1) My hair always looks good
2) I always pay for dinner – regardless of whether or not I’m getting laid at the end of the night.
3) I try to go out of my way to surprise whatever young lady I’m taking out with some kind of corny gift -- be it flowers, candy, or some other kind of funny inside joke.
Despite those facts, not every date I’ve ever been on is perfect. This is one of those stories.
One night about five years ago, I was out celebrating the 25th birthday of my former roommate, T-Bone -- a fat, bearded, music video director who loves eating as much as I do. Here’s a cartoon I drew of him. Please notice the flies which depict an overall sense of body odor:
After T-Bone’s birthday dinner, we moved the party to a hip little bar on Hollywood Boulevard called Star Shoes. And it’s called Star Shoes because you can actually go there and buy shoes. That night, I purchased a pair of Nike Air Cross-Trainers.
After the clerk put my sneakers a in bag, I met this lovely young lady who had just transferred to Los Angeles from Wisconsin.
I’m gonna call her Wisconsin, not so much to protect her identity, but more so because I couldn’t remember her name to save my life. The only descriptive thing I remember about her is that she had a thick accent -- kinda like everyone in the movie Fargo. I remember her saying to me, “Oh, you’re a funny one, aren’tcha??”
Anyway, I was hammered on about 15 double vodka-red bulls – which I’ve said before is the equivalent of liquid cocaine because the caffeine keeps you wide awake while the alcohol gets you really, really drunk.
I was acting absolutely drunkenly obnoxious, but for whatever reason Wisconsin thought I was the most irresistible guy in the world. She started making out with me in the bar and she drove me back to my apartment. And I’m 150% positive that she would have come back upstairs with me that night to seal the deal if she didn’t have to drive her stupid roommate back home. Because of that, we made plans to go out later in the week on a date.
Back in those days, I was still trying to overcompensate for not getting laid in high school, so the only thing I wanted out of my date with Wisconsin was another notch on my belt. She was absolutely in love with me the night we met at Star Shoes, so I figured I’d do the same thing on our date that I did that night – get absolutely shit-faced drunk. I mean, if it worked for me last time, why wouldn’t it work on our date?
But before our date, I wanted to buy her a cute little gift to let her know I was a good guy. Since she was new to town, I picked up a Thomas Guide Street Map of Los Angeles which is a must have for any recent Los Angeles transfers.
FYI -- She thought the Thomas Guide was the sweetest gift in the world, and my worst date was off to an amazing start.
We started our date at a cool martini bar called Lola’s where I proceeded to forgo a solid meal in favor of a liquid diet of dirty martinis. After five or six cocktails, I took her to a trendy dive bar on Sunset and Argyle called the Well, where I continued drinking – only now, I was back to drinking my usual vodka Red Bulls. That’s when things start getting a little fuzzy…
I started blacking out a little and I vaguely remember two things. I remember me saying, “What do you mean, we’re not having sex?”, and then I remember her leaving.
The next thing I remember is being in my apartment all by myself. I was still shit faced drunk, but I was no longer blacked out. And to make things really confusing, I had my keys, cell phone, and the Thomas Guide on me, but my wallet was nowhere to be found.
I immediately called Wisconsin to figure out what happened, because at that point I hadn’t yet remembered the whole part about me asking for sex and her leaving. Wisconsin’s roommate kept picking up the phone and saying, “Stop calling her! She doesn’t want to talk to you!”
On a side note, how lame are people from Wisconsin?? Apparently they don’t like it when drunk guys try to have sex with them. And she was so rude, she didn’t even accept my offer to drive her home…
But I had no idea what happened on the date and I needed to know how I ended up home alone, and why my wallet was missing. I also kept yelling to the roommate that I still had the Thomas Guide. Apparently I thought a street map could still get me laid at that point.
After Wisconsin’s roommate hung up on me for the fifty-eighth time, I still had many unanswered questions, so I left my apartment to investigate. Unfortunately I left my keys in my apartment and locked myself out.
And since I was planning on getting laid, my roommate T-Bone was spending the night with his girlfriend in Venice so I could have the apartment all to myself . Fortunately, I still had my cell phone so I called T-Bone and he and his girlfriend were good enough to drive all the way back to Hollywood at 3am just to let my sorry ass inside the apartment.
When T-Bone and his girlfriend finally arrived, I had already managed to stumble inside three different parties going on in my building – including a party that one of my neighbors – a gay dance choreographer was having. I can only imagine the horror those gay dancers felt, when they saw a drunk asshole at the snack table devouring all their sprinkled cupcakes.
Once inside my apartment, T-Bone found my wallet in the corner of the room. Apparently, I was so angry when I walked in, I threw my wallet against the wall in frustration and then immediately forgot that I did that.
The next morning was one of those mornings I woke up feeling like Dr. Bruce Banner after a night of rampaging as the Hulk.
I realized I had behaved like an asshole the night before and I felt horrible. Since I still had Wisconsin’s address from when I picked her up for our date, I thought about mailing the Thomas Guide to her as a free parting gift, but then I realized the last thing she probably wanted was to realize that I still had her address.
And it’s a good thing I didn’t send her the Thomas Guide because now I have one in my car and in my apartment which is very convenient. Besides, I already paid for dinner, and that’s more than enough for a girl who wouldn’t have sex with me…