{"id":352,"date":"2011-09-02T05:07:55","date_gmt":"2011-09-02T10:07:55","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.aguidetoselfsabotage.com\/?p=352"},"modified":"2011-09-04T08:11:57","modified_gmt":"2011-09-04T13:11:57","slug":"blurry-girl-date-7","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.aguidetoselfsabotage.com\/2011\/09\/02\/blurry-girl-date-7\/","title":{"rendered":"Blurry girl, Date #7"},"content":{"rendered":"

From time to time one of these unanswered intro letters results in a date. \u00a0Here is the recap of one date.<\/em><\/p>\n

She was some flavor of Latin. Her profile pictures were out of focus. I thought she was being artistic. Nope. In real life she was blurry. I wasn’t drunk when we met. Was it an advanced make-up application that put her into soft focus or did the 109 degree\u00a0temperature\u00a0send blinding sweat into my eyes?\u00a0Irrelevant. We met and stumbled for the forced hug and peck on cheek.<\/p>\n

We agreed to meet in front of some Mexican restaurant bar place. It was painted a violent yellow that made the allure of cocaine understandable.<\/p>\n

“For dinner or drinks?” asked the hostess. My date looked confused. I didn’t care what the answer was. I wanted to sit down, have one drink, suffer some strained conversation and go home.<\/p>\n

“Yes.” she said. Yes the default answer when someone asks you a question not in your native tongue. Yes, not in the affirmative, but yes in give me a hint and I’ll figure out what you asked.<\/p>\n

“OK,” I said and we were seated at a table. The next table over was occupied by two women. One of them I knew in the biblical sense. Thankfully she was buried behind three empty\u00a0margarita\u00a0glasses and couldn’t see me. Hell she couldn’t see anything. Maybe I’d become infected with the blurry.<\/p>\n

“Are you going to eat?” asked my date.<\/p>\n

“What? No. You?”<\/p>\n

She shook her head. I took us to the bar, placed her in the corner and ordered two beers. Waiting for the beers I glanced at her to see if she had gained focus. If anything she had become more blurred. Was this really happening or had my life become one long\u00a0hallucination.<\/p>\n

The beers didn’t help the conversation move along. The room was too loud and she was too quiet.<\/p>\n

“This sucks. Lets go somewhere else.” I had to get out of this place. The screaming yellow walls were like kittens claws to the eyeballs.<\/p>\n

She smiled and said she knew a place. The place she knew was perfect. It was brown, woody and the air had a subtle grease flavor. The best part were the empty stools at the bar.<\/p>\n

More beer and our conversation became loosened. What we talked about is irrelevant and unremarkable. Family, work, travel, the typical filler of first dates. More\u00a0alcohol\u00a0and I thought about having sex with the blurry girl. She mentioned that her 19 year old “nephew” was staying with her and this didn’t deter my thoughts of sex.<\/p>\n

I excused myself and went to the men’s room. A lot of mens rooms do not have mirrors and for good reason. After six beers and shot of whiskey you should not be allowed to look at yourself. I saw the monster in the mirror and slapped him. What the hell is wrong with you? You can’t sleep with a blurry girl. Dammit man she has a 19 year old kid. Get your shit together, end the date, go home and watch some porn.<\/p>\n

I returned to the bar. She looked at me and her face registered my changed attitude.<\/p>\n

“I guess we should call it a night,” she said. Yes. And we did. The next morning she made me breakfast. She was still blurry.<\/p>\n

There was no second date. Neither of us saw any need for it.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

From time to time one of these unanswered intro letters results in a date. \u00a0Here is the recap of one date. She was some flavor of Latin. Her profile pictures were out of focus. I thought she was being artistic. Nope. In real life she was blurry. I wasn’t drunk when we met. 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