Ok, so this is one of the first dates I went on after THE BREAKUP. Not that THE BREAKUP was really that dramatic or anything, but it looks so much cooler all caps lock and bolded and shit. Which reminds me, you should totally check this out because I’m pretty sure I feel like this about 86% of the time http://louisvsrick.com/post/259021551/episode-8-grace. Ok, so the date. After THE BREAKUP I joined this free dating site, because you know, I’m hip, I’m internet savvy (despite the fact its taken 5 years for me to get a blog, and I’ve not had interwebs in my apartment for the past year…but whatevs), and dammit I want to meet people. For reals, I love my friends, but they are all serious couples, like married and dating for 12 years and stuff, they don’t know any single dudes. So I’m perusing profiles and run across what appears to be the profile of an interesting gentleman. We’re into similar things, we’re both well traveled. Win! And I message him. We exchange emails back and forth, the basic getting to know you BS and then decide to meet. I chose a local restaurant for two reasons- its super busy all the time and it has Strongbow on tap. So if this date tanks, I’ll at least be able to get my drink on with something tasty.
I arrive about 7 minutes early for our date, as I’m prone to do. I like scoping out the place, getting a good seat, getting settled and putting on my game face (because that’s important. If any dudes read this, know that giving us an opportunity to touch up our chap stick and make sure we don’t have spinach wedged in our teeth is mucho importante) Right, I’m strolling up to the restaurant, confident in the fact that I’ll be there first when I hear my name shouted. Whoa there! Hey buddy, it’s my best guy friend, who will be called 2-Rad, headed into the hole in the wall bar located right next door! Sweet tits! If this date goes the way of the buffalo, I’ve got a handy drinking buddy!
Back to the date. I walk in and look around and lo and behold there’s a dude sitting at the edge of the bar, nursing a pint, that looks suspiciously like the profile pics of this gentleman. Actually, I’m going to refer to this gentleman as Sergeant Drunk Pants from here on out (OMG! Spoiler alert?!? Maybe…). Hrm, he beat me here. Son of a duck, oh well. I make my way over to him, introduce myself and suggest we grab a table. He kind of slides off the bar stool (first red flag) but I was hoping that he was just a super limber dude, for many reasons. We get escorted up stairs to our seat and he promptly orders another pint of lager. Hmmm. Ok, I’m not going to judge. Oh wait yes I am, especially when he orders his fourth pint….I’m going to skip all the boring, what’s your fave movie small talk that happens, because when this dude gets drunk, shit gets all cray-cray. Picture this, Sergeant Drunk Pants is on his fifth pint (red flag two), all loose and relaxed and talkative. Starts telling me how he’s an active duty marine. Cool, I respect that. But then I find out that while he was stationed overseas he had a lot of “girlfriends”….you know, the kind you pay for (red flag three). I’m sitting there, drinking my first pint of Strongbow, silently pleading with the waiter to help me out or at least cut this guy off. Sadly the waiter did not pick up on my plea. Sergeant Drunk Pants keeps babbling, oblivious to the fact I was no longer engaged and kind of terrified. He goes off on a rant about the optimum height to put a machine gun for maximum damage and then asks how tall I am (red flags four and five). WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!?! I’m so done, it’s not even funny. I look Sergeant Drunk Pants in the eye tell him the evening has been lovely, but I need to work tomorrow and I don’t see this going anywhere. I’ll give him props, dude takes it well (or he’s so fucking drunk he has no idea what I just said) and asks for the check. He even pays for my bowl of soup and pint. We go to stand up and Sergeant Drunk Pants almost falls over. (Gentle reader, please face palm for me) We’re standing there and he’s talking about driving home and how since he’s a marine no cop will pull him over. Since, I consider myself a humanitarian and for the sake of everyone else on the road, I offer to drive him home. Sergeant Drunk Pants somehow misinterprets this as a come on (seriously? I didn’t tell him I wanted to take him on a tour of my backseat of anything, ugh).
I should have just called him a cab, I know this, believe me, but I wanted to make sure he didn’t lie and drive home drunk. We start heading toward the exit when I have a moment of genius, fueled I’m sure, by Sergeant Drunk Pant’s creepy leer. I excuse myself to go to the restroom where I promptly text my buddy who is next door, pleading with him to ride in the car with me. Thank god he’s a nice guy. Sergeant and I get outside and I collect 2-Rad, letting the Sergeant know that my buddy also needs a ride home. This was apparently displeasing to Sergeant Drunk Pants, he became very reticent and insistent upon driving himself again (which can only lead me to believe he was planning shenanigans, I’m so glad 2-Rad was there). We all pile in, Sergeant in the passenger seat, 2-Rad in the back, giving me death glare in the rearview mirror. It was a well deserved death glare, Sergeant Drunk Pants goes off again, talking about how the bullets he has would easily pierce my car and hit the target inside….so terrifying and awkward. I’m hanging on to the steering wheel for dear life when Sergeant asks me to stop, in the middle of a street; luckily, it was not a busy street. He then half falls, half crawls out of the car and stands there. 2-Rad continues to glare at me and exits the car, walks around to the passenger side and climbs in. Sergeant Drunk Pants is still standing there, all creepy like. Well, let me tell you babycakes, I got yelled at for at least an hour by 2-Rad. I was told that I needed to run every guy through him before going out because I like to pick crazies….so far, that has still held up.