Wednesday, November 4, 2009

Nikki's Last Blind Date...EVER!

I so do not want to be at work today!

Don't get me wrong. I do generally enjoy my job, but today I'm just not in the mood. I've already had some old man ask me if I was a size zero, which would have been flattering had he not been referring to my bra size. Ouch!

Now, I have another guy, whom I like to refer to as the "Jukebox Jackass"throwing a tantrum because I turned the speakers in the bar down from deafening to normal volume. "Why did you turn the music down," J.J. yells.

I explain to him that several other customers complained that they could not carry on conversations with the music playing so loudly. Most of the other patrons currently at the bar have just gotten off work and stopped in for a drink on the way home. After working eight hours, they do not want to be subjected to the obscure, crappy music J.J. likes to play on the jukebox. I've only been at work half that time and I don't want to hear it. J.J., of course, does not understand my rationale and storms off to sulk in a corner with his beer.

Fine, be a fucking baby. You're cheap anyhow, so I couldn't care less if you're mad at me.

I chat with Chris, one of my regulars, as I finish my third Irish coffee of the day (I'd like to take this moment to thank the nation of Ireland for the wonderful gift that is Jameson). I genuinely like Chris. He is always talks about how much he loves his wife, which is a nice change from most of the married men I encounter who are either cheating on their wives or plotting their deaths.

I explain to him that I have a dinner date after work with a friend of a friend. Chris, who has heard many of my dating disaster stories, smiles and nods politely though his facial expression betrays the fact that he expects to hear another horror story tomorrow. With my track record, I cannot say that I blame him. I am really hoping things go well with this guy. I could certainly use some male companionship because things are starting to look good to me that really shouldn't. Like the bottle of Galliano currently sitting on one of the liquor shelves. It's just the perfect length and shape to fit...

AHHH!!

I so need to get laid.

******************************************************************

I am so not getting laid.

My date sucks ass!

It started out innocuously enough. My date, Chuck, picked me up at home and drove us to a nearby Italian restaurant for dinner. This would have been perfectly normal had he not blasted bad techno music the entire ride. I felt less like I was in a Nissan Maxima and more like I was in a nightclub in Lodi, New Jersey. I half expected him to hand me a couple of glowstcks and an Ecstasy pill.

For the record, no, I do not want to "pump it up" or "put my hands in the air."

Currently, we are having appetizers and struggling for conversation. "So where did you grow up," I ask, hoping to get more that the monosyllabic answers I've received thus far.

"All over," Chuck replies vaguely and continues devouring the bowl of mussels in front of him. Seriously, I have had better conversations with my cat. And, by the way, I'm pretty sure that it was my idea to order the mussels, so why the hell have I not gotten a single one?!

I am silently wishing all of the plagues of the Apocalypse on my idiot friend who set us up, when Chuck speaks again. "Actually, I used to live in the next town over from you."

Happy to finally have something to chat about, I explain that I know the neighboring town pretty well. "What street did you live on?"

"Near the high school."

"Yes, but where?"

"The prison behind the hospital," he replies, nonchalantly.

Check please!

Unsure of the proper etiquette for questioning someone about their time behind bars, I proceed with caution. "Why exactly were you in prison?"

"Drugs," he explains, calmly. "Then I went to rehab for awhile after."

For the record, we all make poor decisions in our lives from time to time. I average about 5-7 bad decisions a week, and probably twice that during the holidays (mmm...egg nog). I can respect someone who has paid their debt to society, cleaned up their act, and is now trying to live a better life.

However, jail time and stints in rehab are not appropriate first date topics of conversation! Discussing these matters serves no purpose other than to frighten your date before they have had a chance to get to know you as a person, rather than an ex-convict.

I excuse myself to go to the restroom, where I call my friend Amy. I leave her a not-so-nice voicemail about her complete lack of matchmaking skills. I also may or may not have threatened to pop her new breast implants with an ice pick.

I return to the table and make up an excuse about being ill. It really is amazing the effect the words 'pus,' blood,' and 'vomit' have on someone about to eat dinner. Especially when you use them all in one sentence.

Chuck the criminal pays the check and returns me to my house, no questions asked. I thank him for a nice (read: bizarre) evening and head inside. As I prepare to go to bed, I realize I do have one regret about this evening.

I never asked him if he'd ever dropped the soap.

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