I should have known this would be a painful, painful process when she suggested that I take out a personal ad in the Cincinnati Enquirer. I am still not looking to be chopped up for spare parts or chained to someone's water heater- so I have avoided this mandate by following all of her other instructions... blindly following her suggestions to my own detriment.
The good news is that I have only suffered one panic attack so far...the bad news is that it is only February.
I went to a Casual Wine Tasting with my Dollar Menunaire Matchmaker - $22 for 6 glasses of wine and dinner, so I didn't even care if I met anyone, Pinot and Cab would keep me company. I spent about 20 minutes primping in the mirror to look like I didn't care what I looked like. Toussled hair, white tee, tight jeans, Antique Mahjong piece necklace for a conversation starter about playing by yourself - I was ready to go!
She arrived to pick me up around 6:20pm, and was laughing way to hard to be sober. I questioned her demeanor immediately, and she said, "Just laughing thinking about what I am going to make you do tonight." I immediately thought, "Oh GREAT! Glad I can amuse you in efforts to get more free dinners this year." She made me patiently wait until we pulled up to the Wine Bar to pull out her challenge.
|Obvi I bleeped out my real name and number for the internet post.|
My challenge for the evening was to find someone to give this to. Of course, I had a panic attack. Nothing screams desperate more than a pre-mediated handmade VALENTINE with my real name and number on it. After yelling several obscenities at Blondie, I snatched the pink heart of doom right out of her hand, stuffed it in my purse, and stomped right into the wine tasting to start two fisting my favorite reds.
Much to my surprise, the evening turned out fabulous because BlondeMess is an excellent wingwoman.
She is a master at hook & switch. She walks up to a guy all smiles and touchy feely, introduces herself, and then pulls me in, pushes us together, and disappears. After 6 glasses of wine, this method not only seemed seamless, but also brilliant. (Note: had I not been carrying a heart shaped hot pink bomb in my purse, I would have handled my own shit...but I was acting a little sullen)
I met two guys that night. One super charming ginger head with a rumored "is-it-in-yet?" sized penis. AND one tall, attractive farm boy who was visiting "the big city" for the evening. I strung them both along as long as I possibly could because I couldn't decide.
I liked the attention from the Ginger Midget (by midget, I am referring to his barely there penis) but knew that I wouldn't give him my number. Because there is nothing worse than sex with a guy whose penis is so insignificant that the doctor exclaimed, "It's a....Grrr....oh? No, wait. It's a boy??" when he was born. But the Indiana Farm Boy was everything that I have tried to escape when I left my hometown - accent, small vocabulary, and pack of friends with missing teeth.
However, after approximately 10 glasses of wine and a double vodka drink - I realized that I needed to get out of my comfort zone and drop the Asshole Ginger Midge for a guy who was sweet and quiet, and maybe a little backward.
I channeled all of my courage, strode over to the Gentle Giant, and handed him my "Valentine." He smiled and thanked me- seemingly excited. I thought to myself, "Maybe Blondie knew what she was talking about all along." It looked like all was well....
Until I punched his friend in the face and split his lip.
Why? I have no fucking clue! BUT I do remember that it was a "joke" that went horribly wrong.
Needless to say, I am still looking for a Valentine.