Date #52: Thin Ice

As for that 80 Dates Around the World Lady--

F**k off. I'm fierce and your last name is Cox. I'm not even tacky enough to begin to joke about that. (What are the Cox like in Rhodesia, Jennifer? That's all I want to know.)

Now onto the interesting dates.

Sometimes I am incredibly stupid.

I mean, stupidity beyond the wildest dreams of most Republicans.

The following date is one of those times.

VOICE: Hey gorgeous, feel like going out?

The voice on the other end of the phone was Danny's. Despite my insisting that there was no future for us, he wanted to try at least creating some sort of friendship.

DANNY: So what do you say? Can I take you out?
ME: On a date?
DANNY: Yep.
ME: Danny--
DANNY: I'm picking you up in twelve minutes. Wear cute underwear just in case. See you soon, gorgeous.
ME: Why twelve--

And that was that.

It wasn't that cold out, so I didn't bother dressing warmly. Little did I know Danny was planning a winter outing in the heat of this you-know-global-warming-is-real-because-it's-60-degrees-out December.

Danny showed up dressed like a hot skier straight out of Aspen.

ME: I'm sorry. Are we going tobogganing down the east side?
DANNY: Close.

He took me to the ice skating rink downtown.

ME: Danny, I don't know if this is a good time to bring this up, but I'm really clumsy. Ice skates and I are a disaster equation.
DANNY: Luckily for you, I'm an excellent skater. You can hang onto me.
ME: I'm going to have to.

We put on our rented ice skates. For some reason, no matter how large they appear to be, skates always feel way too small on me. After about ten minutes, the circulation completely cuts off and I end up feeling like I'm skating around on two, frozen stumps.

Despite my initial reservations, I was having a lot of fun. Because of the warm weather it's been harder and harder to get into the Christmas spirit, but ice skating does the trick quite nicely. By the time "All I Want for Christmas" came on I was ready to take to the rink on my own. I told Danny I wanted to try a lap by myself. I had been holding onto him as planned, and people were looking at us as if he was the caretaker, and I was the Rain Man.

Now, why I would want to let go of this really cute guy's really muscular left arm and try to skate around the rink by myself--keeping in mind the huge chance that I would make a fool of myself--is beyond me. I wasn't trying to impress him. I just felt moved to explore my inner Tara Lipinski...okay, maybe more like my inner Brian Boitano.

I let go of Danny and made it halfway around the rink without any problems. Then I hit one--literally. I felt myself losing my footing, and calmly told myself--It's fine, just go towards the wall.

Go towards the wall ended up being avoid the heavy-set man with the three little daughters skating around him (how nice of you to spend time with your daughters...THERE'S A 90% CHANCE THAT IF ANYBODY ON THIS RINK HITS SOMETHING IT'S GOING TO BE YOU!), the seemingly-physically-fit-yet-clearly-past-their-prime elderly couple skating together (awww...GET THE HELL OUT OF MY WAY COCOON COUPLE!), and the semi-Goth teenagers joking around by trying to grab hands and spin around in a circle (I remember when me and my friends used to do stuff like that...NOW GO DO SOMETHING PRODUCTIVE LIKE LOSING YOUR VIRGINITY YOU ADOLESCENT FREAKS!)

Falling makes me nervous.

And I fell--hard. I missed the wall by about three feet and I did one of those brilliant maneuvers where my legs kicked up in the air behind me several times before I landed flat on my chest. I wasn't hurt that bad, but I was utterly humiliated. People were skating around me. I was like C.Brad on the runway with Margaret Cho screaming out orders to all the other models to walk right over me.

Danny skated over.

DANNY: You want to cut this adventure short and go get some hot chocolate?
ME: God bless us, everyone.

So we did just that and had a great time. When we got back to my place, Danny asked if he could come up.

ME: Why? So we can warm each other up?
DANNY: I like the way you put things.
ME: It's already warm enough, and we're trying to be friends, remember?
DANNY: But since that's clearly not going to work out, why don't we try just being random hook-up buddies?
ME: Are you serious?
DANNY: Look, I'll play Scrabble or Monopoly or any other game you want me to play--you just need to dictate the rules.
ME: Oh God, I'm sick of--
DANNY: --Everyone says they're sick of games, but really, they're not. Games are what makes life fun. Now what are you doing for New Year's Eve?
ME: Staring at Ryan Seacrest's hair and wondering why I believe he's straight.
DANNY: I don't think so. I'll be in touch.

Good grief. Where's my little Christmas tree and my broken kite? I made extra hot chocolate at home and pretended it was something stronger. Danny was bad news. Don't ask me how I know, but I just know. And yet, what's more attractive than bad news?

FRIEND: Bad news that works in a porno store.
ME: Exactly.
FRIEND: I say cut ties immediately.
ME: It bothers you that much that he works in a porn store and I have a gut feeling he's trouble.
FRIEND: No, it bothers me that you've fallen in front of him like Sandra Bullock in a tacky chick flick. The porn store and the air of trouble are his strong points.
ME: Maybe he likes that I was vulnerable enough to make an idiot of myself in front of him.
FRIEND: NEVER LEAVE YOURSELF VULNERABLE! Have I taught you nothing?
ME: What's with the shouting?
FRIEND: Sorry. Apparently that's only allowed as an inner monologue when you're yelling at half-dead married people, devil worshipping thirteen-year-olds, and single dads who eat too many Big Macs.
ME: Wow, you were even meaner to them than I was.
FRIEND: That's called my forte. Did you get my Christmas list?
ME: A box of Magnums, liquor, and a tickets to go see Mary Poppins on Broadway?
FRIEND: And make sure they're good seats, whore.
ME: Merry Christmas, Friend.
FRIEND: Merry Christmas, honey.

And Merry Christmas to everyone out there in blog land.

See you next year! :o)