Dating is Blind

Last Friday, I posted the question of the day about blind dates. Of course, my questions are sometimes out of nowhere and me just being curious or nosey, but sometimes they are based on my own personal situations. I had been summoned by a good friend to go on a blind date with a guy friend of hers. This particular friend, Susan, is one of my most fun friends I have. She's quirky and crazy and insanely a blast to be with. I think she feels the same way about me and our wild nights are always the best. BUT when Susan said she wanted to hook me up, my first thought was this guy had to be equally crazy and one thing I'm desperately trying to abstain from in my life is craziness. In fact, I have done a major 180 and have abstained period for almost a month. Do not laugh at me. That's a long time, sadly. Anyway, Susan thinks this is the best idea she's had since 2002, which is okay because works for a hedge fund and I bet her ideas get pretty boring. Far be it for me to stunt her imagination, so I asked her a few questions about said friend. I didn't say yes, but she took the questions as a confirmation that I was going on the date, which I wasn't sure I wasn't, but also knew I probably would. I figured, if anything, it'll be fodder for the blog. We all know I've barely had anything to say lately, probably because I'm abstaining, which means I'm sitting at home watching dust settle (on my vagina).

Susan described him in language she knew would make me stop pussy-footing around and just say yes to the date. He's about 6'3, dark skin, loads of tattoos, plays basketball, dark hair, really nice guy. I blacked out after loads of tattoos, honestly. I was sooo in, but I asked more questions. What did he do for a living? Where did he live? Was he married (you have to ask these things because so many are okay with it if you are)? Where'd he go to school? On the last question, Susan hemmed and hawed before announcing that he went to school with me! I instantly recoiled, renigged, indian-gave, whatever. I'm not going. I probably know this dude. No, negative, sorry tattoos, I'm out. Last I need is a blind date with someone who I've SEEN before, which kind of negates the whole point. And what if it's terrible, as many people say blind dates are, and then I have to see him at Homecomings or mutual friended parties. Nope. That's a set up for a lifetime of awkward and I can provide that on my own, thank you. Susan pressed on, stressing that I probably didn't know him at all, and I should just buck up and go. I told her I'd think about it, which was synonymous with when you'd ask your parents if you could please please please get that pony from Jessica's birthday party last weekend and they said they'd think about it.

A day later, the ever persistent Susan, called and asked what time I wanted to meet for my date. I told her I'd never said yes, which she ignored and said, "You know you're going to go so just stop the act." I thought about it for a little bit and decided she was right. It could be a huge laugh and a great story for the blog. I love using the blog to blame for my shenanigans. So, 9 o'clock at night, the following evening, I was going out with Rob.

We met at a popular sports bar, which turned out to be the smartest thing considering how into sports I am. It ended up being a huge topic of conversation. Susan told Rob what I'd be wearing, a pair of black boots, a new pair of black suede, high end, peep toe, platform heeled boots to be specific-they're amazing-so when a deep voice said over my shoulder, "Nice boots." I knew when I turned around I'd be in for a huge cringe or a big laugh. I whirled around, and there stood Rob. Rob, who I'd made out with sophomore year at a drunkard frat party, but never really spoke to again. Rob, reached out to shake my hand and introduced himself. I almost choked, but somehow managed to giggle girlishly and say my own name to which Rob laughed and said, "I know, come on." So, we realized we knew each other, great, and it didn't seem weird. We laughed about Susan's idea of a "blind date," and found a spot to sit and watch some Monday night football.

The conversation was effortless, we knew a lot of the same people, we talked about what we'd both been up to since our make out and graduation, and generally had a good time. There were flags in the conversation that eluded to more time spent together, and I felt really nice with all his compliments on my pretty skin, gorgeous legs, etc. I could get used to that for real. We shut the bar down and when our server meandered by for the seventh time, we knew it was time to put him out of his misery and leave. He walked me to my car, opened my door, said he'd had a great time, we should do it again, hugged me and went to hop in his ride: black, rimmed out, dope Charger. Damnit. A nice thug. Exactly what I need right now.

The next day, I purposely didn't call Susan. I knew she'd been sitting by her phone salivating, waiting for our report, so when she finally called around lunch, I wasn't shocked by her exasperated, "OMG, what happened? How was it? Start from the beginning!" I gave her a brief rundown. Told her I thought he was nice, I didn't have crazy butterflies, but it was a solid first date and if he called, I'd go out with him again. I could live with butterflies for a while, they make you sick anyway. Susan was thoroughly excited, but I made her swear she wouldn't divulge my thoughts on him to Rob. She said she wouldn't. A few hours later, she hit me again saying, "Rob said he really liked you. I gave him your number. He wants to hang out again."

I'm not terribly shocked. After all, I'm an attractive girl with pretty hair, I drink beer, love sports, am articulate, and crack people up. Why am I not married again? Oh, right, because I said no. So, anyway, Rob has my number and now comes the fun parts: waiting for him to call and staying abstinent while in the company of all those tattoos once he does.

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins