Mike-Jason

Did you guys miss me?

I took a mini hiatus--it's summer, so sioux me?

I thought I'd slowly inch back into each of your lives with a small tale from my dating adventures.

A few weeks ago, I met a guy at a bar. (Now there's a novel idea!)My feet were hurting from all the dancing I had been doing, so I decided to take a break and bench myself. I eased onto a soft bench. (The kind your butt molds right into). I looked to my right, and saw a girl sitting next to me. As I glanced to my left, I noticed a pretty cute guy. I use the term "pretty cute," loosely, because once the night was over--I had absolutely no recollection of what this fellow looked like. (And as I would find out, his appearance was not the only thing that I would forget). He noticed me, and soon conversation would begin. I can't really remember what we talked about, I just remembered him commenting on my rainbow heart shaped bracelets. (He liked them, and thus--had found the key to my heart). As the night ended, we parted ways--but not without exchanging numbers first. I'm a phone number whore. I'll give it out to anyone who asks. (I know what some of you are thinking--that's not the only thing I'll give away--hehehhohoh). But, really...unless the guy seems completely inept at life, what do I have to lose by giving him my number...there is only like a .432 percent chance that he will call anyway.

As we parted ways, I wondered if I'd ever see my bar cutie again...About four days later, my phone rang, and it was my bar crush--Mike. Score! We made plans to see each other. I was excited, but also growing increasingly nervous. I realized that I could not remember what he looked like. I would not be able to pick him out of a line-up. How would I pick him out when we meet at a bar? It's one thing to meet a blind date, looking around, confused and unsure...but what about when you've already met the person? I'm pretty sure that's just considered rude.

Lucky for me, Mike decided that he would wait outside of the bar to meet me. As the only male standing outside at arrival time, I had a pretty good idea it was him. I greeted him like I'd known him my whole life. As the night went on, we were having a pretty good time. Conversation was flowing, and so were the bacaaaadi and diet cokes. And that's when it happened. Mike was telling a story, where a friend of his had to call his name, "Jasoooon." (They said), "Jason, dude."

Jason!?

I thought his name was Mike, and I had thought that for weeks. I was on a date with a guy who I had literally mis-named. Luckily, I masked my surprise, and lightly punched his arm, "Jason," you're too funny." Crisis averted.

You're probably wondering how on earth I thought his name was Mike? Well. I don't know. I only know this: When Mike/Jason called--he did not have to identify himself--isn't that the beauty of caller id? And anytime I had to call him, it never went to voicemail, so I never heard the, "Hi--you've reached Jason's voicemail." I went with my gut--and my gut told me that his name was Mike.

I'll leave you with this simple moral: Listen carefully when people speak to you. And listen even more carefully, if you've been drinking. Luckily for me, Mike/Jason will never know that I had no idea what his name was...unless of course he reads my blog.