Ballsy Boston Broad

Everthing happens for a reason
Up until last Friday night, I was always a firm believer in the saying “Everything happens for a reason.”  I prescribed to the idea that people could look back on the disappointments or letdowns in their lives and (more or less) understand how (through some unexpected twists and turns) better things eventually came about as a result.

 

Fast forward to September 4, 2009….. Note to self: That saying is complete bullshit. And I hope that it vanishes just like the saying “war on terror” did from the Obama Administration’s vocabulary.  I say that now because I sincerely believe that I will never be able to look back on my disappointing date last Friday and find a morsel of good that comes from it.

 

True story

The following is a true story.

The name of the single man has been changed to protect his anonymity.

The lesson of the story single ladies: The vast majority of single, heterosexual men in today’s world suck.

Especially you, Matt Miller.

Douchebag.

 

The joke was on me
Leading up to the date, he did everything right.  Shortly after our first encounter, he picked up the telephone like a ‘big boy’ and asked me out. (You see single men…It can be done. Now give it a try!).  He followed that up with a few cutesy emails and of course he Facebook friended me.  Needless to say, he followed all of my “pre-date” rules to a tee.  For once, I had no complaints!  Not to mention, he was attractive, tall, athletic (a former D-1 athlete), held a good job, and from what I could infer from his Facebook photos, he was close to his family and had lots of friends.  Ladies he seemed like the “full package.”  Looking back, I had every reason in the world to believe I had met a “good guy”…boy was the joke on me!

 

Fast forward to September 4, 2009 at 6:00PM
Since we live on opposite sides of the city, the plan was to meet at the outdoor bar right outside the Nationals Stadium for a few drinks and some live music before hitting up the game.  In typical Nationals fashion the ball park was less than 1/3 occupied and the majority of fans were from the opposing team.  But none of that phased me because it was a gorgeous night out and I had a hot date.

 

Of course I get there promptly at 5:50PM to ensure myself a few minutes to fix my hair and touch up my lip gloss before he arrived….

6:00PM…

6:01PM…

6:02PM…(looking at my watch)

6:05PM…(sigh)

6:08PM…(random scalper approaches me and says “hey baby, you need some tickets?”)

6:10PM…(“What the f*ck, where is he?” I mutter beneath my breath)

6:16PM…(Text message from my date: “Just got off Metro”)(He is late. Strike #1 crosses my mind…)

 

I see him approaching from the distance.  He is wearing a baseball cap (I give him a pass since we are at a baseaball game), a tee-shirt (Strike #2—he should have worn a polo shirt) and is sporting a pair of khaki shorts.  I am so disgusted by the fact that he already has 2 strikes a mere 30 seconds into the date, I neglect to even check out his footwear of choice.

 

Now I swear on my running sneakers, the first words out of this bozo’s mouth were “Oh I am so getting hammered tonight.”  I KID YOU NOT!  It was not “Hi Kristina, nice to see you” or “You look nice.”  It was “Oh I am so getting hammered tonight.” Now not for nothing, for those of you who know me or at least quasi-Facebook know me, do I strike any of you as someone who likes to go out and get “hammered.” Gosh, or at least I hope not?!?!

 

Now in all fairness, I thought to myself, “ok, maybe he is joking” and proceeded to follow him to the bar.  After the bar tender checks our ID’s, my date says “How about I get this round and you get the next?”  (Strike #3).  At this point I just obliged.  I knew there would never be a second date, but I figured I might as well just make the best of this date since I did trek out all this way out here and I wanted to see the ball game.

 

Well, I might as well make the best of it
So we chatted a bit…well, it was mostly me asking him questions about himself since he seemed not to give two shits about me. (Strike #4)  We managed to get through two drinks but the whole time I was getting more and more annoyed by his frequent dropping of the F-bomb.  Christ, who was I on a date with?  Andrew Dice Clay?!?! Now don’t get me wrong, I have a tendency on occasion to swear like a sailor, but I would never curse on a date, let alone on a first date!  That is just plain rude and inconsiderate.  After all, he was in the presence of a “delicate lady” (Strike #5)

 

On our way to the front gate to buy tickets, an attractive, athletic blond girl yells his name from afar.  Turns out they used to play kickball together.  RED ALERT:  Let me say upfront, I love my kickball player friends.  They are funny, athletic and the life of the party…but I think even they can agree on this rule: You should never, ever, ever date a kickball player unless you yourself are a kickball player. Kickball players are their own clique and should date only amongst themselves.  If you ever dated a kickball player and you yourself were not one, you know exactly what I am talking about…Moving on….

 

So she offered us two tickets to join a group of her friends in a suite for $20/each that included free alcoholic drinks, sodas and appetizers.  Without even consulting me, he replied “F*ck yeah!”  I then meticulously watched as he slowly reached into his wallet and pulled out 1 $20 bill to pay for his ticket.  I am sure you can imagine the disgust on my face.  Rolling my eyes, I handed her my $20.  Again, I just told myself to soldier on because maybe the Nats might put on a real show tonight. Wow, looking back I was quite the optimist (The Nats of course lost).

 

I will admit the suite was ultra.  The drinks were flowing, there were flatscreen televisions on every corner of the room, a private bathroom, outdoor seats that looked like recliners…I mean it was a real treat and quite the upgrade from the $5 bleacher seats I am accustomed too.  After about 15 minutes of phony talk with the other guests, we decided to venture out of the suite to get some dinner.

 

“I’ll be right back”
After a brief jaunt around the “specialty suite” food area, and intense inner debate with myself over whether I wanted a hamburger or chicken sandwich, I decided to order from Capitol Carvery. Rather than be a gentleman and order at the same stand as me, he obnoxiously said “Eh, I want a sausage.  I’ll be back.”  At this point I was too hungry to get aggravated.  After waiting in line for 15 minutes (let’s just say the carvers where not the quickest bunch in the Capitol) I looked around to try to find my date.  He was nowhere in sight. I figured his line must have been slower than mine.  After about 10 minutes, I texted him “Are you still in line?”…..2 minutes later he texts me back “No, I am back in the suite” (SEEING RED, DAGGERS COMING OUT OF MY EYES).  I just sighed and made my way to the suite.

 

 When I arrived, my date was sitting in between two other people eating and happily carrying on a conversation.  He must have been back there for quite a while since his sausage was ½ devoured.  I grabbed a stool and joined the group.  At this point I struck up a conversation with a nice young woman who graduated Harvard Law School.  In awe of her academic achievements and having always been a bit regretful that I never went to law school, I was curious to learn how she liked Harvard and what type of work she does….During this conversation, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that my date stepped outside to watch the game.  I just ignored him and remained steadfast on mission to learn whether the allegations made in the book 1L were true!  In hindsight I want to kick myself. I should have been more interested in finding out if there were any single Harvard men in the suite!!  Well anyways….

 

The Kickball Rule
Then I looked outside to see what my gem of a date was up to.  While I should not have been shocked at anything at this point, what I then saw even made my jaw drop….He was having a grand ole time sitting outside with his arm around the kickball girl! Laughing and chatting away, the two were very cozy.  I mean couldn’t he just have waited until I left before he went macking on another girl?  He should have at least had the decency to finish our date before he went on the prowl for some easy ass that night.

 

Don’t get me wrong, my blood was boiling.  But at the same time, I could not help but laugh.  I even wondered how much longer I should just stick around just to see what jackass move he would make next. I mean at this point, it was actually becoming entertaining.  I mean for all I knew, he would be down on bended knee proposing by the 7th inning stretch.

 

I can assure you the ballsy broad in me wanted to storm over to the love birds and curse them out.  But, since I was among other people, and Harvard girl, I decided to suck up my pride.  I walked over, shot both of them daggers and said “I am going to head back into the city.”  He quickly jumped out of his seat and replied “uh, ok. I will walk you to the door.” I turned my back to him and said, “Nope, I am all set” and walked out.

 

The date was over.  Just like that I headed back to the Metro and went home.

 

I never heard from him again.  No text later that night to see if I managed to navigate home safely on the green light without a bullet proof vest.  No call the next day to apologize.  Nothing.

 

You have to laugh, right? And of course blog…
Well, I hope my latest dating disaster gave you a few chuckles.  I guess maybe everything does happen for a reason.  Looking back years from now, I am sure this story will bring me a lot of laughs.  Like I always say, “At the end of the day when it comes to dating, we all have to have a sense of humor.”

$4.20-Round trip Metro ride

$13-   2 Bud Lights + tip

$20-   1 Baseball ticket

$11-   1 Chicken sandwich from Capitol Carvery

 

 The look on his face when he reads this…PRICELESS!!!

 

If you have any comments or know of any eligible, tall, good looking, athletic single men in the DC area who don’t have a habit of abandoning their date please contact me at Kristinablair8@gmail.com.