I'm not proud of this. And it's slightly mortifying and embarassing to admit this to you all, but I was three sheets to the wind, out of control, blackout drunk last night. Well I don't really remember being out of control. I remember being super duper excited to see friends I hadn't seen in weeks or even months. And playing beer pong. And almost going home with BeardGuy who has been trying to get with me since the rager house party I threw back in March. And I remember not having to pay for any of my drinks, CrazyGirl in a MillerLite girl get-up or referee costume, some sexy ninja turtles (who knew that was possible?), some heavymetal punks and walking several miles before getting in a cab b/c I was too hammered to use my Metro app to figure out where the closest station was. I can also clearly recall more than a few people telling me, "wow, T, you are really drunk!" It happens.
What I can't remember, even the tiniest spec or iota about, is Blackout Drunk Guy. Or shall we call him "Unknown Guy?" Or "MyAmnesiaGuy" or "Self-Imposed Blind Date" Guy? Or "How Bad Could He Be Guy?" I'm open to suggestions.
But recollection or not, at 2:33 this afternoon, the day after, I received a phone call and a voice message from a Virginia number (meaning local) that said the following: "Hey, it's X from the Halloween Party last night. Uh...just wanted to call and say hi and let you know I had a great time meeting you last night. Um...I was thinking hoping maybe we could meet up some time this week. So give me a call when you get a chance, alright? Okay, bye."
Nice right? A very nice message indeed.
I will say I'm not a huge fan of his name- "X". It's a perfectly normal name like Paul or Andrew but somehow not a name that conjurs up sexiness like Jake or Josh or Brett or Clay. There's something appealing to me about a Trip or Tre or Justin or Bobby and not so instantly pleasing to hear as Aaron or Martin or Lawrence. Parker is cute and Trevor and Travis. John and Matt and Mark and Brendan are all perfectly fine too. But I would rather not a Richard, (heaven forbid a "Dick"), a male "Leslie," Donald (or "Don"), Albert (and "Al") and don't get me started on Wyatt, Walter, George or Burt. Now I know this isn't scientific and totally shallow and that there are exceptions to every rule. Ahem, George Clooney. I just somehow think I'd be more inclined to call this guy back if his name was Will, Jack, Kyle or Ben instead of Daniel, Craig or Harry. I'm just saying. Is anyone with me on this? Do you have names you like or don't like? Are attracted to or not at first introduction? Let me know. I'd love to know I'm not the only one.
But I digress. What I really want to know is, plain and simple, should I go out w/ this guy? I asked this question earlier on twitter and had a couple of lovely ladies thoughtfully and immediately respond. Thanks for that tweeties! And if you're reading this and not following bourbon_toddy on twitter please feel free to do so. Anyways, responses: 1) candacearm replied: "give him a chance! if he actually called, could be a decent guy :)"; 2) DateMeDCBlog commented: "I say give it a shot -- how bad could it be? #dontanswerthat"; and 3) sassymarmalade was doubly helpful with her not one, but two, comments encoraging: "Definitely give him a chance! Tough to find a guy who actually follows through, ya know" and observing "1 - you'll prob be like, "ohhh, yeah, I remember" when you see him. 2 - couldn't be that bad or he'd be calling PM not AM! :)" All excellent points. He did like me, ask for my number and follow through calling to ask me out a day later. And I, even if irreconcilably out of it, did in fact choose to give him my number voluntarily. We hope.
On the other hand, why did he like me? Because I seemed like a wild, loose party girl who would give it up on a first date? Were my breasts falling out of my shirt? I have to wonder. I'm a loud, "vibrant" person sober, so I can only imagine how irresistable the amplied, liquored-up affect must be.
But a date is a date is a date is a date. It's nice to be liked and even nicer to be asked out. So what if he turns out to be too short, too fat, too young, too old, too weird, too crass or likes me for all the wrong reasons. An accidentally one-sided blind date couldn't be any worse than the schlubs I've gotten out with lately with all the knowledge of brains and beauty and bank accounts beforehand. Right?
I don't sound fully convinced do I? You're right. I could use an extra little push. So...I ask of favor of you dear readers. If, and only if, I get 10 comments on this blog entry, urging and insisting me onward, I am gonna pass. However, if I do get those 10 comments, I will immediately call Mr. "X" back and set up a date for later this week. And of course I will blog about it afterwards. Therefore, if you've been on bad blind dates and feel your misery loves company or have never been on one by chance or fear, let me be your guinea pig, let me brave the unknown. I think he might be worth it, if only for the blog fodder. Let me know what you decide.