February 13—Klutzes should not wear heels.
Tonight I had date at the Alamo Drafthouse—not with the Astronomer; I dumped him. Anyway, tonight's date started as an anti-Valentine sentiment and turned into going to see a sappy movie (it was terrible), complete with red dress and heart-shaped cookies.
I left the house at eight o'clock and took Mopac to the Steck/Anderson/Spicewood Springs exit. Not paying attention, I turned left on Steck instead of Anderson, not realizing my mistake till I hit Burnet. I turned on Burnet and then turned onto Anderson, arriving at roughly eight thirty-five. I spent most of the next ten minutes driving around the full parking lot, finally parking behind a neighboring restaurant. I got out of the car, heels in hand, and walked in my comfortable flats to the theatre. I stood at the beginning of the line and awkwardly hopped about on one foot to change into my red heels, mercifully completing my task before he arrived. He appeared after about two minutes with a couple of coffee mochas, which he'd apparently carried some distance judging by the spills on their lids. Luckily, there were napkins involved, most of which I used to mop up the mess while he retrieved the tickets.
We waited for a few minutes until the doors opened and then entered the theatre, whereupon I promptly discovered that my heels did not cooperate with the slippery floor. Luckily, I did not faceplant, but I was concerned enough that I changed back into my flats as soon as we sat down.
Soon enough, I arose to use the restroom. Rather than push past people's legs, I ducked under the table to go around the front. It worked well on the way to the restroom, but obviously, on the way back, I banged my head on the the underside of the table. It didn't hurt at all, but people stared. "I saw that coming a mile away," he said as I reminded him that I'm a total klutz.
The rest of the movie passed without incident apart from me making a small mess with the pizza, which I took care of with a napkin. We left for my car, trying to decide where to go. I didn't want to go dancing or deal with paying for parking, so we instead went back to his place. I managed not to knock down or wreck anything at his place, but I did forget to keep my voice down. His roommate didn't come boiling out of his room to yell at us, so I trust I did not wake him up.
February 15—The Real Reason I Don't Own Many Things That Need Ironing
Today I did some ironing. I laid my black miniskirt on the ironing board and set the iron on top of it. When I picked up the iron to begin actually ironing, I realized that the little rubber feet from the iron had left marks on the skirt, meaning I had to wash, dry, and iron it all over again.
February 19—I'm not old enough to be a MILF, but I couldn't resist.
I had a date tonight. We met at his place and then caught the bus to B. D. Riley's, where I swiftly made an ass of myself trying to locate the restroom and stumbling over half the bar and almost barging into the kitchen. Luckily, my date did not see that. Then we returned to his place to watch a movie. As he is three years younger than I, I inappropriately selected The Graduate. We shared a shower together, before which I put my hair in a shower cap. It began falling out as I got my little bottles of shampoo and soap out of my overnight bag, so I held my loofah by its string in my teeth as I fiddled with my shower cap. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror at that point and said what I thought: "I look ridiculous." Mercifully, he did not comment.
February 20—It's not a walk of shame; it's shameless pride.
I stayed the night at my date's last night and awkwardly met his roommate this morning. Dressed and ready to head to breakfast, we debated waiting till the roommate had cleared out, but we opted to be adult about it and say good morning. The roommate, of course, was on the phone trying to fix their cable and awkwardly bounded around on one foot as he tangled himself in wires in an attempt to shake my hand, which failed. I gracefully (!) backed out and we went to breakfast.
This morning, I got an email from a date saying he was glad last week had ended so well because this week had started terribly. "Aw," I thought. He then asked me if I wanted to go out this Thursday or Friday. I of course said yes, and immediately the wheels began turning. He had mentioned a bad girl fetish, so I decided to dress as a biker chick on our next date.
I logged onto instant messenger to brainstorm with a few friends. I IMed a new friend I hadn't spoken to in a couple of weeks. He said, "Wow, you contacted me. Hold on while I unzip my pants." " . . . Aaaaand we're done," I replied. "Hurrr jesting," he said, to which I gave a stoic "Indeed." Someone who's known me for a couple of years could get away with that; a new friend could not. I decided to ignore it for the time being and decided to tell him about my plans for my date. I related how he'd said he was having a crappy week, and I planned to dress in fetish wear to cheer him up. Everyone else who had heard this story agreed that it was a good idea. He, however, said, "Wow, [he] sounds like a tool" and asked where the hell he got his taste. At that point I said "Aaaand we're done" and meant it, swiftly blocking him. Would that I'd done that earlier.
Today I went to several thrift stores looking for gear for my outfit for tomorrow's date. I tried on several jackets that didn't quite work or didn't fit. I eventually located a skirt and jacket and purchased them, only my card for some reason wouldn't go through. The cashier ran it through about five times before accepting my initial suggestion of just using another card. Then I went to Party City and looked for temporary tattoos. I'd seen them online and wanted some biker/punk ones, only they didn't have any. They had Disney ones instead. I said to myself, "No. If I have a tattoo on my inner thigh, it's going to say 'This way to Heaven' with an arrow pointing up; it will not be Tweety Bird." So I abandoned that idea and went to the mall to locate some bracelets. I shamefully walked into Hot Topic and looked at the bracelets. I saw a spike bracelet I loved, but they didn't have it in my size. The girl working there suggested I go to Spencer's, so I left. I walked past Spencer's and downstairs before realizing I'd missed it completely. Feeling rather silly, I retraced my steps and entered the store, locating the bracelet I sought as well as a riding crop and fuzzy handcuffs. I placed them on the counter and carefully placed the UPC tags facing up so the cashier could easily scan them. "Look at you," she said, pleased. For an awkward moment, I thought she was indiscreetly commenting on my fuzzy handcuffs. Then it dawned on me that she was referring to my making her job easier. Relieved that I had not said anything inappropriate, I returned to Hot Topic and bought two more bracelets and some black nail polish. I returned home and put everything away in preparation for the morrow. In retrospect, I really should have painted my nails that night, but I didn't want to cook the next day with nail polish on. Oh, hindsight.
February 25—I never should have asked for black leather.
I cooked several dishes today in preparation for my date. I put small portions of each into little plastic dishes to pack my picnic basket, and then, with forty-five minutes to spare, I began getting myself ready. I laid out my clothes, washed my face, pulled my hair back, and decided to start with my nails. I quickly discovered that the nightmare I'd had the night before about trying to polish my nails was but a shadow of the reality. I hadn't painted my nails in about twenty years, and boy did it show. I had to redo nail after nail, and cleaning up with tissue paper and acetone wasn't really doing the trick. I phoned my date and left a voicemail apologizing for the fact of my inevitable lateness, hung up, and got back to work. I finished my nails, or at least, finished them enough that I could live with it, and impatiently waited for them to dry with one eye on the clock.
Then I knocked over the nail polish. Luckily it fell into the sink, but it was nevertheless a fiasco. Using a wad of tissue paper, I gingerly picked up the now half-empty bottle of nail polished and dropped it into the trash can, thinking "Never again." Then I threw my makeup on and tore down the stairs, ramming pre-prepared dishes into my picnic basket and heaving it over my shoulder, slamming it into a filing cabinet as I tornadoed out the door. I sped the whole way down there, arriving nearly half an hour late.
"You made it!" he cried as he answered the door. I smiled and apologized again for being late. He cast a confused look over my outfit, and I hid a smile as he realized what I had done. He had a hard time keeping his hands off me as we ate.
Later there was a mishap involving the fuzzy handcuffs; he couldn't get one of them undone. I briefly panicked as I envisioned myself driving home with a handcuff still attached to myself. Luckily, he worked it out.
February 26—Today would have been a good day for public transportation.
This morning, I went to breakfast with my date from last night. I got dressed but couldn't find my shoes. I had driven down there in flats and then changed into my heeled boots in the parking lot, tossing my flats into my purse. They were no longer there. I looked everywhere but could not located them. I put on my heels and walked out to the car, wondering if I might find them there. I found one in the grass near his door, and the other was on the asphalt under the car. Brilliant. Crisis averted, I put my flats on and put the heels in the car.
Then we went to breakfast. After a near disaster involving me getting into what I thought was the left turn lane but what was actually the wrong side of the road (yikes), we pulled into the parking lot and almost immediately pulled out. The parking lot was partly on a hill, and the only available space was on a perilous incline. Distrustful of gravity, I wasn't comfortable leaving the car at that angle. He suggested I put it in neutral to see what happened. I did so, and the car began rolling backwards. We decided not to park there and made the one block drive back to his place and walked back to the restaurant.
After breakfast, I gave him a ride to the UT campus. He lent me his laptop so I could look up directions, but I can't use a Qwerty keyboard and managed to crash the browser. He looked up directions for me, and we took off. I deposited him on campus without incident and returned home in the increasingly windy day. I nearly thought I had a flat because it was getting so hard to steer. I composed myself and opted not to drive on the highway for the rest of the day, and I stayed on the lower deck when I went to the bookstore later. I T-boned a bookcase with my cart in aforementioned bookstore, but luckily I did no actual damage.
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