Blind dating

Applying cosmetics

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I’ve been going on a long string of first dates recently, and I’ve noticed that there are a lot of dating pitfalls for the blind.  First of all, the obvious:  whenever I tell people I have a date, they ask “Is this a blind date” and snicker.  Cause, you know, I’ve never heard that one before, ever.

But if that were all, I’d take it and be grateful.  The bigger problems come before the date even starts.  Imagine trying to curl your hair blind.  Go ahead, blindfold yourself and try.  I usually end up throwing the curling iron across the room and screaming “I’m shaving my head, I swear to God!”  Then, of course, there’s the makeup application.  I’m good at foundation, blush, powder, and lip color.  It’s the eyes that get me.  There’s the eyeliner–no way am I ever going to get a straight line right by my lashes.  It will always be crooked and leave space between my lashes and the eyeliner.  Mascara, you ask?  It is for to laugh.  I usually just put on some dark eyeshadow and hope he doesn’t notice.

Then there’s the beginning of the date.  Either the guy picks me up in my parking lot or I meet him wherever we’re having our date.  Either way, I’ll be squinting and peering around, trying to recognize my date, and that posture is just so attractive!  Gotta love that first impression, a bleary-eyed hunchback.  It does accentuate the cleavage, though.  Then, since most first dates involve dinner, we reach the adventures in silverware.  Fork, knife, spoon, and no depth perception.  Fabulous!  The napkin is my friend.  I usually have to ask for extra napkins, actually, which makes me feel super-smooth.  I like this part of the date, though, because I get to sit down.  It’s hard, though not impossible, to bump into things while you’re sitting down.  My dates always laugh when I tell them that if I’m about to walk into a streetlamp, they shouldn’t assume I’m aware of it.  That Chris, she’s so funny!  Oh, my God, who knew a head wound could bleed so much?

If any guy who is preparing for a date with me is reading this, please do the following, and I will guarantee a second date:  1.  Ask me to wear flats.  2.  Warn me when there’s a step up or down.  3.  Don’t, for the love of God, take me to an art gallery.  For Christ’s sake, I’m blind!  4.  Talk to me.  I can’t see a thing, but I’m a world-class listener.  How often does that come around?  Not too much to ask, I think.  Oh, and try not to laugh too loudly when I accidentally spill the mushrooms.  It’s endearing, right?

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Halloween, God’s favorite holiday

Jack-o-latern

Image via Wikipedia

Well, it’s my favorite holiday, anyway.  Grown-up halloween parties are almost as much fun as trick or treating; more alcohol, less candy, decent trade-off.  This year I went as a sorority girl.  I’ve been seeing them prancing around in their miniskirts and Ugg boots (why???), so I just went with it:  college hoodie, denim mini, cable-knit tights, fleece-lined boots, and a red solo cup.  Then I piled on the bronzer and blush and the really dark eye makeup and put my hair in a messy ponytail and voila!  World’s cheapest Halloween costume.  I already had everything but the hoodie, though never in quite that combination.  I looked dreadful–hilarious, but dreadful.

So I go downstairs to the lobby of my building to wait for my ride, and who should come along but a bunch of college guys who totally mistake me for a sorority girl.  They’re telling me about their plans and how much they’ve had to drink already, and explaining about this movie they saw in that patronizing way that guys think is charming.  You’d think the fact that my friend was standing beside me in full-on medieval queen garb and feathered mask would have clued them in to the fact that I was in costume, but like I said, they’d been pre-gaming.  So, yeah, thirty years old and I can still apparently pass for a student, at least to drunk frat guys.  Definitely my favorite holiday.  Now I just have to find and destroy all the photographs.  That skirt was a lot shorter than I remember it being.

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Three and a half billion Brad Pitts

A blog by a blind girl?  How?  Why?  Well, the why is my friends who, when I said “Who would read a blog I wrote?”, answered “I would!”  We’ll see how that turns out.  The how is going to be a little more tricky, so please forgive typos.

I’ve always thought that being legally blind let me notice things that other people don’t–changes in people’s voices, the way the barks of different trees feel.  It’s actually pretty cool.  But there’s one phenomenon that I think I’m going to have to ask for feedback on: strangely, whenever I tell a guy that I can’t see what he looks like, he tells me he bears a striking resemblance to Brad Pitt.  This is not the case with women–I get all sorts of responses from them (interestingly, Jennifer Aniston is a more common response than Angelina Jolie).  I’m a little alarmed at the number of Brad Pitts out there, clogging the Abercrombie stores and adopting the world’s orphans willy nilly.  Please, guys, find someone else to resemble!  Poor Brad’s got to be a little tired of running into himself everywhere, and think how confusing it must be for Angie.

So tell me, my sighted friends:  is the world full of Brad Pitts?  It’s been a while since I could see properly, but I’m pretty sure that was not the case when I was young.

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