Having gotten out of his meeting earlier than expected, Drummer hit me up to ask where we should meet. Considering it had been raining heavily at this moment, I give him a spot close to my apartment so that we could walk to Stout together but so that he didn’t have my real address; great date or not we had JUST MET and he could VERY WELL still be a raving psychotic rapist…I heard Ted Bundy was quite the charmer. After getting outside, I’m now faced with a torrential DOWNPOUR of a storm and realize there’s no way we’re gonna walk to the bar let alone me walk to his car at the corner. Fuck. “Yeah hey, Drummer, can you just pick me up at my apartment? Yeah…this is my real address…hehehee.” As I stand and wait on my front stoop, six people stumbling and laughing in an aggregation of cigarette smoke and conversation spot me standing by myself and excitedly begin spewing questions and comments at me: WHERE YOU FROM JERSEY WOW AWESOME WHAT’RE YOU DOING NOW YOU HAVE A DATE OMG OMG COME HANG WITH US YOU’RE SO PRETTY WOW CAN WE TOUCH YOUR HAIR OMG ARE YOU GONNA FUCK HIM FUCK HIIMMMMM HANG OUT WITH US AAHHH LET’S PARTY COME PARTY WITH US WE’RE SO FUCKED UP RIGHT NOW AAAHHH!!!! Whoa……..WHOA mother fuckers, really? Apparently this uncanny cluster-fuck of folk had just recently popped a couple e-pills upstairs, even though not a single one of them lived in my building, and were all rolling face super hard right now outside. Really guys? It’s the Sabbath! THE LORD’S DAY! YOU DON’T DO ECSTASY ON THE LORD’S DAY! Or maybe that’s the perfect day to do ecstasy since you really do love everybody a whole lot on it the way Jesus intended the world to be…hmm…interesting food for thought, Jayla. Now respectfully declining their salacious suggestions, I say my goodbyes to the pack and rush over to Drummer’s car, now pulled up in front of my building. Getting into the passenger seat, he looks over at me and begins teasing me for giving him a fake address, to which I demand that he VERY WELL could still be a crazy psychotic serial killer and that, BEWARE MOTHER FUCKER, cuz ah gots ma pepperspray in hand! Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit. As he pulls away and drives off, he begins to tell me:
Drummer: *look of anxiety and slight shame on his face* So listen I have something to confess and I’m really not happy about it…
Me: (Oh God this is where he tells me he is in fact a serial killer and that he’s driving me off to my imminent death. Ugh…I should’ve stayed and rolled face with the weirdos at my apartment building) Oh God….what…WHAT IS IT?!
Drummer: So uhh..while I was at my meeting…I ate a pot cookie *shooting a look my way in hopes to catch my reaction*
Me: *reacting much the way he probably anticipated* WHAAAAAAT?!?!?!?! Oh my God! I’m SO JEALOUS!!!!!!!!!! Do you have anymore??
Drummer: Nooooo…my co-worker gave me one and then threw the rest out I SHOULD’VE GOTTEN SOME THOUGH! I’m so fucking high right now it’s unbelievable I’M SO EMBARRASSED!
Me: Well you should be embarrassed you didn’t even save any for meee!!!!
Drummer: I’m sorry!!! I shouldn’t have eaten it I’m so fuckin high right now…I’m gonna be weird I know it…
Me: *laughing at such a ridiculous assumption* Haha no it’ll be fine….!
Arriving at Stout, where I take aaaaaaaaaall my mother fuckin dates, I wonder to myself if this is gonna be weird. He’s high out of his fucking mind..we should be fine right…? We sit down and I order my usual, “I’ll have a Delirium, thanks Mike.” DOH! Fuck…hope he didn’t catch how I didn’t even look at the menu and how I already knew the bartender’s name. As I think this to myself, I look over at him and realize he definitely did indeed catch that
Drummer: *with a puzzling look on his face that I can’t quite read* Wow, you must come here often…
Me: *chuckling nervously at being caught* Yeah well ya know…it’s only a block from my place and I come here to watch all the games…
Drummer: *accepting my explanation* Oh ok. *looking over the menu then to bartender* Hey, man, what’s a good pilsner here?
OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!! HE PASSED! He is the first guy I’ve brought to this bar that didn’t try ordering a miller lite or a corona. THANK FUCKING GOD! You see, bringing all my dates to Stout is in fact a deliberately meticulous move on my part, as it determines the type of man he really is: Is he a real man who knows his beers or is he a pussy who orders Miller Lites at a bar called STOUT? Jesus Christ, this is almost too good to be true.
As time passes, I’m realizing more and more exactly what Drummer meant about how weird it was gonna be; this is not the same guy I saw earlier today. Looking over at him, he’s much more quiet and I can now feel concurrently the anxiety and paranoia under which he must currently be. FUCK. I immediately disclose this to him as he agrees with,
Drummer: YEAH! I’ feeling really fucking paranoid and anxious right now OH MY GOD!
Me: *my own anxiety building at his disclosure* AH! Don’t worry! I’ll just get ridiculously drunk and that way we’ll be on the same playing field! (Oh my God I’m so fucking smart!) *genuinely believing this to be the ultimately perfect solution to the scenario at hand*
Drummer: *tensing up but attempting to smile through it* Yeah…uhh…I guess that could work…
Me: MIKE!!! Gimme another….
**WARNING: From this point on in the story, I genuinely and wholeheartedly do not remember much of what happened considering how obliterated I got in such a short amount of time…therefore I will retell it to the best of my knowledge and ability…which I guess isn’t much different from any other story on this blog.**
With Drummer having gotten up to go to the bathroom, the bartender comes over to me to ask how it’s going, noting that, “Hey, this is a first date? Wow, you guys seem to really be hitting it off I wouldn’t have been able to tell. It definitely looks a lot different than your other first dates!” Delighted from this observation, I drunkenly give myself a clap at the thought that things are going so well. Shh SSSHHHHH HE’S COMING BACK!! Oh and get me another one please!!!
At this point, the bartender has been giving us drink after drink after drink, which I have been drinking and drinking and drinking myself considering Drummer has to drive home. Picking up on the fact that the bartender has not been charging us for any of these drinks,
Drummer: *look of disillusioned discernment on his face* Ya kno…he hasn’t been charging us for these drinks…
Me: *knowing exactly where this is going* Umm…yeah cuz I’m a regular….
Drummer: *not accepting my bullshit response* No that’s not it…you definitely come here often…do you bring other dates here?
Me: (FUCK FUCK!!! HE’S ONTO ME! ABORT ABORT!!!!!!!!) *completely unable to bullshit my way out while at the same time not wanting to anyway* Yeah…yeah I bring all my first dates here…*hoping to redeem the situation somehow* but they all go so badly I never have second dates! (FUCK!!! WHY DID I JUST SAY THAT?!?!?! OH MY GOD YOU DIDN’T NEED TO TELL HIM THAT, JAYLA!) *catching my awkward revelation* BECAUSE they never pass my tests! (Oh Jesus Christ…this is spiraling completely out of my control now…FUCK IT…if I’m gonna go down I may as well go down guns blazing….) *to bartender* Yeah lemme get another….
Drummer: *unphased by anything I just told him and instead digging deeper* No…that’s not it. There’s something ELSE you’re not telling me about this situation…about you bringing all your dates here. I get a sense that it doesn’t stop there…
Me: (OH GOD STOP!!!! Ugh fuck it…just tell him Jayla…) Well…no. You’re right…there’s something else…BUT I’LL TELL YOU TOMORROW!!!!!
Drummer: *not letting me off the hook that easy* No no no! Now you have to tell me! You can’t do that! Come on what is it…?
Me: *after doing this teasing song and dance for awhile longer and eventually deciding that FUCK IT I should just tell him* Fine…I’ll tell you…but you have to promise not to ask ANY QUESTIONS about it!!!!!!!!
Drummer: FINE I PROMISE!!!!!!!
Me: *gulping* Ok…well..I…write a blog…based on all my bad dates….*spreading my lips and sucking air in through my teeth as I wait in terror for his response*
Drummer: *eyes widening as he leans back while putting his head in his hands and taking a deep breath in* Whoa…….
Me: Oh my God what’s going on for you right now!? What’s that reaction?! How are you taking this….?
Drummer: *pausing purposely for a second before he responds* I….I think I’m taking this exactly how you thought I’d take it….
Me: (Oh shit…) Oh….shit. *unable to separate my inner thoughts from my verbal expression at this point* Well, fuck, it must really sound bad…yeah it’s pretty bad…I’m…sorry?
Drummer: Can I see the website?
Me: NOOOOOOO! At least not yet… *hoping I haven’t completely fucked everything up from here on out*
Drummer: Well, wait, so you just go on all these bad dates and blog about it?
Me: YOU PROMISED NOT TO ASK QUESTIONS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Drummer: AHHH OK FINE!!
Drenched in my drunken delirium (and drunk from all the Delirium I drank), I begin to realize that him being high out of his mind and me being drunk out of mine is not at all the same playing field as I’d anticipated; it’s a complete mismatch that is culminating in a shameful, embarrassing array of my nonsensical self-disclosures and his awkward silence. CHECK PLEASE!
I do not recall the drive home, nor do I recall getting home. All I can remember is that we parked in my garage for another hour or so and continued to talk more while listening to Dashboard Confessionals, which I might add is eerily indicative of how our night had developed. Everything at this point is a complete haze that I can only hope to forget. However, there is one recurring phrase and observation Drummer made that I remember him saying over and over and I remember being thoroughly confused by, which is this theme of seeing these completely different facets of my personality throughout the night, that the girl he saw earlier was definitely not the same girl he was seeing now. Well fucking duh I’m blasted out of my mind man… When I explain that it’s probably because of how unbelievably wasted I am, he replies with the fact that he can’t tell in the slightest that I’m even drunk at all. Hmm..I believe this is the prime definition of CLASS ACT and TALENTED.
Still sitting in his car, it’s now 4:35 in the morning and I feel as though I need to release him from this drunken disaster of a date also known as my MERE PRESENCE. While I wanna continue to sit here and talk (or divulge way too much) and just be around him, I feel as though I’m overstaying my welcome…in his car and in his sight. Getting out of his car, but still not wanting the night to end, I suggest, “HEY!!! Walk me to my apartment…?” Either to be a polite gentlemen or because he had the same desire to not yet end the night (crossing my fingers on it being both), he gets out of his car and follows me up. Again, no recollection of what this looked like, but I do recall him asking me the entire way about my blog as I continue to remain hush hush about it…fucking somehow considering how UN-hush hush I’ve been thus far. At my door, we give each other a big hug as I drunkenly demand that we see each other again. Ugh…thank God I don’t remember how desperate I must’ve sounded… Not wanting to part ways, I continuously throw myself into hugging him (I think), sniffing him violently because he smells SOOOOOOOOOOOOOO good! As I’m doing this, I drunkenly mention
Me: Oh my God…you smell soooooooooooooo good! Like a handsome baby! (WHAT?!?!?! WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?!!! STOP TALKING!!! PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD STOP TALKING NOW!!!!! LET HIM LEAVE GOD DAMMIT JAYLA!!!!!)
Drummer: Haha what? What exactly does a handsome baby smell like?
Me: (DON’T ANSWER THIS QUESTION JAYLA! GET INSIDE THE APARTMENT NOW!!!!!!!!) Well…a handsome baby is like a suavamente baby…like…your smell makes me wanna breast-feed and fuck something at the same time! (NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!! FUCK YOOOOOOOOOOOOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!) *now disgusted that those words actually came out of my own mouth* ……….ugh. Good night.
I have no clue how he responded to that, but my guess is it must’ve terrified and weirded the shit out of him. It makes me wanna breast-feed…..and FUCK SOMETHING…at the same time. Ugh. I should be quarantined and not allowed to date normal mother fuckers for the rest of my life. I should be muzzled and kept in a glass encompassing as to not SPEAK TO and SCARE OFF anymore awesome and eligible men in Los Angeles. I wake up naked the next morning with my makeup still on my face and shame and anxiety still in my heart. As I make my way out of bed, I see the trail of a disaster left from my door to my bed: Bra on the tv, clothes on the ground in the living room, stilettos on the kitchen counter. If I never hear from him again, I can at least take this lesson with me for the rest of my life:
Being stoned and being drunk does not make for equal grounds in communication.