Sup fellow homo sapiens?
Now today is surprisingly NOT about getting drunk. Okay, it has some alcohol in it but it isn't quite the Bret Michaels incident of 2010.
No, today I am going to share with you the big one. The story that will forever define my life and is the one story that will be re-told long after I have died. It will be like Troy (me being Achilles of course, duh) and it will be how my name will live forever in Earth's history books.
It is so famous because of how badly it went. And it actually wasn't my fault. For once I was simply a party to the insanity that became this date. Yes, its shocking but true.
Lets get right down to it. It all began with a man. A man who really really REALLY wanted to go on a date with me. How could I refuse such a non-desperate proposal? In fact he called me 10 minutes after I had given him my number. Okay, that's kinda sweet I thought. Then he asked if we could see each other the next night.
Umm sure?
So we planned for the next night. As I often do before dates, I left getting ready until about half an hour before I'm supposed to be going out. He texted me saying he was coming to get me and that was when I decided to drag my ass off the couch and go get dressed. I was already on to the road to success. Then he got lost while trying to find my house. Minor set-back.
Then I heard the roar of a huge truck. He comes flying around the corner in a monster truck. I'm not lying, he could've gone up against The Grave Digger in the ring and probably won. It was so red-neck I almost popped on my trucker hat, pulled out my ripped plaid vest and put on my "Phil for President" shirt (if you don't understand this reference go watch Duck Dynasty then maybe you'll be cool enough to read this blog, but probably even then you won't be nearly as cool as millionaire rednecks). Ooookay. I mustered up all the "don't say a God Damn word about how awful his truck and how he is clearly compensating for his very small.......... income". I considered how I could possibly get in this baby. Did he happen to have a grappling hook and harness or was I just expected to step in? Well in my normal fashion I did a combination of jump/fall into the truck. Graceful.
Then we headed for a classy establishment, a place he picked. Good I thought. I can look past this truck debacle if he enjoys classy places. We arrived and instantly it was like something snapped inside of his head. I'm not really sure if he's just really bad at first dates or he is just fucking awkward. But it started with me prying information out of him. Fine. I could listen to how he liked soccer and had some shitty business which made him money. Blah, blah, take a long swing of beer, blah, blah repeat. By the time he had finished talking about himself I had ordered my third beer. He had barely made it through half of his first. Thank god for whoever made alcohol.
Then, came the turning point in the date. At this point I was already envisioning my escape. Could I pretend I was allergic to my laundry detergent? How do you act out an epileptic fit? Can you even have an epileptic fit from laundry detergent? But then he dropped some news which would set the tone of the rest of the night. Out of no where, and I mean we weren't even on this subject. He just tossed out this nugget of info and he in no way tried to sugar coat it
"I have two kids"
Pardon? Did I just hear that? No it can't be true I convinced myself. But as if this statement wasn't shock factor enough he decided to SHOW ME PICTURES. I felt transported to some weird parallel universe. I was sitting here, on a first date, looking at pictures of two kids. Where the fuck was I? Had I aged 20 years in an hour? To be honest with how this date was going, I couldn't possibly have been surprised anymore (I was so very wrong). I always wanted to be on Punk'd. It was when the cameras didn't appear that I realized that this was actually just my life.
Now I played it off like "No biggie! I'm a young girl. I have no idea why you think this would work at all and I have no intention of becoming a mama! hahahah!" Wow, beer is so helpful in this situation. I clutched my glass as though it was the last solace of sanity I had. I thought, okay that's his bag of toenails. No big deal. But it didn't end there.
Without much prompting (and I mean none, literally, I could barely get a word in edgewise with this guy) he all of a sudden dove into the story about his baby mama. I'm going to skip some parts because it isn't my story to tell but I'm going to summarize what he told me. She got pregnant, he broke up with her, he came back after she had the baby (they didn't get back together. He was adamant on this) but then he felt sorry for her so he slept with her. Now I apologize to my mom for what happened next but keep in mind I was only party to his absolute insanity. He described in detail the night it happened. I'm pretty sure I had drained my beer and was now on my fourth or fifth. Why in gods name do I have to re-live this with you? Preferably I would like to miss the contraception of every child, including my own. I have no desire to go over in detail how a child was made with some guy who drives monster trucks and hates iphones. Now after he told me that he had decided to sleep with her, he followed it up with "I don't know how it happened! I didn't even come inside of her!"
Ho. Ly. Shit.
It was at this point I had a choice. I could've gotten up and left (smart choice) or I could've stayed, had more beer and just get so drunk that I would forget all this had ever happened. But I knew that after that story there was no returning to normal life.
So we finished up our beers. Salvation! As we got up to leave I prayed to God. Mumbled some incantations. Considered my ability to make a sacrifice to Zeus. I tried to remember how Supernatural taught me to make a deal with the devil. But every spiritual being laughed at me as I walked out of the bar, waving goodbye to my dignity.
We strolled down the street and decided to stop into another pub. Now this pub was a heck of a lot louder than the last one. Good, I thought. Maybe he'll shut up about his kids and I can enjoy my liquor in peace. Not the case my friends.
When we finally found a place to sit, he offered to go get the drinks. But then he told me I was paying for them. You had better be shitting me. I don't mind paying for drinks. Seriously. 99.9% I'm happy to pay. After I offer to pay or if you're low on cash or if you've already paid for several things or if we've agreed to split. I don't know, I'm not sure of social protocol sometimes but I think most normal people act the same way. But if you look at me expectantly telling me I'm paying I damn sure am not going to want to pay. Fine, I handed him a $20 and shooed him away.
Now, various random things happened within the next hour or two. I ran into a friend of mine, he talked more about his ex, I drank 2 more drinks, he bitched about technology and his ex. And so on and so forth until the band finished playing and they started pushing people out.
Dear god, thank you for letting this night end! I started walking out towards the door, my excitement of getting the f outta there was written all over my face. But then, cruel fate, that saucy mistress, once again slapped my ass and pushed me back into the ring for round 3.
"Let's go to the club!" Uggh. Damn it. They are still open. I don't even think I nodded, just a grimace. I followed him to the club.
Can I get the strongest drink you can pour? Straight whiskey? Yup. Make that dos por favor.
Now I figured, this guy cannot throw any more shit my way. There must a limit on dates to how much stupidity you can endure from one person. I had reached that limit for sure. So I drank. I sat watching people dance to shitty club music. He was talking at me, but I used the music as an excuse to every so often say "WHAT!? SORRY I CAN'T HEAR!"
After I'd bought us several drinks, and not just beer. I'm talking fucking highballs. With all their expensive liquor and mixy things and whatnot. But hey, no bigs.
As the bad music played on like a sad soundtrack to the sick comedy that is my life, he leaned in real close. I thought "oh shit here comes another pearl of wisdom from this douchecanoe" What he did sealed the deal on this beaut of a date.
He slid his hand over my bum and whispered ever so enchantingly in my ear "how do you feel about anal sex?"
Now, I don't want to say one way to get down is better then another but, often this kind of "conversation" happens once you've been dating for at least a month. And even then, that's probably to soon.
I don't even think I responded. I gave him a look and said, "I think I'm ready to go home." My drunk brain was like "RUN BITCH RUN. TAKE THE BEER AND RUN LIKE THE WIND."
Now he ordered one of those services that will pick you up in your own vehicle and another driver will follow behind in a different vehicle. As we piled into his ugly beast, he pushed me in between himself and the old lady driving. God, why do you laugh at me?
He turned up the music (which by the way was country...quel suprise) and started singing in my ear. Then I went to turn my head and laugh at him (natural response) and he took this as a sign to make his big move. He stuck his tongue right down my throat. No holding back.
Seriously bro? Right here? Umm no thanks.
After what seemed like the Odyssey we finally reached my house. I bounced right out (and by that I mean fell/wedgied myself/broke my ankle). He went in for the smooch and I pushed him away. He took this as "Please come into my house" because he locked his truck and the lady started leaving.
"Oh no, you get back in that truck and take him home"
Moral of the Story:
Is there one? Pretty much all I got from this night was that once you have two kids by accident you resort to some pretty serious contraception efforts.
Seriously what the fuck just happened?
Now today is surprisingly NOT about getting drunk. Okay, it has some alcohol in it but it isn't quite the Bret Michaels incident of 2010.
No, today I am going to share with you the big one. The story that will forever define my life and is the one story that will be re-told long after I have died. It will be like Troy (me being Achilles of course, duh) and it will be how my name will live forever in Earth's history books.
It is so famous because of how badly it went. And it actually wasn't my fault. For once I was simply a party to the insanity that became this date. Yes, its shocking but true.
Lets get right down to it. It all began with a man. A man who really really REALLY wanted to go on a date with me. How could I refuse such a non-desperate proposal? In fact he called me 10 minutes after I had given him my number. Okay, that's kinda sweet I thought. Then he asked if we could see each other the next night.
Umm sure?
So we planned for the next night. As I often do before dates, I left getting ready until about half an hour before I'm supposed to be going out. He texted me saying he was coming to get me and that was when I decided to drag my ass off the couch and go get dressed. I was already on to the road to success. Then he got lost while trying to find my house. Minor set-back.
Then I heard the roar of a huge truck. He comes flying around the corner in a monster truck. I'm not lying, he could've gone up against The Grave Digger in the ring and probably won. It was so red-neck I almost popped on my trucker hat, pulled out my ripped plaid vest and put on my "Phil for President" shirt (if you don't understand this reference go watch Duck Dynasty then maybe you'll be cool enough to read this blog, but probably even then you won't be nearly as cool as millionaire rednecks). Ooookay. I mustered up all the "don't say a God Damn word about how awful his truck and how he is clearly compensating for his very small.......... income". I considered how I could possibly get in this baby. Did he happen to have a grappling hook and harness or was I just expected to step in? Well in my normal fashion I did a combination of jump/fall into the truck. Graceful.
Then we headed for a classy establishment, a place he picked. Good I thought. I can look past this truck debacle if he enjoys classy places. We arrived and instantly it was like something snapped inside of his head. I'm not really sure if he's just really bad at first dates or he is just fucking awkward. But it started with me prying information out of him. Fine. I could listen to how he liked soccer and had some shitty business which made him money. Blah, blah, take a long swing of beer, blah, blah repeat. By the time he had finished talking about himself I had ordered my third beer. He had barely made it through half of his first. Thank god for whoever made alcohol.
Then, came the turning point in the date. At this point I was already envisioning my escape. Could I pretend I was allergic to my laundry detergent? How do you act out an epileptic fit? Can you even have an epileptic fit from laundry detergent? But then he dropped some news which would set the tone of the rest of the night. Out of no where, and I mean we weren't even on this subject. He just tossed out this nugget of info and he in no way tried to sugar coat it
"I have two kids"
Pardon? Did I just hear that? No it can't be true I convinced myself. But as if this statement wasn't shock factor enough he decided to SHOW ME PICTURES. I felt transported to some weird parallel universe. I was sitting here, on a first date, looking at pictures of two kids. Where the fuck was I? Had I aged 20 years in an hour? To be honest with how this date was going, I couldn't possibly have been surprised anymore (I was so very wrong). I always wanted to be on Punk'd. It was when the cameras didn't appear that I realized that this was actually just my life.
Now I played it off like "No biggie! I'm a young girl. I have no idea why you think this would work at all and I have no intention of becoming a mama! hahahah!" Wow, beer is so helpful in this situation. I clutched my glass as though it was the last solace of sanity I had. I thought, okay that's his bag of toenails. No big deal. But it didn't end there.
Without much prompting (and I mean none, literally, I could barely get a word in edgewise with this guy) he all of a sudden dove into the story about his baby mama. I'm going to skip some parts because it isn't my story to tell but I'm going to summarize what he told me. She got pregnant, he broke up with her, he came back after she had the baby (they didn't get back together. He was adamant on this) but then he felt sorry for her so he slept with her. Now I apologize to my mom for what happened next but keep in mind I was only party to his absolute insanity. He described in detail the night it happened. I'm pretty sure I had drained my beer and was now on my fourth or fifth. Why in gods name do I have to re-live this with you? Preferably I would like to miss the contraception of every child, including my own. I have no desire to go over in detail how a child was made with some guy who drives monster trucks and hates iphones. Now after he told me that he had decided to sleep with her, he followed it up with "I don't know how it happened! I didn't even come inside of her!"
Ho. Ly. Shit.
It was at this point I had a choice. I could've gotten up and left (smart choice) or I could've stayed, had more beer and just get so drunk that I would forget all this had ever happened. But I knew that after that story there was no returning to normal life.
So we finished up our beers. Salvation! As we got up to leave I prayed to God. Mumbled some incantations. Considered my ability to make a sacrifice to Zeus. I tried to remember how Supernatural taught me to make a deal with the devil. But every spiritual being laughed at me as I walked out of the bar, waving goodbye to my dignity.
We strolled down the street and decided to stop into another pub. Now this pub was a heck of a lot louder than the last one. Good, I thought. Maybe he'll shut up about his kids and I can enjoy my liquor in peace. Not the case my friends.
When we finally found a place to sit, he offered to go get the drinks. But then he told me I was paying for them. You had better be shitting me. I don't mind paying for drinks. Seriously. 99.9% I'm happy to pay. After I offer to pay or if you're low on cash or if you've already paid for several things or if we've agreed to split. I don't know, I'm not sure of social protocol sometimes but I think most normal people act the same way. But if you look at me expectantly telling me I'm paying I damn sure am not going to want to pay. Fine, I handed him a $20 and shooed him away.
Now, various random things happened within the next hour or two. I ran into a friend of mine, he talked more about his ex, I drank 2 more drinks, he bitched about technology and his ex. And so on and so forth until the band finished playing and they started pushing people out.
Dear god, thank you for letting this night end! I started walking out towards the door, my excitement of getting the f outta there was written all over my face. But then, cruel fate, that saucy mistress, once again slapped my ass and pushed me back into the ring for round 3.
"Let's go to the club!" Uggh. Damn it. They are still open. I don't even think I nodded, just a grimace. I followed him to the club.
Can I get the strongest drink you can pour? Straight whiskey? Yup. Make that dos por favor.
Now I figured, this guy cannot throw any more shit my way. There must a limit on dates to how much stupidity you can endure from one person. I had reached that limit for sure. So I drank. I sat watching people dance to shitty club music. He was talking at me, but I used the music as an excuse to every so often say "WHAT!? SORRY I CAN'T HEAR!"
After I'd bought us several drinks, and not just beer. I'm talking fucking highballs. With all their expensive liquor and mixy things and whatnot. But hey, no bigs.
As the bad music played on like a sad soundtrack to the sick comedy that is my life, he leaned in real close. I thought "oh shit here comes another pearl of wisdom from this douchecanoe" What he did sealed the deal on this beaut of a date.
He slid his hand over my bum and whispered ever so enchantingly in my ear "how do you feel about anal sex?"
Now, I don't want to say one way to get down is better then another but, often this kind of "conversation" happens once you've been dating for at least a month. And even then, that's probably to soon.
I don't even think I responded. I gave him a look and said, "I think I'm ready to go home." My drunk brain was like "RUN BITCH RUN. TAKE THE BEER AND RUN LIKE THE WIND."
Now he ordered one of those services that will pick you up in your own vehicle and another driver will follow behind in a different vehicle. As we piled into his ugly beast, he pushed me in between himself and the old lady driving. God, why do you laugh at me?
He turned up the music (which by the way was country...quel suprise) and started singing in my ear. Then I went to turn my head and laugh at him (natural response) and he took this as a sign to make his big move. He stuck his tongue right down my throat. No holding back.
Seriously bro? Right here? Umm no thanks.
After what seemed like the Odyssey we finally reached my house. I bounced right out (and by that I mean fell/wedgied myself/broke my ankle). He went in for the smooch and I pushed him away. He took this as "Please come into my house" because he locked his truck and the lady started leaving.
"Oh no, you get back in that truck and take him home"
Moral of the Story:
Is there one? Pretty much all I got from this night was that once you have two kids by accident you resort to some pretty serious contraception efforts.
Seriously what the fuck just happened?
