I just realized that I never blogged about probably one of the bestslashawkward dates I've ever had.
It was two years ago and it was my second date with this guy. At the publication of this blog I cannot recall his name, but I do remember specifically that he looked like Kevin Youkilis.
"Yoooooooooooooooooooooooooouk."
Our first date wentwell. We got sushi, had drinks, caressed hands across the table and ended the night with a kiss. So when we were parting ways and he asked me for a second date I was like "alriiiiiight" in my brain. We met the following Wednesday for tapas on Newbury Street.
We picked up right where we let off. He was somewhat of a computer geek and talked in HTML lingo and knew a lot about math. I was (and still am) a creative packaging maven who abbreviates totally to totes and knows lots about which mascara is best to lengthen stumpy eye lashes. It would appear that we would be mismatched but we got along swimmingly. Or so I thought.
As the night wore on and the staff of the restaurant gave us annoying glances because we were keeping the table, the conversation came to drugs. My date asked me if I'd ever smoked weed.
"Oh sure. I used to smoke in college. I mean who didn't right?!" (Actually, quite a few people Lisa.)
My date looked at me and just replied, "Oh I've never smoked weed or done any drugs for that matter."
A regular Boy Scout!
"That's cool."
"Yeah I have to get drug tested all the time so I can't do any drugs."
I then launched into this funny story about how I was hanging out with one of my friends who was a HUGE pot head. We were just chilling in his apartment watching a movie. He was smoking copious amounts of weed and I was just hanging out. As I was driving home from his place I started to freak out. I'd forgotten about the drug test I had to get in the morning for the new job I had applied for. I had no idea if second-hand weed smoke would show up in my urine so I stopped at the grocery store and bought four 1-gallon jugs of water and pounded them all in the matter of about an hour, thinking that this would flush my system of any weed remnants.
I finished my story (the test was negative. Duh.) and looked up at my date. He was seated in a relaxed pose in his chair with one arm slung over the back. It was at this point that I noticed that his blazer had elbow patches.
'Granpa,' I thought to myself.
He was staring intently at me and I figured it was because I looked so luminous and he was just so taken with me.
I held my chin in my hand, batted my eye lashes and purred, "What are you staring at?"
Without missing a beat he replied, "Well Lisa, you'll notice that I've been sitting here listening to your story. And I'm smiling and not laughing. And I'm not laughing because what you're saying isn't funny. You are not funny."
I felt like I was in one of those movies where I'm the only one standing still and everyone else is whizzing around me. Did this asshole really just say I wasn't funny?
I busted out laughing and said in my loudest possible voice, "Well I think I'm hilarious!!" Then I knee-slapped myself and signaled to the waitress, "CAN WE GET THE CHECK! THANKS!!"
He offered to pay for the entire meal but I did not want to be indebted to this guy for a cent so I slapped down a $20 and made my way out the door. Interestingly enough he tried to kiss me before we parted ways and I said in my most humorless voice, "Oh, I don't think so my friend." Then I took my hysterical self home.