June 4, 2010

This story really could go in either category, “Drunken Diaries” or “Dating Rules.” But I’m putting it in the former category to showcase what a complete idiot I am. Just in case anyone is still wondering.

I’m at one of those binge drinking parties. You know, the ones where you pay $20 for three hours of drinking. Where $20 equals about four beers yet you feel the need to consume a beer every five minutes to “get your money’s worth”? I’m sure you are all familiar with them. In fact, many of you reading have probably had the pleasant experience of getting dry humped by me while in attendance. If not dry humped, then at the very least offended and most definitely scared.

I quickly begin my descent into Blackoutville as the night progressed. It really is a nice place this time of year, and I try to visit often. I happen to meet a young man who really tickled my fancy.

Reminder: Pretty much anyone who is breathing and somewhat has a grasp of the English language would probably tickle my fancy at this point.

What I take home with me about said young man is he is Guatemalan, has an accent, is tall/dark/handsome and he has my phone number. Many of the other details are blurry.

As boys these days often do, he text messaged me a couple of days later, and we decided to meet for dinner at a local bar. I should remind everyone we have yet to talk on the phone.

I arrive first and grab a table near the window to wait. I see the tall/dark/handsome Guatemalan walking up to the restaurant and congratulate my memory for not failing me. He quickly sits down and says, “Hello, how are you?”

Hmmm….no accent.

“Wait a second,” I stammered, “aren’t you from Guatemala?” He looked very confused and replied, “Ummm, no…I’m originally from Springfield.”

Ah, yes, Springfield. I see how that could easily be confused with Guatemala. “Sooo….your nationality…is it Guatemalan?” He begins to look more and more confused as he shakes his head no. “My mother is half Mexican though.”


Of course I stayed on the date but continued to laugh at myself in my head. I thought I was going on a date with a Guatemalan, but really he’s some guy that hails from Springfield and is one-quarter Mexican. Sweet.

Moral of the Story:

You should all know that I tend to make things up in my head when I’m drunk. There is no real rhyme or reason to it. I get something in my head and then am adamant about it. I met someone recently and was convinced he was a cop. He was not a cop. Yet I was arguing with him about what his real occupation was. I decided he was a cop and that was that. Brilliant!

I digress.

When agreeing to go on a date with someone who you drunkenly believe to be foreign, it is probably a good idea to have a phone conversation with him first to confirm. I felt like enough of an idiot, that he ended up being a HUGE jerk. Of course, it didn’t help matters that I originally thought he was Guatemalan. Beans and rice may have saved this jerk. But one fourth of a burrito is just no good.