May 29 2009

Text By Greg Fallis

Not him. Oh please please please, not him.

What was I thinking? A blind date? What the hell was I thinking? I can't believe I spent forty-five minutes rummaging through my closet picking this dress and he's wearing...what is that? A baseball jersey? Any guy that shows up for a blind date wearing a baseball Jersey has seen too many Kevin Costner movies. And whatever that is he's drinking, I don't even want to know.

I wonder if leaning against this wall makes me look desperate. I should leave, I should just leave. I mean, I'm smart—I'm attractive—I'm witty and funny—I've got a good job. So what am I doing here? Why am I wearing a three hundred dollar dress, leaning against a wall in il Rosso di Pollo, trying to avoid eye contact with some Costner wannabe dressed in a goddam baseball jersey? Something's just not right in the world.

I feel like I've spent the last three years waiting for a blind date with life. And it stood me up.