Wednesday, April 7, 2010
My Date With An Angry Lesbian
You know you have a serious addiction when you become friends with the barrista at Starbucks. Or when you start using the word "barrista" in a sentence. My venti addictions aside, Rachel (not her actual name), the Starbucks girl, has become a daily fixture and as such, feels the need to try to set me up on blind dates. Our conversations for the past week have gone something like so:
"Oh my God, you would be perfect for my friend Jaime!" says Rachel.
"No I wouldn't," I say, "No offense, I just don't want to date anyone for, like, ever."
"Oh come on, one little date! If you're both totally wrong for each other, then I will totally let it go."
"Thanks but no thanks."
And then I grab my Mocha Frappuccino, because I love my coffee like I like my men: Tall, dark and sweet enough to induce Type 2 Diabetes. But eventually I caved and decided to go on the blind date with Jaime, who was apparently "Very hot, very funny, and can suck a golf-ball through a Pixie Stick".
For the most part, I really only agreed to go on the date just so that Rachel would stop pestering me every time I decided to go to my green apron-clad dealer for a fix. So far my track record has been less than stellar, and I decided that remaining single was just much easier to handle both mentally and emotionally then to shack myself up with someone I'd end up breaking up with anyway. That being said, it was a blind date, free of any quid pro quos, and I can never say no to dinner. I was given the time and date, and told to look for Jaime, who would be wearing a white shirt, blazer and jeans.
Now, cut to yesterday, when I show up at the restaurant in a nice pair of jeans, leather loafers and an ironed dress shirt. IRONED. Considering that I refuse to be seen wearing anything that doesn't look like it's spent a week balled-up on my living-room floor, this is what Joe Biden would refer to as "A Big Fucking Deal."
And of course, there was Jaime. Jaime was toned, had black hair, a strong jaw and a strong, masculine stance. Jaime was perfect.
Or at least, it would have been if it weren't for the fact that Jaime had twice the number of X chromosomes that I had, or that Jaime's sex organs were on the inside, or that Jaime was a girl.
With a vagina.
"You're Jaime, aren't you?" I asked.
"And you are?" asked Jaime
"Jeremy," I said.
Jaime gave me a look as if I had pulled down my pants and started hanging brain in her water glass. And then she went nucking futs. "MOTHERFUCKER!" she screamed.
Normally, the inevitable blow up occurred a little further along in the date, when both parties were good and drunk. This was the first time it had ever happened before I even managed to sit down. "I'm missing out on something here, aren't I?"
"That fucking bitch set me up again! GODDAMMIT!"
"Yeah, that's pretty much the point of blind dates," I said.
"Would you shut the hell up? You're not even a girl!" she said.
It was at this point that I realized that I was a gay man on a blind date with a lesbian. A very angry lesbian. A very angry lesbian who was far closer to the butter knife than I would have liked. "Okay then," I said, backing up as slowly as I could.
"Know what? No. Fuck this. Goodbye," she said, as the very angry lesbian stormed out of the restaurant. It was at this point that I noticed everyone in the restaurant was looking at me. "I'm gay and my friend who works at Starbucks set me up on a blind date with a lesbian," I said to the waitress closest to me.
"I'm sorry. Can I get you anything?"
Long story short, I got some free breadsticks. Sweet.
Thankfully, Rachel was still working as a froth slave at Starbucks, so I decided to pay her a little visit to clear the air. Obviously, Jaime the Very Angry Lesbian got to her first because the moment I walked in she started laughing at me. "April Fools!" she screamed.
"No, April Fools Day was last week. You're not allowed to prank anyone anymore. That's why it's called April Fools Day. Not April Fools Week."
"Yeah, but I started it on April Fools Day, so it counts."
"No, that's not how it works," I said. "Now can I get a Moka Frappuccino? You kinda owe me for setting me up with an Angry Lesbian. She blew up on me. It's like I told her that they discontinued 'The L-Word' on DVD."
Yeah I had to pay for it. I think I've learned a valuable lesson: Never have friends who will set you up on a date with a raging lesbo, unless she's cool with you punching her in the clam.