I think I just quit dating.
In case I haven't said this before, I'm obsessive about punctuality. If you tell me something starts at 5, chances are I'm going to be there at least 10 minutes before 5. I'll be hanging out in my car, but I'll be there. You know that if I start a blog off with this particular tidbit, the rest is not going to be pretty. Without further ado, I present the story of Random Guy #2. I know you've been waiting.
This date was doomed from the start. Random Guy #2 said "meet me at the restaurant at 7." Random Guy #2 showed up at 7:30. I was actually in the process of cashing out my bar tab to head home when he comes waltzing in. Seriously, waltzing. Like he had no cares in the world. That should have been the giant neon sign flashing RUN, but...I suddenly realized I was still hungry and if I had to go through the motions of getting ready and sitting at a bar by myself for 30 minutes, then I should at least get a free meal. So, I stayed.
Bad idea.
Halfway through dinner I found myself sitting in the middle of a Letterman Top Ten skit - the "Top Ten Reasons Why You Should Be Über Grateful I Even Showed Up And Am Sitting Across The Table From You, Even If I Was 30 Minutes Late" skit. I think I stopped listening at reason #4 and started creating my grocery list (in my mind of course - I'm not rude enough to pull out a notepad and pen to write things down, although I'm not sure he would have even noticed). THEN I started thinking about all of the things I could have been doing at home, which was yet another bad idea because all I wanted to do then was go home and start the list. (FYI, you know you're getting older when people are talking and all you're thinking about is laundry and dishes) THEN I started trying to figure out ways to pull out my phone and strategically place it under the table so I could at least do something more productive than listen to how wonderful my date was...like update my Facebook status.
Dinner's finally over and I couldn't get out of there any faster (yes, even without dessert). I honestly believe Random Guy #2 owes me 124.6 minutes of my life back, and the meal we had was nowhere near adequate compensation. I briefly considered naming him in this blog as a way to partially recoup my losses, but then the nicer part of me kicked in - plus, who wants to give a narcissist more free press? Either way, I think I may be over this whole dinner date theory.
And Random Guys.
