Chronicles of the Single Man: Episode I, Narcolepsy

I am, as Jerry Seinfeld once said, a single guy. There are no other men attached to me.

As such, I often find myself leaving the comforts of my home when it is dark out to meet strangers in even stranger places and buy both of us drinks and food in the hopes of establishing a connection and/or having sex with them eventually.

Yes, I date. My father has often said that I’m the king of first dates, to which I’ve replied… well, there isn’t much to say to argue that. I have been on a number of first dates, but who hasn’t? The real truth is, the stories about good first dates where chemistry is there or a fun time is had just aren’t as fun to tell.

Hey guys, guess what? I went out with a lovely young lady last night to a wonderful bar. We enjoyed a few beers, had some laughs, then went on our separate ways promising we’ll see one another next week!

I haven’t even started the story I’m about to tell here, but trust me, there’s no way the one above beats this (or any like it). Ever.

Success isn’t that funny. Ask Dane Cook about it.

It was a Friday night a little while ago and I had absolutely no business going out on a date. The previous two nights I had been out until around 2 AM drinking and then working at 9 AM the following morning. By the time I got to the bar where I’d be meeting this girl I was already exhausted and in no mood for small talk which, in essence, is all a first date really is.

Let me also preface that this is a girl from Match.com, a site I’m still a member of for no real reason at this point. Not because I’m too cool or because I think it’s pathetic. First, I’m not cool, at all and second, on a serious note, I’ve actually met some really great ladies through that site. No, I just barely… what’s the word I’m looking for… oh yeah, use. I barely ever use the site. Yet, like the schmuck I am, I forget about it and thus forget to stop paying.  I digress…

The reason I mention she’s from Match is because it’s not like we’ve ever actually met before. You can exchange e-mails and look up photos as much as you want, but there’s no substitute for the real thing. That’s not to say this girl was anything I wasn’t expecting—she looked just like she did in pictures and acted the same way as she did in her e-mails and texts. This story isn’t about her. It’s about me.

Like I said, I had no business being on this date or even being out that night but I like the prospect of sex (or even a make-out session) more than video games at this point in my life. Well, not always, but that’s for another whole article/time.

A short while into this date, it’s clear to me that I’m not only not that interested in her but I’m exhausted and the whole conversation (my end of it included) is boring the ever-loving shit out of me. It’s so mechanical that it’s hard to even bear. What’s you’re favorite type of music? List your top 3 travel destinations. Oh yeah, you sang in a choir? How neat. 

It got to a point where I was even bored of talking about myself and my book, which for anyone that’s ever met me is really saying something. From here, it would seem simple. Finish your beer, say your good-byes, hug and call it a night.

That’s not what I did.

Inexplicably, I had a few more beers, ordered dinner, and then ordered a few more beers. Each time the bartender said, “Another?” my inner monologue said NO, SAY NO YOU FUCKING MORON but for some reason, what came out “Sure… [girl’s name], you want another one?”  And of course she wanted another one. It’s not like she’s paying for it (again, for another article).

It was somewhere between beer 6 or 7 that it hit me. Not an idea, but total exhaustion. I was finished, yawning even while I was talking or listening. I even recall finishing a story way before I got to the ending just so I could stop talking. She picked up the pace and that’s when it happened.

I wouldn’t say I fell asleep, per se. It was really like one of those loooong blinks. You know what I’m talking about. When you’re at work, let’s say, late at night and you can feel gravity pulling your head down, your eyelids tied to 50 lb. dumbells. I blinked a few times as I went down and then ultimately snapped back to life after my chin bounced off my chest.

After all that, I don’t know what’s worse… that for all intents and purposes I fell asleep on a date, or that she didn’t seem to notice and kept on talking.

Worst part of this story? The ending. If it wasn’t abundantly apparent that I needed to go home earlier, it should’ve been the only option now. However, for some reason as we left the bar and she mentioned going to another bar, I actually uttered the following: “Sure, that sounds like fun, let’s get a cab”.

Thankfully, she wasn’t able to get a cab and we were able to part ways (5 hours, 2 burgers, over 100 dollars and 1 cat nap later). The lesson here: get some sleep.

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