Dating Dooshes

I have been instructed to introduce myself and my expertise on dooshes: Well I'm good friends with one of the founding bloggers here. I'm a friend from college and he loves to hear my weekly "why do they let me out?" phonecalls. So these are my dating tales: Dating Dooshes 101:

"Worlds Greatest Dad"

I had started a new job and was out on the town with my new work buddies. Hopping bar to bar, having fun. The last bar we frequented was a dive called Oxfords. I’m half asleep at my barstool when a beautiful man approaches me. He sits, we talk. He asks my name. I tell him in my most nasally annoying Rochester accent “Laura”.
Laaaauuurrra, he says in his best European accent. I laugh. He tells me that he really is from Europe, he was an Army brat and grew up in Germany and Italy. I figure he’s just trying to pick me up, so I test it out. “Alright, if you speak German then tell me how to say ‘I love you cheese sandwich’” (for whatever the reason that is the only phrase I know in German). Ish labadish Quesprat (I know that's spelled wrong) He responds. Ok, guess he does speak German. We keep chatting, and eventually became those disgusting people making out at the bar. The bar gets ready to close and all my friends are nowhere to be found. Guy asks if he can walk me home because evidently he lives right around the corner from me. “I don’t know you, I think I’ll be ok on my own”. I’ll buy you a slice from Sal’s. Hmm, drunk food. What the hell. So we walk to Sal’s Pizzeria (nice plug) and get some pizza and commence our stumble home. He goes on and on about how beautiful I am as I’m stuffing my face with garlic pizza. We get half way there and he tells me that we’re right near his house and he needs to stop to use the bathroom, asks if I want to come up. Not only am I a ninja, but I do watch 20/20. I tell him that it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to come up as I don’t know him at all. He assures me, and I check his biceps and realize I could take him if I had to. So we venture up to his apartment. Holy Shit!!! Brown shag carpeting and a living room where futons go to die. Ewww. I immediately tell him that I’m going to continue walking home. He follows, Laaaauuuurrra, I don’t want to walk by yourself, please let me accompany you. Fuck it. So we walk, and finally arrive at my front door. He lets himself in, I fall into the couch and we resurrect our bar making out behavior. So as we’re making out he drops something out of his pocket, bends down to get it…then I see it: The banner on the elastic band of his boxer shorts reads “World’s Greatest Dad”.
I throw him off me at this point, look him dead in the eyes and ask “Do you have children?” Why yes Laaaauuuurrra, I have eight children”. “Get the Fuck out of my apartment!!!” It was just a joke my beautiful Laaauuuurrrra, I have no children. “Are you fucking kidding me? Who goes out on a Friday night with all intention of picking up a woman rocking “World’s Greatest Dad” boxer shorts?” They were on sale at Target. “Get the hell out”. Will you walk me home? “What? You just walked me home! Why don’t you get your army of children to drag you home in their Radio Flyer?”. Literally had to manhandle him out the door. The next day he calls: Laaaaauuurrrra, I can’t wait to see you again, talk to you later, Paolo. First of all his name was Paul! I guess it would have been decent game had he not been some American army brat who could roll his R’s with perfection.