Alright, all you Single After 30 tear jerking symps!! Put some air in those balls and throw away the tissues, the Monster's Ball of Bachelorhood is coming up on the horizon, and this is no time to be crying your loneliness in between stalking married ex girlfriends on Facebook. There's several MILLION lonely women out there, and you've got no excuse to be sitting back on your hind parts while highly concentrated electric desperation passes you by. This is Valentines Day, Gus, and love ain't got a damn thing to do with it.
If you're Single After 30, you've got plenty of date options. Divorcées, single moms, twenty somethings used to big dates at the Olive Garden, they're all just waiting for your attention. You can even wait until the big night itself, where women around the country will be getting fall down drunk and looking to make bad decisions. There's no limit to your potential!
Which is why I offer this warning- Do NOT put too much of your hard earned resources and time into creating a romantic evening. This is not a night for dream dates and going gaga. We are Single After 30 here, and some of us haven't learned to act like it.
There she was, Ticking Clock, all six feet of goddess on the other side of the elevator doors. I had seen her around the building for months, started asking around about her. Among several thousand women working here every day, somehow everyone knew Ticking Clock. Grew up in some fufu ballet school in New York, daughter of a former governor in this New England state, works for a Senator in the building, and oh yeah, she doesn't speak to anyone. Ever. Cold as ice. Never met a man she would look in the eye. I imagine that it would be difficult with her eyes rolling around like that. That would hardly deter me. We had a good 16 floors together, and that's all this charming fellow needed to break the ice. By the time we hit the 5th floor on the way down and were bombarded by a herd of lumbering secretaries, I had secured myself a date. And by her suggestion...on Valentines Day? Hmm, perhaps she wasn't as cold as everyone thought. Or maybe, just maybe, I really am that big of a stud!
I spent the entire next week planning and living in poverty, as I could only imagine what this high society woman was accustomed to. My several day diet of Top Ramen was worth it, I thought to myself, while I spent the hours daydreaming of those long slender dancer legs and flowing brown hair. I made reservations at the most expensive restaurant I could find that also boasted a menu of mostly French sounding dishes that I couldn't pronounce, and dry cleaned my best suit. No expense would be spared to impress this Ticking Clock.
The evening began with drinks while we waited for our table. Perhaps I was expecting too much from this worldly princess, but the conversation was completely dull and going nowhere. For someone who had lived such an interesting life, she had practically nothing to say, except to blather on about The Bachelor. Still, I was excited. Here was this gorgeous woman that nobody could get a bead on, and she's sitting at a bar with me drinking. Come to think of it, she was kicking back her Long Island Iced Tea pretty quickly for such a small framed girl. Perhaps I was boring her, or more likely she had started to bore herself, but at this point she became consumed with her iPhone. She ordered herself another drink before I excused myself to use the men's room. I needed to recalibrate my plan, this broad is a drip, but she's still smoking hot, and well...she is drinking pretty quick.
When I returned to the bar, I couldn't believe what I had come back to. She was crying hysterically, while seemingly everyone in the building tried to console her. The bartenders, the valet, the couple who were sitting next to her.
"My sister...my sister is dead."
"Oh my God, I'm so sorry..."
"Our table is ready. I'll need another drink."
And just like that her eyes cleared up, and she strutted right over to our seats while downing her second drink. I didn't know what else to do, so I sat down and ordered.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"Well I went to her Facebook and look what she posted, ' You know I wasn’t born to die
But if they party down in heaven
I’ll be sure to be on time'. My family is driving up to take care of things, don't worry."
Maybe I should have said something. Maybe I should have told her. I recognized the signs immediately. Her sister was quoting a Bon Jovi song, and not a very good one. She downed two more drinks over dinner, and no longer seemed concerned anyway, so I figured, why not keep the date going while we wait for her family? It would be at least a couple hours drive out here anyway, so I suggested we wrap things up and head to my place, which she was all too eager to oblige. I headed to the men's room one last time, but once again returned to an emotional meltdown. The waiters, bus boys, old lady a table over, and most everyone in earshot was by her side offering condolences. Sigh.
She cried to whole way to my house. Well, not just cried. She also puked. In my car. Twice. I knew the date portion of this night was over, and resigned myself to playing nanny for this hot mess. And what a mess she was, evidenced by falling down my stairs as soon as I opened the door. As I suspected, she had an amazing figure, which my neighbors and I got an eyeful of when her skirt ended up over her head. I got her in and cleaned up after a while, and wanted to make sure her ride had the address.
"Huh? Oh I didn't call them yet."
You've got to be kidding me! It was already 1am and I had to be up in the morning.
"Call them now, I'm going to bed."
Somehow I allowed myself to eventually drift off, even though this nutcase was alone in my house. I must have been out for a little while, until I was awoken by a ringing phone. Not my phone. I went into my living room to find her passed out on my floor with her ringing phone by her head.
"Ticking Clock, answer your phone!"
No response. So I picked it up myself and said hello.
"Who exactly am I speaking with?", replied a very stern and angry woman's voice. "Please send my daughter out."
My pleasure toots! Only it took fifteen minutes to get her back on her feet and moving. Then she wouldn't leave.
"I'm staying here! She doesn't even care that my sister is dead!"
"It's a Bon Jovi song!"
"Fuck you too, I'm leaving!"
And she proceeded to fall down the stairs again. I did what I could to help her to the car before the door opened, and there he stood. The former Governor himself! Such dignity, such a proud and noble man! Or so I thought, until he uttered with all the defeat of any beaten down family man, "Get in the car, Ticking Clock." As if this wasn't the first time. As if this is routine. As if this once great and powerful man, whose words carried the strength of an entire state, spends his retirement chasing around his virtuoso adult daughter who can't hold her liquor. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. And he refused my request for a selfie. Hey, I voted for the other guy anyway, pal.
All eyes were on me in the lobby of our office building the next day. She had waited around for me to leave, and all her usual admirers certainly noticed.
"OMG, I'm so sorry about my dad. He just has to ruin everything. Like, I just can't. But call me tonight, okay"
After spending the next several months coming into work early, working through lunch, and staying late all just to avoid her, my bosses thought I was real go getter and I was transferred out of state. So this Valentines Day, no matter how you play the game, make sure you're out on the field. Who knows, you might just get a promotion out of it.