Still life, with bartender

Shhh. Don't tell anybody - least of all the gods of Internet dating, those feckless hounds of hell.

I had a nice date. A nice first date. And I'm certain it will all go to hell in a handbasket the next time I venture out to see this person - or any other carbon-based lifeform, for that matter - and that really, I should just stick to bowling with my friends, or eating Mexican food and drinking that deadly sangria they make over in Sunnyside, or I should just hang my hat up and settle for the occasional foray into blondie's hot pants, or something.

Whoa, did I actually say that out loud? Ahem.

Two Guinni, ladies and gentlemen, just two, and already she loses her taillights which are, in fact, strung about her fingers, and half-drops the precious bike while trying to give the nice cool/nerdy guy a little tiny kiss, and then, well, she rides like a bat outta hell home in about 20 seconds flat. Okay, 20 minutes, but who's counting?

Here, look at this nice purple iris. Ain't it pretty? (So I trekked out to the border planets, learned to say "ain't...")

Really, I'm not that drunk, honest I'm not. Claudia, does this count as a BAT trip?