At Least the Martini Was Good....

Alright. So I made it through last night in one piece. And I don't even know where to begin.

Date one doesn't even get a nickname because 1. I won't be seeing him again even though he told me to call him if I was "really bored" on Saturday, and 2. he's an emotional mess.

We met at a classy little martini bar downtown after work, and from the second I sat down, Debby Downer was pouting and whining about his job and how he can't take any time off because when he's gone "everything goes wrong."

Just as my peach martini with a splash of grenadine arrives, he gets into the fact that he needs a roommate because he just can't keep up with his house payments, and wants a gay guy to move in because he'll be neat, decorate the place, design clothes for him, and be fabulous. And the guy he's "working on" has these fabulous window boxes with nylon butterflies in his apartment that he HAS to have.

Over the next hour, he starts three different stories in three different ways:

"I dated this girl who was amazing, we were soul mates, I was just too young to realize it....."

"Speaking of sociopaths, I dated this girl for 9 months, who I loved more than I'll ever love anyone..."

"The amazing thing about Ritalin is anyone who goes on it has to FORCE themselves to be hungry. It's amazing..."

Meanwhile I'm scanning the bar for cute guys enjoying their happy hour, while Danielle Steele whines about loves lost. And the best part? He tells me about a girl he dated for 9 months (as previously mentioned), and how he found out she'd lied about her entire past, where she went to school, and where she worked. So when I ask what he did when he confronted her he goes, "What do you think? I gave it to her one more time and sent her on her way."

I forced a smile and swallowed the last sip of my drink. I thanked God for the vodka and Satan for the date and walked out, hoping the next date was much better.