Pre-RAD in Open Diary 2001-2018 (Pre-Prosebox)

I’m supposed to go out tonight with this guy I met Saturday night.

The story: I was going to meet Q. after I went to this club to support Hot DJ (remember him?) at this gig with this other big-time DJ. I didn’t want to stay a long time; I just wanted to get in, say hello, and get out in time to meet Q.

Well…funny things happen to a girl who shows up at a club solo. Before I knew it, I was stocked with drinks and plenty of conversation. Then, a seat in the VIP area (understand that this is a fairly small Midwestern city and imagine what a VIP area might be—that’s right, some couches behind a velvet rope….still kinda fun!) But I was very anxious to get out of there.

When it was right about time, I said my hellos and goodbyes to Hot DJ and practically raced to the bathroom to call Q., who immediately gave me the “….welllllllll….I don’t think I can get out….I’m trying to finish up this piece and I’m making a lot of progress….and I’d love to see you tomorrow.”

To which I was like, “Okay..yeah. I’d love to see you tomorrow too.”

And we all know that never happened.

But as I walked out of the bathroom, bummed and sort of lethargic, this really sweet guy asked me to go to another place with all of the other “VIPs”, but I kept up with story that I was going to meet someone else and that I really needed to get going.

I’m a terrible liar. And I’d walked to the club. And this guy refused to let me walk back to my place by myself. So I let him drive me the two blocks (!) and gave him my phone number because I thought he was sweet and I was mad at Q. I didn’t think it would go much further.

Cut to Monday evening after work. I got home around 7, and as I was walking from the parking lot to the building, I noticed a truck that looked kind of familiar. And then I noticed the guy who looked kind of familiar as well.

It was the guy from Saturday night. He was smiling very sheepishly and was obviously embarrassed when he told me that he’d accidentally forgotten to “save” my number in his phone when I gave it to him, and he really wanted to call me to ask me to dinner, but had no way of doing so, except for the fact that he knew where I lived.

I laughed and called him a stalker and asked him how long he would have waited for me to come home.

“A while,” he said.

I can’t decide if it’s cute or if it’s weird, and I don’t necessarily feel like doing this. But I figure it will get my mind off of Q. for an evening, and I might as well. Girl’s gotta eat, right?

Rate-a-Date to follow…