, hand sanitizer, rolaids. Hand me the fanny pack and give me the keys to the mini van.

Nicole bought one of those floppy, white hats to wear on the beach. A classy choice, something you would see Audrey Hepburn or Faye Dunaway wearing. When I showed her MY hat of choice she grimaced and made me put it back on the rack. I'll never forgive her. 

  

Oh say can you see...

FLIGHT TO FLORIDA

I sat at the gate nervously tapping my foot as I always do before flying. I decided that 5 minutes before departure was the perfect time to go to the bathroom. It was there that I discovered I had a hole in the crotch of my yoga pants.

I always choose an aisle seat when flying so that I'm never fully squished next to someone. I found my seat next to a an older gentleman who had his eyes closed. Hoping he wasn't dead, I thrust myself into my seat and with a spell of grumbles and other gargling noises he woke up, eyed me up and down, shifted in his seat, and went back to sleep. Not dead - we were off to a good start. At some point during the flight, the older gentleman decided to questionably use my leg as an arm rest. Was he really sleeping? We'll never know. 

A flight attendant asked me what I wanted to drink. I ordered a Ginger Ale to settle my stomach and also because I am an old person. She came back with a FULL can of soda. Hoping it wasn't a joke, I held onto the can in case she tried to take it back. Not long after that, she returned with a "snack basket" filled with cookies, chips, pretzels, etc. I assumed the snacks were for purchase only, but to my surprise (and very much to my delight) they were free. Naturally I asked for a bag of Doritos. Then something truly bizarre happened. 

She handed me TWO bags of Doritos. Confused, I looked at her to confirm that they were both for me. With my messy bun and crotch-hole pants, I probably looked like a poor Oliver Twist seeing food for the first time. 

Are U 4 realz???

That's when I knew - something had to be wrong with the plane. We weren't going to make it and she was trying to make us all comfortable before we plummeted to our deaths. Things like this don't happen in real life. Maybe in first class they do, but we were Coach and therefore our lives were meaningless. This was just like in Titanic when the orchestra started playing music for the passengers to calm them before the ship snapped in half and everyone drowned.

I waited and waited but nothing happened. The engines didn't fail. We didn't run out of fuel. No colonial women showed up churning butter on the wings of the plane. We landed safely and I made my way to the closest airport bar to release some tension and wait for Nicole to land.

The bartender had just delivered my second Bloody Mary when Nicole called to tell me she had landed and was waiting for me. Staring longingly at my morning cocktail, I knew I had to meet my friend and decided to finish my drink as fast as possible. Travelers gawked at me as I chugged 16oz worth of tomato juice with chunks of horseradish and other spices, pausing only intermittently to bare my teeth and hiss like an angry raccoon when the spices started to burn my throat. It was a real spectacle and I am positive that one of the onlookers reported me to airport authorities for suspicious activity. 

If you SEE something, SAY something.

Like the amazing and offensive champion that I am, I finished my drink and found Nicole. Our friend and hostess for the weekend, Kathleen, picked us up from the airport and we made our way back to her house on the Marina to begin our vacation, or what would later be known as "The Weekend of Self Destruction." 

Stay Tuned for Part 2 of The Plight of the Pale - My Weekend in Fort Lauderdale.

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2015: NEW YEAR, SAME YOU

Another year has come and gone. We've laughed, we've cried, we've been kicked out of McDonalds. The hope of new beginnings and new opportunities still shows on our pale, hungover faces.

Everywhere we look we are bombarded with words like goals, motivation, clean slate, and success. I'm a bigger fan of the articles that use words like "realistic" because they are at least acknowledging that you're 50% committed to your resolution and 50% a piece of crap.

Gym memberships skyrocket -- we trample our own family, friends, and neighbors that have watched us grow up as we fight our way to the only available treadmill.

"Sorry Mrs. Johnson, BETTER LUCK NEXT YEAR!" you squeal in delight as you recognize you can now check "be funnier" off your bucket list. 

Girls all over the U.S. are sitting red-eyed in their beds, their faces lit by the dim glow of their Macbooks as they pin healthy meal plans, bikini body aspirations, and Brazilian booty workouts on their "New Year New You" Pinterest boards. 

"If I don't get a Kim Kardashian body this year I'll die. I'll just die." 

#GetFit #OwnIt #MyYear #LiveLaughLove

Your Facebook newsfeed is covered with inspirational quotes:

"You know all those things you've always wanted to do? You should do them." 

Thanks to the genius who came up with that one.

We chant "NO MORE FAST FOOD" until we suddenly find ourselves sitting in the Taco Bell parking lot at 1am eating a Cheesy Gordita Crunch like it's nobody's business.

We promise ourselves that we're going to be more fiscally responsible. 

"This is the year. This is the year that I don't spend $472 on sweaters for my cat."

But you and I both know that come mid-February, we're all going to abandon our resolutions. We'll be sitting on our couches watching Game of Thrones with a family-sized bag of cheese puffs. Our gym trainers will be looking at their watches wondering if they got the appointment details wrong. But you know the truth. There will be no more workout sessions with "Rod the Bod." As a matter of fact, let's just go ahead and cancel that gym membership all together. You're going to need that extra $30/month going towards your cat's sweater collection. 

Happy New Year from one resolution-breaker to another. 

M

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Halloween: The Origins of Creepy Meg

YO. Let's talk about Halloween. 

It's a magical time of candy and costumes and trickery and candy and Harry Potter and candy. Marathons of scary movies and pumpkin-flavored anything are some of the fabulous perks of this hallowed holiday, but the Big Kahuna for me is that you get to scare the bejesus out of your friends and family for a whole month and blame it on Full Moons, Satan, and the souls of the dead. Fun, right?!?

Sorry Dad, the Devil told me to hide under your bed and pinch your ankles as you're getting ready for work.... 
Whats that? No Dad, Satan doesn't care that I'm 24 years old.....Evil is Evil.  

Between hiding under beds and chasing people around in the dark making my first-class Gollum impression, I would say Halloween is a close runner up for my favorite holiday. With a Blog title such as "Taco Therapy" I don't think I would have to explain to anyone what my favorite holiday is, but for those of you who aren't quick on the uptake I'll settle this once and for all. 

It's Groundhog Day.

I sometimes find myself feeling nostalgic around this time of year and I think of my childhood: haunted houses, hayrides, watching "It's the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown," and trick or treating with my friends. But then I remember things like bobbing for apples and how disgusting of a concept that is and am brought back to reality. I'll stick to my grown up activities like drinking seasonal beer and carving pumpkins (with REAL KNIVES and not that plastic crap).

For all the joy that Halloween brings, it also means stressing over what costume you're going to wear as you're bar hopping or attending a house party. Lucky for you I am a Creative Counselor and have developed this quick and easy survey to determine the appropriate costume to fit your needs.

Take the Meg-o-Matic Halloween Costume Quiz NOW!

 

The possibilities are endless. If you aren't happy with your results, send me a comment and I'll think of something personally for you.  

I would, however, like to note that I am truly appalled at the types of innocent costumes that have been transformed into what is basically female bedroom lingerie. We're talking about taking Disney and Sesame Street characters and turning them into pornographic material.

NOW SETTLE DOWN BOYS. I can tolerate the classic "sexy nurse" and "sexy police officer" costumes. Those have been around forever and aren't going anywhere. But I literally just Googled "Sexy Carrot Costume" and now I understand why terrorists hate us. We as a nation have failed when you can search the words sexy, toilet, and costume and come up with an image of a half naked girl scantily wrapped in Charmin Ultra. Ladies, the boys will love it but you know who doesn't love it? JESUS. 
And your poor mother who is weeping as she scrolls down Facebook wondering where she went wrong and if this all could have been avoided if she would have just let you dress up as Joseph Stalin that one year in 4th grade and eat the sticky candy when you had your braces on. Get your damn clothes on!!!

For the record, I think we all know that this is the type of sexy carrot costume YOURS TRULY would don at a Halloween party. 

Hey honey, ORANGE you glad I look sexy tonight? 

Once I got to the "Sexy Honey Badger" costume I officially gave up on America. Like, come on guys....what in the actual hell. Does anyone KNOW what a honey badger looks like?? It's scary!! There's nothing sexy about a honey badger. It looks like an evil skunk. I'm at a point in my life where if I'm going to look like a rodent, I'm going to look like a rodent, so that costume clearly isn't up my alley. 

Real-life Honey Badger.  Not so sexy now, IS IT GIRLS?!

Whatever your plans may be this Halloween, let's all commit to celebrating responsibly. And by that I mean eating your weight in Butterfingers and Milk Duds. 

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!  

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The 15 Dos and Donts of Going on a First Date

Having had my fair share of first dates, I thought it would be helpful to share some of my insights and very own dos/donts of dating. Ladies, if you have ANY hope of achieving a second date, pay close attention as I'm sure my personal failures could lead to your personal success.

1. Do brush your teeth and make sure that toothpaste residue has been completely removed from your face. 
2. Do not wear a shirt that says 'Senors Rule' and has a Mexican mariachi band playing on it.
3. Do remember to shave your legs so as not to be mistaken for a cat roaming under the table. 
4. Do ask your date questions about themselves. If you're lucky, this will hopefully avoid any and all questions about yourself which could potentially make your date run for the door. 
5. If you have to share information about yourself or your interests, do be honest with your date. For instance, do not tell your date that you love running if you can barely make it to the mailbox without feeling faint. Being invited to run with him will be embarrassing. Very, very embarrassing. 
6. Do look in the mirror before you leave the house. For godsake people, please. If you walk away from this with anything please remember this. You could have pizza stains on your shirt. Or a price-tag. Or both. 
7. Do not decline mozzarella sticks as an appetizer and bring up the story about how in the 7th grade you were choking on an extra-stringy grilled cheese and your mom had to pull the cheese out of your throat with her bare hands. 
8. Do not order BBQ ribs, even if they look and smell delicious. I promise you that you will look like a savage.
9. Do not get defensive and cause a scene over which Star Wars movie is best. Save this for the 3rd or 4th date. Or never. Never would be best. 
10. Do make sure there is actually a straw in your drink before you play mouth games with the air.
11. Do not desperately cry out 'MAN OVERBOARD' if your tater tot falls off your plate and onto the floor. 
12. If he/she asks you what you like to do for fun, do not drop your utensils and make fart noises with your hands. 
13. Do offer to pay even if you know your date is going to pick up the tab. It's a nice gesture and also let's your date know you got monaaaaaayyyyy.

14. If you're unsure about the Goodbye, don't get nervous and high five your date.  

15. And finally do NOT under any circumstances make gun holster gestures with your hands and 'shoot' your date as they are dropping you off....

Ladies, good luck and god speed. 

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