Barring a truly ridiculous story, which is unlikely since I'm driving home tomorrow to stay with my mom for a week, this is going to be my last post of the year, number 199 of the blog. I may have lost focus a couple of times, so let's take a moment to regroup and recap.
Regroup:
I would like to reiterate my goal. Simply stated it is to chronicle my adventures dating in DC. I am doing this for me. This is sort of a diary of my bachelorhood. There are so many crazy things that happen to me I want to remember them all exactly how they went down since time tends to "embellish" stories. Therefore, I am being as open and honest as I can. I tell almost everything that I experience, unedited.
I do get some feedback and commentary from readers, either in the form of online comments or through email (crazygirlsblog@gmail.com). I appreciate them all, and generally try to respond to the positive and ignore the negative. I leave all online commentary posted except where people are blatantly spamming products or promoting other sites. I never remove or screen negative feedback.
I think it's important to remind you that not a single one of my friends knows about this blog. There are many reasons I keep this anonymous, but the biggest one is that it allows me to be 100% honest. I don't have to worry about offending friends, hurting feelings, covering my ass, or pulling any punches. I can share my true thoughts, which I believe are similar to the thoughts of many guys in my demographic.
Recap:
2009 has been interesting. I rang in the New Year riding the coat-tails of my buddies doing their best impersonations of rock stars in South America. It was truly the high-point of my year, and likely my life. What goes up must come down, though, and in the following months I found myself in a serious female drought. This was compounded by a flu I picked up, which I am certain was the first case of H1N1 in the US.
The drought ended with drunken sex in a Chinese hotel fire escape at 4am. I suppose that's as good a way as any to break out of a slump. However, once back in DC I continued to find myself in precarious situations with women, mainly do to a short stint dating online.
In reviewing my entries for the year I am not surprised to see that Kay was the focus of the vast majority of my entries. Even today, she continues to weight heavily on my mind. I simply can't seem to shake the empty feeling and borderline anger that hearing her name evokes. It's the one thing I my life I am unable to control and it drives me bananas. My only solace is that I know that I played my cards to the best of my ability and left nothing on the table.
After succeeding in fucking things up with Kay I regressed, and basically ended 2009 the way I ended 2008: having sex with Bear and a couple other girls that I either had no feelings for or downright loathed. I learned that: Asian pubes are strait, it's hard to meet girls in the gym, girls like hot tubs, Halloween is still the best night of the year, my readers don't condone sex with deaf girls but are by and large OK with facials, and that I still think girls in DC are crazy.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Snowed In
DC got absolutely hammered with snow this weekend. We received somewhere in the neighborhood of twenty inches of snow in twenty-four hours. In a city that appears to only have three plows, two inches is crippling, so twenty literally shut down the District and the Federal Government.
As the snow started on Friday evening I settled onto my couch with a beer, satisfied that I had cancelled my plans to go to the bars. Around 9:30pm, though, I got a text from Bear asking if I wanted to go to the Tune-In for drinks and "breakfast". The snow was coming down pretty hard at that point so I figured if I was going to be snowed in for any appreciable amount of time I might as well get a little action. We met at my house and went to the bar together.
The Tune-In is this cool joint on Pennsylvania Ave. It's a total dive, replete with mounted animals on the walls, a juke box, and PBR on tap. They open at 8am and serve breakfast all day long. I've only been there twice, both times with Bear, but if I had to guess it seems like it would be an easy place to meet girls because just by being there it's like you're "in the club". What I mean is it's very small, and everyone seems to know each other, so all the clientele intermingle. It's great. An example of this is at 11:37pm a guy stood up from his table, wobbled a bit, then waved to everyone. The place erupted in applause and cheers. Bear and I were really confused, so a guy next to us leaned into our booth and said "He's been here for exactly 12 hours." He kissed, hugged, and hi-fived his way out of the bar. Hysterical, I loved it.
On Saturday night I met Poonani out for drinks. Earlier in the week Poonani and I talked and determined we were just going to be friends. Saturday night, therefore, was just like "drinks with the guys". I don't have any good female friends in DC(because I generally hook up with them) so I'm kind of looking forward to this. However, Poonani showed up with this low-cut shirt and her tits hanging out all over the place, something the "guys" don't usually do. I realize I'm new at hanging out with girls in a non-sexual capacity, but perhaps this would be easier if we had sex first? You know, get that out of the way.
Moving on...
The bar closed at midnight, so I paid the check and walked Poonani home. I would like to point out that when the check came Poonani made no attempt at paying. As I've said, on dates I pay for everything. But this was not a date. When I go out with my buiddies we split the check. I thought this was worth pointing out.
It was still early so Poonani invited me up to her place for a drink and I agreed, but in the back of my head I was thinking "this isn't going to end well".
Poonani is looking to buy a house so we talked about real estate a lot that night. She currently lives in an apartment in an older building, but in a great location. She pays a lot for the relative convenience of the neighborhood, $1850 per month. In this economy you can live in a brand new building with a doorman and parking for that price, so I was stunned when I walked into her place and it was a total dump. The walls were cracked, the floors were a mess, the kitchen was bottom of the line everything, and some light "fixtures" were just bare bulbs. It was big, but so what?
On top of the unit being shitty, Poonani was a slob. The place was a pig sty, it looked like a guy's college apartment. She had stuff everywhere. I can't even describe what the "stuff" was, other than an assortment of detritus on most flat surfaces. Clothes, dishes, mail, you name it. I had a hard time finding a place to sit down, and once I found a spot I wasn't sure I WANTED to sit down. It was just gross. I decided to follow Poonani to the kitchen to make drinks. When I walked in the kitchen here was a puddle in the middle of the floor. I looked up at the ceiling and said "I think you have a leak?" Poonani said "No, the dog peed" then she placed a paper grocery bag on top of the puddle! Oh man, I needed to get out of there.
We had a drink and I excused myself to go to the bathroom. I'm not going to lie, I really didn't have to go, I just wanted to see what it looked like. Poonani didn't disappoint, the bathroom was slightly worse than the rest of the house. To her credit, there really wasn't any storage in the bathroom, so she had hung one of those clear shoe holders on the back of the bathroom door and filled it with all her bathroom junk. Maybe I'm spoiled, but for $1850 I would expect at least a couple of cabinets hung on the walls for storage.
At 2am I finished my drink and said I was leaving. Poonani offered me the couch to crash on, but I was really tired and wanted to sleep in my own bed. I took the Metro home and was pretty impressed that nothing more took place.
There is one other note-worthy event from this weekend, but it's so unusual and specific that I'm afraid it would give away my identity if I described it in detail. Let's just say that I did a "good deed" for a random stranger on Saturday. It was snowing freakishly hard, and the person was all bundled up. I could tell it was a female, but that's all. After I helped her she said "Is your name ...", I said "Yeah, how did you know that", she said "I work with your friend ...., we've met before". I don't remember this girl at all, but my friend says she is hot, but one of the most narcissistic people he knows. The next day she sent me a friend invite on Facebook. Does that mean she wants to hook up? I really have no idea. She is hot, and can't be more than 23, which is always fun. I'm just not sure how to interpret the friend invite.
As the snow started on Friday evening I settled onto my couch with a beer, satisfied that I had cancelled my plans to go to the bars. Around 9:30pm, though, I got a text from Bear asking if I wanted to go to the Tune-In for drinks and "breakfast". The snow was coming down pretty hard at that point so I figured if I was going to be snowed in for any appreciable amount of time I might as well get a little action. We met at my house and went to the bar together.
The Tune-In is this cool joint on Pennsylvania Ave. It's a total dive, replete with mounted animals on the walls, a juke box, and PBR on tap. They open at 8am and serve breakfast all day long. I've only been there twice, both times with Bear, but if I had to guess it seems like it would be an easy place to meet girls because just by being there it's like you're "in the club". What I mean is it's very small, and everyone seems to know each other, so all the clientele intermingle. It's great. An example of this is at 11:37pm a guy stood up from his table, wobbled a bit, then waved to everyone. The place erupted in applause and cheers. Bear and I were really confused, so a guy next to us leaned into our booth and said "He's been here for exactly 12 hours." He kissed, hugged, and hi-fived his way out of the bar. Hysterical, I loved it.
On Saturday night I met Poonani out for drinks. Earlier in the week Poonani and I talked and determined we were just going to be friends. Saturday night, therefore, was just like "drinks with the guys". I don't have any good female friends in DC(because I generally hook up with them) so I'm kind of looking forward to this. However, Poonani showed up with this low-cut shirt and her tits hanging out all over the place, something the "guys" don't usually do. I realize I'm new at hanging out with girls in a non-sexual capacity, but perhaps this would be easier if we had sex first? You know, get that out of the way.
Moving on...
The bar closed at midnight, so I paid the check and walked Poonani home. I would like to point out that when the check came Poonani made no attempt at paying. As I've said, on dates I pay for everything. But this was not a date. When I go out with my buiddies we split the check. I thought this was worth pointing out.
It was still early so Poonani invited me up to her place for a drink and I agreed, but in the back of my head I was thinking "this isn't going to end well".
Poonani is looking to buy a house so we talked about real estate a lot that night. She currently lives in an apartment in an older building, but in a great location. She pays a lot for the relative convenience of the neighborhood, $1850 per month. In this economy you can live in a brand new building with a doorman and parking for that price, so I was stunned when I walked into her place and it was a total dump. The walls were cracked, the floors were a mess, the kitchen was bottom of the line everything, and some light "fixtures" were just bare bulbs. It was big, but so what?
On top of the unit being shitty, Poonani was a slob. The place was a pig sty, it looked like a guy's college apartment. She had stuff everywhere. I can't even describe what the "stuff" was, other than an assortment of detritus on most flat surfaces. Clothes, dishes, mail, you name it. I had a hard time finding a place to sit down, and once I found a spot I wasn't sure I WANTED to sit down. It was just gross. I decided to follow Poonani to the kitchen to make drinks. When I walked in the kitchen here was a puddle in the middle of the floor. I looked up at the ceiling and said "I think you have a leak?" Poonani said "No, the dog peed" then she placed a paper grocery bag on top of the puddle! Oh man, I needed to get out of there.
We had a drink and I excused myself to go to the bathroom. I'm not going to lie, I really didn't have to go, I just wanted to see what it looked like. Poonani didn't disappoint, the bathroom was slightly worse than the rest of the house. To her credit, there really wasn't any storage in the bathroom, so she had hung one of those clear shoe holders on the back of the bathroom door and filled it with all her bathroom junk. Maybe I'm spoiled, but for $1850 I would expect at least a couple of cabinets hung on the walls for storage.
At 2am I finished my drink and said I was leaving. Poonani offered me the couch to crash on, but I was really tired and wanted to sleep in my own bed. I took the Metro home and was pretty impressed that nothing more took place.
There is one other note-worthy event from this weekend, but it's so unusual and specific that I'm afraid it would give away my identity if I described it in detail. Let's just say that I did a "good deed" for a random stranger on Saturday. It was snowing freakishly hard, and the person was all bundled up. I could tell it was a female, but that's all. After I helped her she said "Is your name ...", I said "Yeah, how did you know that", she said "I work with your friend ...., we've met before". I don't remember this girl at all, but my friend says she is hot, but one of the most narcissistic people he knows. The next day she sent me a friend invite on Facebook. Does that mean she wants to hook up? I really have no idea. She is hot, and can't be more than 23, which is always fun. I'm just not sure how to interpret the friend invite.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Poonani Email
I received the following from Poonani last night:
"I had no idea that you were such a sore loser and that you wouldn't call me since I beat you at darts!! I would've thrown the game if I'd known you'd take it so hard;)
But seriously, I never intended for us to start dating. I was happy being just friends.. of course we had that drunken kiss... which made me re-think things... but I'd rather be friends with you and be able to hang out than feel like you're blowing me off.
So sadly you'll have to refrain from feeling up my ass, paying for everything and I'll have to refrain from trying to kiss you. Hopefully with all that aside you still want to hang out with me or at least chat. Maybe I'm reading all signals wrong, but they are pretty mixed. I just want things clear, honest and out in the open. Can you help me by sharing a little, please? "
I admit Poonani isn't all that crazy, I've always said she had her shit together. I feel badly that I didn't have the "friends" talk with her, but the timing never seemed right. I'll try to get together with her this week and clear things up.
"I had no idea that you were such a sore loser and that you wouldn't call me since I beat you at darts!! I would've thrown the game if I'd known you'd take it so hard;)
But seriously, I never intended for us to start dating. I was happy being just friends.. of course we had that drunken kiss... which made me re-think things... but I'd rather be friends with you and be able to hang out than feel like you're blowing me off.
So sadly you'll have to refrain from feeling up my ass, paying for everything and I'll have to refrain from trying to kiss you. Hopefully with all that aside you still want to hang out with me or at least chat. Maybe I'm reading all signals wrong, but they are pretty mixed. I just want things clear, honest and out in the open. Can you help me by sharing a little, please? "
I admit Poonani isn't all that crazy, I've always said she had her shit together. I feel badly that I didn't have the "friends" talk with her, but the timing never seemed right. I'll try to get together with her this week and clear things up.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Dick Twitch
The slightest things can turn me on during the day. It's frustrating that I can't control my own body, but at the same time it's exciting to me that such a wide array of signals can have such a profound affect.
For me there are two types of sexual arousal; intentional and unintentional. Intentional would be looking at porn. Unintentional is basically everything else. In turn there are two reactions to either type; a full-blown hard on, or what I refer to as a "dick twitch" or simply a twitch. I trust you all know what a hard on is, so I won't elaborate. A twitch is a slight involuntary penile acknowledgement of sexual stimulation. I cannot make myself twitch anymore than I make my heart beat or not beat. For the female audience who can never understand "why that thing is hard", try making your heart stop for twenty seconds using only your mind and you will begin to understand the level of control men have over their dicks. I mean, the best we've come up with for slowing the rise of a hard on is chanting "grandma naked grandma naked grandma naked".
So, you ask, what causes a twitch? Well, it's the strangest things. A suggestive billboard, a bra strap, a woman eating a banana. Today I passed by an office and saw a young female intern bent over a desk looking at a computer screen and I got a huge twitch. She wasn't even that great looking. It was just the sight of an ass in a skirt in a semi-sexual position and bang - twitch. Some other obvious twitch inducers are cleavage, pantie-lines, the top of a thong showing above a pair of jeans. Sometimes they are less obvious, like a really high pair of black leather boots, or when a girl picks something up off the ground without bending her knees. Sometimes it's the lack of a visual, like NOT seeing a pantie line - a hint that a woman isn't wearing underwear. It doesn't even have to be visual. Sometimes I have twitches from audio cues. Ever been to a female tennis match? Yeah, all that moaning. I have twitches before I even get into the stadium. Once I get in there...ha...forget it! All those fucking Russian chicks running around in spandex and short skirts grunting. That's almost intentional, like porn. Ladies, if a guy takes you to a female pro-tennis match it's almost like he's taking you to a strip club.
The gym is twitch central for me. The outfits, the audio, the sweat, holy shit it's sensory overload. People say that the way a woman dances is the way she makes love. I say the way a woman works out is the way she makes love. If she's in there tossing around the weights, sprinting on the treadmill, sweating like a pig, that's the girl I want to roll around with. You can have the girls who leave the gym with perfect hair and smelling like roses.
Sometimes girls that repulse me make me twitch. This really pisses me off because it reminds me that I simply cannot control a very important part of my anatomy. She could be old and busted, but she says or does something and then, twitch! I always have the same reaction, "Oh, really? Come on."
I know it's juvenile, but the beach is quite possibly the worst for me in terms of twitches. If I go to the beach with a girl I am very careful about our seating arrangement. I cannot, repeat cannot, be facing a girl's crotch. Just seeing pussy with so little covering it can quickly turn a twitch into a hard on. And then there's when a girls bikini bottom gets stuck in her butt a little, and one cheek hangs out, exposing some tan line. TWITCH!
Girls, I shouldn't be telling you all this. I'm showing you the man behind the curtain. The Wizard. I must be breaking some section of the man-code.
Imagine if every time a man twitched he made a slight noise! A girl walked into the cafeteria at work with a slightly revealing top and all of a sudden there was a cacophony of beeps, whistles, and honks! How awesome would that be. That's like a Dr. Suess book.
In truth, this probably isn't all that much of a surprise to women. I mean, who am I kidding. Girls know what turns us on.
For me there are two types of sexual arousal; intentional and unintentional. Intentional would be looking at porn. Unintentional is basically everything else. In turn there are two reactions to either type; a full-blown hard on, or what I refer to as a "dick twitch" or simply a twitch. I trust you all know what a hard on is, so I won't elaborate. A twitch is a slight involuntary penile acknowledgement of sexual stimulation. I cannot make myself twitch anymore than I make my heart beat or not beat. For the female audience who can never understand "why that thing is hard", try making your heart stop for twenty seconds using only your mind and you will begin to understand the level of control men have over their dicks. I mean, the best we've come up with for slowing the rise of a hard on is chanting "grandma naked grandma naked grandma naked".
So, you ask, what causes a twitch? Well, it's the strangest things. A suggestive billboard, a bra strap, a woman eating a banana. Today I passed by an office and saw a young female intern bent over a desk looking at a computer screen and I got a huge twitch. She wasn't even that great looking. It was just the sight of an ass in a skirt in a semi-sexual position and bang - twitch. Some other obvious twitch inducers are cleavage, pantie-lines, the top of a thong showing above a pair of jeans. Sometimes they are less obvious, like a really high pair of black leather boots, or when a girl picks something up off the ground without bending her knees. Sometimes it's the lack of a visual, like NOT seeing a pantie line - a hint that a woman isn't wearing underwear. It doesn't even have to be visual. Sometimes I have twitches from audio cues. Ever been to a female tennis match? Yeah, all that moaning. I have twitches before I even get into the stadium. Once I get in there...ha...forget it! All those fucking Russian chicks running around in spandex and short skirts grunting. That's almost intentional, like porn. Ladies, if a guy takes you to a female pro-tennis match it's almost like he's taking you to a strip club.
The gym is twitch central for me. The outfits, the audio, the sweat, holy shit it's sensory overload. People say that the way a woman dances is the way she makes love. I say the way a woman works out is the way she makes love. If she's in there tossing around the weights, sprinting on the treadmill, sweating like a pig, that's the girl I want to roll around with. You can have the girls who leave the gym with perfect hair and smelling like roses.
Sometimes girls that repulse me make me twitch. This really pisses me off because it reminds me that I simply cannot control a very important part of my anatomy. She could be old and busted, but she says or does something and then, twitch! I always have the same reaction, "Oh, really? Come on."
I know it's juvenile, but the beach is quite possibly the worst for me in terms of twitches. If I go to the beach with a girl I am very careful about our seating arrangement. I cannot, repeat cannot, be facing a girl's crotch. Just seeing pussy with so little covering it can quickly turn a twitch into a hard on. And then there's when a girls bikini bottom gets stuck in her butt a little, and one cheek hangs out, exposing some tan line. TWITCH!
Girls, I shouldn't be telling you all this. I'm showing you the man behind the curtain. The Wizard. I must be breaking some section of the man-code.
Imagine if every time a man twitched he made a slight noise! A girl walked into the cafeteria at work with a slightly revealing top and all of a sudden there was a cacophony of beeps, whistles, and honks! How awesome would that be. That's like a Dr. Suess book.
In truth, this probably isn't all that much of a surprise to women. I mean, who am I kidding. Girls know what turns us on.
Low Expectations
It's seldom that I disappoint myself because I keep my expectations of my own behavior very low, but this weekend was a rare exception.
Last week was horrible for me. Work was a bear, and that combined with the foul weather left me generally unmotivated to do anything. On Friday Chuck's wife asked if I wanted to grab some Thai food with them and our friend Amy from Bad Dreams of Robbers and Foxes. I agreed, though somewhat reluctantly. After dinner we went to a bar and had many vodkas. My desire to go home and crawl into bed dissipated rapidly between drinks 4 and 6, and by drink 8 I was ready to go to a birthday party with Amy in Chinatown. For the protection of those involved, even anonymously, let's just say that the birthday party was a drug-fueled rave and we took "having a good time" to an unhealthy level. My only savior is that I understand that I have an addictive personality and I usually put myself in a cab before I have too much of a good time.
Sometime after drink #6, but before the birthday party, Amy decided to give me a hard time about our one-night stand, and how she knew I started dating Kay shortly thereafter. What started as a gentle ribbing became an outright assault on my character (whether justified or not). The final straw came when she insinuated that I "pumped and dumped" Kay. Aside from being none of her business, I'm not sure where she was getting her information because it was clearly erroneous. I decided not to explain any further than saying "That's not true, she broke up with me", and let the topic fizzle away into an uncomfortable silence.
This was not the best solution because I started to get a little mean-spirited. In the end I took Amy home and hate-fucked her for several hours. I regret this immensely.
One good thing came out of Friday night, though. Chuck told me that his buddy Gazpacho was delivering a 75' sailboat for a customer from Annapolis to Tortola between December 20th and the 28th, and that he may be looking for additional people to crew it. I called Gazpacho last night and he said that he had a full crew, but that he may indeed be able to take on one more person for the voyage. I should hear back from him by the middle of the week. I'm psyched, I've always wanted to do a long distance blue water trip. This could really be a wild, though scary, ride. Once in the islands I would stay through New Years, and try to meet up with some buddies in St. Barts. It will all depend on the cost of island-hopping once I'm down there.
I didn't hear from Poonani this weekend. I suspect she was testing me, waiting to see if I would call her. After Friday night I decided I didn't need any drama and opted to stay in for the rest of the weekend.
Last week was horrible for me. Work was a bear, and that combined with the foul weather left me generally unmotivated to do anything. On Friday Chuck's wife asked if I wanted to grab some Thai food with them and our friend Amy from Bad Dreams of Robbers and Foxes. I agreed, though somewhat reluctantly. After dinner we went to a bar and had many vodkas. My desire to go home and crawl into bed dissipated rapidly between drinks 4 and 6, and by drink 8 I was ready to go to a birthday party with Amy in Chinatown. For the protection of those involved, even anonymously, let's just say that the birthday party was a drug-fueled rave and we took "having a good time" to an unhealthy level. My only savior is that I understand that I have an addictive personality and I usually put myself in a cab before I have too much of a good time.
Sometime after drink #6, but before the birthday party, Amy decided to give me a hard time about our one-night stand, and how she knew I started dating Kay shortly thereafter. What started as a gentle ribbing became an outright assault on my character (whether justified or not). The final straw came when she insinuated that I "pumped and dumped" Kay. Aside from being none of her business, I'm not sure where she was getting her information because it was clearly erroneous. I decided not to explain any further than saying "That's not true, she broke up with me", and let the topic fizzle away into an uncomfortable silence.
This was not the best solution because I started to get a little mean-spirited. In the end I took Amy home and hate-fucked her for several hours. I regret this immensely.
One good thing came out of Friday night, though. Chuck told me that his buddy Gazpacho was delivering a 75' sailboat for a customer from Annapolis to Tortola between December 20th and the 28th, and that he may be looking for additional people to crew it. I called Gazpacho last night and he said that he had a full crew, but that he may indeed be able to take on one more person for the voyage. I should hear back from him by the middle of the week. I'm psyched, I've always wanted to do a long distance blue water trip. This could really be a wild, though scary, ride. Once in the islands I would stay through New Years, and try to meet up with some buddies in St. Barts. It will all depend on the cost of island-hopping once I'm down there.
I didn't hear from Poonani this weekend. I suspect she was testing me, waiting to see if I would call her. After Friday night I decided I didn't need any drama and opted to stay in for the rest of the weekend.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Digits and pipeline
Last night it occurred to me that I never got a call back from Beads, or the past few girls whose numbers I've gotten. This is not a good trend and something I need to work on. With Beads likely out of the picture, my dating pipeline is drying up.
I called Beads on Wednesday night but haven't heard from her since. This is the same thing that happened with that super-hot flight attendent, United, and the sexy bartender, Persia. All three acted very interested in going out for a drink, but after I either called or texted them they went radio-silent. United is an exception because I gave her my number, so the ball was in her court.
With so many variables in the call-back equation it's hard to pinpoint where I'm going wrong. It might be funny to do a Six Sigma or Lean Six Sigma project on calling girls after getting their numbers and calculating the defects in the procecss(yes, this is part of what I do for a living, and yes, it may in fact be the reason why 50% of the girls I meet don't call me back. It's a classic Catch-22).
I received an email last night from the couple selling the sailboat. They are dicking me around while another couple tries to come up with the cash for the boat. Chuck and I decided to pass on it. We realized it's a lot of cash for a toy and that we were just being impulsive. I'm a little disappointed, but I will probably sleep better not owning it.
I called Beads on Wednesday night but haven't heard from her since. This is the same thing that happened with that super-hot flight attendent, United, and the sexy bartender, Persia. All three acted very interested in going out for a drink, but after I either called or texted them they went radio-silent. United is an exception because I gave her my number, so the ball was in her court.
With so many variables in the call-back equation it's hard to pinpoint where I'm going wrong. It might be funny to do a Six Sigma or Lean Six Sigma project on calling girls after getting their numbers and calculating the defects in the procecss(yes, this is part of what I do for a living, and yes, it may in fact be the reason why 50% of the girls I meet don't call me back. It's a classic Catch-22).
I received an email last night from the couple selling the sailboat. They are dicking me around while another couple tries to come up with the cash for the boat. Chuck and I decided to pass on it. We realized it's a lot of cash for a toy and that we were just being impulsive. I'm a little disappointed, but I will probably sleep better not owning it.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Dry Cleaner
My Korean dry cleaner, Ms. Hung, has an unfiltered window into my dirty little world that no one else has. Every time I walk into her store Ms. Hung lets out an exasperated sigh and braces herself for a mess and a "story".
Ms. Hung's tiny store is in my office building, and she does everything from dry cleaning to shoe repair. She also sells candy, cigarettes, get-well cards, bobble-head dolls, and an assortment of strange looking Asian snacks that have suspiciously confusing nutritional labels. The store is so crammed with wares that your mind goes into sensory overload. When you walk in and your eyes dart around like you just snorted a rail of coke a mile long. It's a marketing nightmare.
I was a normal customer to Ms. Hung until I came in one Monday morning a few years ago and kindly asked her if a dark black/brown stain on the front of a white linen shirt could come out. "Ho my Rod, wha happen?" I said "Uh, I think something spilled, I'm not really sure, it should come out, I'll take this pack of gum too." and slipped a pack of Wrigley across the counter hoping it would change the topic. Ms. Hung smelled the stain and instantly recoiled from the stench "Wha ees dees, smells soooo bad?". I really didn't want to get into this with her, so I tried to dismiss it as wine and just have her write up the ticket, but she wasn't buying my story. Under my breath I said "I'm not sure, it may be alcohol, it'll come out, it has come out before, just clean it please." Ms. Hung was not satisfied with my generic alcohol description either and pressed further "Ralcohol, wha kind a ralcahol?" Now someone from my office was in the shop, so I leaned in close across the counter to her and quietly said "It's Jagermeister, please just clean it!". Apparently they don't have Jager in South Korea, because Ms. Hung now wanted to know what "Reiger-Reister" was, and why I poured it down my chest. The best explanation I could muster was that the first drink goes down your throat, and the rest ususally ends up on your chest. She nodded and wrote up my ticket.
One night my dog barfed on my brand new down comforter. I hosed it off in the yard, let it dry in the sun, then brought it in to Ms. Hung in a garbage bag. I explained what happened and she said "You tell many stories." Three days later I picked up the comforter and it was good as new.
It couldn't have been two days later that I met Salsa, who left a gigantic cum stain on the comforter. The next morning I was like "Fuck, I have to bring this in to Ms. Hung again, she's going to kill me!". I'm an adult, I shouldn't be ashamed of what I do in my bed, in my house, but I am. I hung the comforter over the railing of my deck to dry it out, but it still stunk the next day. Monday morning I was back at Ms. Hung's with a garbage bag. When I walked in she said "Another story?". I handed her the bag and said "My dog had another accident, I'll be back tomorrow to pick this up. Thank you." and walked out. I didn't even wait for my ticket because I didn't want to be there when she opened the bag.
When I showed up the following day to pick up the comforter Ms. Hung's husband, Mr. Hung, was there, which was a huge relief to me. I paid him and as he handed me the bag with the cleaned comforter he said "You no even rav dog, do you?" and smiled from ear to ear. I smiled and walked out. The Hungs are clearly discussing my extra curricular activities in their spare time.
Everything was fine for a while, then I went to South America last year. One night I wore this white shirt that had snaps down the front instead of buttons, and my buddies broke my balls about the snaps, they said it was a "tear away shirt". All night long they encouraged girls to rip open my shirt. They would rip it open, everyone would laugh, and then I would snap the shirt back together. Believe me, that game got old really fast. Two nights later I had on a shirt that looked very similar, except that it had buttons instead of the snaps. I think you can see where this store is heading. After a few cocktails a girl walked up to me and ripped open the shirt. This time, instead of hearing "click, click, click" there was a ripping noise, and buttons went flying in all directions. The girl was mortified and ran away, and my buddies fell on the floor laughing. Much to my friends' amusement I walked around this fancy club the rest of the night with my shirt wide open like some sort of ridiculous Guido idiot. Girls would as "Why is your shirt open?" and I would just say "Fuck off".
The shirt was very expensive, so when I got back from Argentina I reluctantly brought it into Ms. Hung and explained that "there was a slight accident and that a couple of buttons popped off my shirt." As Ms. Hung took the shirt from me she gave me a funny sideways look and spread it on the table. At first she looked for a stain on the front of the shirt, but I fold back the front a little and pointed to where the buttons used to be and said "Can you add more buttons?". She was incredulous. She shook her head and said "Hoooo, noooo, dees happen ova an ova again!". I said "No it won't, just once, I promise..." but she cut me off. "No!. Dees happen ova an ova an ova." Technically she was right. As I stood there I recalled that I once brought in a shirt that was missing a few buttons after I was in a little fracas one evening. I said "Well, maybe it will happen again, but probably not to this exact shirt." She pursed her lips, snatched the shirt off the counter and wrote up the ticket.
Yesterday I put on a dress shirt for work and there was a large stain on the breast pocket that looked like rust. I took the shirt off and put it in my dry cleaning bag. This morning I brought all my dry cleaning to Ms. Hung and pointed out that one of my shirts wasn't cleaned properly last time. I showed her the stain and she said "Yoo sure yoo dog no rav accident?" Man, that lady has a great memory.
Ms. Hung's tiny store is in my office building, and she does everything from dry cleaning to shoe repair. She also sells candy, cigarettes, get-well cards, bobble-head dolls, and an assortment of strange looking Asian snacks that have suspiciously confusing nutritional labels. The store is so crammed with wares that your mind goes into sensory overload. When you walk in and your eyes dart around like you just snorted a rail of coke a mile long. It's a marketing nightmare.
I was a normal customer to Ms. Hung until I came in one Monday morning a few years ago and kindly asked her if a dark black/brown stain on the front of a white linen shirt could come out. "Ho my Rod, wha happen?" I said "Uh, I think something spilled, I'm not really sure, it should come out, I'll take this pack of gum too." and slipped a pack of Wrigley across the counter hoping it would change the topic. Ms. Hung smelled the stain and instantly recoiled from the stench "Wha ees dees, smells soooo bad?". I really didn't want to get into this with her, so I tried to dismiss it as wine and just have her write up the ticket, but she wasn't buying my story. Under my breath I said "I'm not sure, it may be alcohol, it'll come out, it has come out before, just clean it please." Ms. Hung was not satisfied with my generic alcohol description either and pressed further "Ralcohol, wha kind a ralcahol?" Now someone from my office was in the shop, so I leaned in close across the counter to her and quietly said "It's Jagermeister, please just clean it!". Apparently they don't have Jager in South Korea, because Ms. Hung now wanted to know what "Reiger-Reister" was, and why I poured it down my chest. The best explanation I could muster was that the first drink goes down your throat, and the rest ususally ends up on your chest. She nodded and wrote up my ticket.
One night my dog barfed on my brand new down comforter. I hosed it off in the yard, let it dry in the sun, then brought it in to Ms. Hung in a garbage bag. I explained what happened and she said "You tell many stories." Three days later I picked up the comforter and it was good as new.
It couldn't have been two days later that I met Salsa, who left a gigantic cum stain on the comforter. The next morning I was like "Fuck, I have to bring this in to Ms. Hung again, she's going to kill me!". I'm an adult, I shouldn't be ashamed of what I do in my bed, in my house, but I am. I hung the comforter over the railing of my deck to dry it out, but it still stunk the next day. Monday morning I was back at Ms. Hung's with a garbage bag. When I walked in she said "Another story?". I handed her the bag and said "My dog had another accident, I'll be back tomorrow to pick this up. Thank you." and walked out. I didn't even wait for my ticket because I didn't want to be there when she opened the bag.
When I showed up the following day to pick up the comforter Ms. Hung's husband, Mr. Hung, was there, which was a huge relief to me. I paid him and as he handed me the bag with the cleaned comforter he said "You no even rav dog, do you?" and smiled from ear to ear. I smiled and walked out. The Hungs are clearly discussing my extra curricular activities in their spare time.
Everything was fine for a while, then I went to South America last year. One night I wore this white shirt that had snaps down the front instead of buttons, and my buddies broke my balls about the snaps, they said it was a "tear away shirt". All night long they encouraged girls to rip open my shirt. They would rip it open, everyone would laugh, and then I would snap the shirt back together. Believe me, that game got old really fast. Two nights later I had on a shirt that looked very similar, except that it had buttons instead of the snaps. I think you can see where this store is heading. After a few cocktails a girl walked up to me and ripped open the shirt. This time, instead of hearing "click, click, click" there was a ripping noise, and buttons went flying in all directions. The girl was mortified and ran away, and my buddies fell on the floor laughing. Much to my friends' amusement I walked around this fancy club the rest of the night with my shirt wide open like some sort of ridiculous Guido idiot. Girls would as "Why is your shirt open?" and I would just say "Fuck off".
The shirt was very expensive, so when I got back from Argentina I reluctantly brought it into Ms. Hung and explained that "there was a slight accident and that a couple of buttons popped off my shirt." As Ms. Hung took the shirt from me she gave me a funny sideways look and spread it on the table. At first she looked for a stain on the front of the shirt, but I fold back the front a little and pointed to where the buttons used to be and said "Can you add more buttons?". She was incredulous. She shook her head and said "Hoooo, noooo, dees happen ova an ova again!". I said "No it won't, just once, I promise..." but she cut me off. "No!. Dees happen ova an ova an ova." Technically she was right. As I stood there I recalled that I once brought in a shirt that was missing a few buttons after I was in a little fracas one evening. I said "Well, maybe it will happen again, but probably not to this exact shirt." She pursed her lips, snatched the shirt off the counter and wrote up the ticket.
Yesterday I put on a dress shirt for work and there was a large stain on the breast pocket that looked like rust. I took the shirt off and put it in my dry cleaning bag. This morning I brought all my dry cleaning to Ms. Hung and pointed out that one of my shirts wasn't cleaned properly last time. I showed her the stain and she said "Yoo sure yoo dog no rav accident?" Man, that lady has a great memory.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Tiger Woods or gorilla in a tutu?
Sometimes I second guess my lifestyle choices. I wonder if I should have settled down and focused on having a family. I look at my friends who are married with kids, and how much more "responsible" they seem, and I can't help but think that I might be better off with some roots instead of running around chasing tail. Then I read about someone like Tiger Woods, and what a cluster-fuck his life has become, and think "Nope, I need more time".
There seems to be a huge difference between my married friends and I. The married guys act like Clydesdale horses hitched to a piece of farm equipment. They plod away all day, dutifully pulling a heavy plow, contently, if not happily, making slow progress towards a goal. Blinders keep their focus on the task at hand. Baby. College fund. Bigger house. Another baby. Promotion. They can't see any of the distractions around them, and thus are never tempted. They always move forward, slowly but surely. I, on the other hand, feel like a thoroughbred in a race that just bucked its jockey and is now running the wrong way on the track. Sure, I'm running fast, but haphazardly and likely with disastrous consequences.
Maybe this is an exaggeration, but on occasion I do feel out of control. Take Halloween for example. I was dressed in a Gorilla suit and within an hour of getting to a party I was naked in a bathroom exchanging costumes with a girl in a tutu. Two weeks before that I was on a bike on the highway doing 170mph "just to see how fast it would go". I'm not sure this is particularly constructive behavior.
My friends see my pictures on Facebook and are like "What happened that night, and what the fuck are you wearing?". Then I go to their Facebook page and I see snapshots of them with their sons or daughters dressed like cartoon characters I've never heard of, and I'm like "Me? I'm fucking Madonna. What the fuck are your kids wearing? One looks like a piece of cheese, and the other one...wait, the other one has on the same outfit as me!" I don't understand, five years ago my buddies would have been doing the same shit. I wonder if I missed some narrow window of opportunity in which I could have become "responsible" (boring?).
Then someone like Tiger Woods goes completely off the deep end and I can't help but think that the air of composure married guys have is nothing but a facade. The infidelity, the deceit, what for? Why get married if you're going to cheat. I start to think that I'm going about life the right way, and that my married friends are going to have one divorce in their pocket before I ever get married.
Nope, I need more time.
Tonight I call Beads.
There seems to be a huge difference between my married friends and I. The married guys act like Clydesdale horses hitched to a piece of farm equipment. They plod away all day, dutifully pulling a heavy plow, contently, if not happily, making slow progress towards a goal. Blinders keep their focus on the task at hand. Baby. College fund. Bigger house. Another baby. Promotion. They can't see any of the distractions around them, and thus are never tempted. They always move forward, slowly but surely. I, on the other hand, feel like a thoroughbred in a race that just bucked its jockey and is now running the wrong way on the track. Sure, I'm running fast, but haphazardly and likely with disastrous consequences.
Maybe this is an exaggeration, but on occasion I do feel out of control. Take Halloween for example. I was dressed in a Gorilla suit and within an hour of getting to a party I was naked in a bathroom exchanging costumes with a girl in a tutu. Two weeks before that I was on a bike on the highway doing 170mph "just to see how fast it would go". I'm not sure this is particularly constructive behavior.
My friends see my pictures on Facebook and are like "What happened that night, and what the fuck are you wearing?". Then I go to their Facebook page and I see snapshots of them with their sons or daughters dressed like cartoon characters I've never heard of, and I'm like "Me? I'm fucking Madonna. What the fuck are your kids wearing? One looks like a piece of cheese, and the other one...wait, the other one has on the same outfit as me!" I don't understand, five years ago my buddies would have been doing the same shit. I wonder if I missed some narrow window of opportunity in which I could have become "responsible" (boring?).
Then someone like Tiger Woods goes completely off the deep end and I can't help but think that the air of composure married guys have is nothing but a facade. The infidelity, the deceit, what for? Why get married if you're going to cheat. I start to think that I'm going about life the right way, and that my married friends are going to have one divorce in their pocket before I ever get married.
Nope, I need more time.
Tonight I call Beads.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Fisting
I called in sick on Friday so Chuck and I could drive down to Virginia Beach and look at a boat we saw for sale. Neither of us are in the market for a boat. Actually, we're both looking to buy more houses, but this was a reasonably priced 50 foot sailboat, so we at least wanted to take a look.
Holy shit, the boat was huge. It has more space than my house. It has two bedrooms, two full bathrooms, a gigantic main salon (living room), and a long kitchen with a stove, fridge, and probably twice the storage as my house. There is also an engine room and a crew cabin with two bunks. The couch folds into a queen bed, so this thing sleeps eight in comfort. But get this, there is a chrome pole in the center of the main cabin to support the deck above. I walked into the room and was like "Chuck, there's a fucking stripper pole in here!". He looked at the pole, looked at me, and said "We just bought a boat, huh?".
The down side is that it's been neglected for two years and needs a lot of TLC. The other bitch is that the boat is 160 miles from Annapolis (where we would keep it) and we'd have to sail this sucker up there in January in order to be able to afford a dock, which is not ideal given the weather this time of year. It's a "blue water" boat, which means you can easily cross the Atlantic on it, but the only reason we want this boat is to party on it. We put in an offer Friday night, and the owners said they will get back to us by Wednesday. Can you imagine the antics that will take place on this boat if we get it! I might as well put my name on the donor list for a new liver now.
I met Bear out for drinks Saturday night on the Hill. We went out early, around 7pm, and had a couple of beers. I was driving Bear to her house after and she said "Let's go to your house." I wasn't much in the mood for a sleepover, but what the hell, it had been a few weeks since I got laid. We were in my bedroom fooling around and Bear said "Put your fingers in me". I put two fingers in her and she said "More". I put two more fingers in her and she said "More!" again. I obviously only had one more left on that hand, so I put my thumb in her too. She was going crazy as I worked my hand into her up to my last knuckles. I had never fisted a girl before, so I was very curious. I was also a little concerned. I was afraid I was going to hurt her, but her screaming was making it very clear that she liked it. I tried to get my whole hand inside her, I just didn't see how it is possible. I know that a baby's head can fit through there, but my God, how we don't all have football-shaped heads is a mystery to me. In the end I gave up on fisting her and we fucked like crazy for the next 45 minutes. It was pretty hot.
Poonani sent me a text yesterday afternoon asking if I wanted to get together. I don't know if it was the weather, or her, or what, but I just did not want to go out. She was persistent so I gave in and we met in Chinatown to watch a movie. I didn't want this to be too much like a date so I told Poonani I was going to Metro to the theater and asked her to meet me there, which she did.
After the movie we grabbed a bite to eat at Asian Spice (awful, I don't recommend). When we finished dinner I walked with Poonani to the Metro and she said "It's early, what else can we do?". I wanted to go home and crawl into bed...alone, but Poonani had other plans. She said "Let's play darts", so off to Rocket Bar we went. Yes, back to Rocket Bar. Someone really needs to check the air quality in there, it can't be healthy. After the second game of darts I said "Well, it's a school night, we better get going." Poonani took the hint and we walked to the Metro together. When we got to the point where we had to split to go to our respective lines Poonani leaned in for a kiss. I gave her a peck on the lips, but she grabbed me by the arms and pulled me in. I was standing bolt upright as we kissed in the middle of the Metro station. I was very uncomfortable about the whole thing. I don't like PDA, and certainly not in the filthy Metro. I cut it short and made a dash for my train (which I missed and had to wait 15 minutes for the next one).
I know I'm just procrastinating and that eventually we will need to have the "what are we" talk. Fuck I hate that conversation. The only glimmer of hope is that we haven't had sex yet, so I think it alleviates a few degrees of tension.
I haven't called Beads yet, I may give her a call tonight. I'm going to suggest we meet up for drinks and see where it goes from there.
Holy shit, the boat was huge. It has more space than my house. It has two bedrooms, two full bathrooms, a gigantic main salon (living room), and a long kitchen with a stove, fridge, and probably twice the storage as my house. There is also an engine room and a crew cabin with two bunks. The couch folds into a queen bed, so this thing sleeps eight in comfort. But get this, there is a chrome pole in the center of the main cabin to support the deck above. I walked into the room and was like "Chuck, there's a fucking stripper pole in here!". He looked at the pole, looked at me, and said "We just bought a boat, huh?".
The down side is that it's been neglected for two years and needs a lot of TLC. The other bitch is that the boat is 160 miles from Annapolis (where we would keep it) and we'd have to sail this sucker up there in January in order to be able to afford a dock, which is not ideal given the weather this time of year. It's a "blue water" boat, which means you can easily cross the Atlantic on it, but the only reason we want this boat is to party on it. We put in an offer Friday night, and the owners said they will get back to us by Wednesday. Can you imagine the antics that will take place on this boat if we get it! I might as well put my name on the donor list for a new liver now.
I met Bear out for drinks Saturday night on the Hill. We went out early, around 7pm, and had a couple of beers. I was driving Bear to her house after and she said "Let's go to your house." I wasn't much in the mood for a sleepover, but what the hell, it had been a few weeks since I got laid. We were in my bedroom fooling around and Bear said "Put your fingers in me". I put two fingers in her and she said "More". I put two more fingers in her and she said "More!" again. I obviously only had one more left on that hand, so I put my thumb in her too. She was going crazy as I worked my hand into her up to my last knuckles. I had never fisted a girl before, so I was very curious. I was also a little concerned. I was afraid I was going to hurt her, but her screaming was making it very clear that she liked it. I tried to get my whole hand inside her, I just didn't see how it is possible. I know that a baby's head can fit through there, but my God, how we don't all have football-shaped heads is a mystery to me. In the end I gave up on fisting her and we fucked like crazy for the next 45 minutes. It was pretty hot.
Poonani sent me a text yesterday afternoon asking if I wanted to get together. I don't know if it was the weather, or her, or what, but I just did not want to go out. She was persistent so I gave in and we met in Chinatown to watch a movie. I didn't want this to be too much like a date so I told Poonani I was going to Metro to the theater and asked her to meet me there, which she did.
After the movie we grabbed a bite to eat at Asian Spice (awful, I don't recommend). When we finished dinner I walked with Poonani to the Metro and she said "It's early, what else can we do?". I wanted to go home and crawl into bed...alone, but Poonani had other plans. She said "Let's play darts", so off to Rocket Bar we went. Yes, back to Rocket Bar. Someone really needs to check the air quality in there, it can't be healthy. After the second game of darts I said "Well, it's a school night, we better get going." Poonani took the hint and we walked to the Metro together. When we got to the point where we had to split to go to our respective lines Poonani leaned in for a kiss. I gave her a peck on the lips, but she grabbed me by the arms and pulled me in. I was standing bolt upright as we kissed in the middle of the Metro station. I was very uncomfortable about the whole thing. I don't like PDA, and certainly not in the filthy Metro. I cut it short and made a dash for my train (which I missed and had to wait 15 minutes for the next one).
I know I'm just procrastinating and that eventually we will need to have the "what are we" talk. Fuck I hate that conversation. The only glimmer of hope is that we haven't had sex yet, so I think it alleviates a few degrees of tension.
I haven't called Beads yet, I may give her a call tonight. I'm going to suggest we meet up for drinks and see where it goes from there.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Here's my number...
I went to my first Wizards game last night. It's funny, they wand you with metal detectors to get into the Verizon Center for a basketball game, but not for concerts or Capitol's hockey. Whether justified or not, I suppose that says something about the crowd that attends pro basketball games. Metal detectors aside, I have never seen so many police there. There was even a SWAT van parked out front. What's up with that?
Anyway, my buddy Chuck and I both brought flasks of rum into the game and got a little banged up. Afterwards we went to Rocket Bar, which apparently is my new favorite watering hole because I've been there three times in as many weeks.
Chuck and I got on a pool table and were playing for fun at first. Three games into the night we played for drinks, then $10 a rack and by 11:30 he said "Hundred bucks this game?", which I wanted nothing to do with. He was insistent, so we played and I won. Chuck threw a one hundred dollar bill on the table and said "OK, one more game, new stakes. Winner of this game gets decision rights on a boat." This was kind of big, and I started to wonder if I was getting hustled.
For a little background, Chuck and I each used to have sailboats. I sold mine when I moved to DC. Chuck had his for a year while I was here but wasn't using it much. He asked me if I wanted to buy into the boat, but at the time I wasn't interested, so he sold it, which I think he regrets. I saw a boat on craigslist this week that was a great value, so we're going to see it tomorrow morning.
We played the game and I fucking lost. I couldn't believe it. I beat him all night, and I lost that game. What this means is that if he likes this boat, I have to buy it with him. I probably would have anyway, but it just means I can't get cold feet and wiggle my way out of it.
Chuck went up to the bar to pay for the pool and get another round of drinks. While he was gone I walked over to a girl who I had caught looking at us a bunch of times that night.
Beads: This girl was young, 23, fantastic body, cute face, and a very large chest. She had on jeans, a tight sweater, and a big set of beads (I know, strange), so I'm going to call her Beads.
I will preface this by saying that I was fairly drunk at this point.
I walk up to Beads, who was texting someone, and I said "555-55..." (I was obviously saying my real number, not just "5"), she looked at me and said "What". I started over, "555-555-5555". She started to punch the number into her phone, then said "Wait, I don't want your number, you have to take mine", I said no, and she continued to punch in my number. After a few more digits she stopped again and said "No, really, give me your phone." I took it out of my pocket and she snatched it out of my hand and punched in her number. She then hit send and called herself, "See, it's the real number." I introduced myself and asked her what she was doing this weekend. Beads said she had friends in town this weekend but was free all next week, and that we should get together one night.
I don't know where that approach came from, I had no idea what I was going to say to her as I was walking over. My phone number was the first thing that came out of my mouth after I tapped her on the shoulder. It worked pretty well though. I've always said there is a very thin line between arrogance and humor. Beads obviously has a sense of humor or she would have just walked away from me.
A few minutes later Chuck came back with drinks, which we downed and then left.
Anyway, my buddy Chuck and I both brought flasks of rum into the game and got a little banged up. Afterwards we went to Rocket Bar, which apparently is my new favorite watering hole because I've been there three times in as many weeks.
Chuck and I got on a pool table and were playing for fun at first. Three games into the night we played for drinks, then $10 a rack and by 11:30 he said "Hundred bucks this game?", which I wanted nothing to do with. He was insistent, so we played and I won. Chuck threw a one hundred dollar bill on the table and said "OK, one more game, new stakes. Winner of this game gets decision rights on a boat." This was kind of big, and I started to wonder if I was getting hustled.
For a little background, Chuck and I each used to have sailboats. I sold mine when I moved to DC. Chuck had his for a year while I was here but wasn't using it much. He asked me if I wanted to buy into the boat, but at the time I wasn't interested, so he sold it, which I think he regrets. I saw a boat on craigslist this week that was a great value, so we're going to see it tomorrow morning.
We played the game and I fucking lost. I couldn't believe it. I beat him all night, and I lost that game. What this means is that if he likes this boat, I have to buy it with him. I probably would have anyway, but it just means I can't get cold feet and wiggle my way out of it.
Chuck went up to the bar to pay for the pool and get another round of drinks. While he was gone I walked over to a girl who I had caught looking at us a bunch of times that night.
Beads: This girl was young, 23, fantastic body, cute face, and a very large chest. She had on jeans, a tight sweater, and a big set of beads (I know, strange), so I'm going to call her Beads.
I will preface this by saying that I was fairly drunk at this point.
I walk up to Beads, who was texting someone, and I said "555-55..." (I was obviously saying my real number, not just "5"), she looked at me and said "What". I started over, "555-555-5555". She started to punch the number into her phone, then said "Wait, I don't want your number, you have to take mine", I said no, and she continued to punch in my number. After a few more digits she stopped again and said "No, really, give me your phone." I took it out of my pocket and she snatched it out of my hand and punched in her number. She then hit send and called herself, "See, it's the real number." I introduced myself and asked her what she was doing this weekend. Beads said she had friends in town this weekend but was free all next week, and that we should get together one night.
I don't know where that approach came from, I had no idea what I was going to say to her as I was walking over. My phone number was the first thing that came out of my mouth after I tapped her on the shoulder. It worked pretty well though. I've always said there is a very thin line between arrogance and humor. Beads obviously has a sense of humor or she would have just walked away from me.
A few minutes later Chuck came back with drinks, which we downed and then left.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Runaway Razor
There are some things you just shouldn't do early in the morning, and today I learned that shaving your pubes is one of them.
I'm a pretty hairy guy by most standards. I don't have hair on my back or shoulders, but it starts on my chest and runs strait down to my toes, so I try to keep it in check. What that entails is a monthly grooming session with my clippers.
This is actually a little more involved than you may think. You can't just stand in your bathroom and start clipping away, there would be a ring of hair on the floor like some sort of demonic pube christmas wreath. It would take all day to clean that up. If I lived in, say, the Arizona desert, I would be tempted to do this outside, but living in a city that's really not practical.
For a while I used to stand over the toilet and let the hair fall in the bowl, but about 1/3 of the hair would still miss and end up on the floor. I've found that the best method is to stand in the shower (with the water off, obviously) and trim away with the number 2 guard on. I usually start with my side burns, do my chest and stomach, then move on to my pubes. The theory is that the blades magically clean themselves between the time I shave my nuts and when it's time to do my sideburns again a few weeks later.
The sideburns, chest, and stomach all go quickly. You need to be a little more careful when you get to your bits and pieces, though. I assume you all know what hair clippers look like. They are electric sheers with interchangeable guards that attach to the blades. The guards are plastic but can feel like shark's teeth of they catch your scrotum, so you can't just whip it around any which way. You need to go slow and be very deliberate with direction, pressure and angle. If you stray with any of these variables you can end up with a punctured sack or scraped shaft, and it goes without saying that you want to avoid that at all costs.
So this morning I was standing naked in my shower stall clipping my chest hairs, shivering because it was cold as fuck in my house, when the front of the clipper guard caught the skin and backflipped off the blade. The blade then lurched forward and bottomed out against the top of my stomach, carving a three inch long diagonal swath. In the fifteen years I have been doing this I've never had that happen, but the first thing I thought was "I really shouldn't be doing this before my coffee." It was true.
I only had two options at this point. I could either leave the strip there and look like an ass for a few weeks, or shave the rest of my stomach and look like an ass for a few weeks. I shaved the rest off and man do I look like an ass. Not only that, I'm just now learning that it burns like a motherfucker to shave your stomach down to the skin. Jesus, who knew?
When I was done shaving my stomach with no guard, I now had what looked like a pair of hair trousers. I never realized how much that happy trail down the center of my belly tied together my chest and pubes. I tried to fade in the hair on my upper-pubic region but I just got silly watching myself carefully try to arc the clipper up and away from my dick. In a moment of pure idiocy I compounded the problem by trimming my chest and pubes down to a "1" guard, which is like two days of facial stubble. Sweet look I have going here. Good thing it's winter and my shirt can stay on.
This will no doubt hurt my dating prospects in ways I can't yet imagine.
I'm a pretty hairy guy by most standards. I don't have hair on my back or shoulders, but it starts on my chest and runs strait down to my toes, so I try to keep it in check. What that entails is a monthly grooming session with my clippers.
This is actually a little more involved than you may think. You can't just stand in your bathroom and start clipping away, there would be a ring of hair on the floor like some sort of demonic pube christmas wreath. It would take all day to clean that up. If I lived in, say, the Arizona desert, I would be tempted to do this outside, but living in a city that's really not practical.
For a while I used to stand over the toilet and let the hair fall in the bowl, but about 1/3 of the hair would still miss and end up on the floor. I've found that the best method is to stand in the shower (with the water off, obviously) and trim away with the number 2 guard on. I usually start with my side burns, do my chest and stomach, then move on to my pubes. The theory is that the blades magically clean themselves between the time I shave my nuts and when it's time to do my sideburns again a few weeks later.
The sideburns, chest, and stomach all go quickly. You need to be a little more careful when you get to your bits and pieces, though. I assume you all know what hair clippers look like. They are electric sheers with interchangeable guards that attach to the blades. The guards are plastic but can feel like shark's teeth of they catch your scrotum, so you can't just whip it around any which way. You need to go slow and be very deliberate with direction, pressure and angle. If you stray with any of these variables you can end up with a punctured sack or scraped shaft, and it goes without saying that you want to avoid that at all costs.
So this morning I was standing naked in my shower stall clipping my chest hairs, shivering because it was cold as fuck in my house, when the front of the clipper guard caught the skin and backflipped off the blade. The blade then lurched forward and bottomed out against the top of my stomach, carving a three inch long diagonal swath. In the fifteen years I have been doing this I've never had that happen, but the first thing I thought was "I really shouldn't be doing this before my coffee." It was true.
I only had two options at this point. I could either leave the strip there and look like an ass for a few weeks, or shave the rest of my stomach and look like an ass for a few weeks. I shaved the rest off and man do I look like an ass. Not only that, I'm just now learning that it burns like a motherfucker to shave your stomach down to the skin. Jesus, who knew?
When I was done shaving my stomach with no guard, I now had what looked like a pair of hair trousers. I never realized how much that happy trail down the center of my belly tied together my chest and pubes. I tried to fade in the hair on my upper-pubic region but I just got silly watching myself carefully try to arc the clipper up and away from my dick. In a moment of pure idiocy I compounded the problem by trimming my chest and pubes down to a "1" guard, which is like two days of facial stubble. Sweet look I have going here. Good thing it's winter and my shirt can stay on.
This will no doubt hurt my dating prospects in ways I can't yet imagine.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Well-Timed Holiday
Thanksgiving couldn't have come at a better time, it was the perfect excuse to drop off the face of the Earth for a week and put a little distance between myself and the girls I'm involved with. To further sell the "I'm tied up all week" story, my mom was in town and staying with me from Tuesday until last night. I suppose it really wasn't a "story" because even if all the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders wanted to come home with me it would have been logistically impossible with Mamma NN sleeping in the spare room.
After dropping mom off at the train station yesterday afternoon I took advantage of the warm weather and rode the bike to look at a few properties I am interested in. One was in Mt. Pleasant, so I took Connecticut Ave back downtown and stopped en route at a store to pick up some shirts. There were two young female clerks at the store, and since the place was empty they followed me around and kept asking "Can I prepare a dressing room for you?". What does that even mean "prepare" a dressing room? Are they going to paint it my favorite color or something? I just said "I'll let you know if I need to try anything on, thanks."
Clerk 1 was Asian, about 25, a little chunky, but she had a cute face. Even from our short exchanges I could tell she had a wild streak and that she partied her ass off. She was really outgoing and seemed like a lot of fun. Clerk 2 was a tall chick, about 25, maybe middle-eastern, with big brown eyes, a fantastic body, but a mediocre face. When I first walked in I thought she was really hot, but upon closer inspection I saw she wasn't all that great. She was a little shy, but made an effort to be friendly.
I'm 99% sure I could have gotten either of their numbers, they were being overly friendly, even by sales girl standards. In leaner times I probably would have asked Clerk 2 for her number, but with all the nonsense I have going on I decided against it. I briefly considered asking both of them out for drinks when they got off work to see just how wild they were (threesome?), but that seemed like a lot of effort for a Sunday night. I realize it's egotistical to meet two sales girls at a store and think that you can take both of them home. But break it down into smaller, more mangemeable, steps. Is it unreasonable that two girls would want to meet for drinks after work? Not really. Is it unreasonable that after (many) drinks they might want to come back to my place for a dip in the hot tub? Again, not really, it's within the realm of possibility. Is it unlikely that they would both end up in my bed? Yes, I would say that's unlikely. However, strange shit like that happens all the time. Just look at what happened with that Rodeo chick.
Anyway, moving forward. I'm getting kicked out of my house Wednesday night because my sister is having some of her girl friends over for drinks and Kay will be there. I have tickets to a Wizards game, and was going to ask Poonani. I think it will be easier to just go with one of my buddies, and am only going to ask Poonani as a last resort.
I finally met my sister's coworker, the girl that I saw pictures of that I thought was cute. Turns out she's not all that cute, which is really disappointing. If she shows some interest I may take her out to see what she's like. But my initial reaction is that I'm not all that attracted to her.
With mom in town I took every opportunity to get out of the house for some quiet time, and long dog walks were the perfect excuse. I saw Dog Girl a couple of times and made pleasantries once or twice. At 11pm on Wednesday night I was walking the hound down my street and spotted DG and a dude walking towards me. DG was holding his arm, but as I got closer she let go. When I passed them I said "Hey, how's it going tonight?", she said "Good, you?". I said fine, and we all kept walking, but the funny part is the dude puffed out his chest and got all tough and said "Sup". The guy was short and skinny, so his attitude was amusing. I don't think he lives with her because I've never seen him around the neighborhood.
Speaking of walking dogs, I was out early Saturday morning walking the hound down Maryland Ave. My dog goes crazy over squirrels so I have to keep alert and brace myself in the event she lounges after one or risk getting my arm pulled off my body. A few blocks from my house I spotted a squirrel sitting on a low stone wall facing us and eating a nut. He clearly saw us, and my dog somehow overlooked it, so I figured it was no big deal. Plus, the wall was about 8' away from me and my leash is only 6' long. Just as we were about to pass the squirrel, though, the hound spotted it and lept. The suirrel zigged when it should have zagged, and before I could react it was in my dog's mouth. I freaked out and yanked her leash, but it was too late, she had it's torso in her mouth. The squirrel was making these really awful squeeking noises as the dog vicously shook it from side to side. She then pinned the squirrel to the ground and gave it a final bite that produced a gross crunching noise. I said "drop it" which she surprisingly did, but the damage was done, that sucker was dead as Dillinger. It was a rough morning.
After dropping mom off at the train station yesterday afternoon I took advantage of the warm weather and rode the bike to look at a few properties I am interested in. One was in Mt. Pleasant, so I took Connecticut Ave back downtown and stopped en route at a store to pick up some shirts. There were two young female clerks at the store, and since the place was empty they followed me around and kept asking "Can I prepare a dressing room for you?". What does that even mean "prepare" a dressing room? Are they going to paint it my favorite color or something? I just said "I'll let you know if I need to try anything on, thanks."
Clerk 1 was Asian, about 25, a little chunky, but she had a cute face. Even from our short exchanges I could tell she had a wild streak and that she partied her ass off. She was really outgoing and seemed like a lot of fun. Clerk 2 was a tall chick, about 25, maybe middle-eastern, with big brown eyes, a fantastic body, but a mediocre face. When I first walked in I thought she was really hot, but upon closer inspection I saw she wasn't all that great. She was a little shy, but made an effort to be friendly.
I'm 99% sure I could have gotten either of their numbers, they were being overly friendly, even by sales girl standards. In leaner times I probably would have asked Clerk 2 for her number, but with all the nonsense I have going on I decided against it. I briefly considered asking both of them out for drinks when they got off work to see just how wild they were (threesome?), but that seemed like a lot of effort for a Sunday night. I realize it's egotistical to meet two sales girls at a store and think that you can take both of them home. But break it down into smaller, more mangemeable, steps. Is it unreasonable that two girls would want to meet for drinks after work? Not really. Is it unreasonable that after (many) drinks they might want to come back to my place for a dip in the hot tub? Again, not really, it's within the realm of possibility. Is it unlikely that they would both end up in my bed? Yes, I would say that's unlikely. However, strange shit like that happens all the time. Just look at what happened with that Rodeo chick.
Anyway, moving forward. I'm getting kicked out of my house Wednesday night because my sister is having some of her girl friends over for drinks and Kay will be there. I have tickets to a Wizards game, and was going to ask Poonani. I think it will be easier to just go with one of my buddies, and am only going to ask Poonani as a last resort.
I finally met my sister's coworker, the girl that I saw pictures of that I thought was cute. Turns out she's not all that cute, which is really disappointing. If she shows some interest I may take her out to see what she's like. But my initial reaction is that I'm not all that attracted to her.
With mom in town I took every opportunity to get out of the house for some quiet time, and long dog walks were the perfect excuse. I saw Dog Girl a couple of times and made pleasantries once or twice. At 11pm on Wednesday night I was walking the hound down my street and spotted DG and a dude walking towards me. DG was holding his arm, but as I got closer she let go. When I passed them I said "Hey, how's it going tonight?", she said "Good, you?". I said fine, and we all kept walking, but the funny part is the dude puffed out his chest and got all tough and said "Sup". The guy was short and skinny, so his attitude was amusing. I don't think he lives with her because I've never seen him around the neighborhood.
Speaking of walking dogs, I was out early Saturday morning walking the hound down Maryland Ave. My dog goes crazy over squirrels so I have to keep alert and brace myself in the event she lounges after one or risk getting my arm pulled off my body. A few blocks from my house I spotted a squirrel sitting on a low stone wall facing us and eating a nut. He clearly saw us, and my dog somehow overlooked it, so I figured it was no big deal. Plus, the wall was about 8' away from me and my leash is only 6' long. Just as we were about to pass the squirrel, though, the hound spotted it and lept. The suirrel zigged when it should have zagged, and before I could react it was in my dog's mouth. I freaked out and yanked her leash, but it was too late, she had it's torso in her mouth. The squirrel was making these really awful squeeking noises as the dog vicously shook it from side to side. She then pinned the squirrel to the ground and gave it a final bite that produced a gross crunching noise. I said "drop it" which she surprisingly did, but the damage was done, that sucker was dead as Dillinger. It was a rough morning.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Air Tanker Orgasm
Friday night I went swimming...in my bed.
I'm sitting here trying to decide how best to describe what happened between Friday night and Saturday morning. One vision keeps coming to mind, and it's almost vulgar. Before I get to that, let me explain what preempted it.
I talked to my friend Paul earlier last week and he seemed annoyed at me. Paul is friends with Madonna, and I thought he was mad because Madonna said that I was blowing her off. I felt badly so I asked her if she would like to get drinks on Friday night.
I met Madonna at Jaleo for two drinks, then we headed to Rocket Bar to play shuffle board. The bar was packed and all the tables were being used so we settled for a few rounds of beers and darts (cricket). I am happy to report that I have finally found someone who is worse at darts than I (West LA: me or I??? - changed to "I" post comment!).
The night started out a little slow, but after Madonna got a few drinks in her she loosened up and I had a really good time. My one complaint is that Madonna was dressed like she was going to the grocery store. I like casual, but she was a little too casual. She has a great figure but hid it behind baggy clothing.
Around 1am we were feeling no pain and decided to go back to my place. The cab ride was a ten minute make-out session, and when we got to my street I threw a wad of singles into the front seat and we spilled out onto the sidewalk. Somehow we made it into my bedroom and our clothes flew off in all directions. It was one of those nights where you simply can't get undressed fast enough. A combination of falling and undressing that involves a lot of tugging, unbuttoning, and tearing.
Side notes: I would like to point out two things. The first is that Madonna had on granny panties again. The second is that once they came off her bush was still huge! What's going on here? Cut it, cut it, cut it!
I was not expecting much from Madonna in bed because she was so tame the first time. However, I was pleasantly surprised on Friday by a total lack of inhibition. Maybe she was shy the first time, or drunk this weekend, or both, but it was like a totally different girl showed up. We were flopping around, there was plenty of energy, a little dirty talk, and just the right amount of moaning.
On the second round of the night Madonna got on top of me and started grinding away. She's a pretty tall girl, about my height, so when she got moving the bed really started to squeak and knock against the wall. It was almost three in the morning and I was afraid that my tenant was going to give me the old "broom stick on the ceiling" treatment for keeping her up all night. I grabbed Madonna by the hips and pulled her down onto me tightly, hoping it would lessen the sway of the bed. Just then Madonna let out scream, and I was totally unprepared for what happened next.
Let me try to give you the visual. Have you ever seen video footage of the park service fighting forest fires? You see the blaze, then an air tanker plane swoops in low and opens up it's bay doors and enough water to fill a few Olympic pools dumps out all at once. Then the plane banks hard and lumbers off out of frame. That's pretty much what Madonna did to me on Friday.
After she screamed, Madonna let go an incomprehensible amount of fluid. It just exploded out of her all at once. It hit my pelvis then flowed backwards between my legs, down either side of me, and a frothy stream ran up my stomach and pooled in the center of my chest, which she smeared around like she was finger painting. I don't know what possessed me but I ran my right hand through the puddle, licked my hand to taste it, then ran my hand across Madonna's mouth. She licked my hand pretty much clean. The verdict is still out as to whether that was hot, or simply too much.
This is the second time in a year that I was surprised by "female ejaculate", so I decided I needed to do a little research. Essentially, what I have found is that doctors have no idea what the fluid is, where it comes from, or how it is propelled from the body. The evidence is all inconclusive. They seem to think that the amount of fluid ranges from 1-10 tablespoons, but there is no way Madonna let out just ten table spoons. It took two towels to sop it up, it must have been two or three cups. I seriously think it's time to replace that mattress.
Some of you have asked "What's your point NN? Are you bragging?". No, I'm not bragging. My point is, and I quote Forest Gump, "Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you're gonna get."
I'm sitting here trying to decide how best to describe what happened between Friday night and Saturday morning. One vision keeps coming to mind, and it's almost vulgar. Before I get to that, let me explain what preempted it.
I talked to my friend Paul earlier last week and he seemed annoyed at me. Paul is friends with Madonna, and I thought he was mad because Madonna said that I was blowing her off. I felt badly so I asked her if she would like to get drinks on Friday night.
I met Madonna at Jaleo for two drinks, then we headed to Rocket Bar to play shuffle board. The bar was packed and all the tables were being used so we settled for a few rounds of beers and darts (cricket). I am happy to report that I have finally found someone who is worse at darts than I (West LA: me or I??? - changed to "I" post comment!).
The night started out a little slow, but after Madonna got a few drinks in her she loosened up and I had a really good time. My one complaint is that Madonna was dressed like she was going to the grocery store. I like casual, but she was a little too casual. She has a great figure but hid it behind baggy clothing.
Around 1am we were feeling no pain and decided to go back to my place. The cab ride was a ten minute make-out session, and when we got to my street I threw a wad of singles into the front seat and we spilled out onto the sidewalk. Somehow we made it into my bedroom and our clothes flew off in all directions. It was one of those nights where you simply can't get undressed fast enough. A combination of falling and undressing that involves a lot of tugging, unbuttoning, and tearing.
Side notes: I would like to point out two things. The first is that Madonna had on granny panties again. The second is that once they came off her bush was still huge! What's going on here? Cut it, cut it, cut it!
I was not expecting much from Madonna in bed because she was so tame the first time. However, I was pleasantly surprised on Friday by a total lack of inhibition. Maybe she was shy the first time, or drunk this weekend, or both, but it was like a totally different girl showed up. We were flopping around, there was plenty of energy, a little dirty talk, and just the right amount of moaning.
On the second round of the night Madonna got on top of me and started grinding away. She's a pretty tall girl, about my height, so when she got moving the bed really started to squeak and knock against the wall. It was almost three in the morning and I was afraid that my tenant was going to give me the old "broom stick on the ceiling" treatment for keeping her up all night. I grabbed Madonna by the hips and pulled her down onto me tightly, hoping it would lessen the sway of the bed. Just then Madonna let out scream, and I was totally unprepared for what happened next.
Let me try to give you the visual. Have you ever seen video footage of the park service fighting forest fires? You see the blaze, then an air tanker plane swoops in low and opens up it's bay doors and enough water to fill a few Olympic pools dumps out all at once. Then the plane banks hard and lumbers off out of frame. That's pretty much what Madonna did to me on Friday.
After she screamed, Madonna let go an incomprehensible amount of fluid. It just exploded out of her all at once. It hit my pelvis then flowed backwards between my legs, down either side of me, and a frothy stream ran up my stomach and pooled in the center of my chest, which she smeared around like she was finger painting. I don't know what possessed me but I ran my right hand through the puddle, licked my hand to taste it, then ran my hand across Madonna's mouth. She licked my hand pretty much clean. The verdict is still out as to whether that was hot, or simply too much.
This is the second time in a year that I was surprised by "female ejaculate", so I decided I needed to do a little research. Essentially, what I have found is that doctors have no idea what the fluid is, where it comes from, or how it is propelled from the body. The evidence is all inconclusive. They seem to think that the amount of fluid ranges from 1-10 tablespoons, but there is no way Madonna let out just ten table spoons. It took two towels to sop it up, it must have been two or three cups. I seriously think it's time to replace that mattress.
Some of you have asked "What's your point NN? Are you bragging?". No, I'm not bragging. My point is, and I quote Forest Gump, "Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you're gonna get."
Friday, November 20, 2009
The Rodeo
I've been talking to my buddies about our plans for New Years and there seem to be some good things in the works, not only in terms of locations, but also relative to attendees.
One of my favorite people on Earth is my friend from college, Fooj. Fooj's father is Japanese and his mom is American. He looks Asian, but he's like 6'2", clearly a maternal gene. He's ultra smart, was a child music prodigy, and is the only person I have ever met who truly doesn't care one bit what other people think of him. For instance, if you said "Fooj, you're wearing a track suit at this very fancy club, you look like an idiot.", he would either laugh at you and walk away, or just stare at you blankly and sip his drink. He just doesn't care. He also doesn't think society's rules apply to him. For instance, he smokes heavily and always has. But he smokes anywhere he wants. Bars, restaurants, pumping gas, in his office. When people yell at him and tell him to put it out he just says "Ohhh, yeahhhhh, sorry about that." He then puts the cigarette out and lights up another one five seconds later. One day in college I was in a computer lab at 11pm and I smelled smoke. I looked up and three rows away I saw smoke rising up from behind a monitor and thought "There's only one person in the world who would have the balls to smoke in here.", and sure enough, it was Fooj, puffing away on a Marlboro. I might add that it helps Fooj's dad was one of the original investors in wireless cell phone technology, and has a trust fund worth millions (not that you would ever know by looking at him, he was always disheveled).
Anyway, Fooj is now a very successful stock broker. He married an impossibly tall and beautiful Ford Agency model a few years back and now has a baby girl. Fooj was supposed to come to South America last year but dropped out at the last second. There is rumor that he's joining our trip this year. Events get exponentially more unpredictable when Fooj is involved.
Case and point.
A few years back I was in NYC one Monday night for work. Fooj was living with another college friend on 3rd Ave in midtown. It was a chill night and we both had work in the morning, but we decided to go to this place called Rodeo Bar for a few cocktails. The place was dead, but Fooj and I sat at the bar and ordered some drinks. We were shooting the shit when this brunette walks over to us and says "You two are the best looking guys in the bar". Fooj and I looked around and I said "We're the ONLY two guys in the bar?". The brunette giggled, and said "True, what are you guys doing tonight?", and without missing a beat Fooj says "Well, we're going to take you back to your place and double-team you." and we all laughed (me, nervously). The chick said "Mmmm, that sounds nice" and with that we left the bar. I'll call the brunette Rodeo.
Rodeo: Rodeo was probably in her late-twenties or early-thirties. She was about 5'7", long brown hair, a little on the curvy side, but decent enough.
I was dumb-founded as we walked out. I gave Fooj a look as if to say "what the fuck is going on?" and he just shrugged. When we got to the street Fooj said to the girl "which way?" She gave a nod and off we went. As we were walking I alternated between uncontrollable giddy laughter and a strong fear that we had just picked up a hooker. We were approaching a little market and I asked Rodeo if she had any booze at her house. She said she had some gin, so I said "Great, let me run in here and grab some mixers." I grabbed a can of tonic, but what I really needed was a huge box of condoms. I wanted to be ready in the event this really did go down.
We finally got to this chick's flat, which actually was a very nice place. It was a studio, but it had a great view and was nicely furnished. I remember thinking that she must be a really high-priced hooker and that this was not going to be cheap.
She mixed us some drinks and there was an awkward moment where the three of us just stood in her kitchen (for those of you who recall my I Love NYC post, this may sound eerily similar). I started kissing Rodeo and Fooj yanked down her skirt and underwear. I think he was fingering her from behind while I kissed her, but I tried not to look, afraid that the reality of what was actually happening would settle in. The three of us clumsily made our way over to her bed in one corner of the main room, but when we got to the edge of it Fooj broke off and walked over to the couch.
As Rodeo undid my pants I started to smell cigarette smoke, and then heard the TV click on. I knew without looking exactly what was going on. Fooj had just lit a cig and was scanning through the channels looking for MTV. I couldn't help myself from laughing out loud, all this was just too much.
Rodeo finally got my pants off and I put on one of the condoms I bought earlier. There wasn't much foreplay, I just laid her on the bed and slid into her. I was pretty buzzed, but it wasn't until a few minutes into sex that I realized I had my shirt, tie, and suit jacket still on, and that my tie was really getting in the way. I kept moving it off her face, and then eventually slung it over my shoulder, which I must have seen in a porn or something. A second later I looked back and caught a glimpse of Fooj on this chick's leather couch holding the TV remote control in front of him, clicking through the channels just like he was at home. The couch faced away from us, so all I saw was the remote, the back of his head, and a ribbon of smoke rising up. I bit my tongue so I wouldn't laugh.
I refocused on the task and hand. Rodeo was moaning and carrying on, but I could see her sniffing, clearly aggravated by the smoking. I picked up the pace to get this over with. When I came I pulled out of her and ripped off the condom. Cum went everywhere, including her left eye. As she was rubbing it she said "Was that really necessary?". I was like "Um, sorry, got a little carried away". I climbed off her and started putting my pants back on.
But Rodeo wasn't through, she said, "OK, it's your turn", looking at Fooj, who was now probably on his fourth cigarette. He ashed on her floor, laughed really hard, and said "Ohhhhhhhhhh, there's no way I'm going after him". He then stood up and ran for her front door. Afraid of getting left behind, I took off after him, and we both made a break for the elevator. The chick had her blouse on, and jumped up while we were running. I could hear her yelling and swearing as we got in the elevator, but I never looked back to see if she was after us.
Once we hit the street we ran all the way back to Fooj's place, doubled over laughing. When we got home we poured a few more drinks and went through what just happened, frame by frame. We were laughing so hard that I thought I might throw up. Fooj's roommate came out of his room, he had clearly overheard us. He stood there in his underwear for a second, shook his head, then went back to sleep. In the end we decided she wasn't a hooker, just some fucked up girl.
I don't know why, but the image of Fooj holding the remote while I banged Rodeo ten feet away is forever ingrained in my head. I think that will remain one of the most ridiculous events of my life.
One of my favorite people on Earth is my friend from college, Fooj. Fooj's father is Japanese and his mom is American. He looks Asian, but he's like 6'2", clearly a maternal gene. He's ultra smart, was a child music prodigy, and is the only person I have ever met who truly doesn't care one bit what other people think of him. For instance, if you said "Fooj, you're wearing a track suit at this very fancy club, you look like an idiot.", he would either laugh at you and walk away, or just stare at you blankly and sip his drink. He just doesn't care. He also doesn't think society's rules apply to him. For instance, he smokes heavily and always has. But he smokes anywhere he wants. Bars, restaurants, pumping gas, in his office. When people yell at him and tell him to put it out he just says "Ohhh, yeahhhhh, sorry about that." He then puts the cigarette out and lights up another one five seconds later. One day in college I was in a computer lab at 11pm and I smelled smoke. I looked up and three rows away I saw smoke rising up from behind a monitor and thought "There's only one person in the world who would have the balls to smoke in here.", and sure enough, it was Fooj, puffing away on a Marlboro. I might add that it helps Fooj's dad was one of the original investors in wireless cell phone technology, and has a trust fund worth millions (not that you would ever know by looking at him, he was always disheveled).
Anyway, Fooj is now a very successful stock broker. He married an impossibly tall and beautiful Ford Agency model a few years back and now has a baby girl. Fooj was supposed to come to South America last year but dropped out at the last second. There is rumor that he's joining our trip this year. Events get exponentially more unpredictable when Fooj is involved.
Case and point.
A few years back I was in NYC one Monday night for work. Fooj was living with another college friend on 3rd Ave in midtown. It was a chill night and we both had work in the morning, but we decided to go to this place called Rodeo Bar for a few cocktails. The place was dead, but Fooj and I sat at the bar and ordered some drinks. We were shooting the shit when this brunette walks over to us and says "You two are the best looking guys in the bar". Fooj and I looked around and I said "We're the ONLY two guys in the bar?". The brunette giggled, and said "True, what are you guys doing tonight?", and without missing a beat Fooj says "Well, we're going to take you back to your place and double-team you." and we all laughed (me, nervously). The chick said "Mmmm, that sounds nice" and with that we left the bar. I'll call the brunette Rodeo.
Rodeo: Rodeo was probably in her late-twenties or early-thirties. She was about 5'7", long brown hair, a little on the curvy side, but decent enough.
I was dumb-founded as we walked out. I gave Fooj a look as if to say "what the fuck is going on?" and he just shrugged. When we got to the street Fooj said to the girl "which way?" She gave a nod and off we went. As we were walking I alternated between uncontrollable giddy laughter and a strong fear that we had just picked up a hooker. We were approaching a little market and I asked Rodeo if she had any booze at her house. She said she had some gin, so I said "Great, let me run in here and grab some mixers." I grabbed a can of tonic, but what I really needed was a huge box of condoms. I wanted to be ready in the event this really did go down.
We finally got to this chick's flat, which actually was a very nice place. It was a studio, but it had a great view and was nicely furnished. I remember thinking that she must be a really high-priced hooker and that this was not going to be cheap.
She mixed us some drinks and there was an awkward moment where the three of us just stood in her kitchen (for those of you who recall my I Love NYC post, this may sound eerily similar). I started kissing Rodeo and Fooj yanked down her skirt and underwear. I think he was fingering her from behind while I kissed her, but I tried not to look, afraid that the reality of what was actually happening would settle in. The three of us clumsily made our way over to her bed in one corner of the main room, but when we got to the edge of it Fooj broke off and walked over to the couch.
As Rodeo undid my pants I started to smell cigarette smoke, and then heard the TV click on. I knew without looking exactly what was going on. Fooj had just lit a cig and was scanning through the channels looking for MTV. I couldn't help myself from laughing out loud, all this was just too much.
Rodeo finally got my pants off and I put on one of the condoms I bought earlier. There wasn't much foreplay, I just laid her on the bed and slid into her. I was pretty buzzed, but it wasn't until a few minutes into sex that I realized I had my shirt, tie, and suit jacket still on, and that my tie was really getting in the way. I kept moving it off her face, and then eventually slung it over my shoulder, which I must have seen in a porn or something. A second later I looked back and caught a glimpse of Fooj on this chick's leather couch holding the TV remote control in front of him, clicking through the channels just like he was at home. The couch faced away from us, so all I saw was the remote, the back of his head, and a ribbon of smoke rising up. I bit my tongue so I wouldn't laugh.
I refocused on the task and hand. Rodeo was moaning and carrying on, but I could see her sniffing, clearly aggravated by the smoking. I picked up the pace to get this over with. When I came I pulled out of her and ripped off the condom. Cum went everywhere, including her left eye. As she was rubbing it she said "Was that really necessary?". I was like "Um, sorry, got a little carried away". I climbed off her and started putting my pants back on.
But Rodeo wasn't through, she said, "OK, it's your turn", looking at Fooj, who was now probably on his fourth cigarette. He ashed on her floor, laughed really hard, and said "Ohhhhhhhhhh, there's no way I'm going after him". He then stood up and ran for her front door. Afraid of getting left behind, I took off after him, and we both made a break for the elevator. The chick had her blouse on, and jumped up while we were running. I could hear her yelling and swearing as we got in the elevator, but I never looked back to see if she was after us.
Once we hit the street we ran all the way back to Fooj's place, doubled over laughing. When we got home we poured a few more drinks and went through what just happened, frame by frame. We were laughing so hard that I thought I might throw up. Fooj's roommate came out of his room, he had clearly overheard us. He stood there in his underwear for a second, shook his head, then went back to sleep. In the end we decided she wasn't a hooker, just some fucked up girl.
I don't know why, but the image of Fooj holding the remote while I banged Rodeo ten feet away is forever ingrained in my head. I think that will remain one of the most ridiculous events of my life.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Weddings
Ugh, I just got an invitation to a wedding in Hawaii, what is that all about? I'm so sick of weddings, the allure wore off years ago and now they are just a tremendous inconvenience. The problem is that couples have no consideration for their guests.
Everyone says what a great time weddings are, but where do all these fantastic weddings take place? All the ones I go to are showy affairs with cold food, fat bridesmaids, and annoying relatives. Sure, everyone gets hammered and dances like fools, but I don't need to rent a tux and fly halfway across the world to do that, I can just walk to the Ugly Mug.
Why can't people get married in their hometowns, why do I have to fly to Bermuda or Hawaii? They're called "Destination Weddings", and I refuse to go to them. Why should I use my vacation time and frequent flier miles to get sand in my shoes while you read your own gay wedding vows? Forget it.
I also won't go to weddings on holiday weekends. That's a double-screw, now you're asking me to take a whole long weekend to watch you get married. The only reason people pick those weekends are because the reception halls cut them a discounted rate. But hold up, I'm not calling you cheap because you picked a holiday weekend, I'm saying your inconsiderate for making me give up one of my five floating holidays to go.
While we're on the topic of finances, I think you're a total ass if you spend more than ten or twenty grand on a wedding, TOPS! I don't care who you are, how much you make, or which of your relatives is giving you the money to pay for it. Someone, somewhere, earned and saved that money and you have no business frittering it away on flowers and French silk dresses. The whole industry is out of control. And wedding planners, you have the most insignificant job on this entire planet. How do you live with yourselves? I have personally made three cry. "Stand here, stand there. Put the drink down. Don't grope the sister of the bride." Stop fucking telling me what to do!
Before you accuse me of being a bitter bachelor, I would like to point out that my family has been in the wedding industry for nearly 75 years, and it has been very good to us. I worked for the family business and have extensive first-hand knowledge of what a tremendous waste of resources weddings are. Did you know that over 50% of all married couples go into long-term debt to pay for weddings? That stunned me. Think about it, people borrow money to throw a party, and most don't have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of. In many cases, the debt payments last longer than the marriage. Think about that before you sign a loan for a wedding!
Industry Story: A small part of the family business was a bridal shop. I wasn't working there, but I stopped by one Saturday afternoon to drop off some paperwork and the manager asked me to follow her to a dressing room. In the room was the bride, her mother, a seamstress, and the sales girl. Five months ago the bride, who was a size 8, ordered a size 4 dress because she was sure that she would lose the weight in time for her wedding, which was now just 3 weeks away. She showed up for her final fitting still a size 8, insisted that she had lost the weight, and that they put her in the dress. Well, they put her in the dress, zipped her in, and now they couldn't get her out. We keep a pair of pliers on hand to help with this type of "stubborn zipper", and they were hoping I could pry the zipper down. I tried for a while, but she was in it pretty good. The zipper was just too stressed to open, and I would have only ripped the dress or hurt the bride if I applied anymore force. So, I turned to the seamstress and said "Cut her out of it", at which point the bride immediately began to cry uncontrollably. I wish I could have put money on her getting down to a size 4.
Some weddings are unavoidable, you have to go, especially if you're asked to be part of the bridal party. If you marry into my circle of friends you should know that a wedding combines very volatile elements, and once mixed you cannot slow, stop, or contain that reaction. It's like nuclear fission. The situation can't be "unfucked" until the booze wears off in the wee hours of the morning and the system has expelled all its energy. Even then the damage may be irreparable. It's not always our fault, though. If the bride put a little fore-thought into the event a lot of problems could be avoided. I mean, if you don't want us to drink massive vodka-cranberry cocktails out of the giant crystal vase center pieces, don't put them on the tables. Common sense here people.
But don't worry, I'm not here to ruin weddings, I'm here to prevent them. Before every one of my close friends' weddings I called them and made the following, very serious, open-ended offer. The offer is that if they are having any doubts about what they are about to do, I will be at their house in one one hour with two plane tickets. I'll fly them to Key West where we will sit at Captain Tony's and stay pie-eyed until the wedding blows over. It is their "get out of jail free" card, and they can use it up-to and within one hour of the ceremony. It will be totally discrete, and all expenses are on me. It's the one wedding gift I don't mind giving.
To date, no one has taken me up on this. However, one guy told his wife about my offer and let's just say that I don't get invited over for dinner very often.
Everyone says what a great time weddings are, but where do all these fantastic weddings take place? All the ones I go to are showy affairs with cold food, fat bridesmaids, and annoying relatives. Sure, everyone gets hammered and dances like fools, but I don't need to rent a tux and fly halfway across the world to do that, I can just walk to the Ugly Mug.
Why can't people get married in their hometowns, why do I have to fly to Bermuda or Hawaii? They're called "Destination Weddings", and I refuse to go to them. Why should I use my vacation time and frequent flier miles to get sand in my shoes while you read your own gay wedding vows? Forget it.
I also won't go to weddings on holiday weekends. That's a double-screw, now you're asking me to take a whole long weekend to watch you get married. The only reason people pick those weekends are because the reception halls cut them a discounted rate. But hold up, I'm not calling you cheap because you picked a holiday weekend, I'm saying your inconsiderate for making me give up one of my five floating holidays to go.
While we're on the topic of finances, I think you're a total ass if you spend more than ten or twenty grand on a wedding, TOPS! I don't care who you are, how much you make, or which of your relatives is giving you the money to pay for it. Someone, somewhere, earned and saved that money and you have no business frittering it away on flowers and French silk dresses. The whole industry is out of control. And wedding planners, you have the most insignificant job on this entire planet. How do you live with yourselves? I have personally made three cry. "Stand here, stand there. Put the drink down. Don't grope the sister of the bride." Stop fucking telling me what to do!
Before you accuse me of being a bitter bachelor, I would like to point out that my family has been in the wedding industry for nearly 75 years, and it has been very good to us. I worked for the family business and have extensive first-hand knowledge of what a tremendous waste of resources weddings are. Did you know that over 50% of all married couples go into long-term debt to pay for weddings? That stunned me. Think about it, people borrow money to throw a party, and most don't have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of. In many cases, the debt payments last longer than the marriage. Think about that before you sign a loan for a wedding!
Industry Story: A small part of the family business was a bridal shop. I wasn't working there, but I stopped by one Saturday afternoon to drop off some paperwork and the manager asked me to follow her to a dressing room. In the room was the bride, her mother, a seamstress, and the sales girl. Five months ago the bride, who was a size 8, ordered a size 4 dress because she was sure that she would lose the weight in time for her wedding, which was now just 3 weeks away. She showed up for her final fitting still a size 8, insisted that she had lost the weight, and that they put her in the dress. Well, they put her in the dress, zipped her in, and now they couldn't get her out. We keep a pair of pliers on hand to help with this type of "stubborn zipper", and they were hoping I could pry the zipper down. I tried for a while, but she was in it pretty good. The zipper was just too stressed to open, and I would have only ripped the dress or hurt the bride if I applied anymore force. So, I turned to the seamstress and said "Cut her out of it", at which point the bride immediately began to cry uncontrollably. I wish I could have put money on her getting down to a size 4.
Some weddings are unavoidable, you have to go, especially if you're asked to be part of the bridal party. If you marry into my circle of friends you should know that a wedding combines very volatile elements, and once mixed you cannot slow, stop, or contain that reaction. It's like nuclear fission. The situation can't be "unfucked" until the booze wears off in the wee hours of the morning and the system has expelled all its energy. Even then the damage may be irreparable. It's not always our fault, though. If the bride put a little fore-thought into the event a lot of problems could be avoided. I mean, if you don't want us to drink massive vodka-cranberry cocktails out of the giant crystal vase center pieces, don't put them on the tables. Common sense here people.
But don't worry, I'm not here to ruin weddings, I'm here to prevent them. Before every one of my close friends' weddings I called them and made the following, very serious, open-ended offer. The offer is that if they are having any doubts about what they are about to do, I will be at their house in one one hour with two plane tickets. I'll fly them to Key West where we will sit at Captain Tony's and stay pie-eyed until the wedding blows over. It is their "get out of jail free" card, and they can use it up-to and within one hour of the ceremony. It will be totally discrete, and all expenses are on me. It's the one wedding gift I don't mind giving.
To date, no one has taken me up on this. However, one guy told his wife about my offer and let's just say that I don't get invited over for dinner very often.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Blackmail or Extortion?
Yesterday I blackmailed my sister, Yoda (her nickname), into setting me up with a friend of hers. Or maybe it was extortion, I'm not exactly sure what the distinction is.
Background: My sister is a few years younger than I and we are very close, but after I unsuccessfully dated one of her good friends from college (who never spoke to my sister or I again), she stopped setting me up with people she knew. As a matter of fact, she cock-blocks me every time I meet a girl she is friendly with. Frankly, I can't blame her.
Yesterday morning I got a call from Yoda asking me if I could help her change a flat tire on her car. I said sure, and asked where the car was, but her answers were elusive and I knew that the car had blown a tire somewhere (or somehow) she didn't want me to know about. The conversation went something like this"
NN: Where is the car?
Yoda: Well, I took a cab home.
NN: From where?
Yoda: From where I got the flat tire?
NN: Last night?
Yoda: No, this morning?
NN: So where did you stay?
Yoda: I left it on the side of the road. And this morning I saw I am missing a hub cap, too.
NN: I know where the car stayed, where did you stay last night?
This game went on for five minutes before I told her that if she didn't immediately tell me the exact address where the car was I was going to hang up on her and she could change her own tire. She paused for a moment then said two cross streets. My mental google-maps flashed to the area, and I was a little thrown off because it was only four blocks from Kay's house. I couldn't figure out why my sister would be in that neighborhood on a Sunday night, and moreover, why she would be trying to hide it from me. I thought a little more about the area, which is pretty ghetto, and tried to think of other reasons she would be there, then it struck me, "Were you at Pauls?". There was another long pause, then "Ah, yeah, last night was a mess."
Paul is my buddy who had the party on Halloween night, and he went to high school with Madonna, which is how I met her. Yoda thought I would be mad that she hooked up with Paul, but I don't care, he's a good guy. In the great scheme of things I would rather she hooked up with Paul than Kay. All things are relative.
In typical slime-ball fashion, though, I tried to think of how I could use this new information to my advantage. I said "OK, I'll meet you at your car at 11:30, but you owe me a favor, and it's going to be a big one." Yoda agreed, reluctantly.
After I changed the tire I said "OK, you have to set me up with Giselle."
I have never actually met Giselle, but Yoda works with her and I've seen tons of pictures of her. I call her Giselle because she is nearly as hot as the model. She's also very smart, and apparently, very cool. Yoda screamed "No way! She's too good for you, I won't do it!". That's nice, isn't it? She's too good for me. What she meant was, Giselle is a very sweet, young, innocent girl, and she didn't want me to screw her over. I knew she wouldn't set me up with Giselle in a million years, which is why I said her first, she was a bargaining chip. She's six feet tall, too, so she's a bit too tall for me anyway. I said "Okay, okay, not Giselle, that's fine. But if you won't set me up with Giselle, then you have to set me up with Tattoo.", her shoulders slumped and in a whiny voice said "Whyyyyyy.....okay, I'll set you up with Tattoo."
Tattoo: I've never actually met Tattoo either, but I've seen pictures and heard the stories, she's right up my power-alley. Tattoo is 25, medium height with dark hair and dark eyes. She's super-wild, though, just really likes to have a good time, and parties a lot. Again, I haven't seen it, but I heard she has a big tattoo that starts at her hip and goes up her side to her armpit. I've been trying to get Yoda to invite her out for drinks with us, but the reason she said she won't is because she "doesn't want to have to have morning coffee in our kitchen with someone she works with". Again, I completely understand, but I'm going to make her set us up anyway.
Ironically, I got a call from Madonna last night. I thought that she was out of the picture, but she's still hanging in there, mostly due to the watch she left at my place. I kind of feel badly about not getting it back to her yet, so in retrospect, maybe leaving something behind does ensure a second date (not that I think she did it on purpose). Anyway, we are going to meet up Friday night for drinks. I'm going to try and keep those plans.
Background: My sister is a few years younger than I and we are very close, but after I unsuccessfully dated one of her good friends from college (who never spoke to my sister or I again), she stopped setting me up with people she knew. As a matter of fact, she cock-blocks me every time I meet a girl she is friendly with. Frankly, I can't blame her.
Yesterday morning I got a call from Yoda asking me if I could help her change a flat tire on her car. I said sure, and asked where the car was, but her answers were elusive and I knew that the car had blown a tire somewhere (or somehow) she didn't want me to know about. The conversation went something like this"
NN: Where is the car?
Yoda: Well, I took a cab home.
NN: From where?
Yoda: From where I got the flat tire?
NN: Last night?
Yoda: No, this morning?
NN: So where did you stay?
Yoda: I left it on the side of the road. And this morning I saw I am missing a hub cap, too.
NN: I know where the car stayed, where did you stay last night?
This game went on for five minutes before I told her that if she didn't immediately tell me the exact address where the car was I was going to hang up on her and she could change her own tire. She paused for a moment then said two cross streets. My mental google-maps flashed to the area, and I was a little thrown off because it was only four blocks from Kay's house. I couldn't figure out why my sister would be in that neighborhood on a Sunday night, and moreover, why she would be trying to hide it from me. I thought a little more about the area, which is pretty ghetto, and tried to think of other reasons she would be there, then it struck me, "Were you at Pauls?". There was another long pause, then "Ah, yeah, last night was a mess."
Paul is my buddy who had the party on Halloween night, and he went to high school with Madonna, which is how I met her. Yoda thought I would be mad that she hooked up with Paul, but I don't care, he's a good guy. In the great scheme of things I would rather she hooked up with Paul than Kay. All things are relative.
In typical slime-ball fashion, though, I tried to think of how I could use this new information to my advantage. I said "OK, I'll meet you at your car at 11:30, but you owe me a favor, and it's going to be a big one." Yoda agreed, reluctantly.
After I changed the tire I said "OK, you have to set me up with Giselle."
I have never actually met Giselle, but Yoda works with her and I've seen tons of pictures of her. I call her Giselle because she is nearly as hot as the model. She's also very smart, and apparently, very cool. Yoda screamed "No way! She's too good for you, I won't do it!". That's nice, isn't it? She's too good for me. What she meant was, Giselle is a very sweet, young, innocent girl, and she didn't want me to screw her over. I knew she wouldn't set me up with Giselle in a million years, which is why I said her first, she was a bargaining chip. She's six feet tall, too, so she's a bit too tall for me anyway. I said "Okay, okay, not Giselle, that's fine. But if you won't set me up with Giselle, then you have to set me up with Tattoo.", her shoulders slumped and in a whiny voice said "Whyyyyyy.....okay, I'll set you up with Tattoo."
Tattoo: I've never actually met Tattoo either, but I've seen pictures and heard the stories, she's right up my power-alley. Tattoo is 25, medium height with dark hair and dark eyes. She's super-wild, though, just really likes to have a good time, and parties a lot. Again, I haven't seen it, but I heard she has a big tattoo that starts at her hip and goes up her side to her armpit. I've been trying to get Yoda to invite her out for drinks with us, but the reason she said she won't is because she "doesn't want to have to have morning coffee in our kitchen with someone she works with". Again, I completely understand, but I'm going to make her set us up anyway.
Ironically, I got a call from Madonna last night. I thought that she was out of the picture, but she's still hanging in there, mostly due to the watch she left at my place. I kind of feel badly about not getting it back to her yet, so in retrospect, maybe leaving something behind does ensure a second date (not that I think she did it on purpose). Anyway, we are going to meet up Friday night for drinks. I'm going to try and keep those plans.
Monday, November 16, 2009
"...really pissed off girl"
"Hi NN, this is Bear. If you want to talk to a really pissed off girl, call xxx-xxxx."
This is the message left on my VM at 10pm Saturday night. What makes her think I would ever return a call after a message like that? She must have been dreaming. I hit "7" on the phone and put it back on the coffee table.
Sunday afternoon I received another call from Bear and I reluctantly answered it. Almost the first thing out of her mouth was "So why haven't I heard from you all week?" An introduction like that is a sure way of getting me off the phone very quickly. I said "Yeah, Bear, I can't talk right now, I'll have to call you later." I just don't see any reason to get reprimanded, she isn't my wife, she isn't even my girlfriend. Come to think of it, I would never let a girlfriend speak to me that way either.
We met up last night for drinks and I told her in no uncertain terms that I am not looking for a girlfriend, or a relationship, or any other form of commitment. Also, if she wanted to talk last week she knows how to use a phone. If she was OK with that, fine, if not, I would like to remain friends.
We wound up back at Bear's place. I don't know if what we did after the bar constitutes "make-up" sex, but it was lively. I'm not sure exactly how, but we ended up on the floor in the hallway between her bedroom and her bathroom, and good fifteen feet from her bed. I was behind her and she looked back at me and said "I want you to come on my face and in my hair", which I, of course, did. As strange as that request is, it was hot, and I'm not sure why.
Amusing side note: Bear lives in the basement apartment of a house on the Hill. The house was just sold to a couple that lives overseas, so the top two floors are vacant and Bear told me that she thinks she hears "animals" upstairs at night sometimes. "Yeah, sure you do" was my response. In my experience, both personal and professional, women have a tendency to hear things when they are in a house alone. However, last night we were in bed and I heard a critter run up the inside of the wall behind the bed, then scamper through the ceiling across the room. Bear sat bolt upright and said "There, did you hear that!". I most certainly did, and said "Oh, yeah, it sounds like a mouse. Tell the management company to hire an exterminator" I didn't want to scare her, but it was AT LEAST two rats, and from the sounds of it, big ones.
Friday night was pretty funny. Three buddies and I went to the Caps game then to Rocket Bar for beers and shuffle board.
Not so amusing side note: At the game Brandon, who is friends with Kay, decided to tell me all about some dude she's dating. Ass-wipe, what makes you think I want to hear about her, much less about the guy she's fucking? I wanted to strangle him.
...back to the bar. We got a round of beers and a shuffle board table and started playing. Within 15 minutes some girl had walked over to our table and started chatting with Andy. She was nothing special, I would say a 5 overall. She had a nice body, but a butter face. However, she had one of the most annoying voices I have ever heard. To make matters worse, she shouted when she talked. As soon as she opened her mouth I walked away. I don't have great hearing, so to someone who can actually hear she must have been ten times more aggravating.
I did a lap around the bar, and when I came back she was still standing with our group. Her friends were long gone, she was just standing there with us, it was odd. We asked her what she did, I think she taught special ed, which explains the shouting. We did the usual BS questions, then she asked me "So, where did you go to school." I was kind of in the mood to fuck with her, and tell her I was a ditch-digger, or ax murderer, anything to get her away from us before our ears started bleeding. I had stopped asking questions, and I don't think I ever even answered her, but Andy said "And you?". I think her response was "UNC Chapel Hill", it wasn't important. What was important was that every time she said the school her arm would raise up and give a little pump, like a cheerleader. I said "What was that?", and she just looked at me. I said "What was that little arm pump you just did?", and she said "I was a cheerleader, it's habit. I was also a gymnast."
For the next twenty minutes my friends and I proceeded to call out flips for her to perform in the crowded bar. She did hand springs, and splits, and flips. She did a floor routine for us, it was hysterical. For the finale, she lifted a leg strait up and held it against he head. Having dated a ballerina it did get my gears moving to think of the fun I could have with this chick. But then she opened her mouth again, and all I wanted to do was jam ice picks in my ears. I excused myself and went to the bathroom (which, incidentally, was one of the most foul I have ever set foot in).
While I waited in line for the bathroom a cute little girl was staring in my direction. I looked around to make sure she wasn't looking at someone else, and looked at her again. I said hello, and she said "You're hot!", then turned and walked up the stairs and out of the bar. The guy standing next to me, a total stranger, said "Go get her", which I started to do, but when I turned the corner to go up the stairs, she was already gone. I wasn't going to chase her down the street. Lost opportunity, though. And dammit, she was really cute.
When I returned from the third-world restroom that chick was still lingering. "My God woman, leave!" By then everyone was a little tired of her and the other guys were starting to give her the cold shoulder. She kind of got the point, but was sticking around to see if she could give someone her number. Two guys were married, so it was down to Andy and I. When she said "Well, I'm going to see if I can find my friends" I think that was our hint to ask for her number. For some reason Andy did.
So here's the deal. I've taken home girls who are less attractive then her, more annoying than her, or both. I guess I just wasn't drunk enough to want to deal with her for an extended period of time (ie., long enough to fuck her). What I don't understand is why Andy would take her number when there was no chance he would ever call her. He just broke up with South who was a thousand times hotter than this twit, what was he doing.
After she walked away I asked him why he got her number, to which his response was "I dunno". He could have easily taken her home that night. If he wanted to sleep with her all he had to do was hail a cab. There is no way her is going to date this chick. Why would he want to prolong things? Phone conversations, plans, rescheduled plans, more phone conversations. I didn't understand that move at all, it actually made me a little angry.
This is the message left on my VM at 10pm Saturday night. What makes her think I would ever return a call after a message like that? She must have been dreaming. I hit "7" on the phone and put it back on the coffee table.
Sunday afternoon I received another call from Bear and I reluctantly answered it. Almost the first thing out of her mouth was "So why haven't I heard from you all week?" An introduction like that is a sure way of getting me off the phone very quickly. I said "Yeah, Bear, I can't talk right now, I'll have to call you later." I just don't see any reason to get reprimanded, she isn't my wife, she isn't even my girlfriend. Come to think of it, I would never let a girlfriend speak to me that way either.
We met up last night for drinks and I told her in no uncertain terms that I am not looking for a girlfriend, or a relationship, or any other form of commitment. Also, if she wanted to talk last week she knows how to use a phone. If she was OK with that, fine, if not, I would like to remain friends.
We wound up back at Bear's place. I don't know if what we did after the bar constitutes "make-up" sex, but it was lively. I'm not sure exactly how, but we ended up on the floor in the hallway between her bedroom and her bathroom, and good fifteen feet from her bed. I was behind her and she looked back at me and said "I want you to come on my face and in my hair", which I, of course, did. As strange as that request is, it was hot, and I'm not sure why.
Amusing side note: Bear lives in the basement apartment of a house on the Hill. The house was just sold to a couple that lives overseas, so the top two floors are vacant and Bear told me that she thinks she hears "animals" upstairs at night sometimes. "Yeah, sure you do" was my response. In my experience, both personal and professional, women have a tendency to hear things when they are in a house alone. However, last night we were in bed and I heard a critter run up the inside of the wall behind the bed, then scamper through the ceiling across the room. Bear sat bolt upright and said "There, did you hear that!". I most certainly did, and said "Oh, yeah, it sounds like a mouse. Tell the management company to hire an exterminator" I didn't want to scare her, but it was AT LEAST two rats, and from the sounds of it, big ones.
Friday night was pretty funny. Three buddies and I went to the Caps game then to Rocket Bar for beers and shuffle board.
Not so amusing side note: At the game Brandon, who is friends with Kay, decided to tell me all about some dude she's dating. Ass-wipe, what makes you think I want to hear about her, much less about the guy she's fucking? I wanted to strangle him.
...back to the bar. We got a round of beers and a shuffle board table and started playing. Within 15 minutes some girl had walked over to our table and started chatting with Andy. She was nothing special, I would say a 5 overall. She had a nice body, but a butter face. However, she had one of the most annoying voices I have ever heard. To make matters worse, she shouted when she talked. As soon as she opened her mouth I walked away. I don't have great hearing, so to someone who can actually hear she must have been ten times more aggravating.
I did a lap around the bar, and when I came back she was still standing with our group. Her friends were long gone, she was just standing there with us, it was odd. We asked her what she did, I think she taught special ed, which explains the shouting. We did the usual BS questions, then she asked me "So, where did you go to school." I was kind of in the mood to fuck with her, and tell her I was a ditch-digger, or ax murderer, anything to get her away from us before our ears started bleeding. I had stopped asking questions, and I don't think I ever even answered her, but Andy said "And you?". I think her response was "UNC Chapel Hill", it wasn't important. What was important was that every time she said the school her arm would raise up and give a little pump, like a cheerleader. I said "What was that?", and she just looked at me. I said "What was that little arm pump you just did?", and she said "I was a cheerleader, it's habit. I was also a gymnast."
For the next twenty minutes my friends and I proceeded to call out flips for her to perform in the crowded bar. She did hand springs, and splits, and flips. She did a floor routine for us, it was hysterical. For the finale, she lifted a leg strait up and held it against he head. Having dated a ballerina it did get my gears moving to think of the fun I could have with this chick. But then she opened her mouth again, and all I wanted to do was jam ice picks in my ears. I excused myself and went to the bathroom (which, incidentally, was one of the most foul I have ever set foot in).
While I waited in line for the bathroom a cute little girl was staring in my direction. I looked around to make sure she wasn't looking at someone else, and looked at her again. I said hello, and she said "You're hot!", then turned and walked up the stairs and out of the bar. The guy standing next to me, a total stranger, said "Go get her", which I started to do, but when I turned the corner to go up the stairs, she was already gone. I wasn't going to chase her down the street. Lost opportunity, though. And dammit, she was really cute.
When I returned from the third-world restroom that chick was still lingering. "My God woman, leave!" By then everyone was a little tired of her and the other guys were starting to give her the cold shoulder. She kind of got the point, but was sticking around to see if she could give someone her number. Two guys were married, so it was down to Andy and I. When she said "Well, I'm going to see if I can find my friends" I think that was our hint to ask for her number. For some reason Andy did.
So here's the deal. I've taken home girls who are less attractive then her, more annoying than her, or both. I guess I just wasn't drunk enough to want to deal with her for an extended period of time (ie., long enough to fuck her). What I don't understand is why Andy would take her number when there was no chance he would ever call her. He just broke up with South who was a thousand times hotter than this twit, what was he doing.
After she walked away I asked him why he got her number, to which his response was "I dunno". He could have easily taken her home that night. If he wanted to sleep with her all he had to do was hail a cab. There is no way her is going to date this chick. Why would he want to prolong things? Phone conversations, plans, rescheduled plans, more phone conversations. I didn't understand that move at all, it actually made me a little angry.
Friday, November 13, 2009
"Let's just be friends..."
Earlier this week I reevaluated my three unwanted relationships and decided it was best for all involved if I cut everyone loose and started fresh. My plan was to refocus the Poonani relationship towards friendship, try the same with Bear, and just let Madonna fizzle away. All this panned out really well, let me show you why I suck.
I texted Poonani on Tuesday and asked if we could meet for drinks at 9pm Thursday on the Hill. She rescheduled from 9pm to 7pm, so drinks turned into a five-course romantic meal. I don't know if it was the setting, or some pheromone Poonani was giving off, but I just couldn't bring myself to steer the conversation in the direction I had intended. Not only that, I found myself nervous at times like this was a first date. I can't quite figure any of this out, because I'm really not attracted to her on most levels.
My neck was bothering me (I broke it playing football in high school, and it's almost perpetually stiff) and I kept cracking it at dinner. Poonani, who was sitting on a bench seat along the wall, said "Come sit next to me". I didn't know what she was up to but I moved across the table and sat next to her. Much to my surprise she started giving me one of the best massages I've ever had. In five minutes she worked three kinks out of my neck and I was ship shape. It was strange, people in the restaurant were staring, but she was doing such a good job that I didn't care. I can't tell if she's trying to be sexy or playing games. But I have to tell you that I lose my objectivity when a girl treats me well like this.
I drove Poonani home at the end of the night, and to further complicate matters I made out with her a little in front of her place. However, she initiated it, I didn't make any moves and take neither credit nor blame. The good news is that she's in the Bahamas for the weekend so I have a few days to regroup and figure out how to get back on course.
Madonna sent me a couple of texts while I was away and I responded cordially, but showed little interest. However, before I knew what happened we had plans to meet tonight for drinks. I think I'm going to break our plans, I'm not looking forward to meeting up, despite the fact that sex is imminent.
I need some new prospects and am heading to the bars tonight with my sister and some buddies. My buddy broke up with South on Tuesday so he's looking to scare up some new lady friends, a dangerous combo.
I haven't heard from Bear since last week, she's out West for work. I don't have a plan yet for how to handle her. She's going to take rejection hard. I would like to ease her out of the dating scene without hurting her feelings or losing her friendship. Maybe those two goals are mutually exclusive.
I just got back from the DMV where I was registering my Honda. I have to say, I'm consistently surprised by how nice the people are at the DC DMV stations. The dude who inspected my bike (who, admittedly, was a biker too) gave me a 7-year inspection certificate, and didn't even make me start the bike, he only verified the VIN. He even gave me an express ticket for registration, so I didn't have to wait in line. I was in and out in less than one hour, which has to be some type of record. I'll go on record as saying that the DMV is one of the best services in the city. If only dating here was as easy.
I texted Poonani on Tuesday and asked if we could meet for drinks at 9pm Thursday on the Hill. She rescheduled from 9pm to 7pm, so drinks turned into a five-course romantic meal. I don't know if it was the setting, or some pheromone Poonani was giving off, but I just couldn't bring myself to steer the conversation in the direction I had intended. Not only that, I found myself nervous at times like this was a first date. I can't quite figure any of this out, because I'm really not attracted to her on most levels.
My neck was bothering me (I broke it playing football in high school, and it's almost perpetually stiff) and I kept cracking it at dinner. Poonani, who was sitting on a bench seat along the wall, said "Come sit next to me". I didn't know what she was up to but I moved across the table and sat next to her. Much to my surprise she started giving me one of the best massages I've ever had. In five minutes she worked three kinks out of my neck and I was ship shape. It was strange, people in the restaurant were staring, but she was doing such a good job that I didn't care. I can't tell if she's trying to be sexy or playing games. But I have to tell you that I lose my objectivity when a girl treats me well like this.
I drove Poonani home at the end of the night, and to further complicate matters I made out with her a little in front of her place. However, she initiated it, I didn't make any moves and take neither credit nor blame. The good news is that she's in the Bahamas for the weekend so I have a few days to regroup and figure out how to get back on course.
Madonna sent me a couple of texts while I was away and I responded cordially, but showed little interest. However, before I knew what happened we had plans to meet tonight for drinks. I think I'm going to break our plans, I'm not looking forward to meeting up, despite the fact that sex is imminent.
I need some new prospects and am heading to the bars tonight with my sister and some buddies. My buddy broke up with South on Tuesday so he's looking to scare up some new lady friends, a dangerous combo.
I haven't heard from Bear since last week, she's out West for work. I don't have a plan yet for how to handle her. She's going to take rejection hard. I would like to ease her out of the dating scene without hurting her feelings or losing her friendship. Maybe those two goals are mutually exclusive.
I just got back from the DMV where I was registering my Honda. I have to say, I'm consistently surprised by how nice the people are at the DC DMV stations. The dude who inspected my bike (who, admittedly, was a biker too) gave me a 7-year inspection certificate, and didn't even make me start the bike, he only verified the VIN. He even gave me an express ticket for registration, so I didn't have to wait in line. I was in and out in less than one hour, which has to be some type of record. I'll go on record as saying that the DMV is one of the best services in the city. If only dating here was as easy.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Travel
Why is it that when I fly to Atlanta I have a layover in Charlotte, but when I fly to Charlotte my layover is in Atlanta? Even more confusing, why do I fly through Philly when I travel to Raleigh? I believe there is an algorithm that explains how the airline industry uses out-of-the-way layovers to bilk passengers on ticket prices.
Last night the pilot got on intercom and made the following announcement: "Good evening ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain. We're going to shut down the engines and wait here on the tarmac for about 20-25 minutes. This will save us a bit of money on fuel and gate fees. We should be in the air shortly and will only be a few minutes late arriving in Atlanta." Did I hear that right? Did he just say that he was going to save a little money on gas while 150 people lost precious moments of their lives sitting on an idle plane?
Do we really need the announcement on every flight informing us that you can't smoke and that tampering with smoke detectors is a crime? Hasn't everyone gotten this message yet? While we're trimming the pre-flight announcements, do we need a demonstration on how to buckle and unbuckle a seat belt? Take off already! If you can't use a seat belt you shouldn't be flying. Also, in the event of a crash what is that seat belt going to do? Nothing. And where did you get these seat belts, out of a fleet of '64 Buicks? They're old as fuck. There isn't even a shoulder strap. My Jeep has a shoulder strap and its top speed is 75mph. This is a goddamn jet doing 300mph at 40,000 feet, what is that feeble lap belt doing to do if we crash?
Sitting in the seat behind me last night from Atlanta to DC were a barn owl and a cougar. These are not witty names for types of chicks, I mean an actual bird and jungle cat. They were in cages, strapped into the seat directly behind me. Yes, I was apprehensive about flying with a big cat that, if it got loose, could maul me. If you can bring noisy shitting animals on a plane you should be allowed to smoke.
Did you know that you can't use cell phones or two-way pagers in flight because there is a chance it could interfere with the plane's navigation system and cause a crash? Does anyone believe this? I can't bring a nail clipper on the plane, or a 4 ounce bottle of shaving cream, if a cell phone can crash a jet perhaps these shouldn't be allowed on board either. Even if it was a one a million chance my Blackberry was going to down the jet, it's still thousand-times more likely than me hijacking a plane with a nail clipper. There has to be another reason they aren't telling us.
This is a little disconcerting. I fly so much that I just stopped taking metal objects out of my pockets before going through the metal detectors. I also fly with a Nalgene bottle filled to the brim with water, and you know what, I only get stopped about 2% of the time. I'm all for security, when it works.
Do we really need "beverage service" on a 45 minute flight? I'm convinced this is a union scam to keep flight attendants employed. If you can't go 45 minutes without a soda just buy one in the terminal and stick it in your bag, why do the airlines have to serve beverages. When was the last time you got in a cab and the driver offered you a tomato juice?
Last night the pilot got on intercom and made the following announcement: "Good evening ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain. We're going to shut down the engines and wait here on the tarmac for about 20-25 minutes. This will save us a bit of money on fuel and gate fees. We should be in the air shortly and will only be a few minutes late arriving in Atlanta." Did I hear that right? Did he just say that he was going to save a little money on gas while 150 people lost precious moments of their lives sitting on an idle plane?
Do we really need the announcement on every flight informing us that you can't smoke and that tampering with smoke detectors is a crime? Hasn't everyone gotten this message yet? While we're trimming the pre-flight announcements, do we need a demonstration on how to buckle and unbuckle a seat belt? Take off already! If you can't use a seat belt you shouldn't be flying. Also, in the event of a crash what is that seat belt going to do? Nothing. And where did you get these seat belts, out of a fleet of '64 Buicks? They're old as fuck. There isn't even a shoulder strap. My Jeep has a shoulder strap and its top speed is 75mph. This is a goddamn jet doing 300mph at 40,000 feet, what is that feeble lap belt doing to do if we crash?
Sitting in the seat behind me last night from Atlanta to DC were a barn owl and a cougar. These are not witty names for types of chicks, I mean an actual bird and jungle cat. They were in cages, strapped into the seat directly behind me. Yes, I was apprehensive about flying with a big cat that, if it got loose, could maul me. If you can bring noisy shitting animals on a plane you should be allowed to smoke.
Did you know that you can't use cell phones or two-way pagers in flight because there is a chance it could interfere with the plane's navigation system and cause a crash? Does anyone believe this? I can't bring a nail clipper on the plane, or a 4 ounce bottle of shaving cream, if a cell phone can crash a jet perhaps these shouldn't be allowed on board either. Even if it was a one a million chance my Blackberry was going to down the jet, it's still thousand-times more likely than me hijacking a plane with a nail clipper. There has to be another reason they aren't telling us.
This is a little disconcerting. I fly so much that I just stopped taking metal objects out of my pockets before going through the metal detectors. I also fly with a Nalgene bottle filled to the brim with water, and you know what, I only get stopped about 2% of the time. I'm all for security, when it works.
Do we really need "beverage service" on a 45 minute flight? I'm convinced this is a union scam to keep flight attendants employed. If you can't go 45 minutes without a soda just buy one in the terminal and stick it in your bag, why do the airlines have to serve beverages. When was the last time you got in a cab and the driver offered you a tomato juice?
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Condoms
So for a week now I have been running low on condoms. Last night I pulled a dog-eared rubber wrapper out of my travel bag and stuffed it in my back pocket before I went out. The thing probably expired in 1996 but it was better than nothing. I just kept forgetting to buy a new box. Today I stopped at Harris Teeter and picked some up, and it got me thinking, will I ever get comfortable buying condoms? I'll be 33 in a few months, and have probably bought condoms thousands of times, why do I still get flustered?
Riddle me this, Batman, why do the condoms always have to either be near the feminine hygiene products or in the pharmacy right next to where people pick up their prescriptions? Why do I have to be shoulder to shoulder with three girls buying tampons, or worse, next to an 80 year old lady waiting for her foot fungus meds while I grab a twelve-pack of Trojans? Condoms should be in the isle with the razors and shaving cream, that way there will only be dudes in the isle and we can take our time and make an educated purchase. I bet that simple move would increase sales by ten percent. We can actually find what we're looking for instead of grabbing the first box we come across. But honestly, if the condom manufacturers were smart they would only sell them in 100-packs, what are we going to do, not buy them?
Thank god Trojan boxes are color coded by type. Man, all I have to do is find that light blue box and I'm out of there. Imagine if all the boxes looked alike? I would go so flustered that I would grab any old thing and toss it into my carriage. One night I would go to put on a condom only to find I bought Magnums, or those sheep skin things, both useless to me.
I can't decide if it's a good or bad thing that the condoms are always right next to the pregnancy tests. That can't be an accident. You can either look at it as a nice reminder why you're paying $14 for twelve pieces of latex that will invariably make sex less pleasurable, or you can make a good argument that it's just a huge mind-fuck. That the condom and pee-stick manufacturers lobbied the grocery stores for neighboring shelf placement just to play with you. I don't think they're complimentary items, like, say, peanut butter and jelly.
This is a very serious question. Does every store have a diabolical employee that renders the bar codes of all condom boxes invalid? There has to be. There is no other explanation for why condoms always come up as "invalid" when scanned at the register. This triggers a price check, people are using the paging system to announce what isle needs the price for the economy pack of Trojan-Enz lubricated prophylactics. The 16 year old clerk is sent to the tampon isle to get the SKU number off the shelf. Sweet baby Jesus, can't this global glitch be fixed?
How about when someone you know walks into the store just as the clerk rings up the rubbers, isn't that awesome! I could count on that once a year when I was living at home. I was in Walgreens one afternoon buying a box of Trojans and my grandmother walked in. "Holy shit!" I thought, "She's going to have a heart attack and die right here and now!". Luckily she was legally blind and didn't see what they were. The woman who drove her around saw them, though. Ugh, there has to be a better system. Perhaps we all should pay an annual condom tax and then be allowed to just steal them from the store.
Lastly, I CANNOT buy condoms without wondering what the check-out girl thinks as she holds the box and slides it over the scanner. Is she saying "Right now I'm holding something that will later be rolled onto this man's penis."? I mean, they all handle the box like their ringing up broccoli or something, absolutely no emotion. You would never know that they are embarrassed, but they have to be, right? I'm generally mortified, they have to be a little off-put.
Don't even get me started on buying lube, or porn for that matter!
Riddle me this, Batman, why do the condoms always have to either be near the feminine hygiene products or in the pharmacy right next to where people pick up their prescriptions? Why do I have to be shoulder to shoulder with three girls buying tampons, or worse, next to an 80 year old lady waiting for her foot fungus meds while I grab a twelve-pack of Trojans? Condoms should be in the isle with the razors and shaving cream, that way there will only be dudes in the isle and we can take our time and make an educated purchase. I bet that simple move would increase sales by ten percent. We can actually find what we're looking for instead of grabbing the first box we come across. But honestly, if the condom manufacturers were smart they would only sell them in 100-packs, what are we going to do, not buy them?
Thank god Trojan boxes are color coded by type. Man, all I have to do is find that light blue box and I'm out of there. Imagine if all the boxes looked alike? I would go so flustered that I would grab any old thing and toss it into my carriage. One night I would go to put on a condom only to find I bought Magnums, or those sheep skin things, both useless to me.
I can't decide if it's a good or bad thing that the condoms are always right next to the pregnancy tests. That can't be an accident. You can either look at it as a nice reminder why you're paying $14 for twelve pieces of latex that will invariably make sex less pleasurable, or you can make a good argument that it's just a huge mind-fuck. That the condom and pee-stick manufacturers lobbied the grocery stores for neighboring shelf placement just to play with you. I don't think they're complimentary items, like, say, peanut butter and jelly.
This is a very serious question. Does every store have a diabolical employee that renders the bar codes of all condom boxes invalid? There has to be. There is no other explanation for why condoms always come up as "invalid" when scanned at the register. This triggers a price check, people are using the paging system to announce what isle needs the price for the economy pack of Trojan-Enz lubricated prophylactics. The 16 year old clerk is sent to the tampon isle to get the SKU number off the shelf. Sweet baby Jesus, can't this global glitch be fixed?
How about when someone you know walks into the store just as the clerk rings up the rubbers, isn't that awesome! I could count on that once a year when I was living at home. I was in Walgreens one afternoon buying a box of Trojans and my grandmother walked in. "Holy shit!" I thought, "She's going to have a heart attack and die right here and now!". Luckily she was legally blind and didn't see what they were. The woman who drove her around saw them, though. Ugh, there has to be a better system. Perhaps we all should pay an annual condom tax and then be allowed to just steal them from the store.
Lastly, I CANNOT buy condoms without wondering what the check-out girl thinks as she holds the box and slides it over the scanner. Is she saying "Right now I'm holding something that will later be rolled onto this man's penis."? I mean, they all handle the box like their ringing up broccoli or something, absolutely no emotion. You would never know that they are embarrassed, but they have to be, right? I'm generally mortified, they have to be a little off-put.
Don't even get me started on buying lube, or porn for that matter!
Different Exit Strategies
Interesting evening last night. I went to my friend's birthday party where Martin, Kay, and Poonani were all in attendance. Woohoo! Andy and his chick South were also there, and South brought along some girl she tried to set me up with.
I made a strategic blunder inviting Poonani along, which was comparable to "getting involved in a land war in Asia". She came with some of her girl friends and the groups weren't all that compatible. I spent the night shuttling between the birthday group and the Poonani group. It also sucked because the bar was crawling with cute girls. The only upside, and it was a rather large upside, is that I didn't have to spend too much time talking to Kay. It's still a little awkward, let's just leave it at that.
South had invited some girl along that she wanted to set me up with. Andy told me about the fix-up ahead of time, but I had already invited Poonani along, so I was curious how that was going to pan out. Turns out the girl was kind of a dud. I chatted with her for thirty minutes or so and eventually determined that she was borderline strange. It mattered little because Poonani eventually chased her away by pawing at me all night. Normally that makes me very uncomfortable in a bar, but last night it was doubly uncomfortable because Kay was there. At one point I was sitting on a stool at the bar and out of no where Poonani grabbed my crotch. I levitated about 3 inches off the stool and let out a girly yelp. I said "What was that for?", she said "You grabbed my ass." The bar was very crowded, and my hand may have grazed her butt, but I don't think it warranted a rough junk-grab.
South had a second friend with her who was visiting from Charlotte, which happens to be where I am going tomorrow for business. She was really cool, and very sexy. Turns out she lives on the same street as one of my offices there. We were going to get together for dinner, but she flies home Thursday morning, and I fly back to DC Wednesday night. I might try to meet up with her some other time since I'm in Charlotte regularly for work. It's too bad she doesn't live in DC, she seemed fairly normal.
At the end of the night I did invite Poonani back to my place but I am glad to report that she politely declined and took a cab home alone. Normally I would bitch and moan about why a girl would grab my dick then not go home with me, however, in this case I will make no such comments, and simply be thankful it didn't happen. I ended up sharing a cab with Andy and South. On the way home Andy said "NN has a hot tub at his house", and South's eye's lit up and she insisted we all go in. I'm all for three people in a hot tub, but not of two of them are dudes. I said I was sick and couldn't go in the tub and she took the hint. That would most certainly have gotten awkward. I mean, they clearly didn't have suits with them, so they would have gone in the tub au natural. Then what was I supposed to do, wear a suit? Go naked? What's the protocol on that? Plus, South is smoking-hot, so I certainly would have gotten a hard-on. That would have been REALLY awkward. I get hard at the drop of a hat. I mean, I got a stiffy just worrying about getting a stiffy simply because I pictured South naked in my fears. Say all you want about how badly women have it with their periods, and having to give birth, at least they don't have a clearly visible barometer of their sexual state for all the world to see. There are few things more embarrassing than an ill-timed boner.
Lastly, I received the following email today from my loony ex, Leeza:
"I tried you yesterday and today. I want to apologize for drunk dialing you last wkend [sic, and it was really three weeks ago]. It was inappropriate on all levels. I had been looking threw [sic] old albums with girlfriends and I have no idea why I thought it was a good idea. There is a part of me that still cares for you very much and I seem to take those feelings and make a complete ass out of myself. I am sure that you officially think I am crazy to say it being that I am married but I am just being honest and that is all I can do at this point. I took it to far the other evening. Other then that, I hope all is well.
L"
(I forgot to mention that during the (growingly infamous) Diwali incident, Leeza called me eight times in sixty minutes.)
It has been ten years since I dated this girl, what is she doing? If this doesn't perfectly illustrate why you should never get married, I don't know what does. I need to stay far, far away from this girl, she has totally gone off the reservation. I blame Facebook.
I read this really funny book about single-life called I'm having more fun than you by a guy names Aaron Karo. I saw it in the bookstore and couldn't resist. I'll end with a quote that I think is appropriate given Loony Leeza's email. It can also be a light-hearted and reasonable response to "Anonymous's" comment in V-Car Part I
"Happily married people and perpetually single people are similar: We've both given up on dating and have merely chosen different exit strategies."
-Aaron Karo
I made a strategic blunder inviting Poonani along, which was comparable to "getting involved in a land war in Asia". She came with some of her girl friends and the groups weren't all that compatible. I spent the night shuttling between the birthday group and the Poonani group. It also sucked because the bar was crawling with cute girls. The only upside, and it was a rather large upside, is that I didn't have to spend too much time talking to Kay. It's still a little awkward, let's just leave it at that.
South had invited some girl along that she wanted to set me up with. Andy told me about the fix-up ahead of time, but I had already invited Poonani along, so I was curious how that was going to pan out. Turns out the girl was kind of a dud. I chatted with her for thirty minutes or so and eventually determined that she was borderline strange. It mattered little because Poonani eventually chased her away by pawing at me all night. Normally that makes me very uncomfortable in a bar, but last night it was doubly uncomfortable because Kay was there. At one point I was sitting on a stool at the bar and out of no where Poonani grabbed my crotch. I levitated about 3 inches off the stool and let out a girly yelp. I said "What was that for?", she said "You grabbed my ass." The bar was very crowded, and my hand may have grazed her butt, but I don't think it warranted a rough junk-grab.
South had a second friend with her who was visiting from Charlotte, which happens to be where I am going tomorrow for business. She was really cool, and very sexy. Turns out she lives on the same street as one of my offices there. We were going to get together for dinner, but she flies home Thursday morning, and I fly back to DC Wednesday night. I might try to meet up with her some other time since I'm in Charlotte regularly for work. It's too bad she doesn't live in DC, she seemed fairly normal.
At the end of the night I did invite Poonani back to my place but I am glad to report that she politely declined and took a cab home alone. Normally I would bitch and moan about why a girl would grab my dick then not go home with me, however, in this case I will make no such comments, and simply be thankful it didn't happen. I ended up sharing a cab with Andy and South. On the way home Andy said "NN has a hot tub at his house", and South's eye's lit up and she insisted we all go in. I'm all for three people in a hot tub, but not of two of them are dudes. I said I was sick and couldn't go in the tub and she took the hint. That would most certainly have gotten awkward. I mean, they clearly didn't have suits with them, so they would have gone in the tub au natural. Then what was I supposed to do, wear a suit? Go naked? What's the protocol on that? Plus, South is smoking-hot, so I certainly would have gotten a hard-on. That would have been REALLY awkward. I get hard at the drop of a hat. I mean, I got a stiffy just worrying about getting a stiffy simply because I pictured South naked in my fears. Say all you want about how badly women have it with their periods, and having to give birth, at least they don't have a clearly visible barometer of their sexual state for all the world to see. There are few things more embarrassing than an ill-timed boner.
Lastly, I received the following email today from my loony ex, Leeza:
"I tried you yesterday and today. I want to apologize for drunk dialing you last wkend [sic, and it was really three weeks ago]. It was inappropriate on all levels. I had been looking threw [sic] old albums with girlfriends and I have no idea why I thought it was a good idea. There is a part of me that still cares for you very much and I seem to take those feelings and make a complete ass out of myself. I am sure that you officially think I am crazy to say it being that I am married but I am just being honest and that is all I can do at this point. I took it to far the other evening. Other then that, I hope all is well.
L"
(I forgot to mention that during the (growingly infamous) Diwali incident, Leeza called me eight times in sixty minutes.)
It has been ten years since I dated this girl, what is she doing? If this doesn't perfectly illustrate why you should never get married, I don't know what does. I need to stay far, far away from this girl, she has totally gone off the reservation. I blame Facebook.
I read this really funny book about single-life called I'm having more fun than you by a guy names Aaron Karo. I saw it in the bookstore and couldn't resist. I'll end with a quote that I think is appropriate given Loony Leeza's email. It can also be a light-hearted and reasonable response to "Anonymous's" comment in V-Car Part I
"Happily married people and perpetually single people are similar: We've both given up on dating and have merely chosen different exit strategies."
-Aaron Karo
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Oink Oink, my good man.
Poonani has the Swine Flu. Fantastic. This coincides perfectly with me feeling like shit today and missing two days of work earlier this week.
Madonna sent me a few more texts about her watch yesterday, which I found on the ground next to the hot tub. That actually makes sense, I can now see why she took it off, it probably wasn't waterproof so she likely laid it on the side of the tub before getting in. After I found the watch I opened the cover of the tub to do my weekly chemical maintenance and found her underwear hovering near the bottom of the tub. I fished them out with a broom handle, a first for me. They really weren't sexy at all, that's so disappointing. Honestly, how can a chick go out on a Saturday night in granny panties, I just don't get it? I threw them into the washing machine. They will eventually end up in the growing pile of ladies unmentionables collecting in the bottom of my t-shirt drawer, right next to the condoms, handcuffs, blindfold, and tube of K-Y. My mom is coming down for Thanksgiving, if she stumbles upon this collection she will probably have a heart attack.
So here's the thing with Madonna, I really don't have much desire to hang out with her again. She was fun and attractive, but there wasn't any spark and I don't see any reason to spend a whole night of my life pretending to be into her. I would feel the same way had I not slept with her, only I would be slightly more motivated to ask her out because I would be curious to see if she was good in bed. I'm sitting here trying to see if there is a lesson to take away from this, because I've certainly been on the other side of the equation.
The question I'm asking myself is - Under what circumstances would I be inclined to go out with Madonna again?. It's not that I'm opposed to going out with her, there wasn't anything horribly wrong with her, I'm just not extremely motivated to spend more time with her. I suppose if Madonna called me and said that there was a great show she wanted to see, or an event at a bar, or some fantastic party, I would probably go. She would at least be showing some enthusiasm. Instead, what I am getting from her is: 'Hey, have you seen my watch?'.
I guess the lesson here is have a plan. For instance, I sent that chick Persia a text one night that said "What r u up to tonight?" and never heard back from her. Instead, maybe I should have said "Want to see Gnarles Barkley 2 night?" or even offered to take her out on the bike, something a little more creative and exciting. I'm just thinking out loud.
Bear called me last night and was all excited. Her friend has a house in Whistler and she invited me to go there the week of Christmas. I was caught totally off guard and didn't have a prepared response (rejection) to throw back at her. I stammered a bit at first but pieced together a reasonable excuse involving family commitments and needing to be home for the holidays. In truth, I could have gone, but there is just no way I am going to Whistler with Bear for Christmas and New Years, it completely out of the question. I realize this contradicts my last paragraph, but it's not the same scenario because I've known Bera for a while. My prior paragraph was meant more for right after meeting a girl. Plus, in regards to Bear, if I want to strangle Bear just watching thirty minutes of TV together, how could I spend a week snowed into a cabin with her?
Martin's sister's birthday is Saturday, we're all going out for drinks together to celebrate. Poonani's brother will be there, so I'll ask her if she wants to come, but I suspect she won't want to because she's still not feeling well. I like the bar they picked, always high potential for antics.
I have some travel coming up next week, so I anticipate some good stories.
Madonna sent me a few more texts about her watch yesterday, which I found on the ground next to the hot tub. That actually makes sense, I can now see why she took it off, it probably wasn't waterproof so she likely laid it on the side of the tub before getting in. After I found the watch I opened the cover of the tub to do my weekly chemical maintenance and found her underwear hovering near the bottom of the tub. I fished them out with a broom handle, a first for me. They really weren't sexy at all, that's so disappointing. Honestly, how can a chick go out on a Saturday night in granny panties, I just don't get it? I threw them into the washing machine. They will eventually end up in the growing pile of ladies unmentionables collecting in the bottom of my t-shirt drawer, right next to the condoms, handcuffs, blindfold, and tube of K-Y. My mom is coming down for Thanksgiving, if she stumbles upon this collection she will probably have a heart attack.
So here's the thing with Madonna, I really don't have much desire to hang out with her again. She was fun and attractive, but there wasn't any spark and I don't see any reason to spend a whole night of my life pretending to be into her. I would feel the same way had I not slept with her, only I would be slightly more motivated to ask her out because I would be curious to see if she was good in bed. I'm sitting here trying to see if there is a lesson to take away from this, because I've certainly been on the other side of the equation.
The question I'm asking myself is - Under what circumstances would I be inclined to go out with Madonna again?. It's not that I'm opposed to going out with her, there wasn't anything horribly wrong with her, I'm just not extremely motivated to spend more time with her. I suppose if Madonna called me and said that there was a great show she wanted to see, or an event at a bar, or some fantastic party, I would probably go. She would at least be showing some enthusiasm. Instead, what I am getting from her is: 'Hey, have you seen my watch?'.
I guess the lesson here is have a plan. For instance, I sent that chick Persia a text one night that said "What r u up to tonight?" and never heard back from her. Instead, maybe I should have said "Want to see Gnarles Barkley 2 night?" or even offered to take her out on the bike, something a little more creative and exciting. I'm just thinking out loud.
Bear called me last night and was all excited. Her friend has a house in Whistler and she invited me to go there the week of Christmas. I was caught totally off guard and didn't have a prepared response (rejection) to throw back at her. I stammered a bit at first but pieced together a reasonable excuse involving family commitments and needing to be home for the holidays. In truth, I could have gone, but there is just no way I am going to Whistler with Bear for Christmas and New Years, it completely out of the question. I realize this contradicts my last paragraph, but it's not the same scenario because I've known Bera for a while. My prior paragraph was meant more for right after meeting a girl. Plus, in regards to Bear, if I want to strangle Bear just watching thirty minutes of TV together, how could I spend a week snowed into a cabin with her?
Martin's sister's birthday is Saturday, we're all going out for drinks together to celebrate. Poonani's brother will be there, so I'll ask her if she wants to come, but I suspect she won't want to because she's still not feeling well. I like the bar they picked, always high potential for antics.
I have some travel coming up next week, so I anticipate some good stories.
stuffBay
They say that the hardest part of breaking up is getting your stuff back. I agree, and think there is a business opportunity here. There should be a website where you can offer items back to your ex, or to a past hookup, with complete amnesty. We can call it stuffBay, or perhaps something clever. If the ex wants the items back he/she must pay a small fixed fee, plus shipping. Or, there can be regional offices for drop-off and pick-up.
For instance, I could go to my regional office and drop-off the gold hoop earring that has been on my dresser for 13 months, along with Rojo's email address. stuffBay would then notify Rojo via email that she has an item to be picked up, and it's over. If she doesn't show within 30 days they can sell it.
Think about how many awkward meetings this will help alleviate. More importantly, think about the sheer volume of goods this site will move. This is an untapped billion dollar industry. If there are any readers who are VC's, give me a call.
The reason I bring this up is two-fold. The first is, I have a vast and random assortment of crap at my house from various girls. Earrings, shoes, clothes, a snow board, all kinds of crap. The second is that last night Madonna sent me a text asking if I had come across her watch. Who leaves a watch behind, don't you notice it's not on your fucking wrist? Or, did she leave it behind on purpose? Do people really do that?
Who knows.
For instance, I could go to my regional office and drop-off the gold hoop earring that has been on my dresser for 13 months, along with Rojo's email address. stuffBay would then notify Rojo via email that she has an item to be picked up, and it's over. If she doesn't show within 30 days they can sell it.
Think about how many awkward meetings this will help alleviate. More importantly, think about the sheer volume of goods this site will move. This is an untapped billion dollar industry. If there are any readers who are VC's, give me a call.
The reason I bring this up is two-fold. The first is, I have a vast and random assortment of crap at my house from various girls. Earrings, shoes, clothes, a snow board, all kinds of crap. The second is that last night Madonna sent me a text asking if I had come across her watch. Who leaves a watch behind, don't you notice it's not on your fucking wrist? Or, did she leave it behind on purpose? Do people really do that?
Who knows.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Trick or Treat
Halloween party at Che NN was a good time on Friday, though the weather didn't fully cooperate and everyone was a bit water logged by the end of the night from the steady mist. It was a little tense for me because both Bear and Poonani were in attendance, but I was happy to see that Kay never showed up.
I spent the night bouncing around the party making sure ice and booze were well stocked, but also trying to keep Bear and Poonani apart. Bear was under control, but Poonani got hammered and was coming on pretty strong. At one point I complimented Poonani on her boots, which had a band of fur around the top (she was an indian for Halloween - feather, not dot - which was ironic since she is from India), to which she replied "I have fur in another place that I can show you later." It's not often that I am at a loss for words, but she threw me off enough with that comment that I just took a sip of my beer and walked away while she giggled. Poonani and I have this thing where we make lots of sexual innuendos to each other. The goal seems to be to out shock the other person. She is winning.
I am going to try and go out with Poonani this week and have a chat with her about what it is that we're doing together. I don't want to mislead her.
In the end, Poonani's friends poured her into the back seat of their car and drove her home. Bear spent the night but I'm growing tired of her. Again she lingered a bit too long in the morning. I think the rule should be that from the time you wake up, you are allowed to stay 15 minutes for each time you had sex with the person. For instance, if you take a girl home from the bar and have sex three times, and you wake up at 9am, she has to be out of your house by 9:45am. I think that's more than fair.
Saturday night I went to a house party in Columbia Heights. Bear was out with her friends, though she did try to meet up late night by texting me at 2am, but I never responded to that. Poonani was in the neighborhood at another party and sent me a few texts to see if I wanted to meet up, but I didn't respond to her either because of Madonna.
Madonna was a girl I met at the house party who was obviously wearing a Madonna costume. There were actually a couple of cute girls at the party, including one very tattooed yoga instructor, but Madonna walked up to me out of the blue and said "Nice costume, want to trade?". I was in a one-piece gorilla costume, and Madonna had on a corset, tutu, black leggings, and a bunch of jewelery. I said "Absolutely!", and we went upstairs into the bathroom.
Madonna: Madonna is 26, blond, with a pretty nice body. She's tall, probably 5'9", slender but fairly muscular. Madonna was cute and the life of the party.
It's pretty much a foregone conclusion you are going to have sex with someone after you strip naked and exchange clothing, so it actually takes a lot of pressure off the night. What I mean is, once we were naked together we both relaxed and could enjoy the rest of the night. We swapped costumes, hung out at the party for two more hours, then I said "So, I have a hot tub, want to go back to my place and take a dip?". She said sure, and within 15 minutes we were in a cab on our way back to my place.
Actually, there was one catch in getting Madonna to come home with me, and that was getting her older sister out of the picture. The sister had clearly taken her role as "Enforcer" for the night very seriously. At 2am the sister said she was leaving, so when Madonna said she was going to stay a major sibling spat ensued. Madonna won out and the sister stormed off home alone. Sometimes I think the enforcer, the girl who makes sure all her girls make it home safe at night, become the enforcer because they don't get enough attention from men. It's like the first step in becoming a lesbian. Honestly, why do they care if their girl friends hook up?
Back at my house Madonna and I spent an hour in the hot tub then moved inside at about 4 am. The sex was pretty mundane, nothing special to report except that Madonna has a HUGE bush. What's going on? I really don't approve of this trend at all. I may go on strike and not go down on any girl with a hairy chooch. We didn't get out of bed until 2pm the next day, at which point I told her I had to be in Georgetown at 3 to help a friend move. This was a lie to get her out of bed, which she didn't seem in a hurry to do. We got coffee and I drove her home. Ironically, she lived about 100 feet from my ex, Rojo. As she was giving me directions to her condo I was getting a little nervous. With my luck they would know each other.
Last night Bear sent me a text that said "Pinocchio!". I asked her how her night was, and she never explained the "liar" reference. I never lied to her, so I don't know what she's talking about.
Yesterday I was walking the hound and I saw Dog Girl go into a house right on my block. I was shocked, how could a girl as cute as her move into my neighborhood without me noticing? I could hit her house with a baseball from my porch. The downside is I recall that one day I saw a Ducati parked in the front courtyard of the house she lives in. I would like to believe that it is hers, but in reality there aren't many girls that ride 1000cc Ducati's. More likely it's her boyfriend's.
I have no idea what I'm doing at this point. I'm seeing one girl I don't like, I'm involved in something with a girl I don't want to hook up with, and now I'm hooking up with a girl I don't want to be involved in something with.
Side Note: How can women lose so much hair without being bald? Bear's hair is all over my house and now there are blond hairs everywhere. I think it's a way for women to mark their territory. It's like when bull moose use their antlers to scratch the bark off trees, it warns other moose to stay away.
I spent the night bouncing around the party making sure ice and booze were well stocked, but also trying to keep Bear and Poonani apart. Bear was under control, but Poonani got hammered and was coming on pretty strong. At one point I complimented Poonani on her boots, which had a band of fur around the top (she was an indian for Halloween - feather, not dot - which was ironic since she is from India), to which she replied "I have fur in another place that I can show you later." It's not often that I am at a loss for words, but she threw me off enough with that comment that I just took a sip of my beer and walked away while she giggled. Poonani and I have this thing where we make lots of sexual innuendos to each other. The goal seems to be to out shock the other person. She is winning.
I am going to try and go out with Poonani this week and have a chat with her about what it is that we're doing together. I don't want to mislead her.
In the end, Poonani's friends poured her into the back seat of their car and drove her home. Bear spent the night but I'm growing tired of her. Again she lingered a bit too long in the morning. I think the rule should be that from the time you wake up, you are allowed to stay 15 minutes for each time you had sex with the person. For instance, if you take a girl home from the bar and have sex three times, and you wake up at 9am, she has to be out of your house by 9:45am. I think that's more than fair.
Saturday night I went to a house party in Columbia Heights. Bear was out with her friends, though she did try to meet up late night by texting me at 2am, but I never responded to that. Poonani was in the neighborhood at another party and sent me a few texts to see if I wanted to meet up, but I didn't respond to her either because of Madonna.
Madonna was a girl I met at the house party who was obviously wearing a Madonna costume. There were actually a couple of cute girls at the party, including one very tattooed yoga instructor, but Madonna walked up to me out of the blue and said "Nice costume, want to trade?". I was in a one-piece gorilla costume, and Madonna had on a corset, tutu, black leggings, and a bunch of jewelery. I said "Absolutely!", and we went upstairs into the bathroom.
Madonna: Madonna is 26, blond, with a pretty nice body. She's tall, probably 5'9", slender but fairly muscular. Madonna was cute and the life of the party.
It's pretty much a foregone conclusion you are going to have sex with someone after you strip naked and exchange clothing, so it actually takes a lot of pressure off the night. What I mean is, once we were naked together we both relaxed and could enjoy the rest of the night. We swapped costumes, hung out at the party for two more hours, then I said "So, I have a hot tub, want to go back to my place and take a dip?". She said sure, and within 15 minutes we were in a cab on our way back to my place.
Actually, there was one catch in getting Madonna to come home with me, and that was getting her older sister out of the picture. The sister had clearly taken her role as "Enforcer" for the night very seriously. At 2am the sister said she was leaving, so when Madonna said she was going to stay a major sibling spat ensued. Madonna won out and the sister stormed off home alone. Sometimes I think the enforcer, the girl who makes sure all her girls make it home safe at night, become the enforcer because they don't get enough attention from men. It's like the first step in becoming a lesbian. Honestly, why do they care if their girl friends hook up?
Back at my house Madonna and I spent an hour in the hot tub then moved inside at about 4 am. The sex was pretty mundane, nothing special to report except that Madonna has a HUGE bush. What's going on? I really don't approve of this trend at all. I may go on strike and not go down on any girl with a hairy chooch. We didn't get out of bed until 2pm the next day, at which point I told her I had to be in Georgetown at 3 to help a friend move. This was a lie to get her out of bed, which she didn't seem in a hurry to do. We got coffee and I drove her home. Ironically, she lived about 100 feet from my ex, Rojo. As she was giving me directions to her condo I was getting a little nervous. With my luck they would know each other.
Last night Bear sent me a text that said "Pinocchio!". I asked her how her night was, and she never explained the "liar" reference. I never lied to her, so I don't know what she's talking about.
Yesterday I was walking the hound and I saw Dog Girl go into a house right on my block. I was shocked, how could a girl as cute as her move into my neighborhood without me noticing? I could hit her house with a baseball from my porch. The downside is I recall that one day I saw a Ducati parked in the front courtyard of the house she lives in. I would like to believe that it is hers, but in reality there aren't many girls that ride 1000cc Ducati's. More likely it's her boyfriend's.
I have no idea what I'm doing at this point. I'm seeing one girl I don't like, I'm involved in something with a girl I don't want to hook up with, and now I'm hooking up with a girl I don't want to be involved in something with.
Side Note: How can women lose so much hair without being bald? Bear's hair is all over my house and now there are blond hairs everywhere. I think it's a way for women to mark their territory. It's like when bull moose use their antlers to scratch the bark off trees, it warns other moose to stay away.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
