Thanksgiving couldn't have come at a better time, it was the perfect excuse to drop off the face of the Earth for a week and put a little distance between myself and the girls I'm involved with. To further sell the "I'm tied up all week" story, my mom was in town and staying with me from Tuesday until last night. I suppose it really wasn't a "story" because even if all the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders wanted to come home with me it would have been logistically impossible with Mamma NN sleeping in the spare room.
After dropping mom off at the train station yesterday afternoon I took advantage of the warm weather and rode the bike to look at a few properties I am interested in. One was in Mt. Pleasant, so I took Connecticut Ave back downtown and stopped en route at a store to pick up some shirts. There were two young female clerks at the store, and since the place was empty they followed me around and kept asking "Can I prepare a dressing room for you?". What does that even mean "prepare" a dressing room? Are they going to paint it my favorite color or something? I just said "I'll let you know if I need to try anything on, thanks."
Clerk 1 was Asian, about 25, a little chunky, but she had a cute face. Even from our short exchanges I could tell she had a wild streak and that she partied her ass off. She was really outgoing and seemed like a lot of fun. Clerk 2 was a tall chick, about 25, maybe middle-eastern, with big brown eyes, a fantastic body, but a mediocre face. When I first walked in I thought she was really hot, but upon closer inspection I saw she wasn't all that great. She was a little shy, but made an effort to be friendly.
I'm 99% sure I could have gotten either of their numbers, they were being overly friendly, even by sales girl standards. In leaner times I probably would have asked Clerk 2 for her number, but with all the nonsense I have going on I decided against it. I briefly considered asking both of them out for drinks when they got off work to see just how wild they were (threesome?), but that seemed like a lot of effort for a Sunday night. I realize it's egotistical to meet two sales girls at a store and think that you can take both of them home. But break it down into smaller, more mangemeable, steps. Is it unreasonable that two girls would want to meet for drinks after work? Not really. Is it unreasonable that after (many) drinks they might want to come back to my place for a dip in the hot tub? Again, not really, it's within the realm of possibility. Is it unlikely that they would both end up in my bed? Yes, I would say that's unlikely. However, strange shit like that happens all the time. Just look at what happened with that Rodeo chick.
Anyway, moving forward. I'm getting kicked out of my house Wednesday night because my sister is having some of her girl friends over for drinks and Kay will be there. I have tickets to a Wizards game, and was going to ask Poonani. I think it will be easier to just go with one of my buddies, and am only going to ask Poonani as a last resort.
I finally met my sister's coworker, the girl that I saw pictures of that I thought was cute. Turns out she's not all that cute, which is really disappointing. If she shows some interest I may take her out to see what she's like. But my initial reaction is that I'm not all that attracted to her.
With mom in town I took every opportunity to get out of the house for some quiet time, and long dog walks were the perfect excuse. I saw Dog Girl a couple of times and made pleasantries once or twice. At 11pm on Wednesday night I was walking the hound down my street and spotted DG and a dude walking towards me. DG was holding his arm, but as I got closer she let go. When I passed them I said "Hey, how's it going tonight?", she said "Good, you?". I said fine, and we all kept walking, but the funny part is the dude puffed out his chest and got all tough and said "Sup". The guy was short and skinny, so his attitude was amusing. I don't think he lives with her because I've never seen him around the neighborhood.
Speaking of walking dogs, I was out early Saturday morning walking the hound down Maryland Ave. My dog goes crazy over squirrels so I have to keep alert and brace myself in the event she lounges after one or risk getting my arm pulled off my body. A few blocks from my house I spotted a squirrel sitting on a low stone wall facing us and eating a nut. He clearly saw us, and my dog somehow overlooked it, so I figured it was no big deal. Plus, the wall was about 8' away from me and my leash is only 6' long. Just as we were about to pass the squirrel, though, the hound spotted it and lept. The suirrel zigged when it should have zagged, and before I could react it was in my dog's mouth. I freaked out and yanked her leash, but it was too late, she had it's torso in her mouth. The squirrel was making these really awful squeeking noises as the dog vicously shook it from side to side. She then pinned the squirrel to the ground and gave it a final bite that produced a gross crunching noise. I said "drop it" which she surprisingly did, but the damage was done, that sucker was dead as Dillinger. It was a rough morning.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Monday, November 23, 2009
Air Tanker Orgasm
Friday night I went swimming...in my bed.
I'm sitting here trying to decide how best to describe what happened between Friday night and Saturday morning. One vision keeps coming to mind, and it's almost vulgar. Before I get to that, let me explain what preempted it.
I talked to my friend Paul earlier last week and he seemed annoyed at me. Paul is friends with Madonna, and I thought he was mad because Madonna said that I was blowing her off. I felt badly so I asked her if she would like to get drinks on Friday night.
I met Madonna at Jaleo for two drinks, then we headed to Rocket Bar to play shuffle board. The bar was packed and all the tables were being used so we settled for a few rounds of beers and darts (cricket). I am happy to report that I have finally found someone who is worse at darts than I (West LA: me or I??? - changed to "I" post comment!).
The night started out a little slow, but after Madonna got a few drinks in her she loosened up and I had a really good time. My one complaint is that Madonna was dressed like she was going to the grocery store. I like casual, but she was a little too casual. She has a great figure but hid it behind baggy clothing.
Around 1am we were feeling no pain and decided to go back to my place. The cab ride was a ten minute make-out session, and when we got to my street I threw a wad of singles into the front seat and we spilled out onto the sidewalk. Somehow we made it into my bedroom and our clothes flew off in all directions. It was one of those nights where you simply can't get undressed fast enough. A combination of falling and undressing that involves a lot of tugging, unbuttoning, and tearing.
Side notes: I would like to point out two things. The first is that Madonna had on granny panties again. The second is that once they came off her bush was still huge! What's going on here? Cut it, cut it, cut it!
I was not expecting much from Madonna in bed because she was so tame the first time. However, I was pleasantly surprised on Friday by a total lack of inhibition. Maybe she was shy the first time, or drunk this weekend, or both, but it was like a totally different girl showed up. We were flopping around, there was plenty of energy, a little dirty talk, and just the right amount of moaning.
On the second round of the night Madonna got on top of me and started grinding away. She's a pretty tall girl, about my height, so when she got moving the bed really started to squeak and knock against the wall. It was almost three in the morning and I was afraid that my tenant was going to give me the old "broom stick on the ceiling" treatment for keeping her up all night. I grabbed Madonna by the hips and pulled her down onto me tightly, hoping it would lessen the sway of the bed. Just then Madonna let out scream, and I was totally unprepared for what happened next.
Let me try to give you the visual. Have you ever seen video footage of the park service fighting forest fires? You see the blaze, then an air tanker plane swoops in low and opens up it's bay doors and enough water to fill a few Olympic pools dumps out all at once. Then the plane banks hard and lumbers off out of frame. That's pretty much what Madonna did to me on Friday.
After she screamed, Madonna let go an incomprehensible amount of fluid. It just exploded out of her all at once. It hit my pelvis then flowed backwards between my legs, down either side of me, and a frothy stream ran up my stomach and pooled in the center of my chest, which she smeared around like she was finger painting. I don't know what possessed me but I ran my right hand through the puddle, licked my hand to taste it, then ran my hand across Madonna's mouth. She licked my hand pretty much clean. The verdict is still out as to whether that was hot, or simply too much.
This is the second time in a year that I was surprised by "female ejaculate", so I decided I needed to do a little research. Essentially, what I have found is that doctors have no idea what the fluid is, where it comes from, or how it is propelled from the body. The evidence is all inconclusive. They seem to think that the amount of fluid ranges from 1-10 tablespoons, but there is no way Madonna let out just ten table spoons. It took two towels to sop it up, it must have been two or three cups. I seriously think it's time to replace that mattress.
Some of you have asked "What's your point NN? Are you bragging?". No, I'm not bragging. My point is, and I quote Forest Gump, "Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you're gonna get."
I'm sitting here trying to decide how best to describe what happened between Friday night and Saturday morning. One vision keeps coming to mind, and it's almost vulgar. Before I get to that, let me explain what preempted it.
I talked to my friend Paul earlier last week and he seemed annoyed at me. Paul is friends with Madonna, and I thought he was mad because Madonna said that I was blowing her off. I felt badly so I asked her if she would like to get drinks on Friday night.
I met Madonna at Jaleo for two drinks, then we headed to Rocket Bar to play shuffle board. The bar was packed and all the tables were being used so we settled for a few rounds of beers and darts (cricket). I am happy to report that I have finally found someone who is worse at darts than I (West LA: me or I??? - changed to "I" post comment!).
The night started out a little slow, but after Madonna got a few drinks in her she loosened up and I had a really good time. My one complaint is that Madonna was dressed like she was going to the grocery store. I like casual, but she was a little too casual. She has a great figure but hid it behind baggy clothing.
Around 1am we were feeling no pain and decided to go back to my place. The cab ride was a ten minute make-out session, and when we got to my street I threw a wad of singles into the front seat and we spilled out onto the sidewalk. Somehow we made it into my bedroom and our clothes flew off in all directions. It was one of those nights where you simply can't get undressed fast enough. A combination of falling and undressing that involves a lot of tugging, unbuttoning, and tearing.
Side notes: I would like to point out two things. The first is that Madonna had on granny panties again. The second is that once they came off her bush was still huge! What's going on here? Cut it, cut it, cut it!
I was not expecting much from Madonna in bed because she was so tame the first time. However, I was pleasantly surprised on Friday by a total lack of inhibition. Maybe she was shy the first time, or drunk this weekend, or both, but it was like a totally different girl showed up. We were flopping around, there was plenty of energy, a little dirty talk, and just the right amount of moaning.
On the second round of the night Madonna got on top of me and started grinding away. She's a pretty tall girl, about my height, so when she got moving the bed really started to squeak and knock against the wall. It was almost three in the morning and I was afraid that my tenant was going to give me the old "broom stick on the ceiling" treatment for keeping her up all night. I grabbed Madonna by the hips and pulled her down onto me tightly, hoping it would lessen the sway of the bed. Just then Madonna let out scream, and I was totally unprepared for what happened next.
Let me try to give you the visual. Have you ever seen video footage of the park service fighting forest fires? You see the blaze, then an air tanker plane swoops in low and opens up it's bay doors and enough water to fill a few Olympic pools dumps out all at once. Then the plane banks hard and lumbers off out of frame. That's pretty much what Madonna did to me on Friday.
After she screamed, Madonna let go an incomprehensible amount of fluid. It just exploded out of her all at once. It hit my pelvis then flowed backwards between my legs, down either side of me, and a frothy stream ran up my stomach and pooled in the center of my chest, which she smeared around like she was finger painting. I don't know what possessed me but I ran my right hand through the puddle, licked my hand to taste it, then ran my hand across Madonna's mouth. She licked my hand pretty much clean. The verdict is still out as to whether that was hot, or simply too much.
This is the second time in a year that I was surprised by "female ejaculate", so I decided I needed to do a little research. Essentially, what I have found is that doctors have no idea what the fluid is, where it comes from, or how it is propelled from the body. The evidence is all inconclusive. They seem to think that the amount of fluid ranges from 1-10 tablespoons, but there is no way Madonna let out just ten table spoons. It took two towels to sop it up, it must have been two or three cups. I seriously think it's time to replace that mattress.
Some of you have asked "What's your point NN? Are you bragging?". No, I'm not bragging. My point is, and I quote Forest Gump, "Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you're gonna get."
Friday, November 20, 2009
The Rodeo
I've been talking to my buddies about our plans for New Years and there seem to be some good things in the works, not only in terms of locations, but also relative to attendees.
One of my favorite people on Earth is my friend from college, Fooj. Fooj's father is Japanese and his mom is American. He looks Asian, but he's like 6'2", clearly a maternal gene. He's ultra smart, was a child music prodigy, and is the only person I have ever met who truly doesn't care one bit what other people think of him. For instance, if you said "Fooj, you're wearing a track suit at this very fancy club, you look like an idiot.", he would either laugh at you and walk away, or just stare at you blankly and sip his drink. He just doesn't care. He also doesn't think society's rules apply to him. For instance, he smokes heavily and always has. But he smokes anywhere he wants. Bars, restaurants, pumping gas, in his office. When people yell at him and tell him to put it out he just says "Ohhh, yeahhhhh, sorry about that." He then puts the cigarette out and lights up another one five seconds later. One day in college I was in a computer lab at 11pm and I smelled smoke. I looked up and three rows away I saw smoke rising up from behind a monitor and thought "There's only one person in the world who would have the balls to smoke in here.", and sure enough, it was Fooj, puffing away on a Marlboro. I might add that it helps Fooj's dad was one of the original investors in wireless cell phone technology, and has a trust fund worth millions (not that you would ever know by looking at him, he was always disheveled).
Anyway, Fooj is now a very successful stock broker. He married an impossibly tall and beautiful Ford Agency model a few years back and now has a baby girl. Fooj was supposed to come to South America last year but dropped out at the last second. There is rumor that he's joining our trip this year. Events get exponentially more unpredictable when Fooj is involved.
Case and point.
A few years back I was in NYC one Monday night for work. Fooj was living with another college friend on 3rd Ave in midtown. It was a chill night and we both had work in the morning, but we decided to go to this place called Rodeo Bar for a few cocktails. The place was dead, but Fooj and I sat at the bar and ordered some drinks. We were shooting the shit when this brunette walks over to us and says "You two are the best looking guys in the bar". Fooj and I looked around and I said "We're the ONLY two guys in the bar?". The brunette giggled, and said "True, what are you guys doing tonight?", and without missing a beat Fooj says "Well, we're going to take you back to your place and double-team you." and we all laughed (me, nervously). The chick said "Mmmm, that sounds nice" and with that we left the bar. I'll call the brunette Rodeo.
Rodeo: Rodeo was probably in her late-twenties or early-thirties. She was about 5'7", long brown hair, a little on the curvy side, but decent enough.
I was dumb-founded as we walked out. I gave Fooj a look as if to say "what the fuck is going on?" and he just shrugged. When we got to the street Fooj said to the girl "which way?" She gave a nod and off we went. As we were walking I alternated between uncontrollable giddy laughter and a strong fear that we had just picked up a hooker. We were approaching a little market and I asked Rodeo if she had any booze at her house. She said she had some gin, so I said "Great, let me run in here and grab some mixers." I grabbed a can of tonic, but what I really needed was a huge box of condoms. I wanted to be ready in the event this really did go down.
We finally got to this chick's flat, which actually was a very nice place. It was a studio, but it had a great view and was nicely furnished. I remember thinking that she must be a really high-priced hooker and that this was not going to be cheap.
She mixed us some drinks and there was an awkward moment where the three of us just stood in her kitchen (for those of you who recall my I Love NYC post, this may sound eerily similar). I started kissing Rodeo and Fooj yanked down her skirt and underwear. I think he was fingering her from behind while I kissed her, but I tried not to look, afraid that the reality of what was actually happening would settle in. The three of us clumsily made our way over to her bed in one corner of the main room, but when we got to the edge of it Fooj broke off and walked over to the couch.
As Rodeo undid my pants I started to smell cigarette smoke, and then heard the TV click on. I knew without looking exactly what was going on. Fooj had just lit a cig and was scanning through the channels looking for MTV. I couldn't help myself from laughing out loud, all this was just too much.
Rodeo finally got my pants off and I put on one of the condoms I bought earlier. There wasn't much foreplay, I just laid her on the bed and slid into her. I was pretty buzzed, but it wasn't until a few minutes into sex that I realized I had my shirt, tie, and suit jacket still on, and that my tie was really getting in the way. I kept moving it off her face, and then eventually slung it over my shoulder, which I must have seen in a porn or something. A second later I looked back and caught a glimpse of Fooj on this chick's leather couch holding the TV remote control in front of him, clicking through the channels just like he was at home. The couch faced away from us, so all I saw was the remote, the back of his head, and a ribbon of smoke rising up. I bit my tongue so I wouldn't laugh.
I refocused on the task and hand. Rodeo was moaning and carrying on, but I could see her sniffing, clearly aggravated by the smoking. I picked up the pace to get this over with. When I came I pulled out of her and ripped off the condom. Cum went everywhere, including her left eye. As she was rubbing it she said "Was that really necessary?". I was like "Um, sorry, got a little carried away". I climbed off her and started putting my pants back on.
But Rodeo wasn't through, she said, "OK, it's your turn", looking at Fooj, who was now probably on his fourth cigarette. He ashed on her floor, laughed really hard, and said "Ohhhhhhhhhh, there's no way I'm going after him". He then stood up and ran for her front door. Afraid of getting left behind, I took off after him, and we both made a break for the elevator. The chick had her blouse on, and jumped up while we were running. I could hear her yelling and swearing as we got in the elevator, but I never looked back to see if she was after us.
Once we hit the street we ran all the way back to Fooj's place, doubled over laughing. When we got home we poured a few more drinks and went through what just happened, frame by frame. We were laughing so hard that I thought I might throw up. Fooj's roommate came out of his room, he had clearly overheard us. He stood there in his underwear for a second, shook his head, then went back to sleep. In the end we decided she wasn't a hooker, just some fucked up girl.
I don't know why, but the image of Fooj holding the remote while I banged Rodeo ten feet away is forever ingrained in my head. I think that will remain one of the most ridiculous events of my life.
One of my favorite people on Earth is my friend from college, Fooj. Fooj's father is Japanese and his mom is American. He looks Asian, but he's like 6'2", clearly a maternal gene. He's ultra smart, was a child music prodigy, and is the only person I have ever met who truly doesn't care one bit what other people think of him. For instance, if you said "Fooj, you're wearing a track suit at this very fancy club, you look like an idiot.", he would either laugh at you and walk away, or just stare at you blankly and sip his drink. He just doesn't care. He also doesn't think society's rules apply to him. For instance, he smokes heavily and always has. But he smokes anywhere he wants. Bars, restaurants, pumping gas, in his office. When people yell at him and tell him to put it out he just says "Ohhh, yeahhhhh, sorry about that." He then puts the cigarette out and lights up another one five seconds later. One day in college I was in a computer lab at 11pm and I smelled smoke. I looked up and three rows away I saw smoke rising up from behind a monitor and thought "There's only one person in the world who would have the balls to smoke in here.", and sure enough, it was Fooj, puffing away on a Marlboro. I might add that it helps Fooj's dad was one of the original investors in wireless cell phone technology, and has a trust fund worth millions (not that you would ever know by looking at him, he was always disheveled).
Anyway, Fooj is now a very successful stock broker. He married an impossibly tall and beautiful Ford Agency model a few years back and now has a baby girl. Fooj was supposed to come to South America last year but dropped out at the last second. There is rumor that he's joining our trip this year. Events get exponentially more unpredictable when Fooj is involved.
Case and point.
A few years back I was in NYC one Monday night for work. Fooj was living with another college friend on 3rd Ave in midtown. It was a chill night and we both had work in the morning, but we decided to go to this place called Rodeo Bar for a few cocktails. The place was dead, but Fooj and I sat at the bar and ordered some drinks. We were shooting the shit when this brunette walks over to us and says "You two are the best looking guys in the bar". Fooj and I looked around and I said "We're the ONLY two guys in the bar?". The brunette giggled, and said "True, what are you guys doing tonight?", and without missing a beat Fooj says "Well, we're going to take you back to your place and double-team you." and we all laughed (me, nervously). The chick said "Mmmm, that sounds nice" and with that we left the bar. I'll call the brunette Rodeo.
Rodeo: Rodeo was probably in her late-twenties or early-thirties. She was about 5'7", long brown hair, a little on the curvy side, but decent enough.
I was dumb-founded as we walked out. I gave Fooj a look as if to say "what the fuck is going on?" and he just shrugged. When we got to the street Fooj said to the girl "which way?" She gave a nod and off we went. As we were walking I alternated between uncontrollable giddy laughter and a strong fear that we had just picked up a hooker. We were approaching a little market and I asked Rodeo if she had any booze at her house. She said she had some gin, so I said "Great, let me run in here and grab some mixers." I grabbed a can of tonic, but what I really needed was a huge box of condoms. I wanted to be ready in the event this really did go down.
We finally got to this chick's flat, which actually was a very nice place. It was a studio, but it had a great view and was nicely furnished. I remember thinking that she must be a really high-priced hooker and that this was not going to be cheap.
She mixed us some drinks and there was an awkward moment where the three of us just stood in her kitchen (for those of you who recall my I Love NYC post, this may sound eerily similar). I started kissing Rodeo and Fooj yanked down her skirt and underwear. I think he was fingering her from behind while I kissed her, but I tried not to look, afraid that the reality of what was actually happening would settle in. The three of us clumsily made our way over to her bed in one corner of the main room, but when we got to the edge of it Fooj broke off and walked over to the couch.
As Rodeo undid my pants I started to smell cigarette smoke, and then heard the TV click on. I knew without looking exactly what was going on. Fooj had just lit a cig and was scanning through the channels looking for MTV. I couldn't help myself from laughing out loud, all this was just too much.
Rodeo finally got my pants off and I put on one of the condoms I bought earlier. There wasn't much foreplay, I just laid her on the bed and slid into her. I was pretty buzzed, but it wasn't until a few minutes into sex that I realized I had my shirt, tie, and suit jacket still on, and that my tie was really getting in the way. I kept moving it off her face, and then eventually slung it over my shoulder, which I must have seen in a porn or something. A second later I looked back and caught a glimpse of Fooj on this chick's leather couch holding the TV remote control in front of him, clicking through the channels just like he was at home. The couch faced away from us, so all I saw was the remote, the back of his head, and a ribbon of smoke rising up. I bit my tongue so I wouldn't laugh.
I refocused on the task and hand. Rodeo was moaning and carrying on, but I could see her sniffing, clearly aggravated by the smoking. I picked up the pace to get this over with. When I came I pulled out of her and ripped off the condom. Cum went everywhere, including her left eye. As she was rubbing it she said "Was that really necessary?". I was like "Um, sorry, got a little carried away". I climbed off her and started putting my pants back on.
But Rodeo wasn't through, she said, "OK, it's your turn", looking at Fooj, who was now probably on his fourth cigarette. He ashed on her floor, laughed really hard, and said "Ohhhhhhhhhh, there's no way I'm going after him". He then stood up and ran for her front door. Afraid of getting left behind, I took off after him, and we both made a break for the elevator. The chick had her blouse on, and jumped up while we were running. I could hear her yelling and swearing as we got in the elevator, but I never looked back to see if she was after us.
Once we hit the street we ran all the way back to Fooj's place, doubled over laughing. When we got home we poured a few more drinks and went through what just happened, frame by frame. We were laughing so hard that I thought I might throw up. Fooj's roommate came out of his room, he had clearly overheard us. He stood there in his underwear for a second, shook his head, then went back to sleep. In the end we decided she wasn't a hooker, just some fucked up girl.
I don't know why, but the image of Fooj holding the remote while I banged Rodeo ten feet away is forever ingrained in my head. I think that will remain one of the most ridiculous events of my life.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Weddings
Ugh, I just got an invitation to a wedding in Hawaii, what is that all about? I'm so sick of weddings, the allure wore off years ago and now they are just a tremendous inconvenience. The problem is that couples have no consideration for their guests.
Everyone says what a great time weddings are, but where do all these fantastic weddings take place? All the ones I go to are showy affairs with cold food, fat bridesmaids, and annoying relatives. Sure, everyone gets hammered and dances like fools, but I don't need to rent a tux and fly halfway across the world to do that, I can just walk to the Ugly Mug.
Why can't people get married in their hometowns, why do I have to fly to Bermuda or Hawaii? They're called "Destination Weddings", and I refuse to go to them. Why should I use my vacation time and frequent flier miles to get sand in my shoes while you read your own gay wedding vows? Forget it.
I also won't go to weddings on holiday weekends. That's a double-screw, now you're asking me to take a whole long weekend to watch you get married. The only reason people pick those weekends are because the reception halls cut them a discounted rate. But hold up, I'm not calling you cheap because you picked a holiday weekend, I'm saying your inconsiderate for making me give up one of my five floating holidays to go.
While we're on the topic of finances, I think you're a total ass if you spend more than ten or twenty grand on a wedding, TOPS! I don't care who you are, how much you make, or which of your relatives is giving you the money to pay for it. Someone, somewhere, earned and saved that money and you have no business frittering it away on flowers and French silk dresses. The whole industry is out of control. And wedding planners, you have the most insignificant job on this entire planet. How do you live with yourselves? I have personally made three cry. "Stand here, stand there. Put the drink down. Don't grope the sister of the bride." Stop fucking telling me what to do!
Before you accuse me of being a bitter bachelor, I would like to point out that my family has been in the wedding industry for nearly 75 years, and it has been very good to us. I worked for the family business and have extensive first-hand knowledge of what a tremendous waste of resources weddings are. Did you know that over 50% of all married couples go into long-term debt to pay for weddings? That stunned me. Think about it, people borrow money to throw a party, and most don't have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of. In many cases, the debt payments last longer than the marriage. Think about that before you sign a loan for a wedding!
Industry Story: A small part of the family business was a bridal shop. I wasn't working there, but I stopped by one Saturday afternoon to drop off some paperwork and the manager asked me to follow her to a dressing room. In the room was the bride, her mother, a seamstress, and the sales girl. Five months ago the bride, who was a size 8, ordered a size 4 dress because she was sure that she would lose the weight in time for her wedding, which was now just 3 weeks away. She showed up for her final fitting still a size 8, insisted that she had lost the weight, and that they put her in the dress. Well, they put her in the dress, zipped her in, and now they couldn't get her out. We keep a pair of pliers on hand to help with this type of "stubborn zipper", and they were hoping I could pry the zipper down. I tried for a while, but she was in it pretty good. The zipper was just too stressed to open, and I would have only ripped the dress or hurt the bride if I applied anymore force. So, I turned to the seamstress and said "Cut her out of it", at which point the bride immediately began to cry uncontrollably. I wish I could have put money on her getting down to a size 4.
Some weddings are unavoidable, you have to go, especially if you're asked to be part of the bridal party. If you marry into my circle of friends you should know that a wedding combines very volatile elements, and once mixed you cannot slow, stop, or contain that reaction. It's like nuclear fission. The situation can't be "unfucked" until the booze wears off in the wee hours of the morning and the system has expelled all its energy. Even then the damage may be irreparable. It's not always our fault, though. If the bride put a little fore-thought into the event a lot of problems could be avoided. I mean, if you don't want us to drink massive vodka-cranberry cocktails out of the giant crystal vase center pieces, don't put them on the tables. Common sense here people.
But don't worry, I'm not here to ruin weddings, I'm here to prevent them. Before every one of my close friends' weddings I called them and made the following, very serious, open-ended offer. The offer is that if they are having any doubts about what they are about to do, I will be at their house in one one hour with two plane tickets. I'll fly them to Key West where we will sit at Captain Tony's and stay pie-eyed until the wedding blows over. It is their "get out of jail free" card, and they can use it up-to and within one hour of the ceremony. It will be totally discrete, and all expenses are on me. It's the one wedding gift I don't mind giving.
To date, no one has taken me up on this. However, one guy told his wife about my offer and let's just say that I don't get invited over for dinner very often.
Everyone says what a great time weddings are, but where do all these fantastic weddings take place? All the ones I go to are showy affairs with cold food, fat bridesmaids, and annoying relatives. Sure, everyone gets hammered and dances like fools, but I don't need to rent a tux and fly halfway across the world to do that, I can just walk to the Ugly Mug.
Why can't people get married in their hometowns, why do I have to fly to Bermuda or Hawaii? They're called "Destination Weddings", and I refuse to go to them. Why should I use my vacation time and frequent flier miles to get sand in my shoes while you read your own gay wedding vows? Forget it.
I also won't go to weddings on holiday weekends. That's a double-screw, now you're asking me to take a whole long weekend to watch you get married. The only reason people pick those weekends are because the reception halls cut them a discounted rate. But hold up, I'm not calling you cheap because you picked a holiday weekend, I'm saying your inconsiderate for making me give up one of my five floating holidays to go.
While we're on the topic of finances, I think you're a total ass if you spend more than ten or twenty grand on a wedding, TOPS! I don't care who you are, how much you make, or which of your relatives is giving you the money to pay for it. Someone, somewhere, earned and saved that money and you have no business frittering it away on flowers and French silk dresses. The whole industry is out of control. And wedding planners, you have the most insignificant job on this entire planet. How do you live with yourselves? I have personally made three cry. "Stand here, stand there. Put the drink down. Don't grope the sister of the bride." Stop fucking telling me what to do!
Before you accuse me of being a bitter bachelor, I would like to point out that my family has been in the wedding industry for nearly 75 years, and it has been very good to us. I worked for the family business and have extensive first-hand knowledge of what a tremendous waste of resources weddings are. Did you know that over 50% of all married couples go into long-term debt to pay for weddings? That stunned me. Think about it, people borrow money to throw a party, and most don't have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of. In many cases, the debt payments last longer than the marriage. Think about that before you sign a loan for a wedding!
Industry Story: A small part of the family business was a bridal shop. I wasn't working there, but I stopped by one Saturday afternoon to drop off some paperwork and the manager asked me to follow her to a dressing room. In the room was the bride, her mother, a seamstress, and the sales girl. Five months ago the bride, who was a size 8, ordered a size 4 dress because she was sure that she would lose the weight in time for her wedding, which was now just 3 weeks away. She showed up for her final fitting still a size 8, insisted that she had lost the weight, and that they put her in the dress. Well, they put her in the dress, zipped her in, and now they couldn't get her out. We keep a pair of pliers on hand to help with this type of "stubborn zipper", and they were hoping I could pry the zipper down. I tried for a while, but she was in it pretty good. The zipper was just too stressed to open, and I would have only ripped the dress or hurt the bride if I applied anymore force. So, I turned to the seamstress and said "Cut her out of it", at which point the bride immediately began to cry uncontrollably. I wish I could have put money on her getting down to a size 4.
Some weddings are unavoidable, you have to go, especially if you're asked to be part of the bridal party. If you marry into my circle of friends you should know that a wedding combines very volatile elements, and once mixed you cannot slow, stop, or contain that reaction. It's like nuclear fission. The situation can't be "unfucked" until the booze wears off in the wee hours of the morning and the system has expelled all its energy. Even then the damage may be irreparable. It's not always our fault, though. If the bride put a little fore-thought into the event a lot of problems could be avoided. I mean, if you don't want us to drink massive vodka-cranberry cocktails out of the giant crystal vase center pieces, don't put them on the tables. Common sense here people.
But don't worry, I'm not here to ruin weddings, I'm here to prevent them. Before every one of my close friends' weddings I called them and made the following, very serious, open-ended offer. The offer is that if they are having any doubts about what they are about to do, I will be at their house in one one hour with two plane tickets. I'll fly them to Key West where we will sit at Captain Tony's and stay pie-eyed until the wedding blows over. It is their "get out of jail free" card, and they can use it up-to and within one hour of the ceremony. It will be totally discrete, and all expenses are on me. It's the one wedding gift I don't mind giving.
To date, no one has taken me up on this. However, one guy told his wife about my offer and let's just say that I don't get invited over for dinner very often.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Blackmail or Extortion?
Yesterday I blackmailed my sister, Yoda (her nickname), into setting me up with a friend of hers. Or maybe it was extortion, I'm not exactly sure what the distinction is.
Background: My sister is a few years younger than I and we are very close, but after I unsuccessfully dated one of her good friends from college (who never spoke to my sister or I again), she stopped setting me up with people she knew. As a matter of fact, she cock-blocks me every time I meet a girl she is friendly with. Frankly, I can't blame her.
Yesterday morning I got a call from Yoda asking me if I could help her change a flat tire on her car. I said sure, and asked where the car was, but her answers were elusive and I knew that the car had blown a tire somewhere (or somehow) she didn't want me to know about. The conversation went something like this"
NN: Where is the car?
Yoda: Well, I took a cab home.
NN: From where?
Yoda: From where I got the flat tire?
NN: Last night?
Yoda: No, this morning?
NN: So where did you stay?
Yoda: I left it on the side of the road. And this morning I saw I am missing a hub cap, too.
NN: I know where the car stayed, where did you stay last night?
This game went on for five minutes before I told her that if she didn't immediately tell me the exact address where the car was I was going to hang up on her and she could change her own tire. She paused for a moment then said two cross streets. My mental google-maps flashed to the area, and I was a little thrown off because it was only four blocks from Kay's house. I couldn't figure out why my sister would be in that neighborhood on a Sunday night, and moreover, why she would be trying to hide it from me. I thought a little more about the area, which is pretty ghetto, and tried to think of other reasons she would be there, then it struck me, "Were you at Pauls?". There was another long pause, then "Ah, yeah, last night was a mess."
Paul is my buddy who had the party on Halloween night, and he went to high school with Madonna, which is how I met her. Yoda thought I would be mad that she hooked up with Paul, but I don't care, he's a good guy. In the great scheme of things I would rather she hooked up with Paul than Kay. All things are relative.
In typical slime-ball fashion, though, I tried to think of how I could use this new information to my advantage. I said "OK, I'll meet you at your car at 11:30, but you owe me a favor, and it's going to be a big one." Yoda agreed, reluctantly.
After I changed the tire I said "OK, you have to set me up with Giselle."
I have never actually met Giselle, but Yoda works with her and I've seen tons of pictures of her. I call her Giselle because she is nearly as hot as the model. She's also very smart, and apparently, very cool. Yoda screamed "No way! She's too good for you, I won't do it!". That's nice, isn't it? She's too good for me. What she meant was, Giselle is a very sweet, young, innocent girl, and she didn't want me to screw her over. I knew she wouldn't set me up with Giselle in a million years, which is why I said her first, she was a bargaining chip. She's six feet tall, too, so she's a bit too tall for me anyway. I said "Okay, okay, not Giselle, that's fine. But if you won't set me up with Giselle, then you have to set me up with Tattoo.", her shoulders slumped and in a whiny voice said "Whyyyyyy.....okay, I'll set you up with Tattoo."
Tattoo: I've never actually met Tattoo either, but I've seen pictures and heard the stories, she's right up my power-alley. Tattoo is 25, medium height with dark hair and dark eyes. She's super-wild, though, just really likes to have a good time, and parties a lot. Again, I haven't seen it, but I heard she has a big tattoo that starts at her hip and goes up her side to her armpit. I've been trying to get Yoda to invite her out for drinks with us, but the reason she said she won't is because she "doesn't want to have to have morning coffee in our kitchen with someone she works with". Again, I completely understand, but I'm going to make her set us up anyway.
Ironically, I got a call from Madonna last night. I thought that she was out of the picture, but she's still hanging in there, mostly due to the watch she left at my place. I kind of feel badly about not getting it back to her yet, so in retrospect, maybe leaving something behind does ensure a second date (not that I think she did it on purpose). Anyway, we are going to meet up Friday night for drinks. I'm going to try and keep those plans.
Background: My sister is a few years younger than I and we are very close, but after I unsuccessfully dated one of her good friends from college (who never spoke to my sister or I again), she stopped setting me up with people she knew. As a matter of fact, she cock-blocks me every time I meet a girl she is friendly with. Frankly, I can't blame her.
Yesterday morning I got a call from Yoda asking me if I could help her change a flat tire on her car. I said sure, and asked where the car was, but her answers were elusive and I knew that the car had blown a tire somewhere (or somehow) she didn't want me to know about. The conversation went something like this"
NN: Where is the car?
Yoda: Well, I took a cab home.
NN: From where?
Yoda: From where I got the flat tire?
NN: Last night?
Yoda: No, this morning?
NN: So where did you stay?
Yoda: I left it on the side of the road. And this morning I saw I am missing a hub cap, too.
NN: I know where the car stayed, where did you stay last night?
This game went on for five minutes before I told her that if she didn't immediately tell me the exact address where the car was I was going to hang up on her and she could change her own tire. She paused for a moment then said two cross streets. My mental google-maps flashed to the area, and I was a little thrown off because it was only four blocks from Kay's house. I couldn't figure out why my sister would be in that neighborhood on a Sunday night, and moreover, why she would be trying to hide it from me. I thought a little more about the area, which is pretty ghetto, and tried to think of other reasons she would be there, then it struck me, "Were you at Pauls?". There was another long pause, then "Ah, yeah, last night was a mess."
Paul is my buddy who had the party on Halloween night, and he went to high school with Madonna, which is how I met her. Yoda thought I would be mad that she hooked up with Paul, but I don't care, he's a good guy. In the great scheme of things I would rather she hooked up with Paul than Kay. All things are relative.
In typical slime-ball fashion, though, I tried to think of how I could use this new information to my advantage. I said "OK, I'll meet you at your car at 11:30, but you owe me a favor, and it's going to be a big one." Yoda agreed, reluctantly.
After I changed the tire I said "OK, you have to set me up with Giselle."
I have never actually met Giselle, but Yoda works with her and I've seen tons of pictures of her. I call her Giselle because she is nearly as hot as the model. She's also very smart, and apparently, very cool. Yoda screamed "No way! She's too good for you, I won't do it!". That's nice, isn't it? She's too good for me. What she meant was, Giselle is a very sweet, young, innocent girl, and she didn't want me to screw her over. I knew she wouldn't set me up with Giselle in a million years, which is why I said her first, she was a bargaining chip. She's six feet tall, too, so she's a bit too tall for me anyway. I said "Okay, okay, not Giselle, that's fine. But if you won't set me up with Giselle, then you have to set me up with Tattoo.", her shoulders slumped and in a whiny voice said "Whyyyyyy.....okay, I'll set you up with Tattoo."
Tattoo: I've never actually met Tattoo either, but I've seen pictures and heard the stories, she's right up my power-alley. Tattoo is 25, medium height with dark hair and dark eyes. She's super-wild, though, just really likes to have a good time, and parties a lot. Again, I haven't seen it, but I heard she has a big tattoo that starts at her hip and goes up her side to her armpit. I've been trying to get Yoda to invite her out for drinks with us, but the reason she said she won't is because she "doesn't want to have to have morning coffee in our kitchen with someone she works with". Again, I completely understand, but I'm going to make her set us up anyway.
Ironically, I got a call from Madonna last night. I thought that she was out of the picture, but she's still hanging in there, mostly due to the watch she left at my place. I kind of feel badly about not getting it back to her yet, so in retrospect, maybe leaving something behind does ensure a second date (not that I think she did it on purpose). Anyway, we are going to meet up Friday night for drinks. I'm going to try and keep those plans.
Monday, November 16, 2009
"...really pissed off girl"
"Hi NN, this is Bear. If you want to talk to a really pissed off girl, call xxx-xxxx."
This is the message left on my VM at 10pm Saturday night. What makes her think I would ever return a call after a message like that? She must have been dreaming. I hit "7" on the phone and put it back on the coffee table.
Sunday afternoon I received another call from Bear and I reluctantly answered it. Almost the first thing out of her mouth was "So why haven't I heard from you all week?" An introduction like that is a sure way of getting me off the phone very quickly. I said "Yeah, Bear, I can't talk right now, I'll have to call you later." I just don't see any reason to get reprimanded, she isn't my wife, she isn't even my girlfriend. Come to think of it, I would never let a girlfriend speak to me that way either.
We met up last night for drinks and I told her in no uncertain terms that I am not looking for a girlfriend, or a relationship, or any other form of commitment. Also, if she wanted to talk last week she knows how to use a phone. If she was OK with that, fine, if not, I would like to remain friends.
We wound up back at Bear's place. I don't know if what we did after the bar constitutes "make-up" sex, but it was lively. I'm not sure exactly how, but we ended up on the floor in the hallway between her bedroom and her bathroom, and good fifteen feet from her bed. I was behind her and she looked back at me and said "I want you to come on my face and in my hair", which I, of course, did. As strange as that request is, it was hot, and I'm not sure why.
Amusing side note: Bear lives in the basement apartment of a house on the Hill. The house was just sold to a couple that lives overseas, so the top two floors are vacant and Bear told me that she thinks she hears "animals" upstairs at night sometimes. "Yeah, sure you do" was my response. In my experience, both personal and professional, women have a tendency to hear things when they are in a house alone. However, last night we were in bed and I heard a critter run up the inside of the wall behind the bed, then scamper through the ceiling across the room. Bear sat bolt upright and said "There, did you hear that!". I most certainly did, and said "Oh, yeah, it sounds like a mouse. Tell the management company to hire an exterminator" I didn't want to scare her, but it was AT LEAST two rats, and from the sounds of it, big ones.
Friday night was pretty funny. Three buddies and I went to the Caps game then to Rocket Bar for beers and shuffle board.
Not so amusing side note: At the game Brandon, who is friends with Kay, decided to tell me all about some dude she's dating. Ass-wipe, what makes you think I want to hear about her, much less about the guy she's fucking? I wanted to strangle him.
...back to the bar. We got a round of beers and a shuffle board table and started playing. Within 15 minutes some girl had walked over to our table and started chatting with Andy. She was nothing special, I would say a 5 overall. She had a nice body, but a butter face. However, she had one of the most annoying voices I have ever heard. To make matters worse, she shouted when she talked. As soon as she opened her mouth I walked away. I don't have great hearing, so to someone who can actually hear she must have been ten times more aggravating.
I did a lap around the bar, and when I came back she was still standing with our group. Her friends were long gone, she was just standing there with us, it was odd. We asked her what she did, I think she taught special ed, which explains the shouting. We did the usual BS questions, then she asked me "So, where did you go to school." I was kind of in the mood to fuck with her, and tell her I was a ditch-digger, or ax murderer, anything to get her away from us before our ears started bleeding. I had stopped asking questions, and I don't think I ever even answered her, but Andy said "And you?". I think her response was "UNC Chapel Hill", it wasn't important. What was important was that every time she said the school her arm would raise up and give a little pump, like a cheerleader. I said "What was that?", and she just looked at me. I said "What was that little arm pump you just did?", and she said "I was a cheerleader, it's habit. I was also a gymnast."
For the next twenty minutes my friends and I proceeded to call out flips for her to perform in the crowded bar. She did hand springs, and splits, and flips. She did a floor routine for us, it was hysterical. For the finale, she lifted a leg strait up and held it against he head. Having dated a ballerina it did get my gears moving to think of the fun I could have with this chick. But then she opened her mouth again, and all I wanted to do was jam ice picks in my ears. I excused myself and went to the bathroom (which, incidentally, was one of the most foul I have ever set foot in).
While I waited in line for the bathroom a cute little girl was staring in my direction. I looked around to make sure she wasn't looking at someone else, and looked at her again. I said hello, and she said "You're hot!", then turned and walked up the stairs and out of the bar. The guy standing next to me, a total stranger, said "Go get her", which I started to do, but when I turned the corner to go up the stairs, she was already gone. I wasn't going to chase her down the street. Lost opportunity, though. And dammit, she was really cute.
When I returned from the third-world restroom that chick was still lingering. "My God woman, leave!" By then everyone was a little tired of her and the other guys were starting to give her the cold shoulder. She kind of got the point, but was sticking around to see if she could give someone her number. Two guys were married, so it was down to Andy and I. When she said "Well, I'm going to see if I can find my friends" I think that was our hint to ask for her number. For some reason Andy did.
So here's the deal. I've taken home girls who are less attractive then her, more annoying than her, or both. I guess I just wasn't drunk enough to want to deal with her for an extended period of time (ie., long enough to fuck her). What I don't understand is why Andy would take her number when there was no chance he would ever call her. He just broke up with South who was a thousand times hotter than this twit, what was he doing.
After she walked away I asked him why he got her number, to which his response was "I dunno". He could have easily taken her home that night. If he wanted to sleep with her all he had to do was hail a cab. There is no way her is going to date this chick. Why would he want to prolong things? Phone conversations, plans, rescheduled plans, more phone conversations. I didn't understand that move at all, it actually made me a little angry.
This is the message left on my VM at 10pm Saturday night. What makes her think I would ever return a call after a message like that? She must have been dreaming. I hit "7" on the phone and put it back on the coffee table.
Sunday afternoon I received another call from Bear and I reluctantly answered it. Almost the first thing out of her mouth was "So why haven't I heard from you all week?" An introduction like that is a sure way of getting me off the phone very quickly. I said "Yeah, Bear, I can't talk right now, I'll have to call you later." I just don't see any reason to get reprimanded, she isn't my wife, she isn't even my girlfriend. Come to think of it, I would never let a girlfriend speak to me that way either.
We met up last night for drinks and I told her in no uncertain terms that I am not looking for a girlfriend, or a relationship, or any other form of commitment. Also, if she wanted to talk last week she knows how to use a phone. If she was OK with that, fine, if not, I would like to remain friends.
We wound up back at Bear's place. I don't know if what we did after the bar constitutes "make-up" sex, but it was lively. I'm not sure exactly how, but we ended up on the floor in the hallway between her bedroom and her bathroom, and good fifteen feet from her bed. I was behind her and she looked back at me and said "I want you to come on my face and in my hair", which I, of course, did. As strange as that request is, it was hot, and I'm not sure why.
Amusing side note: Bear lives in the basement apartment of a house on the Hill. The house was just sold to a couple that lives overseas, so the top two floors are vacant and Bear told me that she thinks she hears "animals" upstairs at night sometimes. "Yeah, sure you do" was my response. In my experience, both personal and professional, women have a tendency to hear things when they are in a house alone. However, last night we were in bed and I heard a critter run up the inside of the wall behind the bed, then scamper through the ceiling across the room. Bear sat bolt upright and said "There, did you hear that!". I most certainly did, and said "Oh, yeah, it sounds like a mouse. Tell the management company to hire an exterminator" I didn't want to scare her, but it was AT LEAST two rats, and from the sounds of it, big ones.
Friday night was pretty funny. Three buddies and I went to the Caps game then to Rocket Bar for beers and shuffle board.
Not so amusing side note: At the game Brandon, who is friends with Kay, decided to tell me all about some dude she's dating. Ass-wipe, what makes you think I want to hear about her, much less about the guy she's fucking? I wanted to strangle him.
...back to the bar. We got a round of beers and a shuffle board table and started playing. Within 15 minutes some girl had walked over to our table and started chatting with Andy. She was nothing special, I would say a 5 overall. She had a nice body, but a butter face. However, she had one of the most annoying voices I have ever heard. To make matters worse, she shouted when she talked. As soon as she opened her mouth I walked away. I don't have great hearing, so to someone who can actually hear she must have been ten times more aggravating.
I did a lap around the bar, and when I came back she was still standing with our group. Her friends were long gone, she was just standing there with us, it was odd. We asked her what she did, I think she taught special ed, which explains the shouting. We did the usual BS questions, then she asked me "So, where did you go to school." I was kind of in the mood to fuck with her, and tell her I was a ditch-digger, or ax murderer, anything to get her away from us before our ears started bleeding. I had stopped asking questions, and I don't think I ever even answered her, but Andy said "And you?". I think her response was "UNC Chapel Hill", it wasn't important. What was important was that every time she said the school her arm would raise up and give a little pump, like a cheerleader. I said "What was that?", and she just looked at me. I said "What was that little arm pump you just did?", and she said "I was a cheerleader, it's habit. I was also a gymnast."
For the next twenty minutes my friends and I proceeded to call out flips for her to perform in the crowded bar. She did hand springs, and splits, and flips. She did a floor routine for us, it was hysterical. For the finale, she lifted a leg strait up and held it against he head. Having dated a ballerina it did get my gears moving to think of the fun I could have with this chick. But then she opened her mouth again, and all I wanted to do was jam ice picks in my ears. I excused myself and went to the bathroom (which, incidentally, was one of the most foul I have ever set foot in).
While I waited in line for the bathroom a cute little girl was staring in my direction. I looked around to make sure she wasn't looking at someone else, and looked at her again. I said hello, and she said "You're hot!", then turned and walked up the stairs and out of the bar. The guy standing next to me, a total stranger, said "Go get her", which I started to do, but when I turned the corner to go up the stairs, she was already gone. I wasn't going to chase her down the street. Lost opportunity, though. And dammit, she was really cute.
When I returned from the third-world restroom that chick was still lingering. "My God woman, leave!" By then everyone was a little tired of her and the other guys were starting to give her the cold shoulder. She kind of got the point, but was sticking around to see if she could give someone her number. Two guys were married, so it was down to Andy and I. When she said "Well, I'm going to see if I can find my friends" I think that was our hint to ask for her number. For some reason Andy did.
So here's the deal. I've taken home girls who are less attractive then her, more annoying than her, or both. I guess I just wasn't drunk enough to want to deal with her for an extended period of time (ie., long enough to fuck her). What I don't understand is why Andy would take her number when there was no chance he would ever call her. He just broke up with South who was a thousand times hotter than this twit, what was he doing.
After she walked away I asked him why he got her number, to which his response was "I dunno". He could have easily taken her home that night. If he wanted to sleep with her all he had to do was hail a cab. There is no way her is going to date this chick. Why would he want to prolong things? Phone conversations, plans, rescheduled plans, more phone conversations. I didn't understand that move at all, it actually made me a little angry.
Friday, November 13, 2009
"Let's just be friends..."
Earlier this week I reevaluated my three unwanted relationships and decided it was best for all involved if I cut everyone loose and started fresh. My plan was to refocus the Poonani relationship towards friendship, try the same with Bear, and just let Madonna fizzle away. All this panned out really well, let me show you why I suck.
I texted Poonani on Tuesday and asked if we could meet for drinks at 9pm Thursday on the Hill. She rescheduled from 9pm to 7pm, so drinks turned into a five-course romantic meal. I don't know if it was the setting, or some pheromone Poonani was giving off, but I just couldn't bring myself to steer the conversation in the direction I had intended. Not only that, I found myself nervous at times like this was a first date. I can't quite figure any of this out, because I'm really not attracted to her on most levels.
My neck was bothering me (I broke it playing football in high school, and it's almost perpetually stiff) and I kept cracking it at dinner. Poonani, who was sitting on a bench seat along the wall, said "Come sit next to me". I didn't know what she was up to but I moved across the table and sat next to her. Much to my surprise she started giving me one of the best massages I've ever had. In five minutes she worked three kinks out of my neck and I was ship shape. It was strange, people in the restaurant were staring, but she was doing such a good job that I didn't care. I can't tell if she's trying to be sexy or playing games. But I have to tell you that I lose my objectivity when a girl treats me well like this.
I drove Poonani home at the end of the night, and to further complicate matters I made out with her a little in front of her place. However, she initiated it, I didn't make any moves and take neither credit nor blame. The good news is that she's in the Bahamas for the weekend so I have a few days to regroup and figure out how to get back on course.
Madonna sent me a couple of texts while I was away and I responded cordially, but showed little interest. However, before I knew what happened we had plans to meet tonight for drinks. I think I'm going to break our plans, I'm not looking forward to meeting up, despite the fact that sex is imminent.
I need some new prospects and am heading to the bars tonight with my sister and some buddies. My buddy broke up with South on Tuesday so he's looking to scare up some new lady friends, a dangerous combo.
I haven't heard from Bear since last week, she's out West for work. I don't have a plan yet for how to handle her. She's going to take rejection hard. I would like to ease her out of the dating scene without hurting her feelings or losing her friendship. Maybe those two goals are mutually exclusive.
I just got back from the DMV where I was registering my Honda. I have to say, I'm consistently surprised by how nice the people are at the DC DMV stations. The dude who inspected my bike (who, admittedly, was a biker too) gave me a 7-year inspection certificate, and didn't even make me start the bike, he only verified the VIN. He even gave me an express ticket for registration, so I didn't have to wait in line. I was in and out in less than one hour, which has to be some type of record. I'll go on record as saying that the DMV is one of the best services in the city. If only dating here was as easy.
I texted Poonani on Tuesday and asked if we could meet for drinks at 9pm Thursday on the Hill. She rescheduled from 9pm to 7pm, so drinks turned into a five-course romantic meal. I don't know if it was the setting, or some pheromone Poonani was giving off, but I just couldn't bring myself to steer the conversation in the direction I had intended. Not only that, I found myself nervous at times like this was a first date. I can't quite figure any of this out, because I'm really not attracted to her on most levels.
My neck was bothering me (I broke it playing football in high school, and it's almost perpetually stiff) and I kept cracking it at dinner. Poonani, who was sitting on a bench seat along the wall, said "Come sit next to me". I didn't know what she was up to but I moved across the table and sat next to her. Much to my surprise she started giving me one of the best massages I've ever had. In five minutes she worked three kinks out of my neck and I was ship shape. It was strange, people in the restaurant were staring, but she was doing such a good job that I didn't care. I can't tell if she's trying to be sexy or playing games. But I have to tell you that I lose my objectivity when a girl treats me well like this.
I drove Poonani home at the end of the night, and to further complicate matters I made out with her a little in front of her place. However, she initiated it, I didn't make any moves and take neither credit nor blame. The good news is that she's in the Bahamas for the weekend so I have a few days to regroup and figure out how to get back on course.
Madonna sent me a couple of texts while I was away and I responded cordially, but showed little interest. However, before I knew what happened we had plans to meet tonight for drinks. I think I'm going to break our plans, I'm not looking forward to meeting up, despite the fact that sex is imminent.
I need some new prospects and am heading to the bars tonight with my sister and some buddies. My buddy broke up with South on Tuesday so he's looking to scare up some new lady friends, a dangerous combo.
I haven't heard from Bear since last week, she's out West for work. I don't have a plan yet for how to handle her. She's going to take rejection hard. I would like to ease her out of the dating scene without hurting her feelings or losing her friendship. Maybe those two goals are mutually exclusive.
I just got back from the DMV where I was registering my Honda. I have to say, I'm consistently surprised by how nice the people are at the DC DMV stations. The dude who inspected my bike (who, admittedly, was a biker too) gave me a 7-year inspection certificate, and didn't even make me start the bike, he only verified the VIN. He even gave me an express ticket for registration, so I didn't have to wait in line. I was in and out in less than one hour, which has to be some type of record. I'll go on record as saying that the DMV is one of the best services in the city. If only dating here was as easy.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Travel
Why is it that when I fly to Atlanta I have a layover in Charlotte, but when I fly to Charlotte my layover is in Atlanta? Even more confusing, why do I fly through Philly when I travel to Raleigh? I believe there is an algorithm that explains how the airline industry uses out-of-the-way layovers to bilk passengers on ticket prices.
Last night the pilot got on intercom and made the following announcement: "Good evening ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain. We're going to shut down the engines and wait here on the tarmac for about 20-25 minutes. This will save us a bit of money on fuel and gate fees. We should be in the air shortly and will only be a few minutes late arriving in Atlanta." Did I hear that right? Did he just say that he was going to save a little money on gas while 150 people lost precious moments of their lives sitting on an idle plane?
Do we really need the announcement on every flight informing us that you can't smoke and that tampering with smoke detectors is a crime? Hasn't everyone gotten this message yet? While we're trimming the pre-flight announcements, do we need a demonstration on how to buckle and unbuckle a seat belt? Take off already! If you can't use a seat belt you shouldn't be flying. Also, in the event of a crash what is that seat belt going to do? Nothing. And where did you get these seat belts, out of a fleet of '64 Buicks? They're old as fuck. There isn't even a shoulder strap. My Jeep has a shoulder strap and its top speed is 75mph. This is a goddamn jet doing 300mph at 40,000 feet, what is that feeble lap belt doing to do if we crash?
Sitting in the seat behind me last night from Atlanta to DC were a barn owl and a cougar. These are not witty names for types of chicks, I mean an actual bird and jungle cat. They were in cages, strapped into the seat directly behind me. Yes, I was apprehensive about flying with a big cat that, if it got loose, could maul me. If you can bring noisy shitting animals on a plane you should be allowed to smoke.
Did you know that you can't use cell phones or two-way pagers in flight because there is a chance it could interfere with the plane's navigation system and cause a crash? Does anyone believe this? I can't bring a nail clipper on the plane, or a 4 ounce bottle of shaving cream, if a cell phone can crash a jet perhaps these shouldn't be allowed on board either. Even if it was a one a million chance my Blackberry was going to down the jet, it's still thousand-times more likely than me hijacking a plane with a nail clipper. There has to be another reason they aren't telling us.
This is a little disconcerting. I fly so much that I just stopped taking metal objects out of my pockets before going through the metal detectors. I also fly with a Nalgene bottle filled to the brim with water, and you know what, I only get stopped about 2% of the time. I'm all for security, when it works.
Do we really need "beverage service" on a 45 minute flight? I'm convinced this is a union scam to keep flight attendants employed. If you can't go 45 minutes without a soda just buy one in the terminal and stick it in your bag, why do the airlines have to serve beverages. When was the last time you got in a cab and the driver offered you a tomato juice?
Last night the pilot got on intercom and made the following announcement: "Good evening ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain. We're going to shut down the engines and wait here on the tarmac for about 20-25 minutes. This will save us a bit of money on fuel and gate fees. We should be in the air shortly and will only be a few minutes late arriving in Atlanta." Did I hear that right? Did he just say that he was going to save a little money on gas while 150 people lost precious moments of their lives sitting on an idle plane?
Do we really need the announcement on every flight informing us that you can't smoke and that tampering with smoke detectors is a crime? Hasn't everyone gotten this message yet? While we're trimming the pre-flight announcements, do we need a demonstration on how to buckle and unbuckle a seat belt? Take off already! If you can't use a seat belt you shouldn't be flying. Also, in the event of a crash what is that seat belt going to do? Nothing. And where did you get these seat belts, out of a fleet of '64 Buicks? They're old as fuck. There isn't even a shoulder strap. My Jeep has a shoulder strap and its top speed is 75mph. This is a goddamn jet doing 300mph at 40,000 feet, what is that feeble lap belt doing to do if we crash?
Sitting in the seat behind me last night from Atlanta to DC were a barn owl and a cougar. These are not witty names for types of chicks, I mean an actual bird and jungle cat. They were in cages, strapped into the seat directly behind me. Yes, I was apprehensive about flying with a big cat that, if it got loose, could maul me. If you can bring noisy shitting animals on a plane you should be allowed to smoke.
Did you know that you can't use cell phones or two-way pagers in flight because there is a chance it could interfere with the plane's navigation system and cause a crash? Does anyone believe this? I can't bring a nail clipper on the plane, or a 4 ounce bottle of shaving cream, if a cell phone can crash a jet perhaps these shouldn't be allowed on board either. Even if it was a one a million chance my Blackberry was going to down the jet, it's still thousand-times more likely than me hijacking a plane with a nail clipper. There has to be another reason they aren't telling us.
This is a little disconcerting. I fly so much that I just stopped taking metal objects out of my pockets before going through the metal detectors. I also fly with a Nalgene bottle filled to the brim with water, and you know what, I only get stopped about 2% of the time. I'm all for security, when it works.
Do we really need "beverage service" on a 45 minute flight? I'm convinced this is a union scam to keep flight attendants employed. If you can't go 45 minutes without a soda just buy one in the terminal and stick it in your bag, why do the airlines have to serve beverages. When was the last time you got in a cab and the driver offered you a tomato juice?
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Condoms
So for a week now I have been running low on condoms. Last night I pulled a dog-eared rubber wrapper out of my travel bag and stuffed it in my back pocket before I went out. The thing probably expired in 1996 but it was better than nothing. I just kept forgetting to buy a new box. Today I stopped at Harris Teeter and picked some up, and it got me thinking, will I ever get comfortable buying condoms? I'll be 33 in a few months, and have probably bought condoms thousands of times, why do I still get flustered?
Riddle me this, Batman, why do the condoms always have to either be near the feminine hygiene products or in the pharmacy right next to where people pick up their prescriptions? Why do I have to be shoulder to shoulder with three girls buying tampons, or worse, next to an 80 year old lady waiting for her foot fungus meds while I grab a twelve-pack of Trojans? Condoms should be in the isle with the razors and shaving cream, that way there will only be dudes in the isle and we can take our time and make an educated purchase. I bet that simple move would increase sales by ten percent. We can actually find what we're looking for instead of grabbing the first box we come across. But honestly, if the condom manufacturers were smart they would only sell them in 100-packs, what are we going to do, not buy them?
Thank god Trojan boxes are color coded by type. Man, all I have to do is find that light blue box and I'm out of there. Imagine if all the boxes looked alike? I would go so flustered that I would grab any old thing and toss it into my carriage. One night I would go to put on a condom only to find I bought Magnums, or those sheep skin things, both useless to me.
I can't decide if it's a good or bad thing that the condoms are always right next to the pregnancy tests. That can't be an accident. You can either look at it as a nice reminder why you're paying $14 for twelve pieces of latex that will invariably make sex less pleasurable, or you can make a good argument that it's just a huge mind-fuck. That the condom and pee-stick manufacturers lobbied the grocery stores for neighboring shelf placement just to play with you. I don't think they're complimentary items, like, say, peanut butter and jelly.
This is a very serious question. Does every store have a diabolical employee that renders the bar codes of all condom boxes invalid? There has to be. There is no other explanation for why condoms always come up as "invalid" when scanned at the register. This triggers a price check, people are using the paging system to announce what isle needs the price for the economy pack of Trojan-Enz lubricated prophylactics. The 16 year old clerk is sent to the tampon isle to get the SKU number off the shelf. Sweet baby Jesus, can't this global glitch be fixed?
How about when someone you know walks into the store just as the clerk rings up the rubbers, isn't that awesome! I could count on that once a year when I was living at home. I was in Walgreens one afternoon buying a box of Trojans and my grandmother walked in. "Holy shit!" I thought, "She's going to have a heart attack and die right here and now!". Luckily she was legally blind and didn't see what they were. The woman who drove her around saw them, though. Ugh, there has to be a better system. Perhaps we all should pay an annual condom tax and then be allowed to just steal them from the store.
Lastly, I CANNOT buy condoms without wondering what the check-out girl thinks as she holds the box and slides it over the scanner. Is she saying "Right now I'm holding something that will later be rolled onto this man's penis."? I mean, they all handle the box like their ringing up broccoli or something, absolutely no emotion. You would never know that they are embarrassed, but they have to be, right? I'm generally mortified, they have to be a little off-put.
Don't even get me started on buying lube, or porn for that matter!
Riddle me this, Batman, why do the condoms always have to either be near the feminine hygiene products or in the pharmacy right next to where people pick up their prescriptions? Why do I have to be shoulder to shoulder with three girls buying tampons, or worse, next to an 80 year old lady waiting for her foot fungus meds while I grab a twelve-pack of Trojans? Condoms should be in the isle with the razors and shaving cream, that way there will only be dudes in the isle and we can take our time and make an educated purchase. I bet that simple move would increase sales by ten percent. We can actually find what we're looking for instead of grabbing the first box we come across. But honestly, if the condom manufacturers were smart they would only sell them in 100-packs, what are we going to do, not buy them?
Thank god Trojan boxes are color coded by type. Man, all I have to do is find that light blue box and I'm out of there. Imagine if all the boxes looked alike? I would go so flustered that I would grab any old thing and toss it into my carriage. One night I would go to put on a condom only to find I bought Magnums, or those sheep skin things, both useless to me.
I can't decide if it's a good or bad thing that the condoms are always right next to the pregnancy tests. That can't be an accident. You can either look at it as a nice reminder why you're paying $14 for twelve pieces of latex that will invariably make sex less pleasurable, or you can make a good argument that it's just a huge mind-fuck. That the condom and pee-stick manufacturers lobbied the grocery stores for neighboring shelf placement just to play with you. I don't think they're complimentary items, like, say, peanut butter and jelly.
This is a very serious question. Does every store have a diabolical employee that renders the bar codes of all condom boxes invalid? There has to be. There is no other explanation for why condoms always come up as "invalid" when scanned at the register. This triggers a price check, people are using the paging system to announce what isle needs the price for the economy pack of Trojan-Enz lubricated prophylactics. The 16 year old clerk is sent to the tampon isle to get the SKU number off the shelf. Sweet baby Jesus, can't this global glitch be fixed?
How about when someone you know walks into the store just as the clerk rings up the rubbers, isn't that awesome! I could count on that once a year when I was living at home. I was in Walgreens one afternoon buying a box of Trojans and my grandmother walked in. "Holy shit!" I thought, "She's going to have a heart attack and die right here and now!". Luckily she was legally blind and didn't see what they were. The woman who drove her around saw them, though. Ugh, there has to be a better system. Perhaps we all should pay an annual condom tax and then be allowed to just steal them from the store.
Lastly, I CANNOT buy condoms without wondering what the check-out girl thinks as she holds the box and slides it over the scanner. Is she saying "Right now I'm holding something that will later be rolled onto this man's penis."? I mean, they all handle the box like their ringing up broccoli or something, absolutely no emotion. You would never know that they are embarrassed, but they have to be, right? I'm generally mortified, they have to be a little off-put.
Don't even get me started on buying lube, or porn for that matter!
Different Exit Strategies
Interesting evening last night. I went to my friend's birthday party where Martin, Kay, and Poonani were all in attendance. Woohoo! Andy and his chick South were also there, and South brought along some girl she tried to set me up with.
I made a strategic blunder inviting Poonani along, which was comparable to "getting involved in a land war in Asia". She came with some of her girl friends and the groups weren't all that compatible. I spent the night shuttling between the birthday group and the Poonani group. It also sucked because the bar was crawling with cute girls. The only upside, and it was a rather large upside, is that I didn't have to spend too much time talking to Kay. It's still a little awkward, let's just leave it at that.
South had invited some girl along that she wanted to set me up with. Andy told me about the fix-up ahead of time, but I had already invited Poonani along, so I was curious how that was going to pan out. Turns out the girl was kind of a dud. I chatted with her for thirty minutes or so and eventually determined that she was borderline strange. It mattered little because Poonani eventually chased her away by pawing at me all night. Normally that makes me very uncomfortable in a bar, but last night it was doubly uncomfortable because Kay was there. At one point I was sitting on a stool at the bar and out of no where Poonani grabbed my crotch. I levitated about 3 inches off the stool and let out a girly yelp. I said "What was that for?", she said "You grabbed my ass." The bar was very crowded, and my hand may have grazed her butt, but I don't think it warranted a rough junk-grab.
South had a second friend with her who was visiting from Charlotte, which happens to be where I am going tomorrow for business. She was really cool, and very sexy. Turns out she lives on the same street as one of my offices there. We were going to get together for dinner, but she flies home Thursday morning, and I fly back to DC Wednesday night. I might try to meet up with her some other time since I'm in Charlotte regularly for work. It's too bad she doesn't live in DC, she seemed fairly normal.
At the end of the night I did invite Poonani back to my place but I am glad to report that she politely declined and took a cab home alone. Normally I would bitch and moan about why a girl would grab my dick then not go home with me, however, in this case I will make no such comments, and simply be thankful it didn't happen. I ended up sharing a cab with Andy and South. On the way home Andy said "NN has a hot tub at his house", and South's eye's lit up and she insisted we all go in. I'm all for three people in a hot tub, but not of two of them are dudes. I said I was sick and couldn't go in the tub and she took the hint. That would most certainly have gotten awkward. I mean, they clearly didn't have suits with them, so they would have gone in the tub au natural. Then what was I supposed to do, wear a suit? Go naked? What's the protocol on that? Plus, South is smoking-hot, so I certainly would have gotten a hard-on. That would have been REALLY awkward. I get hard at the drop of a hat. I mean, I got a stiffy just worrying about getting a stiffy simply because I pictured South naked in my fears. Say all you want about how badly women have it with their periods, and having to give birth, at least they don't have a clearly visible barometer of their sexual state for all the world to see. There are few things more embarrassing than an ill-timed boner.
Lastly, I received the following email today from my loony ex, Leeza:
"I tried you yesterday and today. I want to apologize for drunk dialing you last wkend [sic, and it was really three weeks ago]. It was inappropriate on all levels. I had been looking threw [sic] old albums with girlfriends and I have no idea why I thought it was a good idea. There is a part of me that still cares for you very much and I seem to take those feelings and make a complete ass out of myself. I am sure that you officially think I am crazy to say it being that I am married but I am just being honest and that is all I can do at this point. I took it to far the other evening. Other then that, I hope all is well.
L"
(I forgot to mention that during the (growingly infamous) Diwali incident, Leeza called me eight times in sixty minutes.)
It has been ten years since I dated this girl, what is she doing? If this doesn't perfectly illustrate why you should never get married, I don't know what does. I need to stay far, far away from this girl, she has totally gone off the reservation. I blame Facebook.
I read this really funny book about single-life called I'm having more fun than you by a guy names Aaron Karo. I saw it in the bookstore and couldn't resist. I'll end with a quote that I think is appropriate given Loony Leeza's email. It can also be a light-hearted and reasonable response to "Anonymous's" comment in V-Car Part I
"Happily married people and perpetually single people are similar: We've both given up on dating and have merely chosen different exit strategies."
-Aaron Karo
I made a strategic blunder inviting Poonani along, which was comparable to "getting involved in a land war in Asia". She came with some of her girl friends and the groups weren't all that compatible. I spent the night shuttling between the birthday group and the Poonani group. It also sucked because the bar was crawling with cute girls. The only upside, and it was a rather large upside, is that I didn't have to spend too much time talking to Kay. It's still a little awkward, let's just leave it at that.
South had invited some girl along that she wanted to set me up with. Andy told me about the fix-up ahead of time, but I had already invited Poonani along, so I was curious how that was going to pan out. Turns out the girl was kind of a dud. I chatted with her for thirty minutes or so and eventually determined that she was borderline strange. It mattered little because Poonani eventually chased her away by pawing at me all night. Normally that makes me very uncomfortable in a bar, but last night it was doubly uncomfortable because Kay was there. At one point I was sitting on a stool at the bar and out of no where Poonani grabbed my crotch. I levitated about 3 inches off the stool and let out a girly yelp. I said "What was that for?", she said "You grabbed my ass." The bar was very crowded, and my hand may have grazed her butt, but I don't think it warranted a rough junk-grab.
South had a second friend with her who was visiting from Charlotte, which happens to be where I am going tomorrow for business. She was really cool, and very sexy. Turns out she lives on the same street as one of my offices there. We were going to get together for dinner, but she flies home Thursday morning, and I fly back to DC Wednesday night. I might try to meet up with her some other time since I'm in Charlotte regularly for work. It's too bad she doesn't live in DC, she seemed fairly normal.
At the end of the night I did invite Poonani back to my place but I am glad to report that she politely declined and took a cab home alone. Normally I would bitch and moan about why a girl would grab my dick then not go home with me, however, in this case I will make no such comments, and simply be thankful it didn't happen. I ended up sharing a cab with Andy and South. On the way home Andy said "NN has a hot tub at his house", and South's eye's lit up and she insisted we all go in. I'm all for three people in a hot tub, but not of two of them are dudes. I said I was sick and couldn't go in the tub and she took the hint. That would most certainly have gotten awkward. I mean, they clearly didn't have suits with them, so they would have gone in the tub au natural. Then what was I supposed to do, wear a suit? Go naked? What's the protocol on that? Plus, South is smoking-hot, so I certainly would have gotten a hard-on. That would have been REALLY awkward. I get hard at the drop of a hat. I mean, I got a stiffy just worrying about getting a stiffy simply because I pictured South naked in my fears. Say all you want about how badly women have it with their periods, and having to give birth, at least they don't have a clearly visible barometer of their sexual state for all the world to see. There are few things more embarrassing than an ill-timed boner.
Lastly, I received the following email today from my loony ex, Leeza:
"I tried you yesterday and today. I want to apologize for drunk dialing you last wkend [sic, and it was really three weeks ago]. It was inappropriate on all levels. I had been looking threw [sic] old albums with girlfriends and I have no idea why I thought it was a good idea. There is a part of me that still cares for you very much and I seem to take those feelings and make a complete ass out of myself. I am sure that you officially think I am crazy to say it being that I am married but I am just being honest and that is all I can do at this point. I took it to far the other evening. Other then that, I hope all is well.
L"
(I forgot to mention that during the (growingly infamous) Diwali incident, Leeza called me eight times in sixty minutes.)
It has been ten years since I dated this girl, what is she doing? If this doesn't perfectly illustrate why you should never get married, I don't know what does. I need to stay far, far away from this girl, she has totally gone off the reservation. I blame Facebook.
I read this really funny book about single-life called I'm having more fun than you by a guy names Aaron Karo. I saw it in the bookstore and couldn't resist. I'll end with a quote that I think is appropriate given Loony Leeza's email. It can also be a light-hearted and reasonable response to "Anonymous's" comment in V-Car Part I
"Happily married people and perpetually single people are similar: We've both given up on dating and have merely chosen different exit strategies."
-Aaron Karo
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Oink Oink, my good man.
Poonani has the Swine Flu. Fantastic. This coincides perfectly with me feeling like shit today and missing two days of work earlier this week.
Madonna sent me a few more texts about her watch yesterday, which I found on the ground next to the hot tub. That actually makes sense, I can now see why she took it off, it probably wasn't waterproof so she likely laid it on the side of the tub before getting in. After I found the watch I opened the cover of the tub to do my weekly chemical maintenance and found her underwear hovering near the bottom of the tub. I fished them out with a broom handle, a first for me. They really weren't sexy at all, that's so disappointing. Honestly, how can a chick go out on a Saturday night in granny panties, I just don't get it? I threw them into the washing machine. They will eventually end up in the growing pile of ladies unmentionables collecting in the bottom of my t-shirt drawer, right next to the condoms, handcuffs, blindfold, and tube of K-Y. My mom is coming down for Thanksgiving, if she stumbles upon this collection she will probably have a heart attack.
So here's the thing with Madonna, I really don't have much desire to hang out with her again. She was fun and attractive, but there wasn't any spark and I don't see any reason to spend a whole night of my life pretending to be into her. I would feel the same way had I not slept with her, only I would be slightly more motivated to ask her out because I would be curious to see if she was good in bed. I'm sitting here trying to see if there is a lesson to take away from this, because I've certainly been on the other side of the equation.
The question I'm asking myself is - Under what circumstances would I be inclined to go out with Madonna again?. It's not that I'm opposed to going out with her, there wasn't anything horribly wrong with her, I'm just not extremely motivated to spend more time with her. I suppose if Madonna called me and said that there was a great show she wanted to see, or an event at a bar, or some fantastic party, I would probably go. She would at least be showing some enthusiasm. Instead, what I am getting from her is: 'Hey, have you seen my watch?'.
I guess the lesson here is have a plan. For instance, I sent that chick Persia a text one night that said "What r u up to tonight?" and never heard back from her. Instead, maybe I should have said "Want to see Gnarles Barkley 2 night?" or even offered to take her out on the bike, something a little more creative and exciting. I'm just thinking out loud.
Bear called me last night and was all excited. Her friend has a house in Whistler and she invited me to go there the week of Christmas. I was caught totally off guard and didn't have a prepared response (rejection) to throw back at her. I stammered a bit at first but pieced together a reasonable excuse involving family commitments and needing to be home for the holidays. In truth, I could have gone, but there is just no way I am going to Whistler with Bear for Christmas and New Years, it completely out of the question. I realize this contradicts my last paragraph, but it's not the same scenario because I've known Bera for a while. My prior paragraph was meant more for right after meeting a girl. Plus, in regards to Bear, if I want to strangle Bear just watching thirty minutes of TV together, how could I spend a week snowed into a cabin with her?
Martin's sister's birthday is Saturday, we're all going out for drinks together to celebrate. Poonani's brother will be there, so I'll ask her if she wants to come, but I suspect she won't want to because she's still not feeling well. I like the bar they picked, always high potential for antics.
I have some travel coming up next week, so I anticipate some good stories.
Madonna sent me a few more texts about her watch yesterday, which I found on the ground next to the hot tub. That actually makes sense, I can now see why she took it off, it probably wasn't waterproof so she likely laid it on the side of the tub before getting in. After I found the watch I opened the cover of the tub to do my weekly chemical maintenance and found her underwear hovering near the bottom of the tub. I fished them out with a broom handle, a first for me. They really weren't sexy at all, that's so disappointing. Honestly, how can a chick go out on a Saturday night in granny panties, I just don't get it? I threw them into the washing machine. They will eventually end up in the growing pile of ladies unmentionables collecting in the bottom of my t-shirt drawer, right next to the condoms, handcuffs, blindfold, and tube of K-Y. My mom is coming down for Thanksgiving, if she stumbles upon this collection she will probably have a heart attack.
So here's the thing with Madonna, I really don't have much desire to hang out with her again. She was fun and attractive, but there wasn't any spark and I don't see any reason to spend a whole night of my life pretending to be into her. I would feel the same way had I not slept with her, only I would be slightly more motivated to ask her out because I would be curious to see if she was good in bed. I'm sitting here trying to see if there is a lesson to take away from this, because I've certainly been on the other side of the equation.
The question I'm asking myself is - Under what circumstances would I be inclined to go out with Madonna again?. It's not that I'm opposed to going out with her, there wasn't anything horribly wrong with her, I'm just not extremely motivated to spend more time with her. I suppose if Madonna called me and said that there was a great show she wanted to see, or an event at a bar, or some fantastic party, I would probably go. She would at least be showing some enthusiasm. Instead, what I am getting from her is: 'Hey, have you seen my watch?'.
I guess the lesson here is have a plan. For instance, I sent that chick Persia a text one night that said "What r u up to tonight?" and never heard back from her. Instead, maybe I should have said "Want to see Gnarles Barkley 2 night?" or even offered to take her out on the bike, something a little more creative and exciting. I'm just thinking out loud.
Bear called me last night and was all excited. Her friend has a house in Whistler and she invited me to go there the week of Christmas. I was caught totally off guard and didn't have a prepared response (rejection) to throw back at her. I stammered a bit at first but pieced together a reasonable excuse involving family commitments and needing to be home for the holidays. In truth, I could have gone, but there is just no way I am going to Whistler with Bear for Christmas and New Years, it completely out of the question. I realize this contradicts my last paragraph, but it's not the same scenario because I've known Bera for a while. My prior paragraph was meant more for right after meeting a girl. Plus, in regards to Bear, if I want to strangle Bear just watching thirty minutes of TV together, how could I spend a week snowed into a cabin with her?
Martin's sister's birthday is Saturday, we're all going out for drinks together to celebrate. Poonani's brother will be there, so I'll ask her if she wants to come, but I suspect she won't want to because she's still not feeling well. I like the bar they picked, always high potential for antics.
I have some travel coming up next week, so I anticipate some good stories.
stuffBay
They say that the hardest part of breaking up is getting your stuff back. I agree, and think there is a business opportunity here. There should be a website where you can offer items back to your ex, or to a past hookup, with complete amnesty. We can call it stuffBay, or perhaps something clever. If the ex wants the items back he/she must pay a small fixed fee, plus shipping. Or, there can be regional offices for drop-off and pick-up.
For instance, I could go to my regional office and drop-off the gold hoop earring that has been on my dresser for 13 months, along with Rojo's email address. stuffBay would then notify Rojo via email that she has an item to be picked up, and it's over. If she doesn't show within 30 days they can sell it.
Think about how many awkward meetings this will help alleviate. More importantly, think about the sheer volume of goods this site will move. This is an untapped billion dollar industry. If there are any readers who are VC's, give me a call.
The reason I bring this up is two-fold. The first is, I have a vast and random assortment of crap at my house from various girls. Earrings, shoes, clothes, a snow board, all kinds of crap. The second is that last night Madonna sent me a text asking if I had come across her watch. Who leaves a watch behind, don't you notice it's not on your fucking wrist? Or, did she leave it behind on purpose? Do people really do that?
Who knows.
For instance, I could go to my regional office and drop-off the gold hoop earring that has been on my dresser for 13 months, along with Rojo's email address. stuffBay would then notify Rojo via email that she has an item to be picked up, and it's over. If she doesn't show within 30 days they can sell it.
Think about how many awkward meetings this will help alleviate. More importantly, think about the sheer volume of goods this site will move. This is an untapped billion dollar industry. If there are any readers who are VC's, give me a call.
The reason I bring this up is two-fold. The first is, I have a vast and random assortment of crap at my house from various girls. Earrings, shoes, clothes, a snow board, all kinds of crap. The second is that last night Madonna sent me a text asking if I had come across her watch. Who leaves a watch behind, don't you notice it's not on your fucking wrist? Or, did she leave it behind on purpose? Do people really do that?
Who knows.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Trick or Treat
Halloween party at Che NN was a good time on Friday, though the weather didn't fully cooperate and everyone was a bit water logged by the end of the night from the steady mist. It was a little tense for me because both Bear and Poonani were in attendance, but I was happy to see that Kay never showed up.
I spent the night bouncing around the party making sure ice and booze were well stocked, but also trying to keep Bear and Poonani apart. Bear was under control, but Poonani got hammered and was coming on pretty strong. At one point I complimented Poonani on her boots, which had a band of fur around the top (she was an indian for Halloween - feather, not dot - which was ironic since she is from India), to which she replied "I have fur in another place that I can show you later." It's not often that I am at a loss for words, but she threw me off enough with that comment that I just took a sip of my beer and walked away while she giggled. Poonani and I have this thing where we make lots of sexual innuendos to each other. The goal seems to be to out shock the other person. She is winning.
I am going to try and go out with Poonani this week and have a chat with her about what it is that we're doing together. I don't want to mislead her.
In the end, Poonani's friends poured her into the back seat of their car and drove her home. Bear spent the night but I'm growing tired of her. Again she lingered a bit too long in the morning. I think the rule should be that from the time you wake up, you are allowed to stay 15 minutes for each time you had sex with the person. For instance, if you take a girl home from the bar and have sex three times, and you wake up at 9am, she has to be out of your house by 9:45am. I think that's more than fair.
Saturday night I went to a house party in Columbia Heights. Bear was out with her friends, though she did try to meet up late night by texting me at 2am, but I never responded to that. Poonani was in the neighborhood at another party and sent me a few texts to see if I wanted to meet up, but I didn't respond to her either because of Madonna.
Madonna was a girl I met at the house party who was obviously wearing a Madonna costume. There were actually a couple of cute girls at the party, including one very tattooed yoga instructor, but Madonna walked up to me out of the blue and said "Nice costume, want to trade?". I was in a one-piece gorilla costume, and Madonna had on a corset, tutu, black leggings, and a bunch of jewelery. I said "Absolutely!", and we went upstairs into the bathroom.
Madonna: Madonna is 26, blond, with a pretty nice body. She's tall, probably 5'9", slender but fairly muscular. Madonna was cute and the life of the party.
It's pretty much a foregone conclusion you are going to have sex with someone after you strip naked and exchange clothing, so it actually takes a lot of pressure off the night. What I mean is, once we were naked together we both relaxed and could enjoy the rest of the night. We swapped costumes, hung out at the party for two more hours, then I said "So, I have a hot tub, want to go back to my place and take a dip?". She said sure, and within 15 minutes we were in a cab on our way back to my place.
Actually, there was one catch in getting Madonna to come home with me, and that was getting her older sister out of the picture. The sister had clearly taken her role as "Enforcer" for the night very seriously. At 2am the sister said she was leaving, so when Madonna said she was going to stay a major sibling spat ensued. Madonna won out and the sister stormed off home alone. Sometimes I think the enforcer, the girl who makes sure all her girls make it home safe at night, become the enforcer because they don't get enough attention from men. It's like the first step in becoming a lesbian. Honestly, why do they care if their girl friends hook up?
Back at my house Madonna and I spent an hour in the hot tub then moved inside at about 4 am. The sex was pretty mundane, nothing special to report except that Madonna has a HUGE bush. What's going on? I really don't approve of this trend at all. I may go on strike and not go down on any girl with a hairy chooch. We didn't get out of bed until 2pm the next day, at which point I told her I had to be in Georgetown at 3 to help a friend move. This was a lie to get her out of bed, which she didn't seem in a hurry to do. We got coffee and I drove her home. Ironically, she lived about 100 feet from my ex, Rojo. As she was giving me directions to her condo I was getting a little nervous. With my luck they would know each other.
Last night Bear sent me a text that said "Pinocchio!". I asked her how her night was, and she never explained the "liar" reference. I never lied to her, so I don't know what she's talking about.
Yesterday I was walking the hound and I saw Dog Girl go into a house right on my block. I was shocked, how could a girl as cute as her move into my neighborhood without me noticing? I could hit her house with a baseball from my porch. The downside is I recall that one day I saw a Ducati parked in the front courtyard of the house she lives in. I would like to believe that it is hers, but in reality there aren't many girls that ride 1000cc Ducati's. More likely it's her boyfriend's.
I have no idea what I'm doing at this point. I'm seeing one girl I don't like, I'm involved in something with a girl I don't want to hook up with, and now I'm hooking up with a girl I don't want to be involved in something with.
Side Note: How can women lose so much hair without being bald? Bear's hair is all over my house and now there are blond hairs everywhere. I think it's a way for women to mark their territory. It's like when bull moose use their antlers to scratch the bark off trees, it warns other moose to stay away.
I spent the night bouncing around the party making sure ice and booze were well stocked, but also trying to keep Bear and Poonani apart. Bear was under control, but Poonani got hammered and was coming on pretty strong. At one point I complimented Poonani on her boots, which had a band of fur around the top (she was an indian for Halloween - feather, not dot - which was ironic since she is from India), to which she replied "I have fur in another place that I can show you later." It's not often that I am at a loss for words, but she threw me off enough with that comment that I just took a sip of my beer and walked away while she giggled. Poonani and I have this thing where we make lots of sexual innuendos to each other. The goal seems to be to out shock the other person. She is winning.
I am going to try and go out with Poonani this week and have a chat with her about what it is that we're doing together. I don't want to mislead her.
In the end, Poonani's friends poured her into the back seat of their car and drove her home. Bear spent the night but I'm growing tired of her. Again she lingered a bit too long in the morning. I think the rule should be that from the time you wake up, you are allowed to stay 15 minutes for each time you had sex with the person. For instance, if you take a girl home from the bar and have sex three times, and you wake up at 9am, she has to be out of your house by 9:45am. I think that's more than fair.
Saturday night I went to a house party in Columbia Heights. Bear was out with her friends, though she did try to meet up late night by texting me at 2am, but I never responded to that. Poonani was in the neighborhood at another party and sent me a few texts to see if I wanted to meet up, but I didn't respond to her either because of Madonna.
Madonna was a girl I met at the house party who was obviously wearing a Madonna costume. There were actually a couple of cute girls at the party, including one very tattooed yoga instructor, but Madonna walked up to me out of the blue and said "Nice costume, want to trade?". I was in a one-piece gorilla costume, and Madonna had on a corset, tutu, black leggings, and a bunch of jewelery. I said "Absolutely!", and we went upstairs into the bathroom.
Madonna: Madonna is 26, blond, with a pretty nice body. She's tall, probably 5'9", slender but fairly muscular. Madonna was cute and the life of the party.
It's pretty much a foregone conclusion you are going to have sex with someone after you strip naked and exchange clothing, so it actually takes a lot of pressure off the night. What I mean is, once we were naked together we both relaxed and could enjoy the rest of the night. We swapped costumes, hung out at the party for two more hours, then I said "So, I have a hot tub, want to go back to my place and take a dip?". She said sure, and within 15 minutes we were in a cab on our way back to my place.
Actually, there was one catch in getting Madonna to come home with me, and that was getting her older sister out of the picture. The sister had clearly taken her role as "Enforcer" for the night very seriously. At 2am the sister said she was leaving, so when Madonna said she was going to stay a major sibling spat ensued. Madonna won out and the sister stormed off home alone. Sometimes I think the enforcer, the girl who makes sure all her girls make it home safe at night, become the enforcer because they don't get enough attention from men. It's like the first step in becoming a lesbian. Honestly, why do they care if their girl friends hook up?
Back at my house Madonna and I spent an hour in the hot tub then moved inside at about 4 am. The sex was pretty mundane, nothing special to report except that Madonna has a HUGE bush. What's going on? I really don't approve of this trend at all. I may go on strike and not go down on any girl with a hairy chooch. We didn't get out of bed until 2pm the next day, at which point I told her I had to be in Georgetown at 3 to help a friend move. This was a lie to get her out of bed, which she didn't seem in a hurry to do. We got coffee and I drove her home. Ironically, she lived about 100 feet from my ex, Rojo. As she was giving me directions to her condo I was getting a little nervous. With my luck they would know each other.
Last night Bear sent me a text that said "Pinocchio!". I asked her how her night was, and she never explained the "liar" reference. I never lied to her, so I don't know what she's talking about.
Yesterday I was walking the hound and I saw Dog Girl go into a house right on my block. I was shocked, how could a girl as cute as her move into my neighborhood without me noticing? I could hit her house with a baseball from my porch. The downside is I recall that one day I saw a Ducati parked in the front courtyard of the house she lives in. I would like to believe that it is hers, but in reality there aren't many girls that ride 1000cc Ducati's. More likely it's her boyfriend's.
I have no idea what I'm doing at this point. I'm seeing one girl I don't like, I'm involved in something with a girl I don't want to hook up with, and now I'm hooking up with a girl I don't want to be involved in something with.
Side Note: How can women lose so much hair without being bald? Bear's hair is all over my house and now there are blond hairs everywhere. I think it's a way for women to mark their territory. It's like when bull moose use their antlers to scratch the bark off trees, it warns other moose to stay away.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
