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Re: The Joke Thread (Part 2)
'Live-blogging' a first (and definitely last) date.
This past weekend I somehow scored a date with this chick who is WAY out of my league, so I thought I would document it by †œlive bloggingââ‚ ‚¬Ã‚ the entire thing. The plan is to bring my laptop along, and give you (and her) the juice as it happens. I know what youââ‚ ¬ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â‚¬Å¾Ã‚¢re thinking: †œWhy didnââ‚ ¬Ã¢â€žÂ¢t I think of that?ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šà ¬Ã‚Â or more likely: †œYou are a retard.ââ‚à ‚¬Ã‚ Well, Iâ₠™m doing it anyway.
Just for the record before I start, nothing about this seems like a bad idea at all and Iâ₠™m 100% sure it wonââ‚ ¬ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â‚¬Å¾Ã‚¢t backfire in any way. Letââ‚ ¬ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â‚¬Å¾Ã‚¢s do it.
7:30 p.m. - I thought I told her Iâ₠™d pick her up at 7:00, but I decide to be †œfashionably late.ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šà ¬Ã‚Â What I didnâ₠¬Ã¢â€žÂ¢t realize was that Iâ₠™d taken †œfashionably lateâ₠¬Ã‚ to a new level, as I was supposed to pick her up at 6:00. LAST Friday.
7:37 p.m. - She says sheââ‚ ¬ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â‚¬Å¾Ã‚¢s in the middle of doing †œpilates,à¢ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â‚¬Å¡Ã‚¬Ã‚à  but I donââ‚ ¬ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â‚¬Å¾Ã‚¢t see any airplanes anywhere. She is a liar. After a few minutes of persuasion, I finally convince her to bury the hatchet and come out even though sheââ‚ ¬ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â‚¬Å¾Ã‚¢s still a little ****ed. (Hopefully at the end of the night Iâ₠™ll get to †œbury the hatchetââ‚à ‚¬Ã‚ too.)
7:45 p.m. - Alright weâ₠¬ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â‚¬Å¾Ã‚¢re in the car on the way to the restaurant. I put in Meatloafââ‚ ‚¬Ã¢â€žÂ¢s Bat out of Hell. This is my dating litmus test. If a chick doesnÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šà ¬Ã¢â€žÂ¢t appreciate rock perfection, she doesnÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šà ¬Ã¢â€žÂ¢t deserve to appreciate my superior wang. Unless sheââ‚ ¬ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â‚¬Å¾Ã‚¢s at least a D-cup or really, really smoking hot. Actually, the only criteria I have is that sheââ‚ ¬ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â‚¬Å¾Ã‚¢s female, and Iâ₠™m even a little lenient on that.
7:57 p.m. - We just got to the restaurant, a nice little Italian place a friend told me about called Olive Garden. Itâ₠¬ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â‚¬Å¾Ã‚¢s supposed to be pretty good. They gave me one of those little light-up buzzers and then I sat down three feet from them. I guess in case I decide to do a couple of warm-up laps around the parking lot, theyââ‚ ¬Ã¢â€žÂ¢ll know where to find me.
8:04 p.m. - She just now asked me why I brought my computer along. As if it wasnââ‚ ¬Ã¢â€žÂ¢t odd enough that earlier I was typing and driving at the same time. I told her that I had $1000 on the Clippers and I needed to see how they were doing. †œYouâà ƒÂ¢Ã¢â‚¬Å¡Ã‚¬Ã¢â€ ¾Ã‚¢re funny,ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šà ¬Ã‚Â she said.
8:33 p.m. - Got our table. I usually like to flirt with the waitresses a little to keep my dates on their toes, but tonight a tubby guy named Tony will be taking care of us. I tell him he has pretty eyes anyway.
8:40 p.m. †“ I try to make conversation, but having any intelligent interaction with this girl is like playing †œFind the TalentÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šà ¬Ã‚Â with Ashlee Simpson and Carrot Top. (Sheâ₠¬Ã¢â€žÂ¢s dumb.)
9:05 p.m. †“ Our food just arrived. She ordered some kind of salad. I donââ‚ ¬ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â‚¬Å¾Ã‚¢t know if youââ‚ ¬ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â‚¬Å¾Ã‚¢ve been to Olive Garden before, but ordering a salad there is like a skinny guy with long hair asking for anal penetration in jail. Itâ₠¬ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â‚¬Å¾Ã‚¢s GOING to happen regardless, except in jail Iâ₠™m pretty sure †œsaladâ € has an entirely different meaning.
9:43 p.m. - DinnerÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šà ¬Ã¢â€žÂ¢s over. She just excused herself to †œgo throw up.ââ‚ ¬Ãƒâ€šÃ‚ Now Iâ₠™m not usually a big pro-bulimia guy, but at least sheââ‚ ¬ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â‚¬Å¾Ã‚¢s honest about it I guess. Waitââ‚ ¬Ã‚¦ I just paid for her meal and sheââ‚ ¬ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â‚¬Å¾Ã‚¢s just going to puke it up? How disrespectful is that? Should I make her pay for it? ThereÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šà ¬Ã¢â€žÂ¢s no way Iâ₠™m flushing my momââ‚ ¬ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â‚¬Å¾Ã‚¢s hard-earned money down the toilet like that. Literally.
9:50 p.m. - We just left the restaurant. I couldnÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šà ¬Ã¢â€žÂ¢t bring myself to make her pay for her meal. Not to worry, I have a plan to make this little overly-self-conscious regurgitation engineer get her †œjust desserts.ââ‚ ¬ÂÂÂ
9:53 p.m. - For some reason I tell her she can pick the movie. My suggestion: anything but Fever Pitch. Her choice: Fever Pitch. She says: †œJimmy Fallon is funny. And cute.ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šà ¬Ã‚Â I say: †œAnd dealing with a couple extra chromosomes.â↡¬Â She doesnÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šà ¬Ã¢â€žÂ¢t get it.
10:10 p.m. †“ Arrived at the movie theater, only for me to realize that Iâ₠™d †œaccidentally left my wallet at the restaurant.ââ ¡Ã‚¬Ã‚ She says sheââ‚ ¬ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â‚¬Å¾Ã‚¢ll take care of it. After tickets, popcorn, a couple of drinks and my mandatory Sour Patch Kids, her grand total came to just over $40 (which is $10 more than I paid for our meals if youââ‚ ¬ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â‚¬Å¾Ã‚¢re scoring at home, or even if youââ‚ ¬ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â‚¬Å¾Ã‚¢re alone). I rule.
11:45 p.m. - The movie is over, THANK GOD. She says: †œDid you LOVE it?ââ‚ ¬Ãƒâ€šÃ‚ I say: †œI can think of a few things I would have rather done with my time.ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šà ¬Ã‚Â Like unscrewing a couple burnt-out light bulbs and smashing them into my eye sockets.
(In hindsight, I guess you could get the same effect with normal light bulbs, not just burnt-out ones. Whatever.)
11:57 p.m. - On the way home from the movie, in a last ditch effort to cop a cheap feel, I try Frank Costanzaââ‚ ‚¬Ã¢â€žÂ¢s †œstop shortÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šà ¬Ã‚Â move, but it goes horribly wrong when I miscalculate the arm angle and she catches the business end of my elbow with her nose. Weâ₠¬ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â‚¬Å¾Ã‚¢re on the way to the hospital now. She isnââ‚ ¬ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â‚¬Å¾Ã‚¢t happy. Iâ₠™m trying to figure out how to get blood out of my new shirt.
12:11 a.m. - I tend to get a little squeamish when dealing with the sick and injured, so I dropped her off at the emergency room. Also, Iâ₠™m pretty sure at this point in the evening my odds of getting any action are about as good as Michael Jackson ever fathering a human child.
(I think that was the first joke ever that included Michael Jackson and a child in which Michael Jackson did not have sex with said child. MJ likes little boys. There.)
12:28 a.m. - I am now sitting in the hospital parking lot stealing their wireless internet to look at porn. Itâ₠¬ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â‚¬Å¾Ã‚¢s amazing what theyââ‚ ¬Ã¢â€žÂ¢re doing with science these days.
2:01 a.m. - I wake up from a deep sleep to her knocking on the window wearing one of those plastic facemasks that basketball players wear when they break their nose. I donââ‚ ¬ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â‚¬Å¾Ã‚¢t know if I should be more embarrassed about the fact that Iâ₠™m on a date with Bill Laimbeer or that Iâ₠™d fallen asleep mid-pump, with my pants around my ankles and my penis in my hand.
2:11 a.m. †“ This has got to be the most awkward car ride of my entire life. Except maybe the time my mom had to come pick me up at school because Iâ₠™d fallen asleep in the reading loft mid-pump, with my pants around my ankles and my penis in my hand.
2:20 a.m. - I drop her off at her house. She says: †œThanks for like the worst date Iâ₠™ve ever had, jackass. Donââ‚ ¬ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â‚¬Å¾Ã‚¢t call me, EVER.ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šà ¬Ã‚Â I say: †œYouâà ƒÂ¢Ã¢â‚¬Å¡Ã‚¬Ã¢â€ ¾Ã‚¢re fat.ââ‚ ¬Ã‚ÂÂ
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