Submitted by Frank:
I picked Jordana up at her house and we drove off to an early dinner. She asked me if my brother was all right. I thought that it was a strange question, but I answered that he was fine. Then I asked her why she asked. She said, "Wasn't he in that bike accident?"
I had no idea what she was talking about. I told her that my brother, as far as I knew, was well. I had just seen him earlier in the day, and there had been no bike accident as far as I was aware.
At dinner, she asked, "Your birthday just passed, right?"
It hadn't.
Not much further on, she said, "So, you do landscape architecture on the weekends, you said?"
I had never said such a thing, and was beginning to suspect what you're likely beginning to: that she had mixed up my details with those of someone else.
As politely as possible, I told her, "I don't do landscape architecture. I think that you must have some of my details mistaken for someone else."
But she said, "That can't be right. You're Frank. You work at a college. You do landscape architecture on the weekends. You just moved here."
She only had the first detail right. I told her that I indeed do work at a college, but that, again, I was no landscape architect, and I had lived in the area for my entire life.
She asked, "Are you sure?"
I assured her that I was reasonably sure regarding my own life's details. She apologized over and over after that, and I told her not to worry about it, that everyone made mistakes. I wasn't in a hurry to ever call her again after that, though, and she never called me.
It sounds more like she Googled your name and just arbitrarily chose the first few stories she came up with.
ReplyDeleteI don't know that this was necessarily a bad date; just an awkward one. What're we calling this now? "A Bad Case of the Bores"?
She probably confused you with the guy she was getting a free meal out of later, which explains the early dinner.
ReplyDeleteI would prefer, "A Bad Case of the Boars." That would actually be pretty entertaining...
ReplyDelete"So I arrived at the spot we agreed to meet at and she didn't look anything like her picture. Actually, she she was just a pack of wild boars. Now I was impressed that the collective intelligence of these boars allowed them to figure out how to put together an online profile, but a really couldn't take the lying. Due to this, I didn't call "her" again. Well, that and smell. and the squealing."
amiright? huh? (looks around at the blank stares. Hangs head in shame)
Yawn.
ReplyDeleteYou still could of hit it, douche.
ReplyDeletezzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
ReplyDeleteThis was a perfect opportunity to make up a complete alternate existence, man! Wow her with false feats of greatness, take her to bed, and then never call her again. She'll be sure to confuse you with all her future dates to come.
ReplyDeleteIs there a website called www.amediocrecaseofthedates.com that people can post to?
ReplyDeleteKidda
OK, here's what really happened:
ReplyDeleteAfter she asked if I were sure I was not an award winning landscape architect, I replied: "Oh, you must mean the awards for folicle landscaping."
She looked confused, so I explained that works of art in the hair on the mons veneris were called folicle landscaping or pubic sculpture.
"Are you kidding?" she said and looked at me like I was crazy.
I kept a straight face and made up stories about the contests. All she could say was "you're kidding," and "I don't believe you."
It would have all fallen apart except that I kept making the story more fantastic. She was very interested to hear about the models who were celebrities.
I told her one of my best models, Gretchen, a real inspiration had been stolen away by rival artist. I tried to look sad and pretended to change the subject.
"Do you have to have professional models? I haven't shaved for a couple weeks," she offered.
I hemmed and hawed as if she wouldn't do. When the bill came she snatched and insisted on paying, saying that she'd get the dinner if I would turn her into a piece of art.
We stopped at a drugstore to get new razors in case hers weren't the right kind for art.
I tried to make a beautiful picture of her pubes but she was trembling with excitment. In the end I just started having sex with her. It was pretty good. In the morning she came back from the bathroom and asked me what the design meant.
I told her it was my social security number in Latin numerals -- a post 9-11 statement on the intrusion of the state into our personal lives. She asked me what my social security number was, while looking down in a mirror. When I finished she said that she came up with a different number.
I assured that I assured her that I was reasonably sure regarding my own life's details. She apologized over and over after that, and I told her not to worry about it, that everyone made mistakes. I wasn't in a hurry to ever call her again after that, though, and she never called me.
It's great when someone asks you if you are sure about a personal detail of your own life. I guess that they think they might be mistaking you for one of their other hallucinations.
ReplyDeleteFrank, while the second version of this story was certainly more interesting, it's sad that you have to troll your own story in order to get your comment count up. :(
ReplyDeletei would have at least given her a second chance
ReplyDeletemaybe on the second date, she'd be even crazier and give you a script on what to say for the whole night or something
^ Or she might have just stabbed him in the shoulder with a fork. You never know with that crowd, it could go either way.
ReplyDelete@1:04: It should be "A Bad Case of the Bezoars", because that's what this story feels like. Lame.
ReplyDelete