Faux ticket #2!

Remember that time, when I received tickets to the Bob Dylan concert, and then they weren’t real and I felt like a complete fool?  No?

Here’s the full story:


If you would prefer the quick story, I thought a table left me and my coworker/friend two extra tickets to go see Bob Dylan in concert one night back in November.  We got out of work early to make the show, only to find that they were merely parking tickets.  The ticket guy looked at us like we were morons and we both still feel like idiots any time we talk about it.

Would you believe me if I told you that it happened again?

Last night, one of my favorite comedians performed in Grand Rapids.  His name is Brian Reagan.  If you haven’t heard of him…


…there you go, just a taste of his clean funny-ness.

I have been quoting him for over a decade now, and I never tire of his bizarre bits.

But, of course, when he finally makes it to Grand Rapids I would not get tickets to go see him live.  I’m poor, I have to work!

We were busy at work last night, the night of his show.  By busy I mean 15 minutes before opening the doors people were pounding on the glass screaming their desires for filet mignon.

At 8:30 I had a couple sit down with their son.  They informed me they had a show to be at in one hour, I replied, “You’re going to see Brian Reagan, aren’t you?”

“Yes, we are! We just love him.”

“I do too, so much.  It’s CaroLINE, Brian. CaroLINE.”

“It’s BriOWN!”

(insert belly aching laughter and more Brian Reagan lines here)

Then, the mother came at me with this line,

“There were supposed to be four of us, if you want the extra ticket.  I don’t know if there’s any way you could be out in an hour?”

My heart sank.  There was no way.  The restaurant was full on a Saturday night.

“No, I’m pretty positive I wouldn’t be able to make that happen.”

We carried on with our lives, they with food eating, me with food serving, and then a miracle happened.

Just as this sweet little family was getting ready to pay their bill, one of my other tables left, and the six top (table of six people, if you really couldn’t piece that together) I was waiting on asked for their bill “asap, we have to leave very soon.”

No…I am not shitting you.

I ran to my boss with fingers crossed, and so filled with hope that I wanted to barf it out.  When I told him the story, he replied with, “Yes, absolutely, leave and we will take care of everything.”

No, I’m still not shitting you.

Then I told the family my news, and they clapped their hands with excitement, and then handed me a ticket and refused any money for it.

No, not shitting.

Then my coworkers cheered me on as I rushed to finish up my last bits of necessary work.

Then I ran across the street and sat in the third row and shot snot out of my nose from laughing so hard.

After the show I chatted with the family for a few minutes and thanked them until they were annoyed.

I’m still smiling and kind of shaky with post traumatic Brian Reagan hilarity.

So, what I’m trying to say is that this really happened, and it was in no way like the Bob Dylan debacle earlier this winter.

Then I had a bit of wine with good friends, followed by a beer with a handsome man.  I am jealous of myself.


do you believe me yet?


Thank you, Dan, Linda, and Steve, you wonderful, wonderful people.

I didn’t do a shot of Jameson this St. Patrick’s Day, but I did a shot of iced tea to avoid peer pressure…does that count?


Turbo Dater 2000

So, what’s the verdict? What happened with the valet guy?

We are betrothed to be wed this fall!

Just kidding, but we did have a couple beers together, and it was fun.

It was slightly awkward when I accepted his Facebook friend request and then realized the first thing he would see was the link to this very website with the post about me being a brave little creep and asking for his number.

Turns out he had not read it, but not to worry, I  brought it up while we were out so he could read it right there.

When 2013 made it’s debut, I confirmed a promise to myself to not put an enormous effort into the pressures of dating.  I even went as far as to suggest to myself not dating at all.  Make friends, meet people, hang out, but no dates. 

I was very comfortable with this notion, and as soon as I had it settled in my mind to dedicate a year to solely dating myself (://hannahsthirties.wordpress.com/2013/01/10/how-to-date-yourself/), every person and their mom informed me they had someone they wanted to set me up with.  I even recently waited on a couple at my restaurant for Valentine’s Day who insisted I meet their friend.  

As you can imagine, I fought and fought to cling to my dating abstinence.

Or, if you can pick up on the hints that I’ve nearly been pelting at your heads, you will realize I am being sarcastic and that instead I have become a dating machine.

A machine with emotions and whatnot.

Also, please do not confuse dating machine with whore.  We are talking a beer, a lunch date, and friendly conversation.  If you did get those confused, you were either a.) married to your high school sweet heart when you turned 20 and have no concept of dating in adulthood or b.) you are dating in adulthood and have no concept of what it entails.

In any case, it’s not as frustrating as I thought.  Worst case scenario?  We don’t have similar interests and go our separate ways in life.

Actually, a worst case scenario would be if he couldn’t contribute to conversation, had no sense of humor, constantly scratched his crotch and refused to look away from my tits, with a grand finale of “forgetting his wallet” and an invitation to go back to his place.

That’s bound to happen, I’m sure. 

Time for that Bow Tie,