I did it! I FINALLY met Mr. Favorite in person!!!!! He lives a ways away from me, so we met last night half way at a cute casino called Red Rock, in their restaurant/lounge. It’s the farthest away from home I’ve been on my own since moving here.
I was late…okay, punctuality is just not my forte…(perhaps I should claim that shortcoming of mine on my page and let the chips fall where they may?) I know all the theory behind these less-than-timely types like me… yet, I really just can’t buy into them when it comes to my particular affliction with this. I am not selfish or self-centered (oh-so-far from it actually!), as in the world revolves around me – my time is more important than yours thinking. No, that’s not it. And it does not have anything to do with how much I like the person I have an appointment, date, whatever with or how much I do or don’t respect him or her. In fact, this time-malady of mine almost leans toward getting worse the more I do like or respect a person. So, I feel confident that’s not the issue.
(OVERLY DRAMATIC DISCLAIMER): I was always this way…always. I was born two months premature and I’ve never been on time since. I think it’s a handicap of sorts really and it should be recognized as such to give those of us who suffer from this our due respect… Instead of criticizing us, yelling at us, or accusing us of being self-centered egotistical types. I just seem to have been born missing a full comprehension of time. There’s a gap or mutated chromosome I believe in my brain’s concept of the time-space continuum. It sucks. I know. As I get older, it’s more and more a source of anxiety for me. I don’t want to be that girl! Here’s an example: When I started my last job six years ago, I was so paranoid and anxious about being late that I arrived at the office nearly a full hour early every day for the first six months straight, merely to counter-act any possibility that I might be late, I had to be this early. Finally one morning, my boss asked me why I was so early every day and I told her straight up about my “punctuality issues and fears”. She laughed at me and said they were a pretty flexible office and not to sweat it if I was a few minutes or so late on any given day. Now I can’t try to claim that I was on time every day after she hit me with this wonderfully relieving piece of info, but I was sometimes!
Anyway, Mr. Favorite…hmmmm….well, I did like him okay. I’m a few minutes late and I called him to let him know. He was pretty cool about it. He looked just like his photos. He was polite and seemed intelligent. You know what? Let me just come out and say this as delicately as I can…
I fucked up the whole thing!! …from start to finish, I was quite possibly the worst date in the history of dating.
I was late. I had taken an anxiety pill prior to driving because driving on the highways in this city scares me…and I’m too ashamed to admit that ridiculous fear I’ve formed to anyone. I only took a tiny bit of one, but it did the trick. I was laid back, cool as a cucumber through this date.
It started when I found his booth, saw that it was one of those gargantuous booths, so I sat next to him instead of across from him. He slid over and I got the sense that he was almost “backing away” from me in fear…I’m sure that’s not what it was…but something felt strange the way he moved away when I sat down, like a scared kitten hunkering down away from the big bad wolf or something… Gosh, am i really that scary?! I did ask him aout his body language (curiosity was overwhelming me) and he admitted that he doesn’t get close to people easily…..ummm….okay…?
I didn’t want to eat and I got the distinct sense that he was hungry but too polite to eat without me or in front of me. After two beers (which I shouldn’t have had while on an anxiety med), some good get-to-know-you conversation and declining food, he suggested we walk around the casino. We walked to another little lounge that had the cutest sitting area and tables made of marble-ish-like rocks which were lit up from the inside. It was so cute! He was saying he was tired so I suggested we have a Red Bull and vodka here. He declined to drink anymore out of a respect for maintaining the ability to drive home safely (he’d had one more drink than I while waiting for Her Tardiness) and he didn’t want just a Red Bull either, claiming he’d be “up all night”. So, I had one, spilled my purse as I was sitting down and my cigarettes (the ones I’m trying so hard NOT to smoke!) fell out of their pack and spilled everywhere…he collected these for me…bless his heart.
...gotta get this T-shirt to warn people...
Then I suddenly wanted a cigarette sooooo badly with my Red Bull and Raspberry vodka…and so I did indulge in such…ughh… (so very UNattractive!). Had to go to the ladies room (thank you Red Bull for invigorating my bladder like you do!) and stumbled several times. It was one of those things were you trip/stumble over nothing. Nothing’s there, so it can’t be blamed on anything except drinking or clumsiness, which I’m at this point quite guilty of both. So I stumble literally to the ladies room with him watching my smooth walking finesse and extraordinarily graceful abilities. Get back, finish the drink I did not need, while he drank nothing, and then he’s going to walk me to my car….I stumble (WTF?!) like FIVE times while we do this! No really, WTF was my problem??!!?? My brain didn’t feel this intoxicated! So I can only imagine it was the combination of anxiety meds and three drinks… NOT a good one for me obviously. Are you kiddin me?? What in the HELL was wrong with my FEET??!! There was NOTHING there for me to KEEP tripping on… NOTHING….GEESH!! I truly was not as drunk as I’m certain I appeared….no seriously, I almost wish I had this as an excuse even….Nope. I have no clue what on earth was wrong with me…
He asked if I was okay….I was just embarrassed and truly, in my brain, I felt fine…clear as a bell even… I guess it was just a massive and sudden attack of total clumsiness to the point that I just had no explanation and desperately just wanted to get in my car where I didn’t have to work so hard to get my damned feet to do their job in some semblance of freaking coordination—the same damned job they do EVERY day, usually without a hitch. I could tell he was a little concerned and he made me promise to text the minute I got home.
He texted me as I was pulling in my garage 20 minutes later or so, asking if I’d made it home ok. I texted back that I did.
Whoaaa…what an absolute effing train wreck of a hot mess I was!! Poor guy is probably scarred for life at this clumsy-ass debacle I demonstrated last night! GAWWWDDD…how just utterly embarrassing! I’m quite certain I won’t be hearing from Mr. Favorite ever again…..