Setting yourself up for failure.

Ok. Lame title. I don't have the time, the energy, or the dedication to excellence to care. The Remix and I were talking about set-ups and blind dates yesterday, and I decided it was worth writing about. I've got mixed feelings on set-ups, really. The not-yet-cleverly-named ex and I set up her cousin with a co-worker of mine, and damn near ended up with a date rape case. That was a bad one. On the other hand, the Remix and I set up the best friend and BFGF to go to prom a million years ago, and now they share an apartment and a relatively similar worldview. Apparently, it's a toss up. Regardless, the story I want to tell is about an awful set-up, and hopefully a cautionary tale for all you aspiring cupids out there.

The BFGF worries about me. I'm sure the best friend doesn't help, what with his constant defensive posturing and tendency for belittlement, but she's not totally off the mark, either. Anyone who lives with two cats and an X-Box 360 for company at 26 years old and isn't at least partially open to the idea of a set up has problems I don't even want to think about. Her intentions were good, anyway, and I don't blame her for the abortion that unfolded, we all should have known better.

So BFGF picks out a girl from her bevy of friends, one she believes to be smart, funny, pretty, all the sort of things she believes I'd like. Since she believes me to be smart, funny, and good-looking, she believed that we'd get along. This is how it came to be that I'd be introduced to Lawnchair. (Do I need to point out that this is not her real name? Occasionally I wonder about the general intellgence level out there, so if you find this sentence insulting and pointless, please skip to the next paragraph.)

There are several things wrong with this plan, right from the start. First of all, Lawnchair does not know there is a set-up afoot, and I do. This leads us to rule number one in the set-up Bible: Thou shalt not introduce your friends with matchmaking intentions unless the terms of the arrangement have been described in equal terms to both parties involved. Second problem--the best friend and BFGF have decided for no apparent reason that I would be more comfortable in this situation with a homecourt advantage, so they decide this melding of the hearts should take place in the bar next to my apartment. This would be good if Lawnchair was into lonely drunks belting out karaoke from 9-2, like I am, but not exactly conducive to conversation. So rule number two: Thou shalt not bring your friends together in any environment where drunk girls might be incoherently howling along with "I Touch Myself."

So the best friend and I get there first, post up at the bar, and immediately begin drinking heavily. (This is so obvious, it doesn't even get a rule.) When BFGF and Lawnchair arrive, our eyes met, and sparks immediately flew. Most of the sparks were the angry kind, directed at BFGF from Lawnchair, but that's beside the point. So far, this is going swimmingly. Now, something you should know about the best friend: he's unable to keep his mouth shut. Period. He talks, regardless of who's listening, and the more uncomfortable he gets, the more he talks. So, put the best friend in the middle of a group that consists of one uncomfortable male, one angry female, and one slightly bewildered girlfriend, and imagine how charming this could potentially get. Within two minutes, any one of us would have gladly shot him.

I'm going to take the high road here, because I'm the author and no one can stop me, and place all of the blame for this catastrophe on Lawnchair. Rule number three: Thou shalt not introduce your boyfriend's beer swilling, sarcastic, overweight, and occasionally a wee bit obnoxious best friend to your overexercised, humorless, bitchy, and frightfully thickskulled acquaintances with any romantic intentions whatsoever. (Alright, that's sort of case-specific, but I think you get the idea.) Anyway, Lawnchair is immediately horrified and seeking an escape route, and I'm unsure on the next step. For BFGF's sake, and the knowledge that one can't masturbate forever, I decide to step up to the plate and give it my best shot, in spite of the fact I'm already batting with one hand tied behind my back. Let's turn it over to the play by play guy.....

Two out, no one on, and the batter steps in. First pitch...So, what's your favorite lunchmeat? *Author's note--no, this is not my idea of small talk, all thanks to the best friend for this conversational gem. I don't know, corned beef? .... God, that's so disgusting, I don't even eat lunchmeat! STRIKE ONE! SHE BLOWS THE FASTBALL BY HIM, NEVER EVEN SAW IT COMING!!! He taps the dust off his cleats, adjusts his hat, and steps back in. Here's the pitch... So what do you do for fun? *Ok, this one is me...I'm no Shakespeare either. I ride my bike, for, like, 50 miles a day. He's going to swing, here comes a joke! Gee, that's exciting, don't you do anything that's actually, you know, fun?.... HE MISSES THE CURVE BY A MILE AND A HALF! WHAT'S THIS KID DOING UP THERE? The pitcher stares him down as she shakes off the sign...she's bringing the heat, folks, and the batter is in trouble! *At this point, BFGF and the best friend decide they should come up with pathetic excuses to leave us alone together, so they sneak off to the bathroom or some such thing while I try to drink an entire Jack and Coke in one swallow....Here comes the pitch...holy cow! I've never seen such a changeup in my life, the batter starts to swing, opens his mouth to speak, and yes, yes, she did it! She pulls out the cell phone and starts text-messaging someone midsentence! She's unbeatable! STRIKE THREE, and the batter's out!

Believe it or not, folks, it got worse from there. Bald black guy, huge muscles and a cheap watch, and he actually got away with feeding her a line about being a gynecologist. (I told you she was thickskulled.) I pointed out that she didn't seem to like anything about me, a potentially awkward social move made ten times worse by the fact I did it drunk, and in the middle of the karaoke song I was singing. BFGF and Lawnchair eventually left, leaving only me and the best friend to drink away the failure, and I could only think of one thing to say in summation of the evening.

"You know, man, I'd have been nicer to her if she was the fat one." The sad thing is, it's true.