I sat down the last few Sundays and tried to write some blog worthy scribble.
It just wasn't coming to me, so instead of forcing it, I just hit delete and went to sleep.
I have not been struck by inspiration this week, however, instead of trying to harness my wit, I figured I'd just write a true story.
This is what I'd describe as the worst 'date' I've ever been on. That makes it pretty extreme considering I've been on at least 5 dates in my life.
Oh and this was not really a "date" but more of a "hang out session," followed by a "lets stop by her work and make sure there is no chance that I misread her the first time."
You will probably think that some of this is fiction, or at the very least exaggerated.
My ego wishes that you were right, but you are not.
Let's see,
For the sake of this girl's anonymity, her name has been changed. I'll be referring to her as "Satan's sister."
Everything started off peachy.
I had just joined a band, that practiced way out in the suburbs. Somewhere near Barrington, it took me about an hour to drive there for practice.
After our second rehearsal, a friend of the band told us we had to come to this local bar to see "this crazy band with these hot chicks in it."
We went and the bar was more like a big log cabin with 20 ft ceilings. The kind of place that is in Aspen, Colorado.
He was right. There were two hot chicks in the band, and three old dudes in the band. Satan's sister was on drums.
The dudes in the band that I had joined were professional drinkers. I sat at the bar and had shots and beers being demanded of me.
At around 1:30am the band ended, and they mingled with the few people left in the bar.
I tried my best to lay my knick-knack-patty-whacks on Satan's sister.
She said she liked my hair. I said "thanks." Pretty smooth.
Then she left and packed up. Then she came back and asked what my name was.
"It's on!" I thought.
Before leaving, I came up with this little routine about how there's an all-you-can-eat sushi place in Chicago, but you have to have at least two people to be able to order it. She went for it and gave me her number.
I called it the next day. Gotta strike while the iron's hot. (I don't know what that expression means) I prefer, "Gotta iron your shirt while the iron's hot."
Get this, she said she was tired, and was housesitting for her sister, and asked if I wanted to go with her while she walks the dog.
"Walk the dog?" I can decipher your morse code, woman. I went.
Did I mention that my intense hangover took up residency in my ass?
I think the medical term is, Beer Shits.
I told myself not to worry.
We went for a glorious walk. Must've lasted an hour. I had her laughing. She even made eye contact a couple times.
Then we got back to her sister's apartment, and I asked her if I could use the bathroom.
While doing a number one, I sensed a number two. No time for that now, plus this is a tiny apartment, and the noise would be un-hide-able.
I sit on a little couch in the living room, and she comes back from the kitchen and sits on the little couch. This is right around the time I start getting stabbed by number two.
It's like O.J. Simpson is in my bowels.
Finally it's just GO time.
Instead of kissing her, I make a break for the bathroom.
I sit there, aware that the bathroom is about 6 feet from that little couch I was just on.
What wanted to crash like belly flop, I had to try to drop with the silence of an olympic diver.
"Off to a good start, we'll just..."
"Ok, that was a bit loud..."
"Not bad, this is working..."
"Wow, there's no denying that one. That was loud."
About 5 minutes later, I emerge from the bathroom.
Satan's sister seems ready for bed. Not the kind with me in it.
We hug and say good night.
I figure, "well, that wasn't my smoothest operation, but I can recover this, we'll just hang out one more time."
A week goes by and she never returns my call.
She must've lost her phone or been in the hospital.
Just my luck, after band practice in Barrington, the band wants to go get drunk at the bar she plays at. I figure this is my chance to patch things up and I she can get a chance to run up and hug me and tell me how she lost her phone.
Now I'm just gonna cram all the rest of the events into a quick paragraph;
Satan's sister whispers into her bandmate's ear and they look at me the way two secret service agents look at a potential presidential assassin in a crowd. She avoids me at all costs. I finally go up to her when it appears she is wrapping up a conversation with a stranger. Turns out that when I get there, she becomes enthralled by the conversation and I am forced to stand and wait for them to finish while she occasionally glances over. She finally turns to me and lets out a big, fake, "Hey!" Then we have a wickedly awkward 60 second chat, and I squeeze in an apology for our last encounter. She barely remembers it and had probably spent the whole week making passionate love to the guitar player in her band.
I finally get the hint, and tell my buddy that I'll drive him home. I can't find the car keys. For the first time in my life, I locked the keys in the car. My buddy calls his friend to pick him up. It's pouring the rain. I call AAA. They say they'll be there in an hour. It's 1:30am. I am forced to sit in the empty bar waiting for an hour while Satan's sister's band packs up. Many, many awkward glances. Finally I decide that AAA is never coming. I'm in Barrington, IL. An hour drive from my parent's house. I ask the band members if any of them are driving to Chicago. The funny part is that even at that point I pictured Satan's sister offering me a ride and then we end up spending the night together. She gleefully exclaims, "Nope."
By a miracle, the guitar player in her band says, "Yes."
I call everyone I know to ask if I can crash at their apartment. No one answers. it's 3am. By another miracle, Joe calls me back and says he'll leave his door open.
I got dropped off at the Addison exit of the Highway. I assume I'll catch a taxi. It's still pouring the rain.
I start walking. No taxis. Ever.
I ended up walking 3 miles to his house. I'm soaked. I actually spent most of the walk laughing. I felt like I was in a Charlie Chaplin movie.
When I got to Joe's house, his roommate was awake in the basement and he gave me dry clothes and I tossed my wet ones in the dryer.
I had put on my favorite suit coat that night to look my best for Satan's sister.
When I took it out of the dryer the next day, it had shrunk down to the perfect size for Tattoo from 'Fantasy Island'.
'til next time
