March 05, 2007
Flying High
My friend Natalie was in town briefly, and I always enjoy hearing stories of her romantic trials. A Chicago gal through and through, she currently lives in New York because that's where you go to break onto Broadway. I send her a check every month because I plan to have my big, lily-white butt firmly planted on her coattails, once she makes it big.
Anyhoo, we caught up over some lovely Panera paninis (say that ten times fast!), and we got to trading stories of our dating escapades gone horribly awry. I was reminded of one of my favorites.
I briefly dated an Italian guy named Marco. So briefly, my Mom probably doesn't even remember any of this. In fact, I'm not even positive Marco was his name. A friend of mine in college set us up because she thought we'd look good together. Seriously -- that was her entire motivation. And sadly, I went for it.
Hey, if I wasn't stupid, I'd have nothing to blog about, so shut up!
One summer evening, he was driving us to the movies. Out of the blue, he said to me, "You know, I wouldn't even tell you this, except that I'm really flying high on acid right now."
Uh-huh. Acid.
In the passenger seat, I was thinking, Boy, a conversation that starts like that probably isn't going to go very well. I was also thinking, He's probably not as in control of this car as I'd like. But I let him continue, out of sheer morbid curiosity.
He said, "You should probably know that I'm a dealer."
"Like, a car dealer?" I asked, knowing damn well that's not what he meant but hoping to impress upon him the absurdity of the current situation.
"No, like a drug dealer. Coke and pot."
"You're kidding me."
"What? It's not like I'm pushing it to little kids on the playground. The people I sell to would just get it somewhere else if I didn't provide it."
Cuz that makes it okay. He's just providing a public service! I made my displeasure clear, and then he got all defensive and blamed ME for not having figured it out on my own.
"Where did you think I got this car and this stereo? You think I paid for that with my day job?!"
"Well, you live with your parents, so, yeah! I did!"
He wanted to continue to berate me for being a "silly, little girl," but I told him to stop the car. And he did. Right in the middle of the street. Luckily, we weren't far from my house, and it was still pretty light out, so I walked home.
My parents were surprised to see me home so early, and hell if my shellshocked brain could come up with a good excuse, so I just told them the truth. I got out of the car because my date admitted to be flying high on acid.
As you may imagine, they didn't know quite what to do with that information. They couldn't really get mad because, upon learning I was dating a coke dealer, I had done the right thing. So they just made sure I had no intention of seeing him again, and we watched some t.v.
Who drives a car on acid? And how did I not know I was dating a drug dealer? God, I'm so glad I'm not nineteen anymore.
Comments
Oh, now that's a good one.
I think my best is my most recent. I managed to find a total loser to have a ONS with. He called me the day after (I said he didn't have to). He then came over the next night and made plans for the following night (again at his prompting, not mine). He never showed and never called again. Turns out he lied about his last name too.
Here's the catch. He lives in my apartment complex and is one of the fix-it guys! So I see him walking around like all the time. Dude, your my neighbor and you blew me off - how'd you think that was going to work out?
Posted by: Hope at March 5, 2007 12:22 PM
Bwaaa ha ha!
Too bad you're married. The dating stories to be had...
Posted by: C. at March 5, 2007 09:20 PM