The rod up that man's ass has a rod up his ass.

For some reason I don’t date much. (Oh yeah, because I’m not asked OUT on dates.) So, Friday night was a big deal. Friday night: had a date. Turns out that the date wasn't much to speak about but I'm still trying to figure out WHY this guy asked me out. It BAFFLES me. I'm sure it will baffle you, too.

Now, this was my first date in, like, two years. The last guy I went on a “date” with—I’m talking actually meeting up, getting a drink/seeing a movie/making weird small talk/asking questions you would normally not ask someone you just met—was a police detective with a Caribbean accent. I’d spend phone calls saying “What? I’m sorry, what?” He was a nice guy but kind of weirded me out after he left me a voicemail telling me he loved me. That was after a good 6 months or so of not seeing him—just having the really deep, communicative 10-minute phone calls. I'd like to think that I leave an impression but I don’t leave THAT good of an impression.

But I digress . . .

I need to go back a month before I go into the Friday-night date. I go to Chumley’s downtown with Kim and we proceed to get burgers and 4 rounds at a table. Needless to say, I was a happy lady when we went up to the bar to immerse ourselves in firemen. I talk to, oh, let’s call him Friday Night, for what is probably 20 minutes or so and then excuse myself to use the bathroom. He’s not around when I return so I start talking to other firemen. Have I mentioned I had four beers? Well, one of the lovely firemen bought me a Jack & Coke (Yup, 4 beers and then a J&C. I mean I love J&Cs but what the eff?) when I got to the bar SO I was feeling done-and-done at this point. But, as I would, I proceed to let another firefighter buy a beer.

**Breaking in to mention that I am pretty damn bitter on said night due to the Dipshit who shall remain nameless, whom I’d “broken things off with” for the 10th time. I went out to, well, drink. You see, this justifies everything.**

I’m drinking my new beer and decide that I’m irked that Friday Night isn’t trying to talk to me anymore. I give him the eye a few times over the next half hour but let’s just say that my powers of seduction, they weren’t ah-workin’. Kim comes up to me and it is definitely time to leave (read: we’re both drunk) so we go to grab our bags when oh-look-who-it-is Friday Night comes up and puts an arm around me, asking for my number. The conversation goes something like this:


Friday Night: “Can I get your number?”

All class, all the time: “Why?! You haven’t even talked to me for the last hour!” (Said using my Holy Crap, I’m-done-with-bullshit face. I was definitely upset and it had definitely not been an hour.)

Friday Night: “No, no, I’ve been away, I haven’t seen the guys, blah blah blah." (What does this have to do with me?)

All class, all the time: “Whatever.” (Because I’m 14, apparently.)

Friday Night: “Well . . . do you want to take mine instead?”

All class, all the time: “No! I’m not going to use it.” (For the love of God . . .)

Friday Night: “Well, um, well, uh . . .”

All class, all the time: “Oh, give it to me!” (I grab his phone away, angrily push in my phone number, and give it back to him before I turn around and leave.)


I was definitely expecting a phone call.

No I wasn’t.

The next morning I woke up with a migraine. Not just due to the hangover but it didn’t hurt. I laugh at myself for being such a bastard and realize that is one phone call I won’t get. You can imagine my effing surprise when Friday Night calls me a week ago. (That would be THREE weeks since we met.) I’m just sitting at work, all pissed off with life, when my phone rings with a number I don’t recognize. Now, I most certainly don’t pick up numbers that aren’t registered in my phone but for some unknown reason I pick it up—even though I’m completely distracted by the work I’m doing. Conversation goes something like this:


All class, all the time: “Hello.” (I give good greeting.)

Friday Night: “Hey, is this All class, all the time?”

All class, all the time: “Yup. Hi there.” (Waiting for the sales guy to start selling me something.)

Friday Night: “Hey, it’s Friday Night.”

All class, all the time: “Hey, how are you?” (Um, go on with your sales pitch already. Why did I pick up the phone?)

Friday Night: “Pretty good. Just got off from a double shift at the house, Heading home. Blah blah blah.”

All class, all the time: (Why is this person talking to me like I know . . . oh crap, did he say Friday Night? House? Oh good God.) "Wait. Friday Night? Friday Night. Friday Night?"

Friday Night: “Um, yeah. That would be me.”

All class, all the time: (Stunned.) “Huh. Really? Wow. Didn’t think I’d be hearing from you.”

Friday Night: “Why not?”

All class, all the time: (Dumbfounded and pretty sarcastic.) “Um, because it’s been a REALLY long time.”

Friday Night: “Blah blah blah.”

All class, all the time: “Blah blah blah. I’m going to have to call you back later b/c I’m still at work and pretty busy. Blah blah blah.”


Question: What is the length of time you’re supposed to wait before calling someone after getting their number? I’m pretty goddamn sure it’s a lot shorter than 3 weeks.

OK, so, I’ve gotten to the date night. We talk (mostly leave messages for each other) over the next week and we make a date for Friday, to get drinks. Now, I’ve made a decision: get out there. Start dating. Don’t be so quick to run. Blah blah blah. In short: time to move the eff on from Dipshit.

I’m late leaving work, per usual. We made a plan to meet downtown at 7 and I get there 20 minutes late (texting with him to let him know I’m running pretty late—I’m not a mannerless bastard, at least). He’s not there when I show up. Whatever, he said he was running a “few minutes late”, too (few = 20 minutes). (I'm SUCH an asshole for mocking him—I am always late. Always.) I get a beer and decompress.

Date pretty much went downhill from there. I’m now sure that what I took as “quiet and mysterious” at Chumley’s is actually “quiet with nothing to say.” I’m not one to have to fill a silence but aren’t you supposed to talk on a date??? Seriously. I hate small talk as much as the next girl but I felt like I was friggin’ interviewing the guy. Yet, he seemed to have no problem chit-chatting with everyone else around us. The manager, the chick bartender he knew from another bar, the three people he called on his cellphone (no joke), etc. After asking me "So, you dress down for work?" and uttering a response of "Hey! Not cool, man," I think this was the moment when I realized that the two of us just weren’t going to be compatible:


All class, all the time: “Do you know of any good breweries around New York? My sister used to work for one out in Long Island. Blah blah blah.”

Friday Night: “Nah. Not really. Although, Brooklyn Brewery is alright. They’re not too bad.”

All class, all the time: “Oh yeah? Where’s that? Queens??” (wink wink)

Friday Night: “No. Brooklyn.”


Okily dokily then. Done and Done. Night night Friday Night.

Just from this one date, I now know a few things that I can't live without in a guy:
1. Sense. Of. Humor.
2. Ability to hold a conversation.
3. Really friggin' hot.