Had a date tonight. Met her at a wedding a couple of weeks ago, had a drunken chat and procured her number. Met the weekend before last, we got on well and agreed to hang out again soon. Which was tonight. The plan was for her to come over to my place, have a sneaky beer in my local downstairs before heading to the cinema to see In Bruges, an Irish film that had been highly recommended to me.
She arrived puntually (Germans, eh, gotta love 'em) and looked confused as she walked in the door and into my room.
Apprently she had only been on my street once before.
Her purpose had been to visit number fifteen - coincidentally that's my building.
She had been to the left apartment on the first floor - coincidentally that's my apartment.
She had been visiting her friend who lived in the first room on the right - coincidentally that's my room.
I am not fucking joking with this.
Of course she wanted to speak with her friend, my hosuemate, who she hadn't seen in ages.
I stood there like a fecking eejet as they chatted away for fecking ages about utter fucking banalities. As if I hadn't been bloody nervous enough without fate kicking me repeatedly in the balls with this shockingly improbable coincidence!
Things like that really bother me - I am more or less an athiest but there really must be someone up there making crazy stuff happen just in order to have a big giggle about it. I must be a source of endless mirth for this particular sadistic deity.
Anyway, managed to wrest back control of the situation and get out of the apartment, only for her to refuse to go into my local. Can you believe that? Brad and Landers and Kelly and Grit can contest to its wonderfulness. She thought it was too seedy (in her defence, people say that about things I like all the time...), and instead suggested we grab a beer and drink it on the street. Now I don't know about rain on your wedding day, but that was pretty fucking ironic to me.
Onwards on upwards, wading through a jungle of dull conversation. At least it was in German.
Got the tickets. Rambled around and looked at the Philharmonic Hall that had suffered a slight fire earlier today. She told me about how she had been there once before, drunk and stoned, and left early cos it was boring. Not a good way to make a good impression on the Ramposaurous Rex.
Film was really great. Colin Farrell was excellent. Highly recommended.
She seemed surprised when I didn't follow her into the u-bahn afterwards. Her 'We should do this again sometime' was interrupted by my airy 'Safe home', already turning on my heel.
God, dating fucking sucks.
