Sunday night I went on date with a guy I met online a blind date and he did amazingly well at picking the place.

We ended up at a comedy club and the guy scored like 7 katrillion points by not making me endure a cup of coffee or an awkward trip to the movies.

And he was normal enough, but I guess he wasn’t into me because I haven’t heard from him since.

But that’s all right, because, back to the comedy club, guess who my waitress was? Uh, ya, that girl who dated that guy that I used to date kiss sometimes at Western.

I KNOW! RIGHT? WHAT ARE THE ODDS???

Thankfully, she didn’t seem to recognize me. Either that, or she totally put bugs and snot in the spinach dip. But seeing as how she didn’t beat me up, I put the experience in the “win” column.

And then, I decided to call that guy. We’ll henceforth refer to him as the Puerto Rican. Wait, that’s too broad. I date too many Puerto Ricans. Hmm. Ok. How about the “Guy from college.”

So ya. I called Guy from college. And one thing led to another and well, long story too short, a few hours later he was kissing me good night.

What are the odds?