Sunday, January 9, 2011

Worst Date..... Ever.

This happened a long time ago.  Fortunately, it’s never been beaten, a record to stand for all time.  Delicious epic failness.

I primarily write fiction.  I might take a tidbit of truth and try my darnedest to weave it into something creative, but for the most part, my stuff is fiction.  I really, really, really, REALLY, wish this was fiction.  Sadly, it is true.  It’s so ridiculous, nobody could make this up.

Awesome! She finally said yes!  Well, actually, it’s the first time I asked her, so I guess she didn’t really have a chance to say no before.  I’m glad she said yes, though.  So beautiful.  So funny, and sweet, and lovely eyes.  It’s always been about the face for me.  You could lose your train of... you could lose your train...  Blue/Green. Big. Deep. Consuming. Never accusing.  You could lose your train of thought in those eyes.  Anyways, she said yes, so it’s off to a concert we go!

Two tickets to one of the hottest concerts of the summer at the big outdoor venue.  You know the kind, park and walk, 8 dollar beers, 40 dollar black concert t-shirts.  But we’ll get to that in a few minutes.  There is much more to tell before we get to the concert.....

I pick her up at her place, dressed in my best black shirt, and jeans and boots.  Yeah, if you’re gonna go rawk out, dress the part, people.  Besides, that was my normal attire at that time.  She: faded daisy dukes, cowboy boots, deep tan, and a very form fitting white v-neck t-shirt. Black hair gently blowing in the summer breeze.  It was very hot.  So was she.  I’m really looking forward to this evening.  I’m staring, and having a hard time looking at the traffic in front of me.

Off to dinner, where we have incredibly slow service.  It was stupid slow, the restaurant wasn’t even that busy.  It’s a Tuesday, for chrissakes.  We are dangerously close to needing to leave.  We’ve been done with dinner for 20 minutes, where the hell is our waiter??  We talk and laugh about dine and dash.  This evening is not starting well.  The credit card machine is down?  You’re kidding, right?  Okay, I’ve got cash.  I’ve got enough cash to cover dinner, but now my money for parking is gone.  We’ll go across the street to the gas station and I’ll hit an ATM before we head to the parking lot.

Okay, how long should I sit here before I make an illegal left hand turn to get in line to park?  First date, trying to show I have some ethics, but screw it, we’re late now.  I’ve picked up enough money to get us parked, and a few dollars for a couple of cocktails later.  Tires screeching, and we jump out into the long line of cars. C’mon, people, I’m trying to find a parking space here!  Let’s move it!  Drumming my fingers on the steering wheel, we barrell into an open spot in the grassy lot that is what seems like 10 miles away from the venue.  We can hear loud pounding arena rock pouring out over the back wall of the venue through the open windows of the car.  Pulled in, locked the door, and do the fast walk through the grass towards the gates.  As we reach the gates, I pull out the tickets, and we get our wristbands for booze.  “THANK YOU, GOOD NIGHT!!”  Well, there goes the support act.  Thanks, we just missed the opening act, which was super hot on the charts that month.  Fail.  Now our pace slows, as we realize we’ll see all of the headliner, and that’s a good thing.  That’s why we’re here anyways.  She flashes a flirty smile as we get in the mile long intermission line for our first ice coldie of the evening.  Me, a beer, she, a Long Island.  “That’ll be 700 dollars, bro.”  Excellent. You need a small business loan to attend these things, apparently. And I'm not your BRO.

The lights go down, the band begins, she’s excited with anticipation and squeezes me around the middle. We fight for position near a small ‘satellite stage’ out in the general admission lawn area.  See, we KNOW that the band will come out here for a couple of songs, and we want the best spot possible.  Not long after we find our spot, she says it’s time for a bathroom break. I insist on holding our spot, but she says I need to come with her, so we don’t lose each other in the throngs of concert goers.  She’s right, I think, and oblige.  I push through the crowd as her personal fullback, and she follows close, holding onto my back pocket, as we snake through the drunken rockers.

Back to our spot near the satellite stage.  Well, almost back to the spot we were before.  It seems EVERYONE ELSE out there had the same knowledge that we did...... So we’re much farther back now, and she can’t see over most of the revelers in front.  (She’s so cute and petite) She asks to get on my shoulders, as she’ll have a great vantage point.  I figure I get to touch her legs, and they’ll be wrapped around my head for a few minutes, and well.... Well, that just sounds like all kind of good to me.  Up she goes, and as I straighten up, I hear a POP.  That would be my back going out!  Yeah.  So now, I’ve got my girl up on my shoulders, she’s loving every minute of the band that she can now see clearly.  I’m barely able to stand the stabbing pain, and my vision is blurry.  This is just great.  Bad service, had to pay cash, missed the opener, and now my back goes out.  I barely held out for two full songs.  Two of the longest songs on the playlist, too, I think.  I put her down, and she looks a bit sad.  I don’t blame her, these guys rawk, and I was so liking her up there wrapped around my neck.  But the blinding, shooting pain that cut off feeling to my lower body wasn’t so much fun.  Sorry, princess, but I’d like to be able to walk later; among other things.

We enjoy the rest of the concert, and now begin the long trek back to the car.  “We’re in section V, right?”  “Um, I thought you were looking at the sign when we got out of the car.”  “No, I thought YOU were looking at the sign when we walked out of the lot!!”  Jesus, now we can’t find the car.  Seriously?  Dear God, what did I do to deserve this? Ten minutes of searching, but we find the car.  Oh, there it is.  WITH A FLAT TIRE.  In my rush, making that illegal left hand turn, I must have picked up some glass or a nail in my tire.  Or I hit something while bypassing cars in the grass, I dunno.  It’s flat, and I don’t have a spare in the trunk at the moment.  So flop flop flop off to the gas station, to hopefully get it filled enough to get her home.  Her beautiful eyes are losing their shine now.  More of an empty dead get me home now look about them now.
Bad service, had to pay cash, missed the opener, my back goes out, lose the car, flat tire.

We get the tire filled up, I also get some fix-a-flat for good measure.  My hands are dirty and greasy as I put some gas in the tank for the long quiet ride back to her place.  I didn’t even turn on the radio.  I’m sweaty, dirty, and humiliated.  My back is pounding, throbbing and aching.  As I walk her to the front porch, she turns, smiles, kisses me on the cheek, loosely hugging, and then pats me on the back 4 times.  That’s The Pat of Doom.  Every guy knows it.  It’s 4 pats, signifying each word.... It’s the ‘Your Not Getting Laid’ pat.  Not that I expected to when I set up this date, I was just hoping for a second date for crying out loud!  Okay maybe second base..... She closes the door behind her, and turns out the porch light.  I pause after turning towards my car.  I think I heard laughter.  As I got in the car, I sighed, and realized that I was glad it was over, too.  How could I not?  This was an epic night of stupid stuff.  If she stood near the door, she would have heard me laughing as I drove away.  It was too ridiculous to not laugh.

And that..... That was the Worst Date Ever.

P.S.-- Lisa, if you’re reading..... Call me......


  1. ooooh, i'm sorry! But.... after the back went out you waited TWO WHOLE SONGS before putting her down? i'm definitely laughing at that decision. what a guy!

  2. I did the "four pats" then married the guy.

  3. It's FOUR pats? Are you sure? Well, shit, that's why they keep calling.

  4. Mama, I couldn't move or breath, so I just stood still until I could see straight. That took two songs. Linda, I think you're doing it wrong. Hahahaa And Chrissy? They keep calling because you gave them your REAL number. :-)

  5. Oh, God...this was freakin' hysterical. For me, anyway. I'm glad that even then you were able to laugh about it....'cause it sounds pretty terrible. All the emotions of a first date: humiliation, extreme pain, financial insecurity...sounds about right.

  6. You gotta laugh at this, right? Weeping uncontrollably while driving home is not a good option.

  7. This chick...I don't think I like her. It wasn't your fault about the restaurant service, her bladder causing you to losing your place, or the resulting back injury in trying to rectify said lost place. She sounds about as deep as a puddle of mud, and twice as thick.

    Was that a stupid analogy? I'm not sure. I'll have to check back when I haven't been drinking Tequila.

  8. I dunno if it's a stupid analogy or not. But I can tell you that Puddle of Mudd was not playing that night. :-) Now pass the Quervo.

  9. Well, I'm a little more sober now, and yeah, I'm pretty sure that was a stupid analogy. I blame Mr. Cuervo though. ;-P

    *passes bottle (what's left of it...)*