Before I tell you about the worst date of all time, which in fact is not even true because once in 1988 a guy picked me up already drunk then told me I was white trash before appetizers, and really THAT one was worse, I have two important details to tell you, even though last night's date said, "Why does anyone want to read your minutiae?"
So hang on while I fill you in on the minutiae, will you?
Minuatiae #1: I really haven't been talking to Marvin a lot, but yesterday I was driving to Raleigh and America's Top 40 with Casey Kasem was on. Is it Kasey Kasem? I'd look it up but I don't feel like it because I am in a bad mood. On my satellite radio, every Saturday they'll play America's Top 40 from the current week, but from a year from 1970-1979. This week they were playing 1979.
Well. You know that's a good year. So I am afraid I called Marvin and got his voicemail. And perhaps I may have sung Don't Cry Out Loud by Melissa Manchester.
You know, I never insist you watch the embedded video. Dude. Today I insist. I don't care if you're driving. I don't care if you're gonna get fired. It is seriously the most disturbing thing you have ever seen.
Anyway, you know how I am. Oh, how I bellowed into Marv's voicemail, because you know how he always enjoyed my singing voice. And how I was not banned from singing in the house at all.
What I did not know was that Marvin was at a conference, right next to his boss, and that he tried to surreptitiously listen to his voicemail during some lecture, and apparently the DON'T CRYYYYY OUT LOUUUUUD! Just keep it inSIIIDE! was so loud, people starting turning around to look at him.
Do you know who misses me?
Minutiae #2: Once I got to my hairdresser, she came around to the side of my face to paint on some color, and she said, "If your eyelashes get any longer they're gonna look FAKE! Holy crap!"
I adore my Latisse. So bad.
Anyway, finally it was time to paint on a smile and take up with some clown, so I headed over to the restaurant to meet my date. And just to recap, I went out with this guy once, in October, literally two days after Daniel Boone and I broke up. I sobbed the whole way to the restaurant, dried my eyes because I am not one of those people who get all blotchy after crying, had THE BEST TIME, then got in the car and cried the whole way home.
So I didn't see the guy after that because I was too caught up in the Daniel Boone thing, but at Christmas this guy'd emailed me and I said, "You were so great. Whatever happened, there?" and he was all, "I'll tell you what happened. You broke my heart a little because I thought we had a great time." So we decided to go on another date.
I walked in and there he was and he is still really cute. He is. Even though he may as well slapped me repeatedly with a bag of marbles and the evening would've been more rewarding, I do have to say he is cute.
"You look really good!" he said. So, yay. We think the other is attractive. That pretty much ended the positive portion of the evening.
I thought things were going well, as the conversation was flowing, but the thing is, if you're with me there's never gonna be a lull, you know? So maybe I should stop using that as a gauge. "So, in these three months, all you've had are casual dates? Nothing has stuck?" I asked him.
"No, that's not exactly true. There is one person who's asking for exclusivity and I said I'd think it over."
"When did that happen?"
"So, am I the deciding factor? I feel awful."
"No, no. I went out with someone last night, too. You're not the deciding factor."
So that was disconcerting. And then he said, "I don't think I'd want to keep up with you. It's too exhausting. All the witty banter back and forth. I don't know if I'd want to work that hard."
Wow. I mean. Wow. Where is it written that if I say something funny you have to say something hilarious back? Is that what people think? Am I that scary? I don't WORK to say funny things back. And every single thing I say isn't hilarious. I'm no Shecky Green.
THEN...yes, then, there's more, he said, "I don't know. I think you're too intimidating. With the being smart and quick and famous."
Famous? And smart and quick are bad things?
And that's when he started trashing my blog. "What IS your blog address, anyway? I know you're gonna write about me, and I stopped reading it last time after I wasn't mentioned anymore. I really don't get your blog."
There have been times in my life when in retrospect I've thought, why didn't I just get up and leave? And last night was one of those times. Honestly I was so stunned that it took me till I got halfway home to even feel anything.
And that thing was rage.
But at the moment, I handed him my fancy new blog card. "Oh, the woman I'm seeing would hate this. She'd get all suspicious about what this was."
"So, are you going to decide to see her exclusively?" I asked. I caught on because I'm quick. And famous.
"Yeah, I'm gonna do it." And then he got out his phone and showed me pictures of her and began reading her texts.
So I went on a date with someone and they decided they wanted to be exclusive. With someone other than me. Honestly, am I covered in Repulsivity Shield? I know that isn't a thing but I swear I have it. Kind of like gingivitis. Didn't advertisers just kind of make that up?
I called Tall Boy on the way home, who I am seeing a movie with today and who by the way is also seeing someone exclusively, and did I ever tell you we broke up because he wasn't ready to date exclusively?
"I GIVE UP!" I screeched at Tall Boy. I told him the whole story, and he insisted my blog is hilarious, which believe it or not was the worst part of all that, and somehow TB knew that and I'm glad that's what he dwelled on. "I mean, your minutiae is funny. If you can make that crap funny, people read it."
Then he had to go email the woman he's dating exclusively.
Oh my god, I hate everything. Oh! But my hair is good! Here:
FYI, am never getting out of Christmas flannel pajamas, so enjoy them. It is my version of Miss Havisham. I will be Miss Havingalife.