We made plans to meet up. She would drive up and pick me up (did I mention that my sorry ass was without wheels, too?), and we’d discuss over some drinks. So, I showered for the first time in a week, and did my best to avoid my drunken ass roommates. Mission: failure. The second they saw me washing my stinky ass, they KNEW something was up. Disaster was imminent. They were going to follow us everywhere we went.

Lisa called when she was outside, and I made a run for it. Balls out, hopped in the car, “hinicetomeetyouFUCKINSTEPONIT!” Lisa complied. As batshit crazy and drunk as my roomates were, I probably would have been safer in their car. Lisa hit 70 in about 2.5 seconds, speeding up Marengo in Pasadena, hung a left without slowing down, plastering my face against the passenger window. We came to a screeching halt at a stop sign in front of the Trader Joe’s, right in front of a COP. I mouthed to him “ARREST ALL OF THESE ASSHOLES,” but the look they gave me assured me that the best punishment they could give would be to leave me right where I was.

A few more hard lefts and rights, and we were in the clear. We stopped at some restaurant/bar, grabbed a spot on the patio, and I spent the next 20 minutes or so checking over my shoulder. All clear. That’s when I realized that this party wasn’t about my job skills. Lisa was dressed to the fuckin OC middle-aged divorcee NINES. GODDAMNIT, LADIES. All you want is the cock! I ain’t that cheap! Buy my ass a breakfast burrito first!

The night had begun with so-much promise. It was now flying straight off a fucking cliff. We ended up going to a bookstore, in different sections. I looked at photography books, for her, needlepoint.

How in the hell can a date/non-date start off with a high speed drunken chase, and end with a big ol’ giant fucking yawn, you ask?

This is the way the date ends. Not with a bang…