Seventy-Five Percent Sure

I’m finally out of my alcohol-induced coma.  That shit was awful.  Luckily, I may have found a real hangover cure besides ten Tylenol gel-caps and a few bottles of Glacier Blue Gatorade.  But that can wait.  Today I have a more important affair to discuss, such as my date tomorrow evening.

First, let’s rewind back to my Saturday night trip to Wastedville, which is best summarized with a single picture:

Cute guy genuinely seems interested based on his facial expression, or what you can see of it.  Obviously, I’m telling him how fucking awesome I am and he is intrigued by my confidence and bluntness.  The reality is, that little glass of danger I’m stroking is really doing the talking, especially since I recollect about 5% of any conversation I had on the dance floor.

On a random side note, the dude to my left was the sweatiest, semi-most fun drunk dancer ever.  Props to him for not lathering me up in a perspirated sandwich-grind.

Now that you’re caught up, let’s fast-forward to this impending date.  It takes place tomorrow, during the happiest of all hours, 5-7p.m.  Cute guy and I were engaging in a texting dual to confirm a time for our sober meet-up.  Originally, we were to meet around five-ish, but he stated that he may be there closer to six, depending on when he gets out of work.  I think he’s a nurse or something, but I’ll confirm that tomorrow…

Anyways, I tell him that it’s “No big deal” if he’s late, as long as he lets me know.  I like perusing the happy hour selections anyways. 

That was a joke, but clearly, I’m the funny one because I received no witty response.  Errrr…no comeback?!  Oh fuck.  Perhaps all that pinot grigio and vodka clouded my judgement.  But then, he responded…three times.  With the following:

“I can usually get out by 5 but I’ll give you a heads up.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“I’m 75% sure I’ll get there around 5.”

Whoa…simmer down now.  Is he certain he’s not 82% sure he’ll be there on time?  I’d feel a lot better if he at least gave himself a grade of a high “C.”

Perhaps he’s just paranoid that I’ll leave if he’s not on time, which is quite possible given the fact that I’ve spent too much of my dating life waiting around on douschebags.  In a way, it’s kind of cute that he’s solidifying such concrete plans.  On the other hand, maybe he’s O.C.D.?

I’ll let you know…right now I’m only 65% sure.


~ by citygal on May 11, 2010.

4 Responses to “Seventy-Five Percent Sure”

  1. so how did the date go? was it 84% good, 16% bad or 99% good, 1%bad?
    Thanks for stopping by my site citygal, i love the way you write.
    On a sidenote, I’m allergic to alcohol which is to say, life is a little less fun 😦

  2. he isn’t giving you a grade of “C”, he is just saying that 3 out of 4 times he will arrive by 5.

    Oh. and didn’t say you wanted a man for more than just sex? How is meeting them drunk in bars helping that. This reader is confused…and now going to text that girl he met drunkenly last wed and try to hook-up with her! hahhaha

  3. Even though I appreciate how you’re sort of ripping this guy already; maybe Gaylord M. Focker’s phone was just slowed up by those thick hospital walls so that all of his responses to your texts came through at the same time 🙂 Either way – you are clearly the funny one. Good Luck.

  4. This is exciting! I cannot wait to hear how it goes. And PS? I LOVE that picture. Priceless!

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