The 100 Girls, 100 Days Project

Age: 22

Height: 5’6

Hair Color: Blonde

Method:  Pomegranate  Pick Me Up

Advancement: Strawberry Nirvana

I

I wanted to do something special for my first girl. This is the second first date I’ll ever have.  And this time I was positive it would be the better first date. It, hopefully, would not give me a scar on my left leg like when I went ice-skating with Sarah Gardeski and played through the pain of my skates being too small.

To paint a word picture, this girl and I have had a series of quick and quirky encounters. She works at the Jamba Juice a few feet from my job.  It might have been because I’m always half asleep when talking to her, but I always thought she was kind of cute, in a permanent bags-under-the-eye, pseudo-junkie, kind of way. I have a thing for damaged girls.

We’ve always had this half-flirty banter and she was just cute enough. To be honest with you I didn’t strain any muscles getting this date. I’m the kind of guy who tips his toes into a cold swimming pool. The way I figure, I was just glad she wasn’t a Chunky Strawberry Topper. So there I am on my routine, and for the millionth time she asks me my name, even though I go in there regularly. I look around, the only one in the shop.

Is that really necessary?

She laughed, and before I knew it I had seven digits written on a napkin in my pocket.

We went out, got a few drinks, and had a nice time. After her third Captain and Coke, I took her home and got something I wasn’t even remotely expecting: the invite.  I have never in my life gotten the invite on a first date unless things were going extremely well, and I didn’t even think things were going all that well on this date.

I’m not exactly a stranger to only sleeping with a girl once, but it was always a matter of circumstance. Never have I had an intentional one-night stand. I get that guilt inside me, and I always try and make a relationship out of it. I’m the patsy who tries to make something out of nothing.

At this point I was clearly aware that I wasn’t ever going to call this girl again. I would lose the number almost immediately. We got along well enough, but a few drunken hours didn’t convince me that there was a case worth following up on here. Of course, the fact that I’ve temporarily closed that part of myself off probably didn’t help either. So it was fun. It was messy, but it was hardly Caribbean Passion or Peach Perfection.

I never did actually get confirmation on the junkie hypothesis. Frankly, I didn’t even want to know the answer. By rule, I’m only allowed the one time of seeing her. In a lot of ways the less I know, the better.