Date Number Two

Okay, so even though this was the second date it is going to be the first entry because this is the date that started it all.

Background Information:
Yental Grandma created this match, pleased with her first success.  Also she is extremely terrified that I will die alone surrounded by dogs named after the children I might have conceived.  Yental Grandma made a very interesting match as you will see...

WHY THINGS WENT WRONG ON MY END
To be fair to Grandma, I really wasn’t in the mood to meet anyone new. The
single caffeinated Coke I consumed last night caused an entire night of insomnia.
Insomnia often results in either crankiness or craziness. In addition I had a morning
exam, so I had been drained of all of my mental capacities. Whoever would be
meeting me would be meeting an exhausted bumbling shell of a being.

HOW PRETTY MUCH EVERYTHING ELSE WENT WRONG
   So I go to the designated meeting spot (Clyde’s) with Grandma in hopes of meeting the love of my life. Grandma had prevented me from knowing anything other than the boy’s major and name. No facebook stalking or stalker-netting. This was a truly blind date. After some searching Grandma locates my new boyfriend. He has long school-shooter hair that covers his entire face and a Nintendo beanie. Headphones remain glued to the side of his head and it is questionable as to whether they ever leave. OOO (romantic ooo) Grandma has picked well, this is love at first sight. Grandma introduces us to each other and then, to my complete horror, leaves me with this Klebold-type.
   As most of you know, going to Clyde’s at noon is a complete noob mistake. It is packed. The thought of standing in line for twenty minutes and then waiting for food for an additional twenty minutes, not including actual eating time horrifies me so I lead this brave freshmen to the C-store to grab some cold sandwiches on this chilly day. We quickly grab our gas-station style food and take the only available table, a dirty table stationed near the door- totally bad feng shui.
   We begin our conversation with the basic get to know you questions. Year, major, hometown, blah, blah, blah. I remain hopelessly optimistic as he tells me that he works at Wal-Mart. I can live out my gold-digging dreams! He tells me not to smile about this fact. Apparently I should not react to any information he tells me. That or I have a large piece of turkey in my teeth. This is the highlight of our half hour conversation.
   He asks me what I want to do with my future. I explain my interest in law.
He then tells that his “morals” would never allow him to become a lawyer. I ask why
and he gives his limited view of what law is (aka criminal law) and explains how
corrupt the justice system is. I do what I do best and question why he feels that way.
He says that it’s immoral for prisoners to sit around and do stuff ( you know watch
television, exercise, read and try to become better citizens) and that Hammurabi’s
Code should be in effect – yes an eye for an eye Old Testament Style (see the whole accusation of me being immoral). I ask what about people who were raised in bad environments. He doesn’t know- he hasn’t researched it enough to form an opinion – he just knows that our system is wrong, wrong, wrong. So our conversation goes. He would attack something and then couldn’t find a solution because he hadn’t researched it. I tell him he is a true post-modernist while I think in my head what a freshmen, unable to come up with any opinion. Apathy at its finest!

   We were clearly making one another angry. I was sputtering about in my
half-awake state and he was mumbling responses like a 14 year old wanna-be
drummer. As it was clear we had nothing in common and that my questions
annoyed him – I did the one thing a person should do to someone they hate – I
recommend the 1000+ paged Atlas Shrugged and informed him that he was a
libertarian.
   He apologized for the terrible time. I said it was okay and that I’d see him
around, maybe. He said probably not and told me to inform Grandma to not match
make again.


Grade of Match: F     (A freshmen libertarian with hair that would embarrass Justin Beiber)
Grade of Date:  F       (A cold sandwich in the Union.  Really?)


NEXT TIME:
Definitions of a "Dateaholic" and speed dating.  Guys, I can already hear my wedding bells ringing.

xoxo serialdater