42 Dating Disasters

Instant Slut

This is the account of my second date with “Daisy”. You can also read about my first date.

If you’re in the CIA, trying to get some “intelligence”, one of your tools is truth serum. Use the right amount, and your subject spills her guts, telling you everything you ever wanted to know. Use too much, and you get paranoid delusions. If you’re in the “CPA”, you use alcohol in the same way. And there is just as much risk for things to spiral out of control if this valuable tool is overused. Before I get into too much detail about the date itself, I think it’s worth recapping the phone calls that led up to our first date. Most of them were about getting drunk. Like many women, Daisy has a habit of saying the opposite of what she means, at least some of the time. For example, “I don’t drink a lot” was in the same conversation as “and then I woke up and I had no idea where I was. That always happens to me!”

Like my first date with Daisy, this one was blissfully normal, at least on the surface. I’ve been meaning to have more “date-like” dates, and tickets to a concert made this a good chance to try it out. During the concert, we drank. We drank a lot. Before the concert started, we talked about grabbing a drink afterwards, so I was a little bit surprised how willing (and able) she was to drink at the event itself. After the concert was over, we were fighting the traffic to get out of the place, and I asked if she still wanted to get that drink. To my complete shock and awe, she started listing places we could go on the way back.

Those of you with more experience than me probably know how this story ends. Those of you with a little less probably think I “got the girl”. No, I added just a little too much alcohol to the mix. About an hour before I took her home, things were going great. By the time she ordered that one last drink (you know, the one that, even at the time, you’re thinking “I’m drunk, and I even know I shouldn’t be ordering this one…”), she could barely drink it at all. I mean, she had problems actually picking up the cup and drinking it. After that, I’m pretty sure she didn’t even remember where she was or who she was with. That one last little bit of alcohol pushed her over the edge, making her talk not just about some friend who was supposed to be at the bar we left, but also about her adventures with another guy. I honestly thought she might have hooked up with a porn producer, considering some of the things she told me. We made out for a bit at her place (hey, why waste it?), but eventually she passed out and I went home. For me, this was a lesson learned. Alcohol can be a great social (or sexual) lubricant. But apply too much, and things can slip out of control. At the end of the day, though, a little “out of control” can be fun, and we’ve already talked about going out again. Cheers!