Tag Archives: anecdote

Kyle On: Blind Dating

3 Aug

People find love through a number of methods: online dating, blind dating, bar hopping, duct tape. There are a myriad of ways to meet someone special. Today, though, I’d like to shed my knowledge light on blind dating.

Blind dating scared the living daylights out of me, mainly because I thought you had to be blind to do it. I like to see things. I still haven’t seen the new Harry Potter, and I really need to do that before I go blind. After a brief discussion with some loved ones, however, I was informed that my assumption about blind dating was wildly off-base.

I wanted to know what blind dating was all about so I could better educate others who are equally as confused as I was. I asked my friends if they could set me up. One of my old room mates knew a girl that he thought would be perfect for me.

**Flash back starts**

“Dude, this girl is perfect for you!” He said.

“Oh yea? What’s she like?” I asked.

“It’s my sister, Cassie.”

“She hot?”

“It’s my sister.”

“Your hot sister?”

“Just my sister.”

“She sounds ugly.”

**Flash back ends**

He never called his sister, so I had to set up my own blind date. This would seem quite difficult–nearly impossible. How could I set myself up with a girl that I had never met nor seen? Easy. I went to the Parks Mall in Arlington this past weekend, assuming that the weekend would draw the highest number of attractive women. I brought my best friend, Wesley, along to help me. I don’t want to see the woman beforehand, and I don’t want to walk around with a blind fold, so me and Wesley decided that the best way to do this would be me pretending to be blind. I would dress up as a real-life blind man, complete with a cane, a sunglasses, and a surly disposition that borders on violent. Wesley would be my seeing eye dog. I told Wesley to attain a believable dog costume. This is what he showed up in:

I didn't get to see the costume until we'd met in the parking lot.

I didn't get to see the costume until we met in the parking lot.

Wesley would guide me to a girl he thought was attractive and I would ask her out, no questions asked, all the while keeping my eyes closed. I would keep the conversation to a minimum, mainly just a little small talk and an exchange of contact information, in order to maintain enough anonymity as possible before the date. I put all of my trust in Wesley to find me an attractive young lady to take out. This is how my trust was rewarded:

2_FullWesley led me to this man. His name is Henry and he works part time at the Bass Pro Shop in Garland. I’m not going to tell you what our date was like because that’s what Wesley would want me to do and I don’t reward betrayal.

Just know that I’m not ever going out on a blind date ever again.

Ever.

My First Metal Show

8 Jun

Welcome back.

You ever heard of metal? Metal is what most cars are made out of. “Metal” is also a word I scream while playing Metal Gear Solid. But what I’m-a talkin’ about is a genre of music called “Metal” (pronounced METAAAAAL).

My friend/sometimes-roommate Lanny has a friend from some accounting classes that plays in a metal band(METAAAL). His band was playing at a bar called “Andy’s.” My band was playing the next night at a place called “Kyle’s.” It’s just down the way from “Kitchen’s” and right next door to “Bathroom’s.”

Anyway, after adequately “pre-gaming” by listening to some really hard music of my own, we piled into Lanny’s Tahoe and off we went for a night of metal.

Oh, yea. Time to rock. We get to the venue and Derek is noticeably giddy. He gets giddy all over himself in the parking lot and we have to go home for a change of pants.

When we get to the club, I’m one of probably six individuals not wearing a black t-shirt. It’s a bizarre sea of sweat-tinged, 100% cotton blackness. I walk in and put my hands out in front of me like I can’t see.

“OH no, Lanny!” I say loudly. I look over at Lanny then close my eyes, miming with my hands extended. “I can’t see anything! There’s so much black in here! It’s so dark in this room! Haha, Derek! Look at all these t-shirts! So many blacks!” I feel the soft, leathery dampness of human skin colliding with my hands. The room gets noticeably quieter. I open my eyes, laughing to myself. I love it when I joke. I’ve run into an African American man sitting at the bar. When I see what I’ve done, .8 oz. of urine exits my body through my urethra.

“Oh, man. I’m really…sorry.”

“What did you mean, ‘It’s dark in here’?” He asks me. He looks upset.

“Huh?”

“I said, what did you mean ‘It’s dark in here’? So many blacks, you said? What’re you sayin’?”

“I’m sorry. It’s too dark, I can’t hear you.” I make an “I dunno” face and walk past him, looking for the bathroom. When I get out of his line of sight I break into a slight run.

When I finally find the bathroom, it’s behind the stage, and I walk directly behind the drummer for the first band. I give the drummer a nice little tug on his underwear.

“WEDGIE!” I yell.

“FUCK YOU!” He yells.

I give him a dollar not to hit me after the show.

I continue into the restroom. The soap is held in a ketchup bottle, there is no toilet seat, and the door has been beat to hell. It looks like it’s just withstood an assault from a battering ram. I need to get one of those.

We get a spot up on the balcony. I’m a perfect throwing distance from the band, which, really, doesn’t mean that much coming from me, considering that with this arm, EVERYTHING is within throwing distance.

The singer for the first band, D****** (Name changed because I can’t remember it.), gets on stage and starts singing. Then, he stops singing. He talks to me in a deep, frightening,  gravelly voice. It sounded like what an angry alligator would talk like if he spoke English instead of Alligator.

THANK YOU ANDY'S! What a fucking nightmare.

THANK YOU ANDY'S!

I’m so scared. I drink whiskey to make the fear go away.

Things are now so much more badass. There’s this semi-attractive photographer girl talking to me. I may/may not have told her/allowed her to believe that I was in a metal band. At one point, she asks me about the club and I mention the open mics every Tuesday. She asked me to write down the day and time of the open mic on her napkin. It wasn’t until I write down “Tuesday at 8:00” that I realize she thinks I’m playing on Tuesday. This is okay with me. Lying doesn’t count when it’s at a metal show. When it’s at a metal show, it’s called “RIGHTEOUS OVERTURNING OF THE CORPORATE, ACCEPTED PRECEPTS OF THE GOD FEARING OVERLORDS.”

A few seconds after I “lie,” the young lady pushes me back two feet and takes a picture of me. I step forward to continue our conversation. When I do, she pushes me back and takes another picture. I grab her camera and politely ask her to delete the photos. I tell her it’s because of my Native American heritage (“Lie.”), that I can’t be photographed for fear of having a part of my soul stolen. In all actuality, it was for fear of the feds finding the photos and subsequently finding me then me subsequently finding myself in jail for a 2001 narcotics-related arrest warrant.

I tell her I’ll buy her a drink and then we both go downstairs. I throw a wall-ball into the distance and she chases it. Then Lanny, Derek, and I shake hands with the band, then each other, then leave.

It was a fantastic, metal time.

Job Search 2009, Pt. 1

27 May

Where are all my moneys? Where is my yacht? My lion? My purple robe and matching helicopter?

I look out my window and see none of these things. *I turn from the window, clutching myself and shivering as an icy chill runs up my spine.*

Here is my account of my job search.

The Monday after graduation, I get up extra early. Today’s the day I get all my money bills in. “Yipee!” I say to myself when I get out of bed, awakening all six(one) of my partners (really good friend).

“What are you yelling about?” Talia asks. She’s still sleepy from a big day of helping me print out head shots for the upcoming autograph sessions.

“Today is the day. Today.” I stand up and take a deep breath. Stringed instruments play lightly over the moment. I look out onto the sun-kissed parking lot. There is a man peeing on a car. I quickly close the shades and turn to her. “Today is the day I make you and I rich with money dollars.”

Talia has fallen back asleep. Tired from all the excitement, it seems.

I put on my lucky red boxer briefs. Why are they lucky? Well, these are the boxer briefs I was wearing when this happened. I then put on my humble, logic-based blue boxer briefs to even everything out.

**Currently listening to: Kings of Leon!** Sorry, due to my contractual obligations with MTV, I have to do that every paragraph or so.

After I put on my underwears, it’s time for my outerwears. I put on a blue dress shirt, green sweater vest, gold and blue tie, and a blue sports coat. I’m looking fly. I’m looking sweet. I’m looking fweet (I have a degree in English. I can make up words. It’s the law.). I look a lot like this:

...Ah... A little less drunk.
…Ah… A little less drunk.
Ok, now a little more formal.
Ok, now a little more formal.
Good GOD! Way, WAY wrong direction!
Good GOD! Way, WAY wrong direction. More formal, less peyote.

Perfect. Thats what Im talkin about.
Perfect. That’s what I’m talkin’ about.

After I’m dressed, I pick my diploma up from my desk. I breath out.

“Ok, Kyle. Let’s go make some magic happen. Make some magic happen. MAGIC!” I then leave my apartment.

I go down to my car and drive to the nearest metropolitan area. Everybody seems to be so happy for me. The homeless man I usually give change doesn’t tell me I’m a “Dead man” when I hand him a quarter, a lady cuts me off, but then slams her brakes on to say she’s sorry.

I reach downtown Denton full of delightful exhilaration. Stepping out onto the grass in front of the courthouse, there is a real feeling of life.

I then hold out my diploma with left hand. My right I extend, palm up, ready to receive all my dollar money or a handshake from my new employer. It takes 17 minutes for a bird to poop on my outstretched hand and a gang of children to steal my diploma. I’m filled with disappointment.

Next Week on BLOG

“No, no, no. At our ceremony you told us we had ‘Bright, shining futures’ ahead of us. WHERE THE HELL IS MY FUTURE?!” Kyle screams at UNT President Gretchen Bataille.

“Carl–” She starts.

“Kyle.”

“Yes, Kyle–you’re asking the wrong question. The question is not ‘Where’ is your future. The question is when.”

They exchange emotionless glances and he walk out of the room.

“Kyle, you used my tooth brush for WHAT?!” Talia screams.

“You obviously don’t get political humor then. Here let me show you again–”

“KYLE STOP OH GOD!”

*Cuts to Wesley, standing in an empty parking lot, wearing only a loincloth. He is covered in a golden liquid.

“WHERE AM I AND WHY AM I COVERED IN HONEY?!”

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