Firstly, here is a song that you can listen to while you read this post…
Okay. So. I was reminded of something. How terrible I am at dating! Yes. Well, besides being a terrible boyfriend, I suck ass at going on dates. Real dates, anyways. I’m great at sitting in a car and smoking joints and talking for hours. And I’m even pretty great at playing air hockey and fucking in a cheap motel. But real dates, where I’m trying to impress someone… I fail every time.
This also relates to my post last night, about Portland, and why I want to go back there. My worst dates ever have all taken place in that city, and I’d really like to redeem myself sometime. Because there are a ton of amazing women in that city. Now, it is true that there have been a few really good dates. But the bad ones are just fucking retarded, and I want to tell you. And keep in mind: while some of this (MOST of it) is my fault, I think I’ve also been tragically unskilled at picking people to go on dates with.
One time, I let myself be set up on a blind date, by a new friend that I didn’t know very well. The girl’s name was Katarina, and she was a Russian girl who had lived in the midwest for most of her life, recently relocated to Portland. We talked on the phone first, and agreed to meet at a diner we both loved. I said, “how will we know who’s who?” She said, “let’s both wear something crazy.” [Anxiety] “Okay, see you there!” So. I decided to wear a Santa Claus hat. Except, I was insecure and the hat was swinging from my back pocket by the time I arrived. I saw her immediately, however, and she was beautiful. Except. She was wearing a fucking banana suit. Full fucking head-to-toe screaming-bright-yellow banana suit. She was very upset with me from the beginning, for pussying out. We sat down and she ordered a huge meal, I ordered fries and a shake. Everytime I asked her a question, I couldn’t help but stare at the chicken in her teeth as she chewed and chomped and snorted her way through every answer. At some point she said, “I gotta take a shit,” and spent 18 minutes (of course, I timed her) in the bathroom. She was interesting enough, I suppose. I think she was a professional lifeguard and was going to school for writing or something? But I just couldn’t stop thinking about the way she was gorgeous and repulsive at the same time. Basically though, we were doomed before we began. After I walked her home, we hugged briefly and never spoke again.
Lesson learned: Never ask the question, “How will we know who’s who?” Or if you’re stupid enough to ask this question, be damn sure never to put your Santa hat in your back pocket.
I had tickets to go see one of my favorite bands, Animal Collective. I was supposed to go with a friend but this person started a ridiculous fight with me the day before, and so I denied them the right to come to the show. So. I asked a girl named Lindsay that I worked with. She was the hostess at the restaurant part of the rock club I worked at. She was cool, and we were always flirty, and she never charged me for breakfast. She said she hadn’t listened to Animal Collective very much but would love to come anyway. We met at some art gallery she also worked in, and she showed me the far-out installation that was showing at the time. It was way too wild to describe in full, but there was a taxicab, bullets, string, and huge balls of papier machete (fuck you, I can’t spell in French). We went to a bar around the corner for drinks. It was good talking. She was a nice girl, and there was a lot of comfortable eye contact. We drank beers and whiskeys. We then went around the corner to see Animal Collective. This was at a theater (Roseland) and the show was packed PACKED. We ended up standing in the back of the balcony. Where I drank and danced and drank some more. She kind of just stood there like a limp dick. I tried to talk her into having more drinks but she “had to write a paper” when she got home and so she continued to stand there like a limp dick. By the end of the show, we were starving and so we went to another bar for a beer and some pot stickers. I was very drunk, and so I guess I just slurrily raved on about how “I can’t believe I’m eating something that has cabbage in it, I NEVER eat cabbage, this is SOOOO yummy, isn’t this yummy?!” The date ended with my apology for “getting so drunk, but you gotta understand, these guys are my favorite and I never saw them before!” We had a little kiss on the cheek, continued to flirt a bit at work, but never talked to each other outside of Doug Fir ever again.
Lesson learned: No live music on first dates unless the other party is equally fanatical about the band you are seeing.
I don’t have time to keep going on, and I’m sure you don’t have the patience. But. Yes. I am a bad dater. I love weird girls, but I really shouldn’t go out with them. I shouldn’t get stupid drunk on first dates, nor should I stick around while a pretty girl takes an 18-minute crap. Man. I’m thinking now, and I definitely have more on this. I went on a date with a fashion model… hilarity ensued. And I once date-bonded with a girl over dead parents and mystery siblings… ending in the most awkward make-out session of my life. Damn. Maybe I’ll have to do a part two later in the week. I got to go to bed though, I’m a working man now. Six A.M., here I come!
In the meantime, tell me about how bad you are at first dates!