Blind-Date from Hell
Monday, September 10, 2007
On Friday night, I just wanted to go home and relax. But stupidly, I’d let my friend Jew talk me into going on a blind date with a friend of hers.
We’d been at Happy Hour on Tuesday night, and she’d been asking me about my love life. And I explained to her that I was happy being single and, while I wanted to be in a relationship again, it had to be right. With somebody I got to know well and took my time with. And I was in no hurry about it.
Jew stated that she had the perfect person for me, and would I be interested in having a drink with her friend sometime soon? I said thanks, but that I’d pass. I hate blind dates. In fact, if you’re wondering why I’m referring to what eventually happened this past Friday as the second worst date ever, it’s because the most awful one that I've ever had was also a blind date. It took place about 3 years ago, and was just miserable. I’ll post it sometime, because, if nothing else, it really is a hilarious story. But now is not the time.
But Jew would not be deterred. And since she’s a good friend and I was under the influence of a few vodka and tonics with lime, I caved. I said I’d be working late on Friday, but that I could meet for a quick drink. I rattled off the name of a low key wine bar near work, and said she should have her friend email me. Which is what happened on Wednesday. I exchanged a few brief emails with Jew’s friend and said we could grab one quick glass of wine on Friday night. The reply came back agreeing that would be fine, since she’d be at a Fashion Week party until about 10:00 p.m., anyway.
Now, maybe you’ve been on dates before where you didn’t want to go in the first place. But you went because a close friend talked you into it while you were drunk. Honestly, Friday I just wanted to lounge around and watch a movie. But I found myself in a very crowded midtown wine bar, nursing a lovely Sicilian red as I waited for Jew’s friend to show up. And I thoroughly ignored the nasty looks from people eying the empty stool beside me at the bar that I was saving for my date as I tried to stay awake.Jew’s friend eventually showed up. And not only was she already hammered, but she was dressed in an outfit that was completely inappropriate for anything other than a leather fetish party. And it was seriously revealing. And totally out of place for this establishment.
But I told myself that, OK, she’s just come from a Fashion Week party so I should give her the benefit of the doubt.And then we began to chat. Or, rather, she began to chat for about an hour and a half and I would occasionally try to answer a question when she’d pretend to be interested in what I thought about something or about my background. For example, she went on for about twenty minutes about what a great cook she was and seemed to list every single recipe she’s capable of making.
I was thinking about tennis. And tennis - only. And what a great guitarist Johnny Marr had been with the Smiths. And how I hadn't been to see a movie in an actual cinema in a while. And so on.But jew’s friend finally asked me what kinds of foods I liked, and I began to answer and then she interrupted me and went on and on about fifty other things for an eternity. And she reiterated that she liked to cook in a very suggestive way. I guess the implication was that if I were to date her, she’d cook for me a lot. But spending time in a kitchen with this woman seemed like a fate more horrible than I’d wish on anybody other than Tango. And even then I wasn’t sure.
So, I’ll spare you the details. She just talked forever and ever. And I watched her with what was probably a look of utter boredom. And I don’t think I have to tell you that there’s nothing I enjoy more than a good conversation. I like getting to know people. But this was so insanely one sided.
Finally, at 11:30 p.m., I couldn’t take it anymore. I lied and said I had to be up early to... well, I just had to be up early. Being a gentle-lady, I paid for the drinks anyway. With cash, so we wouldn’t have to wait for the overworked bartender to run my card. And then outside I stupidly lit a cigarette, because Jew’s friend bummed one from me. So I was trapped for another ten minutes. And then she asked me if I wanted to get one more drink. Or if she could come home with me to meet my new kitten.
I was tempted to tell her that the Cat had rabies and that he might attack her if she came over, but I didn’t want to besmirch his reputation like that. I just said that it wasn’t a good night, and put her in a cab without promising to call her again. Because I never, ever will.
Even if there’s a major snowstorm and she has the only supply of canned goods in NYC.
It just wouldn’t be worth it to survive a natural disaster under those circumstances.
We’d been at Happy Hour on Tuesday night, and she’d been asking me about my love life. And I explained to her that I was happy being single and, while I wanted to be in a relationship again, it had to be right. With somebody I got to know well and took my time with. And I was in no hurry about it.
Jew stated that she had the perfect person for me, and would I be interested in having a drink with her friend sometime soon? I said thanks, but that I’d pass. I hate blind dates. In fact, if you’re wondering why I’m referring to what eventually happened this past Friday as the second worst date ever, it’s because the most awful one that I've ever had was also a blind date. It took place about 3 years ago, and was just miserable. I’ll post it sometime, because, if nothing else, it really is a hilarious story. But now is not the time.
But Jew would not be deterred. And since she’s a good friend and I was under the influence of a few vodka and tonics with lime, I caved. I said I’d be working late on Friday, but that I could meet for a quick drink. I rattled off the name of a low key wine bar near work, and said she should have her friend email me. Which is what happened on Wednesday. I exchanged a few brief emails with Jew’s friend and said we could grab one quick glass of wine on Friday night. The reply came back agreeing that would be fine, since she’d be at a Fashion Week party until about 10:00 p.m., anyway.
Now, maybe you’ve been on dates before where you didn’t want to go in the first place. But you went because a close friend talked you into it while you were drunk. Honestly, Friday I just wanted to lounge around and watch a movie. But I found myself in a very crowded midtown wine bar, nursing a lovely Sicilian red as I waited for Jew’s friend to show up. And I thoroughly ignored the nasty looks from people eying the empty stool beside me at the bar that I was saving for my date as I tried to stay awake.Jew’s friend eventually showed up. And not only was she already hammered, but she was dressed in an outfit that was completely inappropriate for anything other than a leather fetish party. And it was seriously revealing. And totally out of place for this establishment.
But I told myself that, OK, she’s just come from a Fashion Week party so I should give her the benefit of the doubt.And then we began to chat. Or, rather, she began to chat for about an hour and a half and I would occasionally try to answer a question when she’d pretend to be interested in what I thought about something or about my background. For example, she went on for about twenty minutes about what a great cook she was and seemed to list every single recipe she’s capable of making.
I was thinking about tennis. And tennis - only. And what a great guitarist Johnny Marr had been with the Smiths. And how I hadn't been to see a movie in an actual cinema in a while. And so on.But jew’s friend finally asked me what kinds of foods I liked, and I began to answer and then she interrupted me and went on and on about fifty other things for an eternity. And she reiterated that she liked to cook in a very suggestive way. I guess the implication was that if I were to date her, she’d cook for me a lot. But spending time in a kitchen with this woman seemed like a fate more horrible than I’d wish on anybody other than Tango. And even then I wasn’t sure.
So, I’ll spare you the details. She just talked forever and ever. And I watched her with what was probably a look of utter boredom. And I don’t think I have to tell you that there’s nothing I enjoy more than a good conversation. I like getting to know people. But this was so insanely one sided.
Finally, at 11:30 p.m., I couldn’t take it anymore. I lied and said I had to be up early to... well, I just had to be up early. Being a gentle-lady, I paid for the drinks anyway. With cash, so we wouldn’t have to wait for the overworked bartender to run my card. And then outside I stupidly lit a cigarette, because Jew’s friend bummed one from me. So I was trapped for another ten minutes. And then she asked me if I wanted to get one more drink. Or if she could come home with me to meet my new kitten.
I was tempted to tell her that the Cat had rabies and that he might attack her if she came over, but I didn’t want to besmirch his reputation like that. I just said that it wasn’t a good night, and put her in a cab without promising to call her again. Because I never, ever will.
Even if there’s a major snowstorm and she has the only supply of canned goods in NYC.
It just wouldn’t be worth it to survive a natural disaster under those circumstances.
haha. good story. I think I have had one or two dates like that.
and I liked the fact you used the word besmirch no one really uses it anymore.