And suffering I am today.
Getting a little stir crazy from a lack of exercise, I decided to ignore my doctor's orders and go to the gym last night. I tried to lift some weights, but I heard a nauseating "clicking" sound in my sternum with each rep, so I thought it best to stop. "If I can't lift, and I can't run, I'll ride", and hopped on a stationary bicycle. The last time I rode a stationary bike I was in 12th grade. A few guys on my wrestling team and I were trying to "suck weight" the night before "New England's". Like hundreds of times before, we had placed three bikes in the men's room shower and turned all the heads on as hot as they would go, simulating a spa. We then put on our rubber suits, and a few sweat shirts each, and rode until we made weight. Obviously, I don't have fond memories of riding exercise bikes.
I rode for about 30 minutes with the bike programed for "random hill climb". I rode as hard and fast as I could. Sometimes my legs would be spinning like 5000rpm's, and when the bike was simulating a (seemingly vertical) incline, I could barely churn out three pumps in 30 seconds. When the timer finally hit my predetermined 30 minute limit, I wasn't sure I could stand if I got off the seat. I eventually did, and walked into the aerobics room to stretch my legs. I found myself saying "I'm so fucking out of shape. I really have to do something about this." My shirt was totally soaked, and I could feel that the back of my shorts were soaked as well (swamp-ass, that's nice). I also noticed I was drooling. I went into a little nook by the trainer's office and spit a giant, disgusting wad into a trash can. I rounded the corner out of the nook with my head down, and saw a lanky orange figure walking towards me. I looked up, pulled focus, and saw it was GG. She clearly heard me just spit into a trash can. "Awesome.", I meant to think it, but it came out of my mouth. I made eye contact and half heartedly nodded at her, and in return, she half-smiled back.
I am always embarrassing myself in front of women, but it doesn't seem to hurt my chances with them.
The summer after I graduated college I worked as a doorman at a bar, and I had a huge crush on this waitress, Jill. I flirted with her, but never really got much positive feedback from her.
One Sunday morning I was riding the train home from NYC, where I had gone out partying with my college friends who lived in the city. I was riding alone, and had come strait from the bar to the train. I was in that weird limbo between drunk and hung-over where you seem to be hovering just outside of your own body, witnessing yourself in the third-person. While I sat there I could feel my boxers riding up, but I was too shot to care at first. Eventually, however, I felt like the waist band was at my chest, so I walked to the restroom three cars away. In the restroom I undid my pants, pulled down my boxers, and then put myself back together. This had never happened to me before, I was just so fucking uncomfortable.
I walked back to my seat, but by the time I got there my boxers were back up at my chest. I was furious. "What the fuck! Why is this happening to me? Just let me fucking sleep." I said out loud to no one. A few people around me were starting to look a little nervous.
Rather than walk all the way back to the car with the bathroom, I walked forward half a car length and out the door of the car. I stood on that tiny platform between the two speeding trains and unzipped my fly. I reached into my pants with my right hand and grabbed hold of one of the legs of my boxers and pulled it down. I then repeated the process with my left hand. Before I could withdraw my left hand from my pants I heard the door behind me open up. "Oh shit" I though "you're busted". I took quiet solice in the fact that I probably wouldn't know the person who will undoubtedly think for the rest of his or her life that they caught someone masturbating on a platform between two moving trains in the Bronx. As slickly as I could I stood up, withdrew my arm from my pants, and moved forward through the door in front of me (even though my jacket was in the car behind me). I moved into the train and swung around and sat in the first empty seat. I looked down, my fly was wide open, so I covered the gap with my arm. When I looked back up Jill was standing in the isle next to me. She said "NN? What are you doing?"
I did a lot of double-talking to distract Jill from the fact that she just caught me elbow-deep in my own zipper. I sat with her and her friends the rest of the ride home. When the train got to our stop Jill took my number and later that night we met out for a beer. Two days later we hooked up and were friends with benefits for about three months. Jill later admitted that she saw I had my hand in my pants, and never fully believed I wasn't playing with myself.
I don't think a big nasty lugy will kill my chances with GG, if there ever was a chance.
Yesterday I texted that girl Lavita, who I met at Madam's Organ a few months ago (Lobster or Leftovers). She was the bi-sexual chick that was covered in huge tattoos. I haven't talked to her in months, but she didn't think it was at all unusual to get a text from me out of the clear blue. She suggested we meet up this week for a drink.
I leave tonight for a short business trip. I will be back in the city late Friday night, maybe I will get together with Lavita then.
Bear invited me to go hiking/climbing on Saturday, but I declined, my ribs are still killing me, and if I fell I would surely crack more.
Finally, I read this great quote in Ultra Marathon Man, Confessions of an All-night Runner, by Dean Karnazes.
"Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming: 'Wow! What a ride!'"
I thought it was appropriate.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Monday, September 28, 2009
Weekend Recap
Friday afternoon was pretty much miserable. I was in a foul mood and wasn't feeling very social. I was torn between renting a movie and staying in, or meeting some friends at Bread Soda in Glover Park. I feared staying in would turn in me sitting on the couch drinking too many beers. I opted to go out and drink too many beers.
One of the guys I was meeting out was Andy, who was on a second date with some girl, we'll call her South because she had this really strong southern accent. South lived near the bar, so meeting up with us was a strategic move to get closer to her place. Apparently, it panned out nicely for him.
We played pool and made small talk. During our conversation I learned that South works in the building across from my office. I also learned that she does the exact some thing (it's somewhat specialized) as Gym Girl. I said "I realize the odds are pretty long, but do you know Gym Girl (obviously, I used her real name)?" She said "Of course, Gym Girl is great, I have lunch with her every week! How do you know her?" That's a tricky question, I wasn't sure how to answer, so I said "I'm stalking her in the gym." South had a good sense of humor and laughed really hard. I said, "Actually, I don't know her all that well. We met in the gym. She went to the same college as one of my sisters and some of my friends." South went on "GG is GORGEOUS, isn't she?" I liked where this was heading. "Yeah, she's super-hot, and seems very cool. I, on the other hand, am a total retard around her." In her accent, South said "Awwwww, I doubt that. Who knows, maybe you're 'Hot Gym Guy'. GG has been dating some guy, but I don't like him. Would you like to get set up with her?" I almost tackled her, but composed myself, "Sure". South said "I'll see what I can do." I left it at that.
An hour later I was at the bar waiting for a drink when a chick put her arm around me and said "'81, good year!" I said "what?". She continued "The 81 on your shirt, 81 is a good year, it's when I was born". I had on an old motorcycle racing shirt that had the number '81' on the back. We talked for a while, but she was pretty drunk, and I was still riding high on the possibility of going out with GG. I thought it best that South didn't see me drag some mediocre drunk chick home from the bar. It was tough because she was a layup, she was all over me while we talked. I eventually got in a cab and went home alone at about 2:30am.
Saturday night Bear came over and we watched football. After the games were over she reached down and grabbed my crotch and said "It's been nine months, I'm looking forward to this." I just clicked off the TV and we went down to my room. We had sex for about an hour and a half, then passed out exhausted. At 4am something woke me up, though I'm not sure what. It could have been the hard-on I had. I reached over and grabbed Bear, pulling her over to my side of the bed, and pressed myself against her back and butt. She said "You're sex addiction isn't my problem, go back to sleep!" There was no chance of that. We went at it again, but it was a quickie.
In the morning Bear and I went to Eastern Market to get coffee and we ran into a good friend of Kay's. "Great, this is going to work out well" I thought. I made the awkward introductions, which were compounded by the fact that Bear was wearing three-inch heels and attire that was clearly suited for Saturday night, not Sunday morning. Shortly thereafter, Bear and I each went to our respective homes.
About 15 minutes after I got home Kay sent me a text asking to meet up to talk. There really wasn't anything to talk about, but I agreed. The first thing she said when we met was "I heard you saw ... at the coffee shop this morning", I just said "Yup". Kay didn't press me about it, but she made a face that she always does when she's uncomfortable. Our "talk" was not very productive. She tried in vain to explain what happened, but in truth she didn't know herself what had happened. She didn't meet someone else, she liked hanging out, she had made her weekend plans months ago, she just decided she didn't want to date me. I figured that was fair enough, and appreciated the candor.
That's about it.
Post Mortem:
Right after I hit "post" for this entry, I talked to my good friend Chuck. I value his input, but I think the advice from his wife is particularly interesting because a) it is a female perspective and b) because she knows Kay. Chuck thought that I was quick to shut the door on Kay. He may be right. His wife also thought that I was acting abruptly, and that I should have taken a more casual approach. Again, she may be right, but these are also the people that said I should tell Kay how I feel after I found her match.com profile.
I am going to stick to my gut reaction and do nothing for a while.
One of the guys I was meeting out was Andy, who was on a second date with some girl, we'll call her South because she had this really strong southern accent. South lived near the bar, so meeting up with us was a strategic move to get closer to her place. Apparently, it panned out nicely for him.
We played pool and made small talk. During our conversation I learned that South works in the building across from my office. I also learned that she does the exact some thing (it's somewhat specialized) as Gym Girl. I said "I realize the odds are pretty long, but do you know Gym Girl (obviously, I used her real name)?" She said "Of course, Gym Girl is great, I have lunch with her every week! How do you know her?" That's a tricky question, I wasn't sure how to answer, so I said "I'm stalking her in the gym." South had a good sense of humor and laughed really hard. I said, "Actually, I don't know her all that well. We met in the gym. She went to the same college as one of my sisters and some of my friends." South went on "GG is GORGEOUS, isn't she?" I liked where this was heading. "Yeah, she's super-hot, and seems very cool. I, on the other hand, am a total retard around her." In her accent, South said "Awwwww, I doubt that. Who knows, maybe you're 'Hot Gym Guy'. GG has been dating some guy, but I don't like him. Would you like to get set up with her?" I almost tackled her, but composed myself, "Sure". South said "I'll see what I can do." I left it at that.
An hour later I was at the bar waiting for a drink when a chick put her arm around me and said "'81, good year!" I said "what?". She continued "The 81 on your shirt, 81 is a good year, it's when I was born". I had on an old motorcycle racing shirt that had the number '81' on the back. We talked for a while, but she was pretty drunk, and I was still riding high on the possibility of going out with GG. I thought it best that South didn't see me drag some mediocre drunk chick home from the bar. It was tough because she was a layup, she was all over me while we talked. I eventually got in a cab and went home alone at about 2:30am.
Saturday night Bear came over and we watched football. After the games were over she reached down and grabbed my crotch and said "It's been nine months, I'm looking forward to this." I just clicked off the TV and we went down to my room. We had sex for about an hour and a half, then passed out exhausted. At 4am something woke me up, though I'm not sure what. It could have been the hard-on I had. I reached over and grabbed Bear, pulling her over to my side of the bed, and pressed myself against her back and butt. She said "You're sex addiction isn't my problem, go back to sleep!" There was no chance of that. We went at it again, but it was a quickie.
In the morning Bear and I went to Eastern Market to get coffee and we ran into a good friend of Kay's. "Great, this is going to work out well" I thought. I made the awkward introductions, which were compounded by the fact that Bear was wearing three-inch heels and attire that was clearly suited for Saturday night, not Sunday morning. Shortly thereafter, Bear and I each went to our respective homes.
About 15 minutes after I got home Kay sent me a text asking to meet up to talk. There really wasn't anything to talk about, but I agreed. The first thing she said when we met was "I heard you saw ... at the coffee shop this morning", I just said "Yup". Kay didn't press me about it, but she made a face that she always does when she's uncomfortable. Our "talk" was not very productive. She tried in vain to explain what happened, but in truth she didn't know herself what had happened. She didn't meet someone else, she liked hanging out, she had made her weekend plans months ago, she just decided she didn't want to date me. I figured that was fair enough, and appreciated the candor.
That's about it.
Post Mortem:
Right after I hit "post" for this entry, I talked to my good friend Chuck. I value his input, but I think the advice from his wife is particularly interesting because a) it is a female perspective and b) because she knows Kay. Chuck thought that I was quick to shut the door on Kay. He may be right. His wife also thought that I was acting abruptly, and that I should have taken a more casual approach. Again, she may be right, but these are also the people that said I should tell Kay how I feel after I found her match.com profile.
I am going to stick to my gut reaction and do nothing for a while.
Friday, September 25, 2009
WATCH THE CANOPY!
I suppose I could have written this post a week ago, or a month ago for that matter. Growing up with three sisters takes away a lot of the surprises when dealing with women. I was a fly on the wall in a sorority house for the first 18 years of my life.
Towards the end of last week I was getting a weird vibe from Kay. She would try to distance herself a bit one day, then the next she would say something like "Hey a great band is playing at the 9:30 club at the end of October, I got us tickets". Then she would go radio-silent for a few days again. It was emotionally draining. I have never experienced so much second-guessing.
Things really got strange when I got home from my trip, she would return my calls late at night and not leave messages. I took it as a sign she was avoiding me. On Wednesday I sent Kay a message asking what she wanted to do this weekend and never heard back from her. I knew with the utmost certainty that it was over, she had met someone else.
Wednesday afternoon one of the VP's in my office dropped off four great tickets to the Nats game against the Dodgers. Since I wasn't getting any replies from Kay I shot Bear a text asking her if she wanted to go. Within minutes my phone beeped. I was hoping it was a message from Kay, but it said "Bear: Yes! Logistics?". To be honest, I thought I could ignore what was going on with Kay and just get a beer and a hot dog with Bear at a ball game.
The game was fun, then we stopped at Lola's for a drink afterwards. I had walked from my house to the stadium and back to Lola's, and my ribs were really killing me, I needed a break. Bear and I had a few beers, then someone next to us ordered shots of Patron. I gagged a little at the mere smell of it. Bear saw me and without hesitation yells across the bar "Two more of those, chilled!". I thought "OK, now she's getting me drunk. Just a beer, and a hot dog, and a shot. Nothing more..." We did the shot and had another beer. The bar was closing so I walked Bear home, which was on the way to my house (she only lives a few blocks from me). A second after we got to Bear's front door it started to pour and we were instantly soaked. Bear lives in the basement apartment of a house, so we ducked under the steps to get out of the rain. It looked like it was only a passing shower. She said "I've been seeing someone for fours months, you can't come in. Plus I saw you walking one night holding some girl's (Kay's) hand." I said "Who said I WANTED to come in?" With that, we kissed.
I'm 80% sure I initiated the kiss, but I'm not certain. Within seconds Bear's shirt was off and her skirt was hiked up to her waist. She undid my pants and we were all over each other. The rain kept coming down, but it was like rush hour on her sidewalk, 25 people must have passed by while we were under that porch. Anyone could have just looked down and saw us. For the record, we didn't actually have sex, but we did everything else. Bear is such a little freak, I missed that. When we were both spent we tried our best to fix our clothes and I went home.
It's amazing, remorse strikes you a fraction of an instant after you orgasm. It's like a Batman comic "WHAM! I'm coming! Ahhhh! KABOOM! Noooooo!"
Yesterday I was a mess. My side, my head, and my heart all killed.
At 8pm I was on the couch reading. Actually, I was on the couch staring at one page in a book, moving my eyes over the same line, when the phone rang. "Fuck, it's Kay." I answered and after a few seconds of small talk she said "Ugh, I'm still at work, I have to take this other call." Twenty minutes later she called back. There was more small talk, then an awkward pause. I said "So, haven't heard from you in a while, what's up?" She went on about how work was crazy, but I knew she was stalling. I said "What are your plans this weekend?", she had the fucking gall to say "I have plans on Friday, and a charity event on Saturday night, can we get together Sunday?"
I would like to think that I am a rational person, but I absolutely exploded on the inside. Did she think I was an idiot? Was I stupid? After two months of seeing each other almost ever minute of every weekend, would I not think this is strange? I thought "Oh sure, see you Sunday. Have a great time. Don't forget to use a condom!"
I finally mustered "Let me say this out loud in case I missed something" I was doing my best to control my volume, I was starting to shout a little "I don't see you since last Wednesday, and you make plans all weekend? Kay, what the fuck are you talking about?" She started to double talk, she said something about not hearing from me...I cut her off "I haven't heard anything from you since Sunday! I hardly ever hear from you. Don't piss on my leg and tell me it's raining. I can handle the truth. And I don't like being led on..."
My rant, and it was a rant, continued for a few minutes. She got a few words in, but I would say I did most of the talking. I finished with "You can call me if you want to talk, but I don't want to hear any more of this. You know how to reach me." and I said good bye.
Twice during the (exactly) eight minute call I mentally pictured her thumbing the "eject" button.
I really feel like I got steam rolled. Yeah, I cheated, but only after I saw the writing on the wall. I knew it was over before the baseball game Wednesday. Thursday I was filled with self-hatred and anger. If, by some chance, my call with Kay had gone differently, and everything was dandy, would I have told her about my session with Bear? I don't know. The guilt would probably have gotten to me and I would have cracked. I have said it before, I don't cheat. Yes, I did here, but I stand by my instinct that it was over long before took Bear's clothes off.
I almost feel guilty saying it, but I am sure I will go to the bars this weekend and drown my sorrow in wine and women.
Towards the end of last week I was getting a weird vibe from Kay. She would try to distance herself a bit one day, then the next she would say something like "Hey a great band is playing at the 9:30 club at the end of October, I got us tickets". Then she would go radio-silent for a few days again. It was emotionally draining. I have never experienced so much second-guessing.
Things really got strange when I got home from my trip, she would return my calls late at night and not leave messages. I took it as a sign she was avoiding me. On Wednesday I sent Kay a message asking what she wanted to do this weekend and never heard back from her. I knew with the utmost certainty that it was over, she had met someone else.
Wednesday afternoon one of the VP's in my office dropped off four great tickets to the Nats game against the Dodgers. Since I wasn't getting any replies from Kay I shot Bear a text asking her if she wanted to go. Within minutes my phone beeped. I was hoping it was a message from Kay, but it said "Bear: Yes! Logistics?". To be honest, I thought I could ignore what was going on with Kay and just get a beer and a hot dog with Bear at a ball game.
The game was fun, then we stopped at Lola's for a drink afterwards. I had walked from my house to the stadium and back to Lola's, and my ribs were really killing me, I needed a break. Bear and I had a few beers, then someone next to us ordered shots of Patron. I gagged a little at the mere smell of it. Bear saw me and without hesitation yells across the bar "Two more of those, chilled!". I thought "OK, now she's getting me drunk. Just a beer, and a hot dog, and a shot. Nothing more..." We did the shot and had another beer. The bar was closing so I walked Bear home, which was on the way to my house (she only lives a few blocks from me). A second after we got to Bear's front door it started to pour and we were instantly soaked. Bear lives in the basement apartment of a house, so we ducked under the steps to get out of the rain. It looked like it was only a passing shower. She said "I've been seeing someone for fours months, you can't come in. Plus I saw you walking one night holding some girl's (Kay's) hand." I said "Who said I WANTED to come in?" With that, we kissed.
I'm 80% sure I initiated the kiss, but I'm not certain. Within seconds Bear's shirt was off and her skirt was hiked up to her waist. She undid my pants and we were all over each other. The rain kept coming down, but it was like rush hour on her sidewalk, 25 people must have passed by while we were under that porch. Anyone could have just looked down and saw us. For the record, we didn't actually have sex, but we did everything else. Bear is such a little freak, I missed that. When we were both spent we tried our best to fix our clothes and I went home.
It's amazing, remorse strikes you a fraction of an instant after you orgasm. It's like a Batman comic "WHAM! I'm coming! Ahhhh! KABOOM! Noooooo!"
Yesterday I was a mess. My side, my head, and my heart all killed.
At 8pm I was on the couch reading. Actually, I was on the couch staring at one page in a book, moving my eyes over the same line, when the phone rang. "Fuck, it's Kay." I answered and after a few seconds of small talk she said "Ugh, I'm still at work, I have to take this other call." Twenty minutes later she called back. There was more small talk, then an awkward pause. I said "So, haven't heard from you in a while, what's up?" She went on about how work was crazy, but I knew she was stalling. I said "What are your plans this weekend?", she had the fucking gall to say "I have plans on Friday, and a charity event on Saturday night, can we get together Sunday?"
I would like to think that I am a rational person, but I absolutely exploded on the inside. Did she think I was an idiot? Was I stupid? After two months of seeing each other almost ever minute of every weekend, would I not think this is strange? I thought "Oh sure, see you Sunday. Have a great time. Don't forget to use a condom!"
I finally mustered "Let me say this out loud in case I missed something" I was doing my best to control my volume, I was starting to shout a little "I don't see you since last Wednesday, and you make plans all weekend? Kay, what the fuck are you talking about?" She started to double talk, she said something about not hearing from me...I cut her off "I haven't heard anything from you since Sunday! I hardly ever hear from you. Don't piss on my leg and tell me it's raining. I can handle the truth. And I don't like being led on..."
My rant, and it was a rant, continued for a few minutes. She got a few words in, but I would say I did most of the talking. I finished with "You can call me if you want to talk, but I don't want to hear any more of this. You know how to reach me." and I said good bye.
Twice during the (exactly) eight minute call I mentally pictured her thumbing the "eject" button.
I really feel like I got steam rolled. Yeah, I cheated, but only after I saw the writing on the wall. I knew it was over before the baseball game Wednesday. Thursday I was filled with self-hatred and anger. If, by some chance, my call with Kay had gone differently, and everything was dandy, would I have told her about my session with Bear? I don't know. The guilt would probably have gotten to me and I would have cracked. I have said it before, I don't cheat. Yes, I did here, but I stand by my instinct that it was over long before took Bear's clothes off.
I almost feel guilty saying it, but I am sure I will go to the bars this weekend and drown my sorrow in wine and women.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Text Messages
The pain in my side has roughly doubled every day since Saturday, which I don't think is a sign that "it" is healing, whatever "it" is. Still no blood, but I decided it might be prudent to have a doctor take a look at it, preferably through an x-ray machine. I made an appointment for this afternoon.
Kay has been incommunicado for most of this week due to a "surprise SEC audit" of her firm. In my experience this is not a good thing. She says they have her working from 6am to 11pm every day. I think she takes her job a little too seriously, or she can't balance the work load. No one should be expected to work from 6am to 11pm as often as she is. At least, not as an accountant. Plus, I don't think she gets paid all that much, her job blows.
For the most part, Kay is not great about returning calls or texts, especially when things get crazy at work. A few months ago I would have been questioning and analyzing why I haven't heard from her, and what is going on. But now that I know her better I understand that this is just the way she operates. Unfortunately, I still don't trust her 100%, though. This is just how I am wired. Some people start thinking that everyone is instrinsically good, and then downgrade them based on negative actions. I, on the other hand, work the opposite. I generally think all people are shits, and upgrade their status based only on their good behavior. You're less prone to disappointment this way.
I think Kay has a similar philosophy. I can't help but think that she always has one hand on the "eject" button.
Kay has been incommunicado for most of this week due to a "surprise SEC audit" of her firm. In my experience this is not a good thing. She says they have her working from 6am to 11pm every day. I think she takes her job a little too seriously, or she can't balance the work load. No one should be expected to work from 6am to 11pm as often as she is. At least, not as an accountant. Plus, I don't think she gets paid all that much, her job blows.
For the most part, Kay is not great about returning calls or texts, especially when things get crazy at work. A few months ago I would have been questioning and analyzing why I haven't heard from her, and what is going on. But now that I know her better I understand that this is just the way she operates. Unfortunately, I still don't trust her 100%, though. This is just how I am wired. Some people start thinking that everyone is instrinsically good, and then downgrade them based on negative actions. I, on the other hand, work the opposite. I generally think all people are shits, and upgrade their status based only on their good behavior. You're less prone to disappointment this way.
I think Kay has a similar philosophy. I can't help but think that she always has one hand on the "eject" button.
Monday, September 21, 2009
You can never go home again
This past weekend was fantastic, we had a great time. Today, however, I am paying the price for our antics.
This morning I am nursing a slight hangover, one or more broken ribs, a broken (or very badly sprained) left middle finger, and a multitude of cuts and bruises. I am sure that few players on the field from this weekend's actual game are in worse shape than I. All this because someone decided to bring a football to our tailgating event. One thing led to another, and before I knew what was going on a full-blown 11 on 11 "touch" football game was underway in the parking lot. The problem is that if you pit 22 alpha-males against each other it's only a matter of a few plays before "touch" football becomes full contact.
Long story short I layed out to make a catch and was broad sided by 220 pound D-Ron. That hurt, but a few series later my buddy Greagan delivered the blow that I believe cracked or separated a couple of my ribs on my left side. I'm not pissing blood, so I don't see any reason to sit in the ER for 6 hours so that the doctors can confirm what I already know.
Despite my injuries, I escaped relatively unscathed compared to a few other guys.
Each year one of my buddies from NYC flies a group in for the game. This year he took along two girls that we knew from college, Bombs and Kat. I didn't care for Bombs much in college, she was a "Lacrossetitute" (a girl who only dated varsity Lacrosse players) but after college I got to know her a little better and I really like her now. Kat is another story altogether. We were in the same major, and I had the biggest crush on her all 4 years. She, however, wanted very little to do with me.
I remember seeing Kat walk into my freshman Calculus class. I was already seated and I saw her sit down on the far side of the 200 person auditorium. She was gorgeous. Tall, thin, long brown hair, dark complexion, she was stunning even at 7:30 am on a Monday morning. I had to meet her. I packed up my books and snuck out the side door of the class. I walked around the building and came in the rear entrance on the side where Kat was sitting. I walked down to her row, sat next to her and introduced myself. Kat was luke-warm to me, at best. However, I made small talk before class, and eventually asked Kat if she wanted to study together, which she agreed to. I started dating Cuba a few weeks later, so I think Kat let her guard down at that point because she knew I was no longer trying to sleep with her, but there was always an "arms-length" wariness between her and I.
Sometime during my Sophomore year I convinced Kat to join me for some dance I had to go to, and we ended up in my dorm room afterwards. Nothing much happened, just a little fooling around. I think we hooked up one other time after a party or going to the bars, but again, it was nothing major. I can't remember if she stayed over my place during either od those times, but I think she did once.
It was good to see Kat again, she's a cool girl, but the crush has faded.
For the first time since I left college I really felt out of place going back. I remember one night during my sophomore year I was out at the bars on a football weekend and there were some alumns at the bar. They were reliving their glory days, but it was sad and annoying to watch. Friday night it occurred to me that my buddies and I were now "those guys". We were actually being very tame, just sitting at the bar sharing a pitcher of beer. But we kind of bribed our way past the line, which a few students noticed. The biggest difference, however, was that we are just OLD. I mean, fuck I was almost 15 years older than some of those kids. The other thing was that I was not very tolerant of the college bar scene anymore. It was hot as hell in the bar, they were blaring music I didn't know, and fifty people must have spilled drinks on me. I could only handle it for an hour before I insisted we leave. After that bar we went to a shithole bar we used to frequent in a bad section of town that is not longer a student hangout. It was cool to visit, but again, it was not the same vibe as when we were students. The bar had fallen on hard times and looked like it was close to shutting down altogether. We stayed until last call, but it left me a little depressed.
I missed Kay a little this weekend. I even mentioned her to a few of my friends, who thought I may have been running a fever. I never mention girls to this crew except in a "wild sex" context.
This morning I am nursing a slight hangover, one or more broken ribs, a broken (or very badly sprained) left middle finger, and a multitude of cuts and bruises. I am sure that few players on the field from this weekend's actual game are in worse shape than I. All this because someone decided to bring a football to our tailgating event. One thing led to another, and before I knew what was going on a full-blown 11 on 11 "touch" football game was underway in the parking lot. The problem is that if you pit 22 alpha-males against each other it's only a matter of a few plays before "touch" football becomes full contact.
Long story short I layed out to make a catch and was broad sided by 220 pound D-Ron. That hurt, but a few series later my buddy Greagan delivered the blow that I believe cracked or separated a couple of my ribs on my left side. I'm not pissing blood, so I don't see any reason to sit in the ER for 6 hours so that the doctors can confirm what I already know.
Despite my injuries, I escaped relatively unscathed compared to a few other guys.
Each year one of my buddies from NYC flies a group in for the game. This year he took along two girls that we knew from college, Bombs and Kat. I didn't care for Bombs much in college, she was a "Lacrossetitute" (a girl who only dated varsity Lacrosse players) but after college I got to know her a little better and I really like her now. Kat is another story altogether. We were in the same major, and I had the biggest crush on her all 4 years. She, however, wanted very little to do with me.
I remember seeing Kat walk into my freshman Calculus class. I was already seated and I saw her sit down on the far side of the 200 person auditorium. She was gorgeous. Tall, thin, long brown hair, dark complexion, she was stunning even at 7:30 am on a Monday morning. I had to meet her. I packed up my books and snuck out the side door of the class. I walked around the building and came in the rear entrance on the side where Kat was sitting. I walked down to her row, sat next to her and introduced myself. Kat was luke-warm to me, at best. However, I made small talk before class, and eventually asked Kat if she wanted to study together, which she agreed to. I started dating Cuba a few weeks later, so I think Kat let her guard down at that point because she knew I was no longer trying to sleep with her, but there was always an "arms-length" wariness between her and I.
Sometime during my Sophomore year I convinced Kat to join me for some dance I had to go to, and we ended up in my dorm room afterwards. Nothing much happened, just a little fooling around. I think we hooked up one other time after a party or going to the bars, but again, it was nothing major. I can't remember if she stayed over my place during either od those times, but I think she did once.
It was good to see Kat again, she's a cool girl, but the crush has faded.
For the first time since I left college I really felt out of place going back. I remember one night during my sophomore year I was out at the bars on a football weekend and there were some alumns at the bar. They were reliving their glory days, but it was sad and annoying to watch. Friday night it occurred to me that my buddies and I were now "those guys". We were actually being very tame, just sitting at the bar sharing a pitcher of beer. But we kind of bribed our way past the line, which a few students noticed. The biggest difference, however, was that we are just OLD. I mean, fuck I was almost 15 years older than some of those kids. The other thing was that I was not very tolerant of the college bar scene anymore. It was hot as hell in the bar, they were blaring music I didn't know, and fifty people must have spilled drinks on me. I could only handle it for an hour before I insisted we leave. After that bar we went to a shithole bar we used to frequent in a bad section of town that is not longer a student hangout. It was cool to visit, but again, it was not the same vibe as when we were students. The bar had fallen on hard times and looked like it was close to shutting down altogether. We stayed until last call, but it left me a little depressed.
I missed Kay a little this weekend. I even mentioned her to a few of my friends, who thought I may have been running a fever. I never mention girls to this crew except in a "wild sex" context.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Dogs
I leave this afternoon for my football weekend. About thirty of my college friends are going out to the game, it's always a lot of fun. I'm not sure how they manage it, but all these guys are making the trip solo. No wives, no fiances. I wonder what sort of bargains are struck up to make this short two-day trip happen?
This morning I woke up early and packed a bag. I try to leave anything of value at home. I took off my good watch and put on my ratty "construction" watch. I packed old sneakers, crappy jeans, a baseball hat, and three t-shirts. I also put in a vintage powder-blue tuxedo shirt, the kind with the big ruffles down the front and the wide, pointy, collar. That's always a crowd pleaser. I also threw in my big Elvis sunglasses. It's really not a costume, per se, just a couple of conversation pieces.
I was off my regular routine because I had to pack and take care of a few other things around the house. So, I was out a little later than usual walking the dog. I went out the gate of my back yard and walked down the alley to the street. I was still half asleep as I rounded the corner near the sidewalk. I had on a hoodie pulled low over my head, and didn't notice a girl with a huge dog (I think it was a pit) until I was just a few feet away. My dog is sometimes dog-aggressive, so I yanked the leash and made her sit down. The girl's dog laid down submissively, but my hound just can't be trusted. I said "Sorry, my dog's a nut", meaning, 'move, we're not going to let our dogs meet'. The girl smiled and said "Yeah, I know it". It occurred to me that she thought I was talking about her dog. I said "No, MY dog is a nut. She's not always friendly. Sorry.". She laughed and said "Oh, I thought you meant mine. It's too bad they couldn't meet, she's cute. Just give me a second, she doesn't want to get up.". Her dog who was now totally prone and looking a little scary.
The girl was cute and looked right in my eyes when she talked. I was half asleep, but she was chipper and smiling. She had chin-length blond hair that was cut on an angle to one side, almost like a skater haircut. She was wearing jeans rolled up to mid-calf length, and a tight western-style plaid shirt. If I had to guess I would say she was in her early or mid-twenties. Fairly young. She was also on the short side, but petite. She couldn't have been more than 5'2" and 100 pounds.
A few seconds after we finished talking she got her dog to stand and they continued down the sidewalk. I waited for a bit then took a right out of the alley in her direction, the route I take every morning. As she walked she swung her hips (and cute ass) from side to side in an exagerated motion. When she got to the corner she stopped, looked back, smiled and waived, then crossed the street. I took a right at that corner and headed off in another direction. I walked a few paces down the block before my dog stopped to piss on the 34th tree of the morning. As I waited I saw her turn around and look back again. She smiled one more time then was blocked by some hedges.
She was a lay-up. But I'm being good these days.
This morning I woke up early and packed a bag. I try to leave anything of value at home. I took off my good watch and put on my ratty "construction" watch. I packed old sneakers, crappy jeans, a baseball hat, and three t-shirts. I also put in a vintage powder-blue tuxedo shirt, the kind with the big ruffles down the front and the wide, pointy, collar. That's always a crowd pleaser. I also threw in my big Elvis sunglasses. It's really not a costume, per se, just a couple of conversation pieces.
I was off my regular routine because I had to pack and take care of a few other things around the house. So, I was out a little later than usual walking the dog. I went out the gate of my back yard and walked down the alley to the street. I was still half asleep as I rounded the corner near the sidewalk. I had on a hoodie pulled low over my head, and didn't notice a girl with a huge dog (I think it was a pit) until I was just a few feet away. My dog is sometimes dog-aggressive, so I yanked the leash and made her sit down. The girl's dog laid down submissively, but my hound just can't be trusted. I said "Sorry, my dog's a nut", meaning, 'move, we're not going to let our dogs meet'. The girl smiled and said "Yeah, I know it". It occurred to me that she thought I was talking about her dog. I said "No, MY dog is a nut. She's not always friendly. Sorry.". She laughed and said "Oh, I thought you meant mine. It's too bad they couldn't meet, she's cute. Just give me a second, she doesn't want to get up.". Her dog who was now totally prone and looking a little scary.
The girl was cute and looked right in my eyes when she talked. I was half asleep, but she was chipper and smiling. She had chin-length blond hair that was cut on an angle to one side, almost like a skater haircut. She was wearing jeans rolled up to mid-calf length, and a tight western-style plaid shirt. If I had to guess I would say she was in her early or mid-twenties. Fairly young. She was also on the short side, but petite. She couldn't have been more than 5'2" and 100 pounds.
A few seconds after we finished talking she got her dog to stand and they continued down the sidewalk. I waited for a bit then took a right out of the alley in her direction, the route I take every morning. As she walked she swung her hips (and cute ass) from side to side in an exagerated motion. When she got to the corner she stopped, looked back, smiled and waived, then crossed the street. I took a right at that corner and headed off in another direction. I walked a few paces down the block before my dog stopped to piss on the 34th tree of the morning. As I waited I saw her turn around and look back again. She smiled one more time then was blocked by some hedges.
She was a lay-up. But I'm being good these days.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Bang
I own guns. Why? Not because I really need them. More because I can own them. It's my second amendment right, and damn it, I am going to exercise it.
All things being relative, I am a responsible adult. I have no arrests, no history of violence, and in the eyes of both state and federal authorities, no psychological problems. I underwent substantial background checks, and received 16 hours of firearm training. I am therefore permitted to carry a concealed weapon in several states.
I am not a political person, and this is not a political blog, so I won't delve too deep into the topic. I will say that I am not a gun zealot. I am not a hunter. I am not a member of the NRA (but I don't oppose them either). Simply stated, I own guns because I sleep better having them in my home, and I like to go to the range now and again and blow off some steam. This is such a hot topic, I don't see what all the fuss is about. If you don't like guns, don't buy them. If you want one, don't beat your wife, don't commit violent crimes, be a good citizen, and you can go buy one at any Walmart. Pretty simple stuff people.
With that out of the way, I invited Kay to come to the range with me tonight so I can teach her to shoot. Kay has never fired any type of gun before, but she said she would be willing to give it a try. I enjoy teaching girls to shoot and think it's a great date. I found a range in MD that is clean and is generally not very busy, so I can go in there and explain how to safely shoot without a lot of nuts blasting off hand-cannons all around us. I took Bear there once and she couldn't get enough of it. She even framed her best target.
All things being relative, I am a responsible adult. I have no arrests, no history of violence, and in the eyes of both state and federal authorities, no psychological problems. I underwent substantial background checks, and received 16 hours of firearm training. I am therefore permitted to carry a concealed weapon in several states.
I am not a political person, and this is not a political blog, so I won't delve too deep into the topic. I will say that I am not a gun zealot. I am not a hunter. I am not a member of the NRA (but I don't oppose them either). Simply stated, I own guns because I sleep better having them in my home, and I like to go to the range now and again and blow off some steam. This is such a hot topic, I don't see what all the fuss is about. If you don't like guns, don't buy them. If you want one, don't beat your wife, don't commit violent crimes, be a good citizen, and you can go buy one at any Walmart. Pretty simple stuff people.
With that out of the way, I invited Kay to come to the range with me tonight so I can teach her to shoot. Kay has never fired any type of gun before, but she said she would be willing to give it a try. I enjoy teaching girls to shoot and think it's a great date. I found a range in MD that is clean and is generally not very busy, so I can go in there and explain how to safely shoot without a lot of nuts blasting off hand-cannons all around us. I took Bear there once and she couldn't get enough of it. She even framed her best target.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Family Guy
Last night I witnessed one of the more disturbing "shows" of my life.
I took the bike out for a ride around the mall to decompress after my day at the DMV. I got home around 9:30, and my neighbor (two doors down) had his backyard party lights on (a series of lights strung around the trees). As I pulled my bike in to the yard I heard a strange, repetitive cackling laughter. It was almost like a laugh-track because it was the same laugh over and over. "HaaaaHaHahaHa....HaaaaHaHahaHa....HaaaaHaHahaHa....HaaaaHaHahaHa....".
This particular neighbor is gay and lives with his partner. Right after I moved into my house I received a series of letters on my door from one of the guys telling me that my dog barked all day long. He went on to say that he worked from home and that the barking disrupted his work. He then suggested I find another place to "store" my dog during the day, or perhaps she needed someone to stay with her so she wouldn't bark as much. He did leave his name and number on the letter, which I commend him for, but I just threw all the letters in the garbage, it was total BS. My two immediate neighbors, who also have dogs, received the same letters.
That spring the two guys started throwing these huge, all-night, parties. Weekends, weekdays, it didn't matter. They would have tons of people over and be up all night long. They even put up this huge tent. I never said anything because the letters about the dog stopped. But if I ever get another letter about my dog barking in the afternoon I'll probably mention the fact that I have now had to endure two summers of their parties.
So, that gives you an idea of what my block is like.
Back to last night. I turned off the bike and opened the door to my shed to put away my helmet and plug the bike into the charger. With the bike off I could hear music. It was familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on it, it sounded like a showtune, or maybe big-band music. Something with lots of horns and piano.
My yard is elevated, and is about five feet higher than the two dudes' yard. We both have fences, but my shed is also elevated, so when I am in the shed I can see into part of their yard. As I walked out of the shed I saw the smaller of the two dudes seductively walking down the steps from his house. He was wearing some sort of corset, and I am pretty sure I heard the clicking noise of high heels. He was singing, and after a second I recognized the lyrics. He was singing the theme song to The Family Guy. The laughter was coming from one or two other dudes (I will venture a guess that they were gay as well).
Pretty sure the image of that dude in lingerie dancing down his steps ruined the Family Guy for me forever. I'm not sure it would have even been funny or sexy if it was a hot chick doing the dance. It was just strange.
As difficult as I think the dating scene is in DC, imagine how fucked up the gay dating scene must be. I probably have it easy.
I took the bike out for a ride around the mall to decompress after my day at the DMV. I got home around 9:30, and my neighbor (two doors down) had his backyard party lights on (a series of lights strung around the trees). As I pulled my bike in to the yard I heard a strange, repetitive cackling laughter. It was almost like a laugh-track because it was the same laugh over and over. "HaaaaHaHahaHa....HaaaaHaHahaHa....HaaaaHaHahaHa....HaaaaHaHahaHa....".
This particular neighbor is gay and lives with his partner. Right after I moved into my house I received a series of letters on my door from one of the guys telling me that my dog barked all day long. He went on to say that he worked from home and that the barking disrupted his work. He then suggested I find another place to "store" my dog during the day, or perhaps she needed someone to stay with her so she wouldn't bark as much. He did leave his name and number on the letter, which I commend him for, but I just threw all the letters in the garbage, it was total BS. My two immediate neighbors, who also have dogs, received the same letters.
That spring the two guys started throwing these huge, all-night, parties. Weekends, weekdays, it didn't matter. They would have tons of people over and be up all night long. They even put up this huge tent. I never said anything because the letters about the dog stopped. But if I ever get another letter about my dog barking in the afternoon I'll probably mention the fact that I have now had to endure two summers of their parties.
So, that gives you an idea of what my block is like.
Back to last night. I turned off the bike and opened the door to my shed to put away my helmet and plug the bike into the charger. With the bike off I could hear music. It was familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on it, it sounded like a showtune, or maybe big-band music. Something with lots of horns and piano.
My yard is elevated, and is about five feet higher than the two dudes' yard. We both have fences, but my shed is also elevated, so when I am in the shed I can see into part of their yard. As I walked out of the shed I saw the smaller of the two dudes seductively walking down the steps from his house. He was wearing some sort of corset, and I am pretty sure I heard the clicking noise of high heels. He was singing, and after a second I recognized the lyrics. He was singing the theme song to The Family Guy. The laughter was coming from one or two other dudes (I will venture a guess that they were gay as well).
Pretty sure the image of that dude in lingerie dancing down his steps ruined the Family Guy for me forever. I'm not sure it would have even been funny or sexy if it was a hot chick doing the dance. It was just strange.
As difficult as I think the dating scene is in DC, imagine how fucked up the gay dating scene must be. I probably have it easy.
Monday, September 14, 2009
"Personal Day"
I took a "personal" day today to, of all things, register my car. I can't think of anything more impersonal than car registration, yet that is what today is from a work perspective. Apparently, it takes two personal days to do this.
I was at the DMV at 8:30 this morning. I pulled in behind an old Chevy Impala that had been lifted, put on 22" rims, was painted OD-green and had military markings all over the sides. The license plate read "Hoorrah". I thought, there's no way that car is going to pass inspection like that. I pulled up to the stop sign and and a worker directed me to "Line #1" for the inspection of my '06 Jeep. "Line #1" I thought, "that sounds promising". Turns out line #1 is for fleet vehicles. So, I was fourth in line behind the Duck Tour bus/boat, a SWAT vehicle, an ambulance, and a short-bus. Do you have any idea how long it takes to inspect a vehicle designed for water and streets? Thirty minutes. Dr. Dre's car was done (and passed) before the Duck Boat was half finished with inspection.
After the boat, SWAT, the Ambulance, and the short-bus were done, my car was put through the test. I was reading a book, and had allotted the whole morning for this task, so I wasn't too upset that it had taken an hour and a half to get to my car. A woman drove my car out of the bay and said "OK honey, is this yours? You got a dog?", I said "Yes it is and yes I do.". She continued "Well darling, next time you bring this car in you clean it first. You got dog hair all up in here. Some of us are allergic to dog hair. You bring this car in like this again, we ain't gonna even take it in." Was I really getting a lecture about the cleanliness of my Jeep by the DMV worker? At first I thought she was kidding, but as the lecture wore on I realize she was not. "It's just disrespectful to come up in my place of business with your car all full of dog hair. I ain't gonna sneeze and cough all day 'cause you ain't got a vacuum in your house." She said this as she walked back down lane #1 to get her next vehicle (another ambulance). I just stood there in silence, there wasn't much more I could do. My car is extremely clean, which made the lecture that much harder to endure. That's not even taking into consideration the poor grammar!
Moving on.
An older gentleman was standing at a computer terminal and printed up a few sheets of paper that he then put right into a recycling bin (why print them at all if you don't read them?) and a window sticker. Then he pulled a small red box out of his pocket and walked over to my driver door. He rolled my driver window down and clipped the box to my window. I instantly knew I was fucked, I had limo tint on all my windows. He said "You need 70% to pass, you're at 28%.", He didn't say what the 70 or 28 represented. It could have been transparency, or bananas. I said "So that's good?" "NO, THAT"S BAD!". He then stuck a white "inspection failed" sticker on my windshield and gave me a piece of paper explaining how to remedy the problem.
OK, I knew this was going to be a long day. I decided to see if I could delicately dance around the letter of the law. I went home and removed the doors from the Jeep (it's very easy to do, they are made to lift off, and I remove them often). I figured that they can't fail me for tinted windows if I don't have any windows on the car. As you can imagine, this was not well-received at the inspection line. I was sent home and told that if I failed again I would be charged for two inspections. I went home and reluctantly scraped off my $120 tint. It wasn't the end of the world, but it still blows.
I only had time for the inspection today, I didn't actually get it registered. I will try to do this at lunch one other day this week.
The weekend was good. Kay came over Friday night and was here until about 7pm Sunday. I still enjoy her company and haven't found any major foibles yet.
The sex is improving. I think we are officially past that initial exploratory period where you're trying to determine what the girls sexual preferences are. There are so many little variations in technique that can make or break the sex. For instance, some girls really like a finger in the ass during sex, while others don't want you anywhere near that region. It's very polarizing. Most woman seem to like their nipples rubbed or pinched during sex, but the pressure at which you pinch (and there are infinite different pressures) is crucial. Either too hard or too soft and you might as well do nothing at all. The list goes on and on.
This is a little strange. Two weeks ago a silver Infiniti SUV went down my street, and the passenger in the car was a dead-ringer for my hometown ex, Jenna. I did a double-take when I saw her, but figured it was just my imagination fucking with me. When I moved to DC she said she would follow me, but that was three years ago. I haven't spoken a single word to her since I moved, so I never gave it a second thought. That is, until last night when I saw the same car go by with the same girl in it. This time, "Jenna" gave me a smile and raised her eye-brows at me. I have been trying to think how the real Jenna would act if she saw me in the scenario, and I think she would make the driver stop so she could say hello and show me that she followed through on her threat. So I don't think it's the real Jenna, but this girl looks so much like her I'm not 100% convinced. I'll keep my eyes open for her.
That rag, the Examiner, smashed into the front of my house again this morning. I woke up and just laughed, what more can I do? I'll call a few more times this week, but I have very little hope it will do any good.
One last thing. Kay's roommate, Betty, just started seeing some guy. They have gone out on maybe five dates. On Friday night they ended up at Kay and Betty's place, where apparently they slept together. Afterwards, Betty asked the dude if he wanted to stay over, but he declined and shortly thereafter he left. This is the second time they fooled around at her place and he has left. Betty is crushed. I generally don't have a problem with spending the night at a girls place because I'm usually tired after sex. I think she's reading into it too much, but I can't wait to hear what the true reason is. The possibilities are endless. My vote is that he is a recovering heroin addict and needs to be at the clinic early for his Meth dose. This is just a guess, though.
I was at the DMV at 8:30 this morning. I pulled in behind an old Chevy Impala that had been lifted, put on 22" rims, was painted OD-green and had military markings all over the sides. The license plate read "Hoorrah". I thought, there's no way that car is going to pass inspection like that. I pulled up to the stop sign and and a worker directed me to "Line #1" for the inspection of my '06 Jeep. "Line #1" I thought, "that sounds promising". Turns out line #1 is for fleet vehicles. So, I was fourth in line behind the Duck Tour bus/boat, a SWAT vehicle, an ambulance, and a short-bus. Do you have any idea how long it takes to inspect a vehicle designed for water and streets? Thirty minutes. Dr. Dre's car was done (and passed) before the Duck Boat was half finished with inspection.
After the boat, SWAT, the Ambulance, and the short-bus were done, my car was put through the test. I was reading a book, and had allotted the whole morning for this task, so I wasn't too upset that it had taken an hour and a half to get to my car. A woman drove my car out of the bay and said "OK honey, is this yours? You got a dog?", I said "Yes it is and yes I do.". She continued "Well darling, next time you bring this car in you clean it first. You got dog hair all up in here. Some of us are allergic to dog hair. You bring this car in like this again, we ain't gonna even take it in." Was I really getting a lecture about the cleanliness of my Jeep by the DMV worker? At first I thought she was kidding, but as the lecture wore on I realize she was not. "It's just disrespectful to come up in my place of business with your car all full of dog hair. I ain't gonna sneeze and cough all day 'cause you ain't got a vacuum in your house." She said this as she walked back down lane #1 to get her next vehicle (another ambulance). I just stood there in silence, there wasn't much more I could do. My car is extremely clean, which made the lecture that much harder to endure. That's not even taking into consideration the poor grammar!
Moving on.
An older gentleman was standing at a computer terminal and printed up a few sheets of paper that he then put right into a recycling bin (why print them at all if you don't read them?) and a window sticker. Then he pulled a small red box out of his pocket and walked over to my driver door. He rolled my driver window down and clipped the box to my window. I instantly knew I was fucked, I had limo tint on all my windows. He said "You need 70% to pass, you're at 28%.", He didn't say what the 70 or 28 represented. It could have been transparency, or bananas. I said "So that's good?" "NO, THAT"S BAD!". He then stuck a white "inspection failed" sticker on my windshield and gave me a piece of paper explaining how to remedy the problem.
OK, I knew this was going to be a long day. I decided to see if I could delicately dance around the letter of the law. I went home and removed the doors from the Jeep (it's very easy to do, they are made to lift off, and I remove them often). I figured that they can't fail me for tinted windows if I don't have any windows on the car. As you can imagine, this was not well-received at the inspection line. I was sent home and told that if I failed again I would be charged for two inspections. I went home and reluctantly scraped off my $120 tint. It wasn't the end of the world, but it still blows.
I only had time for the inspection today, I didn't actually get it registered. I will try to do this at lunch one other day this week.
The weekend was good. Kay came over Friday night and was here until about 7pm Sunday. I still enjoy her company and haven't found any major foibles yet.
The sex is improving. I think we are officially past that initial exploratory period where you're trying to determine what the girls sexual preferences are. There are so many little variations in technique that can make or break the sex. For instance, some girls really like a finger in the ass during sex, while others don't want you anywhere near that region. It's very polarizing. Most woman seem to like their nipples rubbed or pinched during sex, but the pressure at which you pinch (and there are infinite different pressures) is crucial. Either too hard or too soft and you might as well do nothing at all. The list goes on and on.
This is a little strange. Two weeks ago a silver Infiniti SUV went down my street, and the passenger in the car was a dead-ringer for my hometown ex, Jenna. I did a double-take when I saw her, but figured it was just my imagination fucking with me. When I moved to DC she said she would follow me, but that was three years ago. I haven't spoken a single word to her since I moved, so I never gave it a second thought. That is, until last night when I saw the same car go by with the same girl in it. This time, "Jenna" gave me a smile and raised her eye-brows at me. I have been trying to think how the real Jenna would act if she saw me in the scenario, and I think she would make the driver stop so she could say hello and show me that she followed through on her threat. So I don't think it's the real Jenna, but this girl looks so much like her I'm not 100% convinced. I'll keep my eyes open for her.
That rag, the Examiner, smashed into the front of my house again this morning. I woke up and just laughed, what more can I do? I'll call a few more times this week, but I have very little hope it will do any good.
One last thing. Kay's roommate, Betty, just started seeing some guy. They have gone out on maybe five dates. On Friday night they ended up at Kay and Betty's place, where apparently they slept together. Afterwards, Betty asked the dude if he wanted to stay over, but he declined and shortly thereafter he left. This is the second time they fooled around at her place and he has left. Betty is crushed. I generally don't have a problem with spending the night at a girls place because I'm usually tired after sex. I think she's reading into it too much, but I can't wait to hear what the true reason is. The possibilities are endless. My vote is that he is a recovering heroin addict and needs to be at the clinic early for his Meth dose. This is just a guess, though.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Washington Examiner
Life throws a lot at you: career issues, relationship problems, health problems, family drama, death. Do we really need to heap the aggravation of the unwanted delivery of the Washington Examiner on top of all that?
I realize this has nothing to do with dating, but apparently it's part of the "DC" experience, so I'll throw it in here.
For two years now I have quietly endured the unsolicited delivery of the Examiner. When I first bought and moved into my house I thought I was receiving the tail-end of the prior home owner's subscription. I read the NY Times and the Washington Post everyday, and the Wall Street Journal at least a couple of times a week. Really, it should go without saying that the Examiner is redundant after those papers. Frankly, all it is good for is lining your bird cage.
My problem with the paper is three-fold. I think it's a waste of paper to print it because the editorials are garbage. It litters my yard, and the yards of my neighbors, so I have to walk out front and pick up and recycle all these papers that no one reads. Lastly, and most importantly, the asshole that delivers the paper throws it at my house with the speed and accuracy of a MLB pitcher at 3:30am a few times a week. The paper hits the front of my house, right next to my bedroom window, which sends my dog into full-blown attack mode, running through the house barking and growling. What the fuck, I don't want the goddamn paper, why should I have to be woken up by it!
The final straw came one day when I was walking down the street towards my house and saw a copy of the Examiner on my roof. I said "That mother fucker. It's bad enough that he wakes me up, now I have to get a ladder out and take that piece of shit paper off my roof", I was just furious "I don't need this aggravation, I have enough shit to deal with." I pulled out the ladder, climbed up, threw out the paper, put the ladder away. It was 15 minutes of my life that I will never get back.
The next morning I called the Examiner offices, and was pleasantly surprised by how nice the woman on other end of the line was. I was all hyped up to scream and yell at someone about how I don't want to receive their garbage any longer, but she was totally disarming. She said she would stop delivery immediately, and if I ever decided I wanted it again all I had to do was call. I thanked her, and was really glad it went so well.
The next morning, and for the following two weeks, Nolan Ryan continued to pelt my house. This morning, at 3:38am, the paper actually struck my window. It didn't break, but my dog went apoplectic, and for a split second I thought someone was trying to break into my house. I called again this morning and left a message with the supervisor, but I know it's not going to do any good.
I can just tell that this is one of those things that is going to aggravate me for many years to come. Delivery will never stop, will it? It's really only a matter of time until I get arrested for throwing the paper back at the delivery guy.
Monday I register my car, be prepared for another rant.
I realize this has nothing to do with dating, but apparently it's part of the "DC" experience, so I'll throw it in here.
For two years now I have quietly endured the unsolicited delivery of the Examiner. When I first bought and moved into my house I thought I was receiving the tail-end of the prior home owner's subscription. I read the NY Times and the Washington Post everyday, and the Wall Street Journal at least a couple of times a week. Really, it should go without saying that the Examiner is redundant after those papers. Frankly, all it is good for is lining your bird cage.
My problem with the paper is three-fold. I think it's a waste of paper to print it because the editorials are garbage. It litters my yard, and the yards of my neighbors, so I have to walk out front and pick up and recycle all these papers that no one reads. Lastly, and most importantly, the asshole that delivers the paper throws it at my house with the speed and accuracy of a MLB pitcher at 3:30am a few times a week. The paper hits the front of my house, right next to my bedroom window, which sends my dog into full-blown attack mode, running through the house barking and growling. What the fuck, I don't want the goddamn paper, why should I have to be woken up by it!
The final straw came one day when I was walking down the street towards my house and saw a copy of the Examiner on my roof. I said "That mother fucker. It's bad enough that he wakes me up, now I have to get a ladder out and take that piece of shit paper off my roof", I was just furious "I don't need this aggravation, I have enough shit to deal with." I pulled out the ladder, climbed up, threw out the paper, put the ladder away. It was 15 minutes of my life that I will never get back.
The next morning I called the Examiner offices, and was pleasantly surprised by how nice the woman on other end of the line was. I was all hyped up to scream and yell at someone about how I don't want to receive their garbage any longer, but she was totally disarming. She said she would stop delivery immediately, and if I ever decided I wanted it again all I had to do was call. I thanked her, and was really glad it went so well.
The next morning, and for the following two weeks, Nolan Ryan continued to pelt my house. This morning, at 3:38am, the paper actually struck my window. It didn't break, but my dog went apoplectic, and for a split second I thought someone was trying to break into my house. I called again this morning and left a message with the supervisor, but I know it's not going to do any good.
I can just tell that this is one of those things that is going to aggravate me for many years to come. Delivery will never stop, will it? It's really only a matter of time until I get arrested for throwing the paper back at the delivery guy.
Monday I register my car, be prepared for another rant.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Inner-Slut
I'd like to use a comment on my last post as a spring-board to another topic; womens' "inner-slut". I hypothesize that all women (and men, to be fair) have an inner-slut, or freaky side, that they generally try to suppress but that makes an appearance on occasion.
I will let you read the Football Weekend post, and West LA's full comment, but the part that sparked this post was:
"why [girls] find you guys irresistible in your wild drunken mode?"
I don't want to dwell on the football game, and I don't think girls find us irresistible. I believe women use vacations and parties as an excuse to behave in a way they normally would not. "Wild drunken mode" is a symptom of the place, and women too act differently in that place. Men get drunk, women get slutty.
Spring break is a perfect example. If you have ever been to Panama City, or Cancun, you know that most dudes act like a drunken fools, and most women are a few degrees sluttier than normal. Is it the alcohol? It certainly helps. Drugs? That too. But I think that when people operate outside of their normal sphere of consequences (judgement) they are free to act on their more primal urges (sex, drugs). We feel that if no one is looking, we can do whatever we want.
There's a place in the southwestern desert that has carved out a nice little niche based on this behavior. You may have heard of it, it's called Las Vegas? The motto "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas" pretty well sums it up. The entire city is built upon the premise. It's their fucking marketing slogan!
If we can agree that scenarios exist where people make decisions they would normally find immoral, or at least, unusual, then we can look at the decision making matrix for those scenarios.
You don't have to use an example as extreme as Vegas or Cancun to illustrate the point. Almost anyone who has ever traveled for work will tell you that a hotel bar during the week is a den of iniquity. Women are alone, they meet someone they are attracted to, they know they can go up to that guy's room and have wild sex with him without being called a slut by their girlfriends. It's that simple. The urge is always present, it's the absence of criticism that overrides restraint.
Let's take it one step further. A woman has met a guy under abnormal circumstances, and has decided she is going to go home with him. She has already crossed the line of "slutty", so she now feels free to indulge in all her urges. There are no incremental degrees of slutty. What's beyond slutty? Super slutty? I don't think so. So she went home with him, she might as well get spanked, or pee on the guy, or whatever her urge is.
To back track to the original point: I don't think women find football games arousing. And I don't think they necessarily find hammered guys sexy. I think they find the lack of judgement liberating, and thus override their normal urges to act prim. During college they may have thought a guy was good looking, but they didn't have sex with him because their girlfriends would criticize them for it. However, years later at a weekend trip she has the same urge to sleep with the guy, but the consequences are no longer present.
Finally, West LA suggests that this may be my modus operandi. Perhaps. But I am not suggesting this behavior is a function of MO. I think it would be better to think of this in terms of Freud's "id" and "ego". If daily life is a woman's ego, then her inner-slut is her id.
I will let you read the Football Weekend post, and West LA's full comment, but the part that sparked this post was:
"why [girls] find you guys irresistible in your wild drunken mode?"
I don't want to dwell on the football game, and I don't think girls find us irresistible. I believe women use vacations and parties as an excuse to behave in a way they normally would not. "Wild drunken mode" is a symptom of the place, and women too act differently in that place. Men get drunk, women get slutty.
Spring break is a perfect example. If you have ever been to Panama City, or Cancun, you know that most dudes act like a drunken fools, and most women are a few degrees sluttier than normal. Is it the alcohol? It certainly helps. Drugs? That too. But I think that when people operate outside of their normal sphere of consequences (judgement) they are free to act on their more primal urges (sex, drugs). We feel that if no one is looking, we can do whatever we want.
There's a place in the southwestern desert that has carved out a nice little niche based on this behavior. You may have heard of it, it's called Las Vegas? The motto "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas" pretty well sums it up. The entire city is built upon the premise. It's their fucking marketing slogan!
If we can agree that scenarios exist where people make decisions they would normally find immoral, or at least, unusual, then we can look at the decision making matrix for those scenarios.
You don't have to use an example as extreme as Vegas or Cancun to illustrate the point. Almost anyone who has ever traveled for work will tell you that a hotel bar during the week is a den of iniquity. Women are alone, they meet someone they are attracted to, they know they can go up to that guy's room and have wild sex with him without being called a slut by their girlfriends. It's that simple. The urge is always present, it's the absence of criticism that overrides restraint.
Let's take it one step further. A woman has met a guy under abnormal circumstances, and has decided she is going to go home with him. She has already crossed the line of "slutty", so she now feels free to indulge in all her urges. There are no incremental degrees of slutty. What's beyond slutty? Super slutty? I don't think so. So she went home with him, she might as well get spanked, or pee on the guy, or whatever her urge is.
To back track to the original point: I don't think women find football games arousing. And I don't think they necessarily find hammered guys sexy. I think they find the lack of judgement liberating, and thus override their normal urges to act prim. During college they may have thought a guy was good looking, but they didn't have sex with him because their girlfriends would criticize them for it. However, years later at a weekend trip she has the same urge to sleep with the guy, but the consequences are no longer present.
Finally, West LA suggests that this may be my modus operandi. Perhaps. But I am not suggesting this behavior is a function of MO. I think it would be better to think of this in terms of Freud's "id" and "ego". If daily life is a woman's ego, then her inner-slut is her id.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Football Weekend
For the first few years after college my buddies and I picked a weekend and all met back at our alma mater for a home football game. The trips really weren't all that expensive, but they were over-the-top indulgence benders that heavily taxed my body for weeks after I returned home. After my fifth annual game I thought it would be best if I only joined the reunions every other year. I took last year off, so I booked my flight last night for this year's booze-fest.
During college our football tailgaiting consisted of 30 cases of Natty Light, and a case of Mad Dog (or more, if we could afford it). The booze was generally put on ice in the trunk of someones car since we had no money for a cooler. We rarely had any food at these events, and when we did it was misappropriated from the dining hall. Tailgating started by chugging a bottle of Mad Dog as soon as you woke up, then spiraled quickly out of control from there. Sunday mornings resembled the opening scene from the movie The Hangover. One such morning a friend woke up with a sheep in his dorm room. Our buddies, stupendously drunk, liberated the sheep from a nearby farm and carried it up two flights of stairs and quietly placed it in his room. Things like this were not uncommon.
The first year after we all graduated we had a little coin in our pockets, but we decided it would be fun to throw a tailgater like we did in college, so it has become a sort of tradition. Every year we rent a car and fill it to the gills with beer and kiwi-flavored malt liquor. To say things "regress", would be a massive understatement. After witnessing some sort of atrocity, one bystander two years ago poignantly commented "you have no respect for yourselves or others".
The true treasure of these trips has always been that they are a venue for scoring with the girls that were unattainable during college. I talked my fair share of women into bed during school, but it's downright amazing what happens on these weekend. Girls who would never have given you a second glance literally throw themselves at you. It's an environment completely devoid of judgment or consequences.
Obviously, this may pose a bit of an ethical dilemma to me this year.
During college our football tailgaiting consisted of 30 cases of Natty Light, and a case of Mad Dog (or more, if we could afford it). The booze was generally put on ice in the trunk of someones car since we had no money for a cooler. We rarely had any food at these events, and when we did it was misappropriated from the dining hall. Tailgating started by chugging a bottle of Mad Dog as soon as you woke up, then spiraled quickly out of control from there. Sunday mornings resembled the opening scene from the movie The Hangover. One such morning a friend woke up with a sheep in his dorm room. Our buddies, stupendously drunk, liberated the sheep from a nearby farm and carried it up two flights of stairs and quietly placed it in his room. Things like this were not uncommon.
The first year after we all graduated we had a little coin in our pockets, but we decided it would be fun to throw a tailgater like we did in college, so it has become a sort of tradition. Every year we rent a car and fill it to the gills with beer and kiwi-flavored malt liquor. To say things "regress", would be a massive understatement. After witnessing some sort of atrocity, one bystander two years ago poignantly commented "you have no respect for yourselves or others".
The true treasure of these trips has always been that they are a venue for scoring with the girls that were unattainable during college. I talked my fair share of women into bed during school, but it's downright amazing what happens on these weekend. Girls who would never have given you a second glance literally throw themselves at you. It's an environment completely devoid of judgment or consequences.
Obviously, this may pose a bit of an ethical dilemma to me this year.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Dating Ten Other Girls
Last night I got into bed at around 10:30, at 10:32 I heard a woman screaming bloody-murder in the street outside of my house. I jumped out of bed and ran for the front door, but I was naked and had to turn back to put on some shorts (and grab a gun). By the time I got to the sidewalk the street was empty except for two other concerned neighbors. The cops came 15 minutes later, it turns out a couple was mugged as they got out of their car. It's hard to get to sleep after that kind of excitement, so I was up late and am exhausted today.
Friday Night:
I took a half day on Friday to get an early start on the long weekend. I texted Kay to see what day she was getting back from Nashville and she said "today". A woman commented on my Match.com post that I may not be "relationship material" because of my "asshole attitude", so I decided to be a nice guy and drive up to BWI and pick Kay up. I think she was pleasantly surprised. I'm trying, what can I say?
Kay was exhausted from her trip, so we decided to stay in and cook dinner Friday. I won't get into the details, but over dessert Kay and I discussed what we were doing together, and I explained how I saw her on Match.com and wasn't too excited about it. Her response was "Well, I figured you were dating ten other girls." I have not instigated a discussion about having an "exclusive relationship" in a long time, and it didn't seem to be off to a good start. However, after 30 minutes of talking Kay made me swear that I wouldn't "break her heart", and said she would gladly take down the profile.
Saturday Night:
Kay and I went to the Nats game then grabbed a bite to eat on Barracks Row, where we ran into not one, but two of my former female acquaintances.
While we were walking down the sidewalk I noticed a girl was looking rather intently at me as she approached. When she was about 20 feet away I realized it was Bear. I said "Hello Bear", but kept walking. She later admonished me for not stopping to make small talk. I'm not sure what she was thinking, but there was no way I was stopping, or even slowing down, so that the three of us could make small talk about how we all know each other.
We chose a restaurant on 8th Street for dinner and waited for a while out front for our table to be ready. While we were standing there I noticed a table of four girls kept looking at over at Kay and I. I didn't recognize the three girls that I could see (one had her back to me), and thought that maybe Kay knew them. However, after a few minutes it was obvious they were talking about us, and I was starting to get nervous that I had hooked up with one of them. Luckily, our table was ready a few minutes later and I wasn't called out. After dinner, I was able to see the fourth girl's face and realized it was one of the girls from Match.com that I took out (the one that suggested we bring our dogs with us on the first date). We breezed out the door after dinner, I didn't give her a chance to say hello, or mention that I hadn't returned her three voicemails.
We tried to get into Phase I, a bar on 8th. I had a buddy try to go in one night and he was told by a rather brawny woman that he "wasn't welcome" inside, so I just wanted to verify. In case you didn't know, it's a lesbian bar and I apparently wasn't welcome inside.
My crazy neighbor was having a party Saturday and sent me a text to come over for a drink. Kay knows the whole story about the neighbor, and shared my lack of enthusiasm for going over for a drink. Instead, we had fairly loud sex in the hot tub, which more than a couple people at the party heard. Oh well.
Sunday:
Sunday morning I cooked a hearty breakfast then we packed up our one tiny travel bag for our trip to Annapolis. The bag was only big enough for us to each bring: a tooth brush, a pair of flip flops, a pair of shorts, and two shirts. Kay also brought some underwear (I don't wear any) and a small pouch of "stuff", that I assume was make-up and such. Kay joked that our trips together seemed to be a series of tests of her packing abilities.
Earlier in the week I had tuned up my Ducati for the trip, and had been riding it all week to make sure it didn't develop any issues. I put the bag on the tank of the bike and fired it up. It started on the first try, and then died. "You motherfucker!" I hit the start button again and nothing happened, there was just a slight clicking noise. I looked over at Kay, who shrugged and then laid down in the hammock. I took off the gas tank and fiddled with the engine and battery, but it was clearly not going to start, and if it did I didn't trust it enough to take on a trip. Kay said "Can we take the other one?". It had crossed my mind to take the Honda, but she never really seemed comfortable on it, and it wasn't exactly a touring bike (a Honda RC51 is a race bike, and uncomfortable to the extreme). I've only put about 400 miles on the bike, so I'm not 100% comfortable on it yet, especially with a passenger. However, I said we could take it, but I gave Kay a ten minute lesson on how to properly hold onto me when we ride. The bike is very tall, and has a harsh suspension, so I was scared she would get bucked off the bike on the highway, but she did fine.
Overall, the trip from DC to Annapolis was nice. We took Suitland Parkway to Rt. 4 to Rt. 2. The drive is only an hour or so. The weather was perfect and part of the route had some really nice scenery, we rode through lots of farmland and a couple of small towns. The only section that sucked was the first part of the Suitland Parkway, which is totally ghetto.
Annapolis was a good time. We essentially ate and drank our way through town. After a great dinner we sat on the docks at Pusser's, shared a cigar, and had cocktails until a little after midnight. The people watching is fantastic, really a world-class mix.
Maybe I am the only one who has this problem, but going away with girls, especially ones that you are still getting to know, is difficult because you really can't stick to your normal bathroom schedule. Sure, I know guys that fart in front of women, and have no shame about smelling up the bathroom while they are in the next room. I never fart in front of women, and really try to avoid smashing up the bathroom if they are sharing it. I realize it's a normal bodily function and there's nothing to be ashamed of, but I still avoid it. I generally end up devising complex ways of using alternate bathrooms for NASCAR-pit-stop-style craps. I'm sure it's not healthy.
Friday Night:
I took a half day on Friday to get an early start on the long weekend. I texted Kay to see what day she was getting back from Nashville and she said "today". A woman commented on my Match.com post that I may not be "relationship material" because of my "asshole attitude", so I decided to be a nice guy and drive up to BWI and pick Kay up. I think she was pleasantly surprised. I'm trying, what can I say?
Kay was exhausted from her trip, so we decided to stay in and cook dinner Friday. I won't get into the details, but over dessert Kay and I discussed what we were doing together, and I explained how I saw her on Match.com and wasn't too excited about it. Her response was "Well, I figured you were dating ten other girls." I have not instigated a discussion about having an "exclusive relationship" in a long time, and it didn't seem to be off to a good start. However, after 30 minutes of talking Kay made me swear that I wouldn't "break her heart", and said she would gladly take down the profile.
Saturday Night:
Kay and I went to the Nats game then grabbed a bite to eat on Barracks Row, where we ran into not one, but two of my former female acquaintances.
While we were walking down the sidewalk I noticed a girl was looking rather intently at me as she approached. When she was about 20 feet away I realized it was Bear. I said "Hello Bear", but kept walking. She later admonished me for not stopping to make small talk. I'm not sure what she was thinking, but there was no way I was stopping, or even slowing down, so that the three of us could make small talk about how we all know each other.
We chose a restaurant on 8th Street for dinner and waited for a while out front for our table to be ready. While we were standing there I noticed a table of four girls kept looking at over at Kay and I. I didn't recognize the three girls that I could see (one had her back to me), and thought that maybe Kay knew them. However, after a few minutes it was obvious they were talking about us, and I was starting to get nervous that I had hooked up with one of them. Luckily, our table was ready a few minutes later and I wasn't called out. After dinner, I was able to see the fourth girl's face and realized it was one of the girls from Match.com that I took out (the one that suggested we bring our dogs with us on the first date). We breezed out the door after dinner, I didn't give her a chance to say hello, or mention that I hadn't returned her three voicemails.
We tried to get into Phase I, a bar on 8th. I had a buddy try to go in one night and he was told by a rather brawny woman that he "wasn't welcome" inside, so I just wanted to verify. In case you didn't know, it's a lesbian bar and I apparently wasn't welcome inside.
My crazy neighbor was having a party Saturday and sent me a text to come over for a drink. Kay knows the whole story about the neighbor, and shared my lack of enthusiasm for going over for a drink. Instead, we had fairly loud sex in the hot tub, which more than a couple people at the party heard. Oh well.
Sunday:
Sunday morning I cooked a hearty breakfast then we packed up our one tiny travel bag for our trip to Annapolis. The bag was only big enough for us to each bring: a tooth brush, a pair of flip flops, a pair of shorts, and two shirts. Kay also brought some underwear (I don't wear any) and a small pouch of "stuff", that I assume was make-up and such. Kay joked that our trips together seemed to be a series of tests of her packing abilities.
Earlier in the week I had tuned up my Ducati for the trip, and had been riding it all week to make sure it didn't develop any issues. I put the bag on the tank of the bike and fired it up. It started on the first try, and then died. "You motherfucker!" I hit the start button again and nothing happened, there was just a slight clicking noise. I looked over at Kay, who shrugged and then laid down in the hammock. I took off the gas tank and fiddled with the engine and battery, but it was clearly not going to start, and if it did I didn't trust it enough to take on a trip. Kay said "Can we take the other one?". It had crossed my mind to take the Honda, but she never really seemed comfortable on it, and it wasn't exactly a touring bike (a Honda RC51 is a race bike, and uncomfortable to the extreme). I've only put about 400 miles on the bike, so I'm not 100% comfortable on it yet, especially with a passenger. However, I said we could take it, but I gave Kay a ten minute lesson on how to properly hold onto me when we ride. The bike is very tall, and has a harsh suspension, so I was scared she would get bucked off the bike on the highway, but she did fine.
Overall, the trip from DC to Annapolis was nice. We took Suitland Parkway to Rt. 4 to Rt. 2. The drive is only an hour or so. The weather was perfect and part of the route had some really nice scenery, we rode through lots of farmland and a couple of small towns. The only section that sucked was the first part of the Suitland Parkway, which is totally ghetto.
Annapolis was a good time. We essentially ate and drank our way through town. After a great dinner we sat on the docks at Pusser's, shared a cigar, and had cocktails until a little after midnight. The people watching is fantastic, really a world-class mix.
Maybe I am the only one who has this problem, but going away with girls, especially ones that you are still getting to know, is difficult because you really can't stick to your normal bathroom schedule. Sure, I know guys that fart in front of women, and have no shame about smelling up the bathroom while they are in the next room. I never fart in front of women, and really try to avoid smashing up the bathroom if they are sharing it. I realize it's a normal bodily function and there's nothing to be ashamed of, but I still avoid it. I generally end up devising complex ways of using alternate bathrooms for NASCAR-pit-stop-style craps. I'm sure it's not healthy.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Haircut and Sushi
My first haircut was at a little place called Harry's Barbershop on the main drag of my hometown. My dad took me there one Saturday morning in his maroon Chevy Caprice, and said I could drive home (just sit on his lap and steer) if I didn't cry. Harry old as hell, and bald, which even at that young age struck me as ironic. Harry smoked like a chimney the whole time. When he was done he hoisted me off the chair, set me on the ground and gave me a lollipop. I went to Harry's for a long time, but eventually he became senile and would poke the shit out of my head with the tip of his insanely sharp scissors. Finally I couldn't take it anymore and had to find a new barber. Harry has been dead for at least ten years now, but when I look for a barbershop, I usually seek out one that looks like Harry's. Plain, clean, and always with the spinning red and white barber pole in front.
When I moved to DC I spotted a place that looked a lot like Harry's on the outside, so one afternoon I went in for a trim. As soon as I walked in I realized this place was a lot different than Harry's. P-Funk and Sportscenter were both blaring and competing for your attention. Clean is not a word I would use to describe the place, but it was tidy enough. Along one wall were four barber chairs, with four men in the seats, and four men cutting hair. Along the other wall were eight red plastic chairs, all but one were filled with men waiting for cuts. There was one young kid sweeping the floor with a push broom that was taller than him. There was another, tougher looking, kid sitting in a chair in the back of the room near the restroom. All of these men were black. The proverbial record scratched when I walked in and I had a few dozen eye balls on me. I thought "Okay, it's a little different than Harry's, but a haircut's a haircut.", and I sat down in one of the waiting chairs.
That was three years ago, and I have been back for every haircut since then. No matter how long your hair is, or what type of cut you ask for, it's done entirely with clippers. I don't even think there is a pair of scissors in the shop. The Skins are one notch below God there. Never, EVER, utter a bad word about the Skins no matter how shitty they are doing. Oh, and the kid that was sitting in the back of the room by the bathroom, he sells dime bags of weed and does a little booking. Not one time in three years have I ever seen another white kid in the place. I'm not sure what the barbers make of me, but the cuts aren't bad, you're out in like 15 minutes, and it only costs $22 with tip. I really like the place and wish I could give them a plug, but won't for obvious reasons.
I went for a trim last night, then rode down the way to get some take-out at a sushi place I like. The restaurant is not known for it's stellar service, so I sat at the bar and had a beer while I waited for my order.
When I came in there was a tall blond girl working the bar that I had never seen in there before. Halfway through my beer her shift ended and another girl took over. The blond punched out, disappeared into the kitchen, and returned with a plate of sushi and sat down next to me.
Blondie: The bartender was about 5'8", in her mid-to-late 20's, with a curvy body and a mediocre face. She was wearing a small jean skirt, boots, and a tight wife-beater. Under the t-shirt she had on a black bra that was clearly struggling to contain it's huge cargo. On a scale of 1-10, though, Blondie was only about a 5, 6 if you wanted to be generous.
Blondie had checked my ID when I ordered my beer, so she knew my name and asked me what kind of bike I rode. She knew a fair amount about bikes, even the engines, which is unusual for a woman. It was about 8pm, and she said she had been on since that morning prepping for lunch. The other bartender dropped a shot glass in front of Blondie and filled it with Patron, then the bartender nodded towards me and held up a second glass. "Thanks, but I can't." I said, and pointed towards my helmet, which was sitting on a stool near me. Blondie downed her shot without "training wheels" (salt and lemon), then took a swig of her beer. We talked for a little while, mostly about sushi joints in the area, and had a little debate over what the best tequila was (Herradura is my favorite).
Blondie finished her last roll and said "So, is all that sushi you ordered for you?" I said yes. She said "Good. I want a ride on that Ducati. Why don't you give me a ride to my place. You can have a beer and eat your sushi while I shower, then we can go out and get a bunch of tequilas together." It was an interesting proposition. On one hand, she wasn't that great looking. On the other, things are clearly in limbo with Kay and I could use a roll in the hay to decompress (and that is clearly what this was about). Also, I had a feeling that this girl knew a few tricks in the sack.
"Tell you what, I have to work tonight, but let me get your number, we'll shower and get drinks another night." She laughed and rattled off her number, which I punched into me phone. I obviously didn't have to work last night, I just didn't feel like getting tangled up with that chick, who frankly looked a little dirty. Another problem is that I get sushi from this place a lot, and didn't want to get black listed from it by having a one night stand with the dirty bartender who probably fucked every waiter (and maybe a few waitresses) in the place. I had a vision of a wad of jizz on my next spicy tuna roll if I nailed Blondie. I did appreciate the offer, though.
I rode home, ate my sushi solo, had vodka, then went to bed.
When I moved to DC I spotted a place that looked a lot like Harry's on the outside, so one afternoon I went in for a trim. As soon as I walked in I realized this place was a lot different than Harry's. P-Funk and Sportscenter were both blaring and competing for your attention. Clean is not a word I would use to describe the place, but it was tidy enough. Along one wall were four barber chairs, with four men in the seats, and four men cutting hair. Along the other wall were eight red plastic chairs, all but one were filled with men waiting for cuts. There was one young kid sweeping the floor with a push broom that was taller than him. There was another, tougher looking, kid sitting in a chair in the back of the room near the restroom. All of these men were black. The proverbial record scratched when I walked in and I had a few dozen eye balls on me. I thought "Okay, it's a little different than Harry's, but a haircut's a haircut.", and I sat down in one of the waiting chairs.
That was three years ago, and I have been back for every haircut since then. No matter how long your hair is, or what type of cut you ask for, it's done entirely with clippers. I don't even think there is a pair of scissors in the shop. The Skins are one notch below God there. Never, EVER, utter a bad word about the Skins no matter how shitty they are doing. Oh, and the kid that was sitting in the back of the room by the bathroom, he sells dime bags of weed and does a little booking. Not one time in three years have I ever seen another white kid in the place. I'm not sure what the barbers make of me, but the cuts aren't bad, you're out in like 15 minutes, and it only costs $22 with tip. I really like the place and wish I could give them a plug, but won't for obvious reasons.
I went for a trim last night, then rode down the way to get some take-out at a sushi place I like. The restaurant is not known for it's stellar service, so I sat at the bar and had a beer while I waited for my order.
When I came in there was a tall blond girl working the bar that I had never seen in there before. Halfway through my beer her shift ended and another girl took over. The blond punched out, disappeared into the kitchen, and returned with a plate of sushi and sat down next to me.
Blondie: The bartender was about 5'8", in her mid-to-late 20's, with a curvy body and a mediocre face. She was wearing a small jean skirt, boots, and a tight wife-beater. Under the t-shirt she had on a black bra that was clearly struggling to contain it's huge cargo. On a scale of 1-10, though, Blondie was only about a 5, 6 if you wanted to be generous.
Blondie had checked my ID when I ordered my beer, so she knew my name and asked me what kind of bike I rode. She knew a fair amount about bikes, even the engines, which is unusual for a woman. It was about 8pm, and she said she had been on since that morning prepping for lunch. The other bartender dropped a shot glass in front of Blondie and filled it with Patron, then the bartender nodded towards me and held up a second glass. "Thanks, but I can't." I said, and pointed towards my helmet, which was sitting on a stool near me. Blondie downed her shot without "training wheels" (salt and lemon), then took a swig of her beer. We talked for a little while, mostly about sushi joints in the area, and had a little debate over what the best tequila was (Herradura is my favorite).
Blondie finished her last roll and said "So, is all that sushi you ordered for you?" I said yes. She said "Good. I want a ride on that Ducati. Why don't you give me a ride to my place. You can have a beer and eat your sushi while I shower, then we can go out and get a bunch of tequilas together." It was an interesting proposition. On one hand, she wasn't that great looking. On the other, things are clearly in limbo with Kay and I could use a roll in the hay to decompress (and that is clearly what this was about). Also, I had a feeling that this girl knew a few tricks in the sack.
"Tell you what, I have to work tonight, but let me get your number, we'll shower and get drinks another night." She laughed and rattled off her number, which I punched into me phone. I obviously didn't have to work last night, I just didn't feel like getting tangled up with that chick, who frankly looked a little dirty. Another problem is that I get sushi from this place a lot, and didn't want to get black listed from it by having a one night stand with the dirty bartender who probably fucked every waiter (and maybe a few waitresses) in the place. I had a vision of a wad of jizz on my next spicy tuna roll if I nailed Blondie. I did appreciate the offer, though.
I rode home, ate my sushi solo, had vodka, then went to bed.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
The Cunning Linguist
Let me make a very long story short. I was in the gym locker room last Thursday talking to some of the guys I know, and I was floored that none of them go down on their wives. Or, more likely, none of them admitted to it. How we got on the topic is really not that interesting (it started with a discussion on having TV's in the bedroom), but it may be noteworthy that all the guys were black. My good friend L, who is black, said he loves to go down, so I don't believe the stereotype that all African American men are averse to this, but it may be that in a group setting they are averse to talking about it. I told them they are all full of shit and they all go down on their wives, but they insisted they "never have and never will".
My question is, how can you not like licking pussy? Honestly, I love it. I do it as often as possible, and for as long as allowed (after a while most girls like to move on to other things). I am happy to make an evening out of it. I'll prop a girls butt up on some pillows, make myself comfortable, and easily spend 30-40 minutes down there. I've never timed it but I would bet I've spent an hour or more at times. I only have two requests: keep everything neat and trimmed, and give me regular progress reports, and I'll spend all day doing this.
I've already said it, I don't like any hair on my girl's cha-cha. I like it totally bald. But I realize that is a personal preference, and the ladies will do what they like. To each his, or her, own.
When I say I would like progress reports, what I mean is give me a little direction. If something feels good, let me know. A moan will suffice. If I'm missing the spot, give me some coordinates. "A little to the right. A little to the left. Faster. Slower. Softer. Deeper." Don't be shy, I'm doing this for you. And here's a big one, ladies, we're down there to make you cum, please let us know when we reach our goal. Sometimes it's hard to miss. I had one girl in high school clap her legs together when she came and my left ear is still a little hard of hearing, but sometimes it's not that obvious. I, for one, can't always tell, so send me a signal if you are a quiet girl.
The Smell:
Enough already. Yes, pussy has a very distinct odor, but unless there is something wrong or the girl isn't clean, I don't think the smell is bad. On the contrary, I like the smell, and the taste for that matter.
Technique:
Here's the thing with going down on a woman, you're dealing with the vagina, which is a complicated region. Unlike the penis, which has just three distinct parts in ALL cases - head, shaft, balls, that's it - the vagina has more parts than a Swiss watch. I am not a doctor (I flunked out of pre-med my sophomore year), and don't pretend be an expert on the topic. What I don't know about the female anatomy you can just about squeeze into the Grand Canyon. But I've done a bit of research on the topic and believe that I've found a technique that seems to please in most cases.
Some people swear by the "Alphabet", where you trace the letters of the alphabet over her clit. Some people (and I say people because I've discussed this with women who go down on chicks) hum while they lick and flick. Some prefer to suck on the clit while others do figure-eights around it. I'm sure every woman likes her own thing.
I generally try to stick to a tried and true method. I realize it may not be for every girl, but it seems to work for most. It's pretty simple, basically I do circles around the clit with my tongue on one direction (let's say clockwise). Then, with my hand, palm up, I put two fingers (middle and index) into her and curl the fingers back towards me like I am motioning for someone to come to me. With those fingers I rub the inside wall of her vagina, the spot that is basically right behind her clit (the disputed "g-spot"), in a circular motion opposite of what my tongue is doing (counter clockwise in this case). One way to think of is it your fingers and tongue are pointing towards each other. I like circular motion as opposed to flicking because it's steady pressure, and that seems to be the trick. This is my main technique, but I never jump right into this. I like to take my time and lick her all over first. Pay attention to her whole body.
I haven't even hit the "Publish Post" button, and I can already hear you sarcastic fuckers typing away: "You don't know what you're talking about. You're doing it all wrong. What, circles? No flicking? No sucking? Your fingers are bent up, they should point down." And on, and on.
Let me say it again for those in the cheap seats: I'm not saying this is the best technique. I'm just saying this is the one that has gotten the best reviews from my lady-friends. Have a better idea? Share it, let's see how your technique holds up with this group. Try exposing yourself to mass-ridicule for a change.
My question is, how can you not like licking pussy? Honestly, I love it. I do it as often as possible, and for as long as allowed (after a while most girls like to move on to other things). I am happy to make an evening out of it. I'll prop a girls butt up on some pillows, make myself comfortable, and easily spend 30-40 minutes down there. I've never timed it but I would bet I've spent an hour or more at times. I only have two requests: keep everything neat and trimmed, and give me regular progress reports, and I'll spend all day doing this.
I've already said it, I don't like any hair on my girl's cha-cha. I like it totally bald. But I realize that is a personal preference, and the ladies will do what they like. To each his, or her, own.
When I say I would like progress reports, what I mean is give me a little direction. If something feels good, let me know. A moan will suffice. If I'm missing the spot, give me some coordinates. "A little to the right. A little to the left. Faster. Slower. Softer. Deeper." Don't be shy, I'm doing this for you. And here's a big one, ladies, we're down there to make you cum, please let us know when we reach our goal. Sometimes it's hard to miss. I had one girl in high school clap her legs together when she came and my left ear is still a little hard of hearing, but sometimes it's not that obvious. I, for one, can't always tell, so send me a signal if you are a quiet girl.
The Smell:
Enough already. Yes, pussy has a very distinct odor, but unless there is something wrong or the girl isn't clean, I don't think the smell is bad. On the contrary, I like the smell, and the taste for that matter.
Technique:
Here's the thing with going down on a woman, you're dealing with the vagina, which is a complicated region. Unlike the penis, which has just three distinct parts in ALL cases - head, shaft, balls, that's it - the vagina has more parts than a Swiss watch. I am not a doctor (I flunked out of pre-med my sophomore year), and don't pretend be an expert on the topic. What I don't know about the female anatomy you can just about squeeze into the Grand Canyon. But I've done a bit of research on the topic and believe that I've found a technique that seems to please in most cases.
Some people swear by the "Alphabet", where you trace the letters of the alphabet over her clit. Some people (and I say people because I've discussed this with women who go down on chicks) hum while they lick and flick. Some prefer to suck on the clit while others do figure-eights around it. I'm sure every woman likes her own thing.
I generally try to stick to a tried and true method. I realize it may not be for every girl, but it seems to work for most. It's pretty simple, basically I do circles around the clit with my tongue on one direction (let's say clockwise). Then, with my hand, palm up, I put two fingers (middle and index) into her and curl the fingers back towards me like I am motioning for someone to come to me. With those fingers I rub the inside wall of her vagina, the spot that is basically right behind her clit (the disputed "g-spot"), in a circular motion opposite of what my tongue is doing (counter clockwise in this case). One way to think of is it your fingers and tongue are pointing towards each other. I like circular motion as opposed to flicking because it's steady pressure, and that seems to be the trick. This is my main technique, but I never jump right into this. I like to take my time and lick her all over first. Pay attention to her whole body.
I haven't even hit the "Publish Post" button, and I can already hear you sarcastic fuckers typing away: "You don't know what you're talking about. You're doing it all wrong. What, circles? No flicking? No sucking? Your fingers are bent up, they should point down." And on, and on.
Let me say it again for those in the cheap seats: I'm not saying this is the best technique. I'm just saying this is the one that has gotten the best reviews from my lady-friends. Have a better idea? Share it, let's see how your technique holds up with this group. Try exposing yourself to mass-ridicule for a change.
Wednesday Nights
Kay has a pretty hectic schedule weekdays, but we have hung out every Wednesday evening for about 6 weeks now. Last night I received the following text message:
"It's Wednesday...you should be inside me."
I was asleep when I got it, but it's not bad waking up to that.
So, Tuesday I was drafting a post on cunnilingus before I was distracted by other topics. Barring any shenanigans I should have that finished and posted today.
I am trying to take a personal day tomorrow to get my car registered in DC. Between the DMV and my bike trip with Kay this weekend I should have ample material for Tuesday's post.
"It's Wednesday...you should be inside me."
I was asleep when I got it, but it's not bad waking up to that.
So, Tuesday I was drafting a post on cunnilingus before I was distracted by other topics. Barring any shenanigans I should have that finished and posted today.
I am trying to take a personal day tomorrow to get my car registered in DC. Between the DMV and my bike trip with Kay this weekend I should have ample material for Tuesday's post.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Match.com II
Last night was about what I expected. No sleep, bad mood. Normally I would have gone to a bar with a buddy and gotten really rowdy and taken a girl home, but I figured that as self destructive. I ended up sequestering myself from the general public to avoid any potentially felonious behavior. I had a two hour workout (saw GG, always nice), cooked a good dinner, took the dog on a long walk, then watched a solid two hours of the Discovery Channel (I'm a nerd at heart).
What to do, what to do.
Since I didn't sleep much last night I had plenty of time to brood over the situation. Have you ever noticed that you are totally irrational when you wake up in the middle of the night? When I am in the middle of a big construction project I wake up at night in full panics about money, or permits, or workers. Then in the morning I always think "What were you so worked up about?". Last night was the same. I was so pissed that I contemplated sending Kay a text that read "WTF are you doing on Match.com?", but luckily I didn't, I would have regretted that today.
I told D-Ron about the situation and he helped out in his own sarcastic way.
Here's what I am going to do - just be myself. No pressure, no strings, no worries, no relationship labels. I'll be the nice guy that she agreed to have a lobster dinner with. The guy that she sips drinks with in the hot tub while listening to reggae. What am I stressing about, it's not in my nature. If she doesn't like me for who I am then it won't work and there is no reason to try and force it. If she comes back from her trip and tells me it's not working out and she never wants to see me again, what have I lost? It would suck, don't get me wrong, but I would deal with it. The timing was wrong, we're not right for each other, or I'm a jerk. Whatever the reason, maybe it's just not right.
But don't get me wrong, I'm not just going to roll over and give up. That's also not in my nature. I will reiterate that I really enjoy hanging out with her and think she's a great person. The one thing I am wrestling with is whether I should say that I am not seeing anyone else right now, I don't know if that qualifies as "pressure". The main reason I want to bring it up is because we don't use condoms, and I need to clarify that if we are going to see other people we will start using them.
What to do, what to do.
Since I didn't sleep much last night I had plenty of time to brood over the situation. Have you ever noticed that you are totally irrational when you wake up in the middle of the night? When I am in the middle of a big construction project I wake up at night in full panics about money, or permits, or workers. Then in the morning I always think "What were you so worked up about?". Last night was the same. I was so pissed that I contemplated sending Kay a text that read "WTF are you doing on Match.com?", but luckily I didn't, I would have regretted that today.
I told D-Ron about the situation and he helped out in his own sarcastic way.
Here's what I am going to do - just be myself. No pressure, no strings, no worries, no relationship labels. I'll be the nice guy that she agreed to have a lobster dinner with. The guy that she sips drinks with in the hot tub while listening to reggae. What am I stressing about, it's not in my nature. If she doesn't like me for who I am then it won't work and there is no reason to try and force it. If she comes back from her trip and tells me it's not working out and she never wants to see me again, what have I lost? It would suck, don't get me wrong, but I would deal with it. The timing was wrong, we're not right for each other, or I'm a jerk. Whatever the reason, maybe it's just not right.
But don't get me wrong, I'm not just going to roll over and give up. That's also not in my nature. I will reiterate that I really enjoy hanging out with her and think she's a great person. The one thing I am wrestling with is whether I should say that I am not seeing anyone else right now, I don't know if that qualifies as "pressure". The main reason I want to bring it up is because we don't use condoms, and I need to clarify that if we are going to see other people we will start using them.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Match.com
A month or two ago I mentioned that I had signed up for an online dating membership. On the recommendation of my friend D-Ron I picked Match.com. It was a fiasco, both the dating and billing aspects. I didn't have any great dates from it and Match billed me for a month or two more than I signed up for. I cancelled my subscription but I still found a charge from them last month. I disputed the charge on my card but they are still billing me despite closing my account. It's very frustrating.
I spent 20 minutes this morning on the phone with my credit card company trying to get the charge credited. You would think it would be easy to dispute a $30 charge, but it practically takes an act of congress. Finally, the lady said the credit would appear immediately on my account. A few minutes ago I logged into my online statement and the credit was shown. This is the good news.
I had taken my profile down last month, so I logged into match.com and made sure all my photos and profile were gone. The pictures were gone, but my account still appeared to be active. I was hoping everything would be shut down as that would be a good sign that I would not be charged for further services.
The bad news is that while I was logged into Match curiosity got the better of me. I mentioned before that I had stumbled upon Kay's profile, so I tried to find it again. I didn't know her user/profile name, so I typed in her age and did a search. A few pages of profiles came up and it took me a minute to find hers. When I did, I noticed that her profile picture had changed, and that the tag at the bottom of her profile said that she had been active "within 24-hours".
There are two sides of me battling for control right now, and they each make compelling arguments.
The rational side is making the following argument: "Match.com is a scam, look at your billing. And those counters are probably inaccurate. In fact, you have always suspected that they were specifically designed to be misleading and to make you think that more people are active online than there actually are. Their business model is based on membership and activity levels being high. Plus, Kay is away and probably doesn't have access to a computer anyway."
The easily enraged, highly flammable, irrational side said: "That fucking douche changed her picture, was online last night, and is still trawling the web for dudes!"
I'm really not sure what to make of this. I am generally not a trusting person, and rarely give anyone the benefit of the doubt, it's not in my nature. Some may interpret this as an insecurity, but I say that's bullshit. Suckers are trusting, I'll take skepticism over trust everyday of the week and twice on Sundays. However, I would like to think that I am skeptical and rational.
The important question is, "What do I do about this?".
Since Kay and I have never had any conversations about our relationship (or if we are even in a relationship), I suppose I really don't have any grounds for being angry.
To put the shoe on the other foot, if I confronted her, Kay could turn around and say "Well, you were online looking at chicks and stumbled across my profile. What does that make you?". While not true, it certainly does make me look sneaky.
I guess the adult course of action here is to have a discussion about where we stand. Then either bring up the match.com membership or not. I don't want to blow this out of proportion, but it does aggravate me a bit.
I have a feeling today is going to be a productive day in the gym. Should be lots of sore muscles tomorrow.
I spent 20 minutes this morning on the phone with my credit card company trying to get the charge credited. You would think it would be easy to dispute a $30 charge, but it practically takes an act of congress. Finally, the lady said the credit would appear immediately on my account. A few minutes ago I logged into my online statement and the credit was shown. This is the good news.
I had taken my profile down last month, so I logged into match.com and made sure all my photos and profile were gone. The pictures were gone, but my account still appeared to be active. I was hoping everything would be shut down as that would be a good sign that I would not be charged for further services.
The bad news is that while I was logged into Match curiosity got the better of me. I mentioned before that I had stumbled upon Kay's profile, so I tried to find it again. I didn't know her user/profile name, so I typed in her age and did a search. A few pages of profiles came up and it took me a minute to find hers. When I did, I noticed that her profile picture had changed, and that the tag at the bottom of her profile said that she had been active "within 24-hours".
There are two sides of me battling for control right now, and they each make compelling arguments.
The rational side is making the following argument: "Match.com is a scam, look at your billing. And those counters are probably inaccurate. In fact, you have always suspected that they were specifically designed to be misleading and to make you think that more people are active online than there actually are. Their business model is based on membership and activity levels being high. Plus, Kay is away and probably doesn't have access to a computer anyway."
The easily enraged, highly flammable, irrational side said: "That fucking douche changed her picture, was online last night, and is still trawling the web for dudes!"
I'm really not sure what to make of this. I am generally not a trusting person, and rarely give anyone the benefit of the doubt, it's not in my nature. Some may interpret this as an insecurity, but I say that's bullshit. Suckers are trusting, I'll take skepticism over trust everyday of the week and twice on Sundays. However, I would like to think that I am skeptical and rational.
The important question is, "What do I do about this?".
Since Kay and I have never had any conversations about our relationship (or if we are even in a relationship), I suppose I really don't have any grounds for being angry.
To put the shoe on the other foot, if I confronted her, Kay could turn around and say "Well, you were online looking at chicks and stumbled across my profile. What does that make you?". While not true, it certainly does make me look sneaky.
I guess the adult course of action here is to have a discussion about where we stand. Then either bring up the match.com membership or not. I don't want to blow this out of proportion, but it does aggravate me a bit.
I have a feeling today is going to be a productive day in the gym. Should be lots of sore muscles tomorrow.
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