The 100 Girls, 100 Days Project

There are girls you drink fondly to remember. There are girls you punish your liver to forget. There are girls you drink with. And then there are girls you drink because you are with them. This was one of those dates. Right off the bat, I met her via Match.com, and should have been prepared for it, but God damn was Elise pretty to look at. Five eight, dirty blonde, and two pallid green worlds centering her face.  I would have told her my name was Cash Bundren, but that was the problem with Elise, she was well read. She was the kind of well read that likes to shove it in your face. She also thought she was well read in people. I don’t fancy myself the most complicated of sorts, but I don’t think she can readily assume I drink heavily from ordering two Makers on the rocks in the span of three or so hours. If she took a gander at this, or even spent more than an evening with me, she’d probably gleam it, but two drinks does not an alcoholic make.

And yes, I realize that it is slightly hypocritical of me to say that she shouldn’t judge me on one evening, and I judge most of these girls in the span of an evening, but you can generally tell in two hours if you want to spend more time with a potential mate. The special ones grab you, and the other ones are the girls you just waste time with between the breath stealers.

I couldn’t tell if her looking every which way in the bar was ADD, disinterest, boredom, an earnest desire to people watch, or an unholy amalgam of all of those.  I think my biggest annoyance with Elise was in two words.

So talk.

This was in the middle of a conversation. Some girls like to do most of the talking, and on some dates I just want to listen, learn, and soak hem in. So, I just gave her a long listless look.

Isn’t that what we were doing?

If you want to shut someone up, this is by far the easiest way to do it. Natural conversation doesn’t flow from the commanding of talking. It’s halts the flow, the thought process, and the mood of the moment. Even if I was having a better time than I was, this would have killed my interest.

She’d talk about her job; she’d name check some authors to convince me that she was well versed, but I can’t really call a lot of what we were doing as human communication. She was a lot like her conversation. Trying to pass herself off as being complex, deep, and well rounded by name dropping some authors, regurgitating theories she heard, and looking every which as I was looking to the bottom of the glass.