Going on a date in a few hours. If I weren’t slightly hung over I would probably be more excited. Also, I don’t know what I’m going to wear, but he’s really tall so at least that frees up all my shoes as options… Only I don’t have any clean clothes. So it’s underwear and heels… Wait…. Nevermind. I think that’s how pornos happen, and I’m too fat to be in any type of pornography.
Anyway, this guy is someone I met through work (the last time I met someone through work I tried to get a restraining order on him after he broke into my Grandmother’s house…. so this is not promising). After a slew of emails and g-chatting (because I’m employee of the year), we met up on one of those “is this a date or is it just a work meet-up to talk about that legislation I don’t care about?” deals. And naturally, just to be on the safe side, I showed a little extra cleavage… because if we’re being honest, that’s realllyyyy all I’ve got to work with.
So maybe it was my conversational magic, or the fact that my hair has been working with me lately, or my cleavage is really that impressive, but homeboy seems to be pretty interested. Which is nice, and tiring. I’m finding it a little awkward though, because I don’t know how to NOT play some sort of mind-game, and he’s just showing all his cards like it ain’t no thang. I sound like a nutcase.
He’s 33. So we’ll dub him “33.” (Because I’m creative like that). We made out once and he asked what I was doing on Valentine’s Day, and although the correct answer is nothing, I told him “hanging out with my grandma.” Which, in my defense, is not technically a lie sinceI really do have a grandmother and I am hanging out with her on Sunday which is just 24 hours prior. Close enough. But one make out does NOT a Valentine make, and truth be told, I’d rather get drunk with D and our other friends and make fun of our exes. Also, slow your roll buddy.
And to end this awkward blog post, I will add this tip for fellow daters: Always grub before dates 1, 2, or 3. If he picks a restaurant with food that you hate, or is a douche bag and doesn’t make reservations (thanks for planning, fucktard), which both happen wayyyy to regularly for me, you won’t be unpleasant from hunger pains. This way when grumpy-crazy you finally shows her colors, he’s good and surprised.
My brilliance strikes again!
It was less than 24 hours ago that I was sitting in a bar with D, telling her that I officially had nothing to blog about because I had a very close to non-existent love life. Okay, it is non-existent unless you count that guy I make out with sometimes who’s adorable but an absolute idiot. Think Jason Stackhouse (if you watch True Blood), and if you don’t (you suck) think Ken Doll. Anyway… I was fully prepared to take a break from blogging, I didn’t think my mom would miss reading my blathering that much anyway.
And then God felt bad for me (because I’m going to be a cat lady) and stuffed the hours following that conversation full of blogworthy awesomeness that I no doubt will wreck while trying to explain.
I hung out with members of a known biker gang last night. What did YOU do?
I don’t do drugs, or ride motorcycles, or have a history of self-destructive behavior (ish)… but I love A&E and all those shows about people who do any combination of those things. Last night, I got to recreate one of those shows with my new friends Creeper, Tombstone, Jeff and the other ones whose names I don’t remember. (Jeff got kind of screwed as far as the naming went). Tombstone looked like Santa- if Santa had a serious meth problem and an affinity for leather and Creeper was missing a prominent tooth…But it’s cool cuz he had shit tons of tattoos. ON HIS FACE. One of which being a tear drop that I may or may not have stared at the entire time I talked to him.
Because I was thinking what an awesome blog this would be (and because when I drink I don’t think about how ridiculous I am), I took a picture of Tombstone and Little Black on my phone. Then they made me delete it, and show them all the pictures on my phone to make sure I didn’t have any evidence of some of the scariest mother fuckers I’ve ever seen, let alone drank with. And since I have a sincere love of awkward, and a sincere love of people who are bat-shit crazy- last night those two loves met, and gave birth to some awesome conversations. Conversations actually may not be the best word, as a lot of it consisted of me badgering these old dudes about what the patches meant, why he had a tear drop, if he sold drugs, if he’d, “like, ever killed someone”, if they believed in God, what their *real* jobs were, and if they were ever on A&E. Most of the answers consisted of some shocking shit, but some of them were just a scary smile and a “You don’t wanna know, little girl.”
And then D pimped it up and gave her number out like it was on sale and I watched and drank and watched some more. Lesson of this whole thing: biker clubs (the term “biker gang” I’ve learned is actually not very politically correct nowadays) are not blackberry friendly, but aside from that, they’re really quite pleasant.
**Oh yeah, and one of my roommates may have given her number to the youngest one and now I think we’re gonna get stalked because it turns out he’s married and some other stuff so if I stop blogging, I either died or I actually did just run out of shit to say. Good luck figuring that out.**