I See a Red Flag and I Want to Paint it Blaaaahhhh

I previously posted about a recent 3 date weekend in Atlanta, in which I referenced the Human Cocktail. As many of you know, I avoid using names so as to not totally hurt someone's feelings. I am going to make an exception this one time and just divulge the last name of the Human Cocktail's which is "Black." Which after the fated Friday night turned to Blaaaaaaahhhh. Here's why...

First let it be known that this was a blind set-up. I am adventurous, I don't mind going on blind dates, mainly because you usually walk-away with a pretty good story. Human Cocktail calls me on the phone just to make brief chit-chat and discuss potential plans for the upcoming date. Phone convo isn't as easy flowing as I would normally like, but that's okay. After we discuss our Friday night plans, he proceeds to ask me to brunch for Saturday (insert red flag #1). Okay, so maybe he was just being nice thinking I didn't have any weekend plans, but seriously, asking a girl out on a 2nd date before you even go on the first date? Can you imagine if things went so sour that you either a) have to go to brunch, or (b) have to awkwardly break the brunch? So Friday rolls around and I cruise into Atlanta around 7:45 and the Human Cocktail is set to pick me up around 8:15pm. Not knowing what my plans were with my other dates for the weekend, I put on my "best" outfit for Friday night. Human Cocktail arrives, knocks, my friend is scurrying to the door, he knocks again...and a third time (insert red flag #2). I finish getting ready while my friend offers the Human Cocktail a glass of wine. I join them about 5 minutes later in the kitchen, shake Human Cocktail's hand, make idle chatter, and within 3 minutes Human Cocktail throws back the entire glass of wine (insert red flag #3). From what I could tell, Human Cocktail looked nothing like his picture on his law firm web site (note: for those of you don't know, just about every law firm has a picture of all of their attorneys on the web, this is genius for single people everywhere who have a blind date with a lawyer). In fact he was a poor man's version of You're Never Fully Dressed (insert red flag #4).

Human Cocktail and I set forth on our Friday night journey into Decatur, where we go to this seemingly awesome restaurant known as Watershed. The hostess gave up our seat b/c we were late (my fault), but Human Cocktail was seemingly cool about the situation, which can sometimes cancel out one of your already flying red flags. We go to the bar to kill some time before our table is ready. I make chatter, asking him how he knows our friend who set us up. For the record, I already knew, was just trying to make conversation. Well, this turns the Human Cocktail completely red and awkwardly stumbles through: "I mean, ugh, I mean, we kind of had a few dates this past summer-is-that-WEIRD?" Please note that the words is, that, and weird were all strung together and said very fast as if they were in fact one word (insert red flag #5). Well buddy, considering it's been almost a full year since you had said dates, no, it's not weird, the only weird part is how weird you just made it. Are you weird? Thankfully the waitress came and got us before the cocktails came, which meant we would get to sit at our table and get this dinner over with sooner than I had anticipated.

Conversation was a little awkward. Lots of one-word answers. Just not much connection on banter, etc. One thing, which most late-20s, early 30-somethings talk about, that came up was the inordinate number of weddings, babies, etc taking place around us. Now I approach this topic in one way, so you can imagine when I heard/was asked the following how I fumbled like Grace, Ed Rooney's secretary in Ferris Bueller:

Human Cocktail: "I mean, I just feel like all of my friends are married and all of my friends are having children, which makes me wonder what's wrong with me? (insert red flags #6 and #7 - you know it deserves two)

Ugh, er, oh, ugh...I think you just put your finger on it! I've only known you for 20 minutes and you want me to answer that question? Didn't your mother teach you that you don't bust out the psycho-analysis until after the entree?

Don't really recall how I weaseled out of that question, but I probably did something cowardly like excuse myself to the bathroom. I sat in the stall trying to think of how I was going to be able to end this evening early. Unfortunately, the Human Cocktail drank the bottle of wine as fast as he drank the pre-dinner glass at my friend's house, and became very excited to take me to this bar up the street. I can't help it, sometimes I'm too nice (right?), and didn't know how to say "no." So I obliged and we went to this cool bar - at which the Human Cocktail stuck out like a sore thumb. I failed to mention that he showed up in some kind of hunting boot, tapered jeans, a shot-gun shell on his belt, a blazer, and a bad hair-cut. This bar was full of urban hipsters. We had one beer and I explained that I was tired and probably needed to head home. He mentioned that he has had past issues with law enforcement and drinking and driving (insert red flag #8), so he was going to call this sober-driving company called Zingo (okay, i know, that's responsible). Zingo isn't a cab, they deploy a person on a motorized scooter to come get you - they collapse said scooter in the back of your car, and drive you home in your car. Genius, really...in theory. So Zingo says they're going to be about 30 to 45 minutes, fine. A cab would have taken just as long. The Human Cocktail suggests we have another beer. Honestly, at this point I had passed my limit, not only with drinking but with conversation and with the Human Cocktail altogether. At this point, the Human Cocktail decides to tell me how funny I am. Okay, in some circles I may be witty, but it has been my experience that when a guy actually says "you're funny," he is in fact not...funny at all. This is due to his inability to come up with a witty retort in response, so he has to default to "you're funny." So the Human Cocktail decides to tell me that he thought I was SO funny, that when I responded to the first email he ever wrote me, that he FORWARDED it to his office (insert red flag #9). Wow, we've all forwarded emails, yes. We've all been busted forwarding emails, yes. But NEVER do you disclose to someone that you forwarded their email to the masses.

We finish the beer and I suggest we go outside to check on the Zingo. He calls Zingo and apparently a scooter has broken down, it's going to be a little bit longer, oh good grief. The remaining details really aren't that entertaining - other than the fact that I would excuse myself to the bathroom every 20 minutes just to get away. And more importantly it in fact took Zingo TWO AND A HALF hours to come to my rescue. Why didn't you get a cab you ask? Remember how I mentioned I had surpassed my drinking limit? Why didn't the Human Cocktail get you a cab? I don't fucking know, all I remember is something about him needing his car in the morning to go play golf. Did I also mention at one point during our TWO AND A HALF waiting period that I suggested we go wait in the car and I literally passed out. That was not a good call - he could have been doing something creepy like...playing with my hair. Shiver down my spine.

So Zingo drives me home first - thank GOD there was a third party in the vehicle so that the Human Cocktail couldn't pull any shenanigans. He goes in for the front-to-front bear hug, which I swiftly turned into a side-hug-pat-on-the-back, said "have a good night!" and darted into the door.

With all of those red flags waving, you can understand why I didn't answer his call the following Sunday evening. The classic Fade to Blaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh.