Another Date Fail

At the mercy of many of my friends, I agreed to a date. It's been months since I've ventured back out into the dating world for fear of many of my past blog posts repeating themselves. This one was different. With the encouragement of friends, and the kind reminders about not wanting to be 40 years old in a rocking chair surrounded by 80 cats (each with individual names of course!), I heeded their advice and agreed to take the waiter's number. Yeah, I said it. He was our waiter at my birthday dinner. He was different, not my type. He was over 30, no kids, college educated, sarcastic, and had a job. Definite positives! On the other hand, he was thin, a big drinker, a heavy smoker, and was "on leave" from his "real" job. Definite negatives. Against my own gut, I agreed to take his number... and MAYBE text him.

I quickly texted him a sparse response, encouraging him to have a good weekend. He seemed to brush it off, which was an initial red flag. Friday turned into Saturday, and I didn't hear anything from him. I sent a text hoping for a response. Instead, I received a battery of one word answers and short phrases that were supposed to hold some substantial meaning in response to my questions. His "substantial meanings" were lost to me. Obviously, I became irritated, and I decided it was in my best interest to throw this fish back before I said or did something that was considered unacceptable. Second red flag.

Sunday arrived, and halfway through the afternoon, he texted me. I was shocked, but I quickly realized that he was grasping for something. He knew I was going to leave and not give him a chance. He bullshitted via text for quite a while, so I finally called his bluff. "Is this your unassertive way of asking me on a date?" I can imagine the deer in headlights look, the shock, and the stammering answer that somehow was formulated into a coherent text. "No I think we should hang out." I shot back, "ok when? I'm free this evening... what do you have going on?" The pressure was on him. I clearly don't do well with the open-ended BS that seems to be acceptable in today's society. I'm more of a straightforward, direct answers kind of person. After a lengthy delay, "I'm in my pajamas watching movies." Classic. Men, if you have an attractive woman (even halfway attractive), who is interested in a date, your pajamas and movies can take a backseat. Just an FYI. I asked, "Ok... some other night?" To my surprise, the response surprised me, "Well we can hang out. Want me to come to your place?" I think I actually may have laughed at this one. A responded with a resounding, "uhhhh NO. I don't exactly feel comfortable with you knowing where I live. How about we meet somewhere halfway?" Keep it neutral and safe. I can't have another wacko learning TOO much about me. "Why don't you just come over to my place." Really? ugh. Not the answer I was hoping for. Reluctantly I agreed. Not that you can ever grasp emotion and feeling via a text, but he clearly did. "If you don't want to come, it's ok. I don't want you to be uncomfortable. I already ate dinner tho so can we just have drinks?" Awesome. I whipped back the best response I had, "I'll come over as long as you don't give me a reason to bust out my self-defense moves and totally kick your ass." I got a laugh and the address. Perfect.

After passing the address along to a couple friends, I headed out to a sketchy part of town. I got lost attempting to find his place, and had to call him for help. Upon arrival, I headed upstairs to his apartment and pushed open the door to find...

A ONE MAN FRATERNITY HOUSE
beer bottles.
beer caps.
6 ashtrays with ash and butts forming mountains.
mismatched furniture.
dirty furniture.
posters of naked women.
bottles of alcohol.
dirt and filth.
internet printouts of boobs and v-jays taped all over the fridge.
dirty dishes.
sheets for curtains.
genuine disorder.

I was dumbfounded. Could this possibly be the abode of a 32 year old? Am I getting punked? I didn't even take my coat off. I slid onto the very edge of the couch in attempt to avoid touching as much filth as possible. "Want something to drink?" I shook my head. I was afraid of he cleanliness of his glasses, as well as his intentions if I were to start drinking. I figured I better cut my loses and stay sober. He poured himself a vodka on the rocks. It's a Sunday night. Alcoholic. I brushed it off and focused my attention on the room. My eyes landed on the coffee table in front of me. Completely sanded down to the wood, the table had become the yearbook of the apartment. A pile of markers lay nearby so that his friends could all draw graphic images and write inappropriate comments. My mind was reeling. Is this all for real? My eyes traveled around the table, taking in image after image until they hit a black box. A black electronic box. I heard myself gasp as I realized the severity of that box. This date could now take an ugly turn. I turned, mouth agape, to face my date. I managed to stammer out, "Why... Why do... Why do you have a taser?!" I think my voice may have even peaked at that point. He grinned and said, "Just in case I made you uncomfortable." Seriously? Every muscle in my body screamed "RUN!" I held on tight and repeated myself. "Why do you have a taser?"

The lightbulb finally turned on. "Oh! Well, my buddies have this awesome rock band, and I go to all of their concerts. One night, I was really wasted and I tried climbing on stage. The security guard didn't know who I was, so he pulled out a taser, threatened me, and then used it. To everyone's surprise, it didn't really effect me, so I kept going and he kept hocking me. My buddies finally helped me out, but I eventually became an opening act for them. I would come up on stage and get shocked all the time. They gave me the taser as a gift. Unfortunately, the shocking didn't last real long before the crowd wanted something else. We decided to have the guys shoot me with a staple gun. Let me tell you, those staples are a bitch to pull out the next morning!" I'm pretty sure the conversation killed out 50 of my brain cells. The stupidity blew my mind. Panic set in. I had to get out before it got any worse. Luckily, his mom called and he answered the phone. In a split second, I grabbed my phone and frantically texted Marty. "OMG Get me out of here!!! Call me in a few minutes with the BEST excuse you can come up with!" I prayed that Marty would see it in time. Without missing a moment, Marty called with an amazing excuse, "My car broke down in this horrible neighborhood! I need you to come and get me, it's not safe here. No one else will pick up! Please help!" I grew frantic, pulled on my gloves, apologized for leaving so soon, and bolted out of that apartment. My date didn't seem surprised.

I quickly rehashed the entire story to Marty who, between bouts of pure laughter, apologized for encouraging the date. He saved my butt regardless, so there is no part of me that is upset or mad. After all, it makes a great addition to my blog. :)