Actual conversation from my blind date tonight:
Him: Tell me about yourself.
Me: What about me? What do you want to know?
Him: Anything you want to tell me.
Me: I studied abroad in London for three months. That was great…. It’s my favorite place, actually.
Him: What’s your favorite place?
Him: Oh, have you been there?
Dialogical trip-ups like the above occurred several times in the ensuing 90 minutes of our date. I snuck away a bit early — good thing I promised to go to an ironically Insane Clown Posse-themed birthday party for someone I’d never met, amirite? — but not before he invited me to go clubbing with him, asked me what I was doing tomorrow, asked me what I was doing the rest of the weekend, told me to bail on said party, decided we would definitely see each other again next week, and friended me on Facebook.
Later I went to the ICP party, where I knew (more or less) no one but Emma, and discovered my skin was really sensitive to the cheap clown paint. I danced in the one room that preferred Ashanti and Ja Rule to the Posse, befriended a trio of curlyhaired boys, and rode the subway home looking like a crack addict.