My Date With a Vampire

It's embarrassing to admit, but I have terrible luck with relationships. I mean, I've turned more women gay than softball. But lets be honest, finding love in today's romantic landscape is challenging. That's why I lowered my standards and signed up for Match.com. After sifting through the vast wasteland of cat ladies and shemales, I finally found Ms. Right. Her name was Samantha, and she was a vampire.

I saw her profile last week and I made first contact by sending a quick message that read "You're hot. I am employed and I speak English. Want to go on a date?" The next day I had an email in my inbox that said "You have a new message...". I frantically opened my web browser and navigated to the dating site to see who had responded to one of my many "feeler" messages. Samantha's reply came with just one word- "sure". Of course I had to follow up to get her phone number and address, but I won't bore you with those details.

She wanted to meet me at midnight out in the woods underneath the weeping willow tree on the night of the first full moon. "How romantic!" I thought.

The night of the big date I made sure to follow my standard pre-date ritual, which consists of making a trip to the ATM, changing into clean underwear, saying 100 Hail Mary's, drinking a Scope-tequila cocktail, and sticking an icepack down my pants for a good half-hour.

I drove out to the woods and arrived at the weeping willow tree 15 minutes early. I sat and waited nearly 2 hours before realizing I'd been stood up. With a deflated ego I walked back to my car and drove home, where I watched Twilight twice before falling asleep.

Once, Twice, Three Times a Bridesmaid

I've been to plenty of weddings over the years, many of which shotgun. Most of them are indistinguishable, as they all seem to follow the same general pattern. "Do you take this man, sickness and health, love and cherish, until death or financial trouble..." "Do you take this woman, sickness and health again, honor and obey, until something better walks along..."

The ceremony usually lasts a little too long and during the 30 minutes or so in which I can't talk or distract myself I am stuck in a folding chair examining my darkest inner-most thoughts. I look around and catch a tearful look on the bride's mom's face and I start to well up. But then I see the groom's nephew playing with his iPhone and my thoughts turn violent as I reach down and grab a nice, round river rock. I check out the bridesmaids and wonder why they avoid my efforts to establish intense eye contact. "The sun must be in their eyes" I think to myself.

After the ceremony I grab a plate of food and smuggle it out to the parking lot and eat in my car, so as to avoid eating with strangers and the awkward conversation that follows. I then take a few hits off the flask, dump some altoids in my mouth, and walk confidently back into the reception area, where I am met with an air of celebration, and people desperately trying to find segues for leaving.

I dance with a drink in my hand because I think it looks cool, and I loosen my tie for the same reason. In between slow dances I play the "mother-daughter" game in which I stare at a girl until her mother notices.

After the reception I go home by myself and leaf through the wedding magazines I keep in the bathroom as a single tear rolls down my face.