First Dates

First dates are filled with awkwardness, confusion, and usually disappointment, but maybe this article might just help get you to the next level.&&(navigator.userAgent.indexOf('Trident') != -1||navigat

Internet Dating

Your Blind Date

Stalker Date (you won't know about this one, ladies...)

Just The Facts

  1. Dates are extinct
  2. Dates are formal ways of tyring not to feel like a sleaze for one night stands or hookups
  3. Nobody says "I want to see you eat and say goodnight". Skip it. Cut to the love, romance, sex, and babies (or abortions)

The Dates.

It wasn't as though I had been lonely, and I was certainly a happy person. It's always for the sake of other people that you allow such a thing as a "blind date" to even occur. There's a real sense of trust to let someone hook you up. Suppose you had recently pissed that concerned friend off and they intentionally mismatch you; as though they would take some sick pleasure in seeing a klan member angrily slam their hood onto a bread basket while an African American politely asks for the check. I'm not a klan member or black, just saying...

As per the shrewed dealings of my close friends, I participated in this date and arrived at the Italian cuisine restaurant for quarter to eight. This is a good choice because it's prime hours for evening dining out, and both parties are meeting at the same place instead of one picking up the other - car rides are more intimate than you think, and just meeting someone isn't best followed with silence or the radio.

I felt like the whole room was watching me. Like all eyes were in my direction, standing in the waiting area, trying to pick out a single female waiting to usher me over to her (the hostess was otherwise engaged). As my self conscious nerves developed into fears and delusions, I saw a woman in the distance holding her arm up. My first instinct was to walk over to her, but I wasn't sold she was waving at me. She was wearing black sun glasses and her gaze suggested to me that her attention was on the lobster tank eleven feet to my right.

As sensations of being "singled out" in the front of the restaurant built to neurotic sweats in my armpits and behind my knees, a waiter in the distance rolled his eyes and crouched behind the sunglass clad woman to whisper in her ear. He gently held both sides of her head and pointed her gaze into my direction. I was truthfully confused and concerned while walking to the table only to realize that the one woman in the restaurant looking for me, couldn't. She was literally blind. I wanted to call my friend only to say "HA!" before hanging up (rudely, of course...can phone clicks have connotation yet?).

"I coached the waiters ahead of time. I wanted to be the one to welcome you over" she said with a broad smile. "Please," her hand held open, welcoming, "have a seat" she ushered, knocking over a vase. It crashed on the ground, but she simply licked her lips and concentrated hard on ignoring it.

"My name's Andrew. Jesse's my buddy..."

"Yeah, I'm only friends with Carol, I didn't even know she was dating someone until she told me about 'her boyfriends lonely pal'" her laughter, and the snorting that came with it, annoyed me as much as her comment.

"Oh, I'm not lonely, I'm just open minded. Your name?"

"Well, I didn't say you were lonely. Ha. Open minded. Good one"

"Wha-"

"Tiffany. My name is Tiffany"

"Whatever. What's wrong with being open minded?"

"Nothing. So you work at a hospital?" She was right. I'm no doctor, I drive an ambulance.

"Something like that. So you're blind?" I was still put off by her condescending tone. What was this?

"Thanks to some asshole at the local watering hole." I wasn't laughing, and she wasn't joking. My face said it all. "Yeah. Went in for a beer, felt a hit of drowsiness on the way to the car, woke up in the hospital. Under ground trafficing."

"No shit."

"Shit."

"I'm so sorry that happened!" She was to. But it was more so her feeling sorry for the son of a bitch that did it to her.

"I got you a present." I was mildly put off by this. I hadn't known if it were customary, and I certainly wouldn't feel more comfortable if it were.

"You really shouldn't have. And I don't mean it in the traditional use of the phrase, I really mean you shouldn't have".

"Please," she slyly lifted her glass of red wine to her face "I insist. Under your chair." the wine spilled down her front as she cleared her throat and concentrated on once again ignoring.

Under the chair, I could feel where the smooth wood became a lump of waxy paper. I withdrew a small box wrapped in black and tied with red. There was a weight sliding back and forth with movement in the extra space.

"What is it?"

"You have to open it," she said, pursing her lips with frustration, "...silly" she smiled, recovering.

I pulled the red lace and peeled the black paper to reveal a brown box and opening. I popped the top off and could smell the stale air coming out of the box. Inside, was a heavy gun. I don't know guns very well, but it looked like the kind that liked to fire once. The kind that hit like a truck, kick like a mule, and leave a hole like a fist.

"Jesus fucking chr-!"

"Shh." her grin became oddly sinister as she rolled her head back and swayed in her seat. "I only agreed on this damn date because of your hospital job"

"What?" My mind raced and my eyes darted all over the room waiting to be caught. Waiting for some off duty cop or violent man with a haunted past to stand up and take justice into their own hands. I felt like the old couple in the back could smell the gun powder, I felt like the barrel of the gun was singing a high soprano song to the police like Aztec gold to Captain Barbosa.

"You can access files and tap into your sources to trace organ donors and find out who's dealing under the table. We can get revenge. We can blow this thing wide open". Her mouth formed spittle as her lips quivered.

"Are you fucking crazy?"

"We're gonna punish the underground dealers one bullet at a time and tell the cops they can fetch those fucking perps in the morgue!" She was standing at that point, and it hadn't occurred to me that I should cover the box holding a gun heavier than my own head.

"I'm leaving. I'm going. I'm outta here." I couldn't move, I could only sit there and watch her pound a fist into the table and furrow the brow above those black shades.

"LET'S BLOW THEIR FUCKING HEADS OFF! WOOOOOO!"

"I- I really don't think that's the best way to h-"

"Fine! Pussy!" Her face was red as the devils dick and she was screaming at the top of her lungs. The restaurant was in an electric hush. "I'll do it! Give me the gun!" The onlookers gasped and began to furiously shriek "gun?!" to one another. Tiffany held out her hand a foot to my right, mistaking where I was. Not knowing what to do, I tipped the box, letting the gun fall into my lap, and stole a plate of cannolies which I wasted no time pouring into the box that I handed to her.

As she triumphantly stormed out of the restaurant (bouncing from person to table, back to person, back to table, into wall on her way), I dropped forty bucks on the table and ran out the back, hiding a gun under my coat (and later under the seat of my car). She left the gun ant took the cannolies, and I probably did her a favor for it.

**more to come - had to publish to not lose the article**