I Can't Get A Date When Double Shanghaied Into One

You guys, I have such stories to tell you tonight. Stories. As in plural. I promise there's not one that's not ridiculous or odd. I'm sorry in advance.

Let's start with a story from last night, after I already posted my entry for the night. It was so awesome that I was tempted to post twice yesterday, but then I decided to save it for today in case I had no good blogging material. And I don't have good blog material; I have GREAT blog material.

As I was getting ready to cuddle into bed for the night, I received an email from Craigslist. Now that you all see where this is going...

My mom is selling one of her real estate books called Pennsylvania Real Estate Exam Prep. Naturally, I put it online under that title and then reiterated the title of the book in the ad, just in case, because I've become quite familiarized with the people on there. Things were going well when a girl emailed me asking me if I still had the book because she wanted to buy it. Her email had a lot of misspellings and no punctuation, but it was fine. I'm not here to judge. I emailed her back and told her that I did. Then I sang a Taylor Swift song and went on with my night. About two minutes later I got another response, which is where the real issue came in.

First of all, I had to read the email four times to understand what she was saying, due to the lack of punctuation and misspellings. When I finally understood, I realized she was asking me what book I was selling...after she emailed me telling me she wanted it. After I put it in the ad not once, but TWICE. Honestly, Readers, I had no idea how to respond to her without sounding like a smart ass, because she was missing the obvious. I did the best thing I could and told her that it was this exact book, complete with the link to a picture of it so that she knew what book it was for sure. I tried to act oblivious to the fact that she was a few ducks shy of a full pond. Maybe she was just tired.

I either came across as a smart ass, or she embarrassed herself, because suddenly this very interested girl wasn't so interested anymore. But hey, I'm not here to pad egos. I relayed this story to a lady who teaches the real estate classes in the area. She agreed it was best this girl pursued another career. She was also concerned this girl lacked reading skills. I didn't say it, she did.

I finally got to bed after that debacle that made me laugh and confused me. This is the part where a serious over share comes in. You guys, I don't know if you know this, but my brain likes to play tricks on me. Its favorite trick is to make sure I have raunchy dreams about people I'm not even attracted to that are on the TV. I think there's probably some higher power it reports back to, and then the higher power shares this with a bunch of other higher powers and they all pick the best mind trick and give the brain a prize. I can't think of any other reason that my mind would do such a thing to me, but I'm offended.

Last night took the cake. I had an extremely, obscenely racy dream about a certain person who previously mortified me, and now I don't think I can watch their show ever again. Ever. And I like that show. My dream did things that I haven't even done in real life! It's just not right.

Today was a whole other bitch. I had an appointment earlier today. I spent five minutes searching for the Christmas card for the person I was seeing, and then immediately after it hit my purse I forgot about it. Now I have to mail it. Some days, you guys. Some days.

On the way back I stopped at my mom's office to fax something. Tonight was a special event that was in support of Children's Hospital, so while the fax was going through, one of the other ladies my mom works with got to talking to me. I made a joke about how I was worried if there was a lull in this high class evening that Aunt Bev was going to try to set me up with guys. This was the wrong thing to say because she immediately started telling me about her twenty eight year old single nephew. His claim to fame is that he invented some Jello shot glasses and we had to meet.

Wait, back that up. He invented Jello shot glasses. I don't drink. Does anyone else see an ironic little problem here? But he could have been a perfectly nice guy. I say this because I spent the evening avoiding said lady so she didn't try to stick me with her nephew, which ended up in a debacle for the ages.

When we first got there, Aunt Bev and I took a seat at the table, while my mom worked at the event. We quickly deduced that the young guy hanging out with the woman who wanted to introduce me to her nephew like white on rice was her nephew. And he was hanging around the Jello shot glasses and drinking. I profiled. Sue me.

This went from, oh my god, I have something to say to said lady but want to not get stuck trying to get set up, to Aunt Bev asking me why I didn't want to be set up with him. He was cute, I'll admit. So I kind of checked him out. And I kind of rethought things. And you can all see where this is going, because obviously it wasn't her nephew. It was this guy my mom works with who I heard "interesting" stories about. Not the good kind of interesting, either. Of course this how it would turn out.

With my small hopes relentlessly dashed, and me not wanting to admit that I was checking out the "interesting" guy in the office, which is why I won't be sharing this blog with my mom, lest I never hear the end of it, I figured the night was a total loss, and then it was even more awkward because I still had no idea who her nephew was. Before I had a lot of time to think about this, a man who was completely interested in everything about me sat down and struck up a conversation.

He was 66.

66.

SIXTY-SIX!

No matter how you put it, it doesn't sound any less pervy. Because of the way the event was set up, I could not get away from him, except to pee, for an hour and a half.

AN HOUR AND A HALF!

1 hour and 30 minutes!

That doesn't sound any better, either. Everyone at the table was disgusted and not very secretive about it. Our mechanic, who was sitting next to me, apologized for getting up, therefore allowing the guy to take his spot next to me. The guy was there with his wife, who he told me was his girlfriend. Lame. Aunt Bev said she almost kicked him in the balls. I'm mortified to go back to one of these things again.

When I did manage to get up to pee, I took my time. I even stopped to talk to another lady in my mom's office. This lady is easily the funniest person in the world. If there were a contest, and there should be, she'd win hands down. When a car drove right into my mom's office building, she went outside to help the person in the car. After five times of nicely explaining to the person why she was asking her if she was all right, the lady my mom works with finally lost it and yelled "BECAUSE YOU RAN YOUR CAR INTO A BUILDING! A BIG, BRICK BUILDING!" She later found out the driver was drunk out of her wits, but had been drinking vodka, which doesn't carry a scent after consumed, so she had no way of knowing.

Upon telling the funniest lady in the world what was going on, she offered to introduce me to the other lady's nephew, and then pointed him out. Then she told me to tell him what was going on and he would surely understand and be my fake boyfriend. It was so awkward that I didn't know what to do. Do I do it and pretend like it's not creepy? Do I run from her and hope I run into someone else to talk to?

I ran. I didn't run into anyone else, so I had to go back to the table. I should have let things be awkward. The other lady's nephew was super cute and very well dressed and clean cut. I can't even get a date when I'm being forced into a date. It's really reassuring, let me tell you. Unless they're sixty-six, then I can get all the date lovin' I want out of them. Ick.

At the end of the night, I went to find funny lady and told her that it was another forty five minutes after I talked to her until I could get rid of that guy. (There were no other seats to sit in to avoid him, or trust me, I would have been so there. It was literally the only seat left.) She told me next year I had to bring someone, anyone. She threw suggestions around like cousins, distant relatives four times removed, and friends. I settled for an escort service. It seemed like the most logical idea.

I'm counting on all of you to remind me at this time next year to find a boyfriend, or a fake boyfriend, or to talk me into learning how to cry on cue so creepy people will leave me alone because they'll think I'm mentally unbalanced. Whatever gets the job done.