Out of respect to my sister who has epilepsy, I will say that I know how serious epilepsy is and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. But with that being said, can I please write a ridiculous blog post without all of you jumping down my throat for being a terrible and insensitive bastard?

Oh wait, I’m on my “other” blog. The one where I don’t have to tip toe around the tulips. Awesome. Let’s just dive right in then.

I was on vacation in Las Vegas (at a big casino) playing poker last week, when a cute dealer started flirting with me. It went back and forth for a little while, and I called her by the name on her badge at some point.

“Oh, that’s not my name. It’s not my badge. I just borrowed it.”

Then she told me her real name.

And I told her, “oh no, that won’t work. That’s my ex-wife’s name.”

Then she said one of the smoothest things I’ve heard at a poker table (and quite possibly the only smooth thing I’ve ever heard at any poker table said by anyone)…

She looked at me, smirked, nodded a little nod, and replied, “hey, maybe it can be your next wife’s name.”

I sat there glossy-eyed trying to think of the perfect response, since it caught me so off guard (girls just don’t flirt with me like that). Should I slip her my card? Should I just ask her out in front of all the other players? Should I be a chicken like I usually am and just do nothing? As I contemplated how to make this possible love affair take off, something happened.

She suddenly began having a grand mal seizure.

Okay, let it sink in and then get over it.

Yes, it was crazy and stressful and all sorts of drama ensued, but that’s none of my fucking business and not my story to tell. And, frankly, what happened next really has nothing to do with this blog post.

Nope. The seizure happened. She was coming out of it as the paramedics rolled her away.

And this is where I prove what an awful human I am and turn it into something all about me. Yep, I’m gonna do it.

Friends, that is how badly the universe doesn’t want me to find love.

A pretty woman liked me enough to flirt with me. Me.

And then her brain immediately short-circuited, as if the universe was trying to say, “I’m gonna shut this motherfucking bullshit down right now. I mean, c’mon. This is Dan Pearce we’re talking about.”

I mean, I could blame all the flashing lights in the casino.

I could blame any one of the endless stimuli in such an environment that can trigger a seizure.

I could even just blame dumb luck or coincidence.

But I know better.

She flirted with me, and something deep down in her brain said, “NOPE, NOPE, NOPE!” as it frantically figured out what to do next. How do I get out of this? FUCK! How do I get out of this? Her brain might as well have screamed it.

Universe ninety-three. My love life, zero.

Well, that was certainly fucked-up.

And I don’t know whether I’m talking more about this post or about the universe doing that…

Dan Pearce | The Dan Pearce Blog

PS. Now you may go ahead and call me a terrible, intensive bastard.

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