I’ve selected a winner of the Lucky Line contest, whose hilarious story will be posted next week. But Little Dating Brother, who was technically ineligible for the contest based on his status both as a regular SDG contributor and my brother (I already have to give him one present this month!), also had a great story. I’ll let him report it in his own words. Note that he gets extra props for telling this embarrassing anecdote on himself.
I was visiting a friend in Boston for a blues cruise. I was introduced to one of her friends and we hit it off. We made out on the boat some (which went about as well as you would expect two drunk people making out on a swaying boat would go), and then in a bar we headed to afterward.
After a polite hint from another friend in the bar that it was time for us to go somewhere more appropriate, I realized I was in the awkward situation of having to invite myself back to her place. Having decided that there was no really suave way to pull that off, I went with the direct: “I’m staying on somebody’s couch, so if this is going anywhere, we need to go back to your place.” And indeed it worked.
Unfortunately, or possibly fortunately but not very classily, when we arrived at her apartment I realized I didn’t have enough money to pay for the cab, so I had to ask her to chip in. Hey, all’s well that ends well, right?
This week’s life lesson from LDB: when aiming for a sleepover, pack not only protection and a toothbrush, but also a big wad of cash.
I had started to notice a theme at a recent speed dating event. First, there was the guy who insisted that he prefers protein shakes to food. (“That will come in handy when you get old and can’t eat solid food,” I said, displaying my sexy repartee skills.)
Then I speed dated his brother, who manages a gym and has arms that each deserve their own speed date.
After him came a guy who explained that he doesn’t have any friends, because he’s been too busy competing in the Philadelphia Mr. Natural competition. (Click through and take a peek– ain’t nothing natural about it.)
With all the bodybuilders around, I had to sympathize when I got to the skinny little speed dater who was twitching and glancing over his shoulder repeatedly. He may have been a weirdo, or maybe he was just afraid that someone was about to impress a girl by bench pressing him.
I have complained before about repeat speed dates not remembering me. But this guy and I had been on an actual full-length date that he seemed to have forgotten when we met again on a recent night of speed dating.
Granted, it wasn’t that great of a date. (Ok, if you must know, he was the less appealing of the speed dating brothers.) And since I had turned him down for a second date, you’d think I’d be glad he had blocked the memory. Ordinarily, I would have been, but there was a magical spark that night. It just happened to be between me and a pool table.
I have always wanted to be one of those cool, laid-back girls who can hustle guys at pool. Unfortunately, I suck. As in, I not infrequently miss the cue ball altogether.
But that night I was on fire. I don’t know if it was a perfect mix of beer and wings in my system, or the calm of knowing I didn’t want to date this guy again so I didn’t have to impress him, but I was truly good at pool for once in my life. It was like the night I bowled a 123, except my mom wasn’t there to make a big sign and take a picture of me with it.
Sadly, there’s no evidence at all of my pool triumph, I know now that I’ve re-met my date. I mean, I didn’t ask him outright, but if the whole night has disappeared from his faulty memory, it seems unlikely that my amazing game stuck. I knew I should have bought myself a trophy.
It was a relatively successful speed dating event. I met a couple of guys I thought were OK. One emailed me right away and we set up a date for Friday. I emailed the other to see if he wanted to go out sometime.
Friday came along and I met the guy at a bar. We were chatting about how we had ended up at speed dating. “I went along with my roommate who’s also my brother, “ he explained. “Really?” I said, still the textbook illustration of nonchalance. “Which guy was your brother?”
Yup, you guessed it. As he described his brother, I wondered if he could see the ffffffuuuuuuccccccckkkkkk spreading across my face. But what I’m still wondering is whether his brother ever told him that I tried to date both of them.