She has a kid

I had a strange weekend.

I've been talking to my buddy Uncle Charlie about New Years Eve plans. Plans started with he and I going to Cartegna, Colombia for a week, but when tickets spiked from $300 to $1700, I told him I couldn't swing it. Uncle Charlie, who is a very successful hedge fund manager said "Well, I have six hours left on my plane time-share that I need to use by the end of the year, I can contribute that if it helps." Private jet, yeah, that helps. Plan B was take the plane to Vieques, Puerto Rico and my other buddy Chavez was pulled into the mix. Some sun, surfing, and drinking lots of cheap beer at beachfront dive bars was exactly what I was hoping for. Plan B then spiraled into renting a 50' sailboat and cruising the Caribbean. This is something I've always wanted to do so I was willing to spend the $5K the trip was going to cost me. But when the guys heard there was an ever-so-slight chance we could encounter pirates on the boat the trip morphed into renting a house on Saint Martin for a week at a total cost of, like, $40,000US. To say that I can't afford that is such a gross overstatement that I can't even write it without giggling. There are people in the world who can afford to do this type of thing and I am not one of them. I literally would go bankrupt. But Uncle Charlie said "just pay what you can, we got the rest". Anything I could comfortably contribute would be a rounding error, like the tax or electric bill for the rental, and I'm not OK with that. So, with tons of guilt I bailed on the trip this morning. I would love to go, but not if someone else has to pay for me.

Friday night I went out with Bartender. She got pretty hammered again. I'm not one to judge, that whole "those who live in glass houses" thing, but I think she is more than just a recreational drinker. She excused herself to go to the bathroom and I thought I saw her up at the bar doing a shot by herself. While she was gone I looked at my phone and I had text messages from Bear and Madonna wanting to meet up for late night antics. Bear I could understand, we have a history of that sort of thing. Madonna was odd, though, because I haven't spoken to her since the threw up all over my house on Halloween. I ignored both and ended up at Bartender's house.

Saturday night I went to dinner with ME in Dupont. I could probably write a few thousand words on the 25 minute conversation that took place before we even ordered dinner. ME peppered me with questions...I wouldn't say it was an interrogation, but it wasn't a conversation either, it fell somewhere in the middle. I was knocked back on my heels early on and in a desperate attempt to get the spotlight off me I made a desperate move. I knew that ME was in her late 30's and divorced. I figured she didn't have many years left to have kids, so asked her if she wanted them. I felt like it was a cheap shot, but I also felt cornered a little. Her answer "Well, I have one already". Serves me right.

I was completely lost for thirty seconds. I didn't see that coming at all. Why didn't she tell me earlier? Should she have? Why didn't I ask her? Does it matter to me? I've never had sex with a mommy before. Did the vagina feel different? I don't think so? Is that why she was "shy" and didn't let me do down on her? Was there a scar from the c-section? Did she even have a c-section? Did nursing make her nipples so long? I wonder if I look panicked right now?


It has to be hard. I am sure she doesn't want to scare guys off by telling them early on that she has a kid. Maybe she waits to see if she likes the guy then tells them. This is new ground for me. Surprisingly, I am OK with her having a kid.

Stuck in the snow

I was walking the dog last night and came across a car that was stuck on the side of the road. It looked like the driver either spun and hit the curb, or the car slid while parking resulting in the car sitting precariously close to another parked car. I tied the dog's leash to a fence on the sidewalk and tapped on the trunk. The driver rolled down the window and asked if I could lend her a hand. I said sure and told her to point the wheels strait.

After some slipping and sliding, and her accidently gunning it in reverse once, backing onto the sidewalk and scaring the shit out of me in the process, we finally managed to get her out of the two inches of snow she was stuck in. She then got out of the car and thanked me.

I recognized the girl. She has a dog like mine and I talked to her one night while we were both out walking the hounds. I remember thinking she was really attractive, but I haven't seen her since.

Anyway, she thanked me for the help and we exchanged names. She got back in her car and before she drove off she rolled down her passenger window and said "I live in that house there, stop by if you ever need anything." I said thanks and she left.

She was cute, I hope I run into her again.

Barnes and Noble

Sometimes I really loathe myself. Yesterday I met this really cute girl and I froze up like a fat kid on a tightrope. I hope my failure amuses you.

After lunch yesterday I went to Barnes and Nobles to pick up a few books. I found the travel book I needed then went upstairs to look for a few other things. For some reason the store was freezing cold, almost is if the heat wasn't working. After browsing for a few minutes I started to get cold so I went to the information booth to ask where I could find what I wanted.

As expected there were two fucking tools working the counter, pissed that work was interfering with their Dungens & Dragons game. I was next in line and just as I was about to be called up by the sorcerer when this cute little brunette in a coat and scarf walked behind the counter and waived me up.

I spend a fair amount of time in B&N and in my experience (broad generalization coming) it's not exactly a haven for hot sales people. I don't know why, it just isn't.

Anyway, so the brunette looks up the book I asked for then tells me to follow her. We wound through the store for a few seconds and she seemed lost. Between being lost and her having a coat on I finally said "Come on, tell me the truth, you don't even work here, do you? What's your scam?" She laughed and said "Actually, I work in marketing for the company, but during the holidays we all chip in and lend a hand on the sales floor." That seemed reasonable. We chatted back and forth for a few minutes. She was really engaging and chipper. She had long wavy brown hair and looked like she was part Asian, maybe Japanese. She was trim and well dressed...in short she was hot.

The girl led me to the shelf where my book was, pulled it out for me, then made small talk for another minute or so. In my opinion, she was stalling, giving my time to make a move. But I didn't because I'm a pussy. Finally she said "Can I get you anything else?" Case and point: if I was even the least but smooth I would have asked her to get a drink with me or for her number. I could have said "Let me buy you a cup of coffee to warm you up", or anything else to keep the conversation going. But what do I say? "No, that will do". I said the words then wanted to rip my tongue out of my face. No, that will do? No it won't, get her phone number, ask her out, ask for another fucking book. Say anything to keep her talking to you and away from Frodo and Gandalf at the counter.

You know what happened though, she walked away and I was left with my book on Texas Holdem.

But wait, it doesn't end here. You see, sometimes I rally and totally redeem myself. So I stuck around for a while hoping I could catch her on her next walk around the store and get her number. While I was sitting there pretending to read my Blackberry beeped, reminding me I had just fifteen minutes to pay for my books and get back to my office for a meeting. Fuck, no chance of that, so I put the books back and went up to the office.

I was completely worthless during that whole meeting. All I could think about was hot half-Asian brunette book girl, and what an utter retarded disappointment I am.

Have you ever seen the movie Swingers, when John Favre gets the girl's number and calls her like 50 times that night when he gets home? Remember that feeling you had when you watched that scene, how you wanted to reach into the screen, grab the phone away from him and whip him to death with it? That's kind of how I felt about what I did next.

After my meeting I put my coat on and went back to Barnes and Noble. I picked up the two books I wanted and lingered in the store for about ten minutes. OK, it was fifteen. I saw the cute salesgirl scamper through the isles for a second, but she wasn't close enough for me to say hello. Plus, if she saw me she probably would have wondered if I spent the past two hours in the store stalking her. I finally snapped out of it and left, but the self-image damage was done.

I may go back today...

Vampire Sex

Ever had sex in on a stranger's floor because your sister is at your place and the girl's mom is visiting for three months? No? Ever woken up and thought "Why does my thumb hurt so much?" then clicked on the lights and found it was three shades of purple, but you weren't concerned because perhaps your bleeding hand and shoulder were more derserving of your immediate attention? Yeah, well, morning of many firsts for me, too. I Feel like I did battle with a jungle cat.

Sunday I had plans to cook dinner at home for ME. I was at the grocery store picking up some things and really wasn't all that excited about the night. My gut told me that ME was just looking for someone to fawn over her when she had some free time and that I was basically just spinning my wheels. I contemplated cancelling but ultimately decided there was no harm in one more date.

When I got home from the store I decided to go all out and if ME was still being aloof afterwards I would cut her loose. I made clams casino for an appetizer, a big salad with homemade dressing, bought fresh bread and some goat cheese, and prepped seafood risotto for the main course. My sister had just made a bananna bread, so dessert was covered.

ME called and said she was going to see a movie with her mom then was going to take the Metro over afterwards and would get to Union Station around 7pm, and asked if I wouldn't mind picking her up there. Thirty minutes later she called and said she was running late and probably wouldn't be there until 7:30. At 7:30 she called back and said she would be there at 8pm. I told her I had given away her table and that the kitchen was closing soon, she better hurry. I poured myself a glass of wine and it occurred to me that if ME was taking the Metro over I may actually have to drive her home. She lives in Bethesda, so this wasn't an attractive end to the evening.

ME finally got to Union Station a little after 8pm and I picked her up. She looked awesome. She had on a tight shirt, a short plaid skirt and black pokohontas boots. I was glad I hadn't cancelled.

ME's penance for being late was fourty minutes of constant risotto stirring. When she would slow down, and I heard the tell tale "crackling" of the rice, a sign it was burning, I would say "If you burn it you'll have to start all over, keep stirring" the she would hunker down over the stove and get back to work. What can I say, I was amusing myself.

Dinner went well. I brought up the whole swimming thing and said I would teach her if she wanted, which she said she would like. I would say ME is cool on the surface, guarded, but she is warming up and starting to talk more as we hang out.

After dinner we were sitting on my couch talking which turned into a little making out. ME straddled me, but it was still just light fooling around, our clothes were still on when ME said "I can't do this here, your sister will hear." (my sister, who lives with me, was at home and sleeping in her room). I didn't expect things to go too much further on my couch so I said we could go to my bedroom, but ME was concerned about the noise and my sister being able to hear us. ME then suggested we go to her "friend's apartment" who was out of town. Her friend lived in her building and she would have to grab the keys from her house first. All this sounded ridiculous given that we were just kissing. I presumed things were going to go further, but it wasn't exactly a foregone conlusion. I was going to be really pissed if we went through the hassle of criminal trespassing just to kiss. This was beginning to feel like high school again, but I reluctantly agreed to go to her "friend's house". Before we left I grabbed four condoms from the dresser in my bedroom just in case.

When we pulled up in front of ME's building she said "We are going to go in that door, but when you come out, you'll come out the door on that street" and she pointed around to the left. She said "You'll go out the door, past the doorman, make a left, then a left when you get to this street which will lead you back to the car." This was starting to sound like a bank heist. ME then lead me into the building through the parking garage door. When we got to her floor she said "My mom is at home. She sleeps with ear plugs in and won't hear me come in, but wait out here. I'll get the keys to my friend's apartment that is just down the hall." I thought "How do I get myself into this shit?" I tend to think that I'm street savy, but while I was sitting on a table in front of the elevator it dawned on my that ME may still be married, and that her "mom" is really her husband asleep in the apartment, and that there was a small chance I would be chased out of the building by a very insane middle eastern man soon. Luckily this didn't happen.

ME returned a minute later with a set of keys and unlocked the door to an apartment a little ways down the hall. The place wreacked of "old person". The couches were ancient, there was an old reel to reel hi-fi system on a table, it was all very disco. I said "how old is your friend?", and ME said she was in her late 60's, and lived most of the year in Brazil. OK by me.

I sat on the couch while ME got us two glasses of water. When she got back she put the glasses on a table and straddled me again. We started kissing and she took of my shirt, then hers. With her still straddling me I stood up and carried her to the center of the room and lowered us onto the floor. I started inching down towards her waist when she stopped me and said "No, I'm shy." Then rolled me onto my side and put her hand down my jeans. Where I'm from this is known as "conflicting signals".

Fifteen seconds later we were both totally naked and ME asked "do you have protection" and I did a little mental dance of joy that I had made that trip to my bedroomm before leaving. I didn't say anything. I just felt around until I found my jeans, grabbed a condom from my back pocket, and put one on. I leaned back against a couch and ME got on top of me.

I need to point out a few things here. The first is ME's nipples, they were giant and dark. The areola were average, maybe the size of a quarter or a little smaller. I'm running low on nipple vocabulary here, so bear with me. When I say her nipples were huge, I mean the tip, they were easily the size of two or three pencil erasers. I've only seen nipples like this on Asian girls (two Japanese, one Chinese, and two Indian girls). Maybe it's an Asian trait, anyone have any info on this? The second thing I noticed is that ME had a neatly trimmed landing strip. Nicely done.

Back to the floor. ME proceeeded to ride me like a rented mule for the next thirty minutes. "Shy" was not the first adjective that comes to mind when I reflect back on those 30 minutes. She dug her nails into my back like she was intentionally trying to hurt me. She screamed so loud I was afraid the neighbors were going to call the police. When I put my left thumb into her mouth to quiet her down she clamped down on it like a pit bull. It was the last thing I intentionally put in her mouth that night. She was buck wild. The term "sexual predator" comes to mind. When I came she bit me. I thought I was supposed to bite her, but no, she bit my shoulder and drew blood. I'll say it again. She bit my fucking shoulder until it bled.

When we were finished we dozed off on the floor for a little while then decided it was best to get out of there. We got dressed, I flushed the condom down the toilet, and we searched the floor for evidence. As we were about to leave ME jumped me again and we wound up on the floor for a second time. This time ME came, hard, and very loudly, I mean top-of-her-lungs screaming. She was speaking...not English...I wish I could remember the word she was yelling, that would have been a good Google search today. Anyway, I had to cover her mouth with my hand, but she wriggled around, grabbed my wrist and pulled my hand down far enough so that she could get my right index knuckle in her mouth and bit it. She drew blood for the second time that night. One tooth punctured the skin. She was like fucking a vampire. This one really hurt and I let out a yell and put a finger on her asshole, making it very clear that if she bit me again I was going to put one or more fingers in her bad place. She may have liked that, who knows, but I was just playing the odds which are that most girls don't appreciate that particular manuever. The biting stopped.

After the second round we got our stuff together and made a second sweep of the apartment. We gathered up condom wrappers, earrings, keys, any incriminating evidence of what just took place. Again, it felt exactly like high school, only I am twice as old as I was then.

Are you really ever too old to have sex in a stranger's living room? I think not.

Harder!

Fucking miserable night. Bartender came over for dinner, had sex twice, she spent the night, I had fever and hallucinated, she left very early in the morning.

I decided to have Bartender over for dinner last night. It was the only night this week she was free, and I didn't want to go out on a Jameson shooting spree on a week night, especially one that I had to be up at 5am the next day. Dinner, hot tub, and a movie seemed more civilized.

Dinner went fine. It was a dry run of the meal I am going to make for ME Sunday night (needs more pepper and basil). We ate, drank some wine, then went into the hot tub for an hour. The water was about 100 degrees, and the air was around 35 degrees, maybe 40. Whatever it was it threw my body all out of whack and I tripped balls with Papa Smurf and the Three Stooges for the following five hours in my bed while Bartender slammed her elbows into my kidneys. Glorious night, I tell you.

When we first got into bed the fever hadn't taken grip yet and I was well enough for a few rounds of sex. The first round was quiet, but on the second round I asked Bartender what she liked/wanted, and she said "I want you to get behind me". No problem, my preferred position anyway. She then said "I want it hard", sure, I can do that. "Harder!" - raising her voice a little. I picked up the pace and depth of thrust. Then she ordered "Harder!!!" and I began pumping away like I was drilling for oil. Then I felt like I hit something inside her, my penis bent at a irregular angle, she tensed up and said "OK, no, too hard. Softer."

An hour later I was sweating like a fiend and shivering, which you would think are two mutually exclusive body-states. Nope, not last night.

Going to put myself under house arrest until Sunday night.

Stella, Cartegena

Last night I got an email from Stella inviting me to a party at her house Sunday night. Aside from bumping into her one afternoon in Eastern Market I haven't spoken to her in six months. Very random. I probably would have gone except that I have plans with ME to cook dinner at my house Sunday.

It's just a few weeks until New Years and I don't have any plans yet. I was supposed to go to Key West with D-ron, but his work schedule changed and he can't get the time off now. I looked online to see where I can fly for under $400 and I found a few interesting options. Uncle Charlie and my buddy Chavez are tenatively onboard for a trip, and the front runner right now it Cartegena, Colombia. For $320 round trip how can you beat it? If they bail I may even go solo.

Squirrel

This has nothing to do with dating, it's just a great story that I thought I would share.

My friend Betty was walking down the street this weekend with her kids when a foreign couple came up to her and said they found a sick baby squirrel on the sidewalk that needed help. They asked Betty if she could "adopt" the squirrel and nurse it back to health because they were leaving that day and had to catch a plane, so they couldn't help it anymore. The guy was holding the squirrel like a baby, swaddling and stroking it. Betty said she couldn't help him, then kind of leaned forward to look at the little grey squirrel. The guy was petting it, but stopped and kind of opened his hands and showed her the animal. Betty looked and said "Umm, that's not a squirrel, that's a rat!".

Fuzzy little foreigners. I wonder where they were from that they didn't know a rat from a squirrel.

If I had more time I would write you a shorter post.

Sorry, long one. I don't have the time today to edit this properly.

Last week I called ME while she was away on business and asked if she would like to get together over the weekend. She said she had a friend in town and it might be hard to meet up. I understood and told her to call me if she had time. I put the ball in her court to see what she would do. I suspected she would send me a lame text about how she couldn't get together and that would be the end of her.

Friday night I had plans to meet my sister and her friends out for happy hour. As I was walking to the bar ME called and invited me to a party that night. I was surprised to see her calling me, but pissed that for the second time in a row she asked me to an event hours before it started.

The party was a holiday party at the Newseum. Technically I could have gone to happy hour and made it to the party with plenty of time to spare, but I was pissed that she waited until 5pm to invite me. I suppose you could make a case that I was "playing games" by not going, and maybe on some level I was. The timing aggravated me so I said I couldn't make it. I told her I understood she had to entertain her visiting friends, but maybe next week we could do something.

Saturday night I had plans to go out with Bartender. While I was getting ready to leave I got a text from ME asking if I was free Sunday night and if I was interested in seeing a movie. I said sure and we left off that we would talk in the morning and make plans.

Normally I would have a beer or two before leaving the house, you know, pre-game a little so I don't have to spend a hundred dollars on drinks. However, I knew that going out with Bartender would turn into a drunken debacle, so I left the house at about 9:30pm sober as a judge.

Bartender didn't disappoint. I met her at a restaurant downtown and we took a seat at the bar. Within five minutes a waitress friend of hers came by to say hello, then said "Can I buy us a shot?", Bartender of course agreed so the waitress flagged down the bartender and held up three fingers. Apparently all people in the service industry drink Jameson. Without hesitation the bartender dropped three glasses in front of us and plunked the bottle of Jameson down on the bar, then walked off. We were left to serve ourselves, which I am told is highly illegal.

Fast forward a couple of hours. Bartender and I have moved on to H Street and were making a steady assault on the area's Jameson supply. The evening seemed almost sniper-like. We would sit down at a bar, have a comped shot or drink, drop a five or ten dollar bill on the bar then move on to another establishment. One shot one kill each. Twice we didn't even take our coats off, we just bellied up, banged back a smoky shot of Jameson and slipped away. Usually the bartender was give us a nod or a wave or some other gesture as if to say "You're money is no good here, that one's on the house".

Last call was at Little Miss Whiskey, but by then Bartender was pretty tipsy. We had one drink, danced for a bit, then bolted. We walked to Bartender's house and went up to her room. She spent a little extra time in the bathroom and suspect she may have gotten sick, but she smelled like toothpaste when she came out so I can't say for sure. It was about 2am and we both passed out. I woke up at 4am having sex and I don't know for sure who initiated it, but I'm pretty sure it was me. At 9:30 am I opened my eyes saw Bartender face down on the bed, a big tattoo on her left ass cheek staring back at me. It was about 98 degrees in the room and we were both buck naked, uncovered and sweating. My mouth was completely dry and tasted like a peaty Irish field right after a brush fire. Damn you Mr. Jameson. Bartender woke up as I was getting dressed and chuckled. I said I had to walk the dog, and she gave me a kiss as I left. When I got home and took a shower I saw a huge hickey on my chest, which was probably what Bartender was laughing at while I was getting dressed.

Last night I went and saw Black Swan with ME. After the movie we got a drink at a bite to eat and talked for a while. Going into the evening I had my doubts about ME and thought up a few questions that I hoped would bring them to the surface. After she had a glass of wine I asked her "So, if you came into some money tomorrow and could live comfortably without working the rest of your life, what would you do?" In short, ME said she would continue to work a few days a week because she likes her job and would use the rest of her time to travel. She also said she would socialize a lot and then used the term "lunch" as a verb, as in "I would lunch often with the girls". She was good until the lunch part. Question number two was a follow-up to a question she asked me earlier about the outdoors, I said "So, do you like the outdoors? Do you camp or hike?". ME said she likes the wilderness but doesn't camp because she is deathly afraid of spiders. That didn't sound promising. I decided to just come right out and ask it, I said "Do you consider yourself high maintenance?", which she denied. She said she's willing to try new things, outdoors or in, but that she's feminine and a little afraid of "creepy crawlers". I was leading up to my next question, which was "Do you consider yourself adventurous" when I mentioned that I like to sail, and asked if she enjoyed the ocean. That was a total softball, a lob, who doesn't like the fucking ocean! She put her face down in her soup and said "I can't swim". What? She can't fucking swim! I asked "Would you like to learn?" but she said she was afraid of the water.

How is it possible in this day and age that someone can't swim? It's literally unfathomable to me. Is she telling me that if I dropped her in a pool she would be unable to make it to the side without drowning? That can't be true. We're fucking buoyant. If you can't swim roll onto your back and float goddamnit. You don't have to be Michael Phelps in the water, but you are a failure as a human being if you can't swim. Your parents should hang their heads in shame for they have not provided you with a fundamental skill for your survival. It's like learning to cross the street, not running with scissors in your hand, and never stick a fork in an outlet (OK, so my parents failed on that last one).

Despite her beauty, despite her intelligence, I don't know if I can overlook this. She sounds unwilling to even try to learn.

I saw a show on TV last week called Millionaire Matchmaker. You can look up the show and see what it's about, but one of the things I took away from the episode was that everyone should have a list of 5 things that are non-negotiable in a mate. Five items that their ideal mate must or must not have/do. My list is as follows in no particular order:

-Financially independent (supports herself and lives within her means)
-Great sense of humor, is funny, laughs
-Energetic/active/physically fit (no couch potatoes)
-Smart
-Adventurous

Number six may be - Able to save herself in the event of water

This may be a little heavy for a third date, but I am going to ask ME if she would like to go to a pool some night and learn to swim.

I Smell Sex

A really nice thing about this blog is that I have an accurate record of everything in my life. Dates, times, people I meet, places I go, etc. I also have a lot of "posts" that I write but don't finish and thus never publish, and they contain a lot of detail as well. It was in one of those unpublished posts that I pinpointed the last time I had sex, and realized it's been nine and a half weeks, which is just despicable.

I am happy to report, though, that the clock has been reset to zero.

Last night I went for dinner and drinks with Bartender. I had a good time, but it was an interesting experience.

First of all, she knows everyone who works in the service industry. Granted, I've only gone out with her twice and to a total of about five places, but in each of those five she knew everyone. Bartenders, waitresses, cooks, she's practically a celebrity - though I'm not certain if she's famous or infamous. Of course, free drinks galore come along with her rock star status, which isn't too shabby.

Bartender has a decent sense of humor. She's sarcastic, which I like. During dinner I asked Bartender how old she was. When she said 23 I think I said "Oh...I'm a little older..." because I wasn't sure she knew I could almost drive when she was still in diapers. But Bartender just said "Well, you'll get over that, don't worry." It was funny/sarcastic and showed confidence.

We had drinks after dinner then decided to head home at midnight. We had met at the restaurant, so I walked Bartender back to her house. When we got to the front gate of her house Bartender invited me in for a drink. We went inside, each opened a beer, took a sip, then went directly to her room. Basically our clothes came off as soon as we walked through her door.

I was surprised to see that Bartender had tattoos all over the place. They were all in area that she could hide, and some were a little goofy, but I like ink so it was a pleasant surprise. Also, her body wasn't bad either. She's kind of a big girl. I don't mean she's fat, she's just...big. She's tall, she has giant boobs, her ass is great, not fat, not tiny. I would say she has a very average body, I mean that as a compliment.

I'm trying to think of the best way to describe the sex but it was pretty standard. Good but standard. No crazy antics. No slapping, spitting, or other shenanigans. I was kind of sore today, though, both my junk and my lower back. I've been limping around my office and didn't realize it until my secretary said "What in the hell is wrong with you today?" We have a good relationship, I really like her, but I wasn't about to tell her the truth. I just said "gym" and left it at that, but it would have been really funny to say "sex".

Bartender and I had sex twice last night then fell asleep. I'm not sure when but at some point really early in the morning I started going down on her and she swatted me away and said "Need sleepy" which cracked me up because it's from Tommy Boy. We woke up at 7am and started fooling around and went at it again. After we were done she said "And good morning to you, too!".

I can still smell sex. It's on my hands, my face, in my mouth. Do you know that smell? Stale sex. It's a combination of sweat, and pussy, and cum. I can't hear worth a shit, but I have a terrific sense of smell and I smell sex. She didn't have a particularly strong odor, and I took a shower this morning, it just stuck to me. It's really distracting to be in a meeting and catch a whiff of last night's pussy. My train of thought goes right out the window when that happens. I may as well go home. I think I will.

Weekend Update - ME and Bartender

I had my mom in town for Thanksgiving again this year. I love her to death but it's hard living together for extended periods. Mom went back home on Saturday afternoon, which worked out well because I had a date with ME that night, then one with Bartender Sunday afternoon, both of which went well.

Before I get into the dates I'll give you a little glimpse of what my life is like when Mom is in town. There isn't one major thing she does that aggravates me, it's more like one hundred little things that slowly chip away at me until my last filament of sanity is gone and I'm left wandering around my neighborhood with the dog in the wee hours of the morning like a raving lunatic.

What does she do to get to me? An example is that I have a tenant that lives below me, and as a courtesy I try to be quiet in the morning until at least 10am. I don't know if my tenant sleeps in or not, I simply do it out of respect. Not Mom, though. As soon as she gets up she's thumping around my house, banging dishes, and yelling to me from four rooms away "Are you in the bathroom? Where do you keep your can opener?". Then when I don't answer she yells it even louder. No matter how many times I tell her "Mom, you need to keep it down, it's 7:30am, my tenant is sleeping and she pays my mortgage!" she completely forgets the next morning and we start all over again with the thumping and yelling.

She is constantly searching for the "News" on TV. I forget that old people still get their "news" by watching it for hours on TV insteading of reading it online. She'll say "Where's your news", which is obviously a very confusing statement if you look at it literally. However, I know that's code for "On which station can I watch your local idiots babble on about how early some fuck-nut got in line at Target to save thirteen cents on the black-Friday-toy-du-jour this year". Then, no matter which station I put on it's not right. CNBC, CNN, NBC, Fox, ABC, none of these are what she's looking for. I finally have to say "Channels 4-115 come in on my TV, click through and see if you can find something you like." Then she inevitably fucks up my remote control and erases all the programming. Serenity now, serenity now!

The other thing Mom does that drives me bananas is what my sister and I refer to as "Price Check". If we have to make a purchase, regardless of whether it's a tank of gas or a pound of coffee, Mom likes to point out how much more expensive DC is than Home. She'll say "Seven ninety-nine for a can of coffee? That's awful, I can get the same kind at Home for three ninety-nine. Next time you're Home you should buy it and bring it back to DC with you." Multiply that statement times the number of items you consume in an average day and see if you don't want to step in front of the next oncoming bus. I get it, things are cheaper Home, but do I really want to get involved in coffee arbitrage to save a few bucks a month? What's the point of all this, stop bringing it up, please, for the love of god.

OK, I feel better that I got that off my chest, on to the dates.

Saturday night I had drinks and dinner with ME. We met up at 8pm and she looked really nice. She had on tight jeans, tall leather boots, a tight shirt/sweater, another sweater over that, and a scarf. She was even prettier than I remembered. She has this jet black hair, dark eyes, and something that I've never noticed on any girl before: really "plump" lips. She looks a lot like the Victoria Secret model Adriana Lima except with dark eyes.

I had done my homework before the date and researched her country. My geography is horrible, so I made sure I knew what countries her homeland bordered, as well as some key figures and general history, which I think I got extra credit for.

Conversation was easy and she told me a lot of very personal things that I thought was unusual for a first date. Early in the evening she mentioned that she had a rough break-up last year, then an hour later gave me the full story about how her five-year marriage disintegrated and she's been single for a year. I appreciated the honesty.

After dinner we got coffee and dessert at a little restaurant up the street. ME was fairly touchy-feely, which was encouraging. When we finished our dessert we called it a night. I walked ME to her car, which was about 15 minutes from the restaurant, then she drove me down to the Dupont Metro station. We kissed for a few minutes in the car then I left. We're going to try and get together for dinner again this weekend.

Yesterday I took Bartender shooting. I showed up at her house at the appointed hour and knocked on her door. Bartender answered and she looked a little roughed-up. She had on baggy jeans and a ratty t-shirt. Her hair was all fucked up and she smelled like stale cigarettes and booze covered with perfume.

Initial impressions aside, I enjoyed the day. Bartender is a laid back chick. She's smart, easy going, and funny, but all in a tom-boy sort of way. If I had to describe her I would say she's anti-prissy, which is refreshing for DC.

Here's the thing about Bartender, I get the impression that she's on a heavy late-night booty call rotation with a dozen guys. Why do I think this? I can't exactly put my finger on it. The best way to describe it is that if I was in a bar late at night and was looking for an easy hook-up, I would probably set my sights on her. She just had that "ridden hard and put away wet too many times" look about her, especially for a girl who is only 23 or 24.

My guess is that ME is still sorting out her divorce and Bartender has daddy issues. I hope I'm wrong, but my prediction is that ME will be a basket case because she's in dating-limbo after being out of the game for so long, and Bartender will be a fantastic hook-up but little more.

Rave

Last week I went out for happy hour and parked my bike on the street between two cars. When I left the bar I had a $20 ticket for "Fail to Park Parallel" (that's what the ticket said, don't blame me for the meter-maid's grammar). In the 18+ years that I've been riding I've never heard of such a thing.

The bike was parked in a legal parallel parking space with the meter fed. My bike was backed in at about a 45 degree angle to the street with my back tire resting against the curb. This is the way you park a bike, and any biker worth his salt will tell you the same.

Naturally there was no chance I was paying the fine. I am prepared to spend whatever time or money is necessary to fight this ticket.

Yesterday I wrote a one-page letter to the city telling them what I thought about their analysis of my parking. The letter included three color 8.5" x 11" photos of my bike parked on the road along with the entire 97 page District of Colombia Motorcycle Operator's Manual, which I downloaded from the DMV website and printed. On page 20 of this document I highlighted the paragraph that describes how you should park at a "90 degree angle to the curb with your rear wheel touching the curb." I really love that the city has a fine that directly contradicts one of their own rules of the road.

What really chaps my ass about erroneous tickets like this is that the dumb-fuck-high-school-drop-out-shit-for-brains the city hires can pass out tickets at random without care or consequence and gets paid to do so, but we citizens have to use our personal time to defend ourselves against what essentially amounts to a guilty until proven innocent system.

I checked on the BLS website and learned that "parking enforcement officers" earn between $35,000 and $50,000 per year. I would like to see the dollar value of the tickets an average officer writes in a year and see if it covers their salaries, benefits, and vehicle costs. I bet the city doesn't even break even, it probably costs the city money to enforce parking.

No sense whipping that dead horse any further.

Yesterday ME sent me a text and invited me to go see a DJ named Paul Oakenfold "spin" at the 9:30 Club. I Googled this guy and turns out he's a pretty famous DJ that plays kind of heavy trance shit, which is great and all, but not necessarily for a first date. Also, I know what my strong-points are and they don't include techno-glow-stick dancing.

I called Chuck and explained what I was invited to and he said "Nice! I know what you'll be doing tonight!". I said "What, because I have no idea?". He said "You're going to get all fucked up on X then have buck-wild sex with that chick until the sun comes up [paraphrasing here, he went on and on]". I said "Aren't I a little old to be doing extacy. Also, you just described best case scenario. More likely I'll take some drug, freak out, and spend the rest of the night locked in a stall in the men's room playing with a roll of toilet paper. Worst case scenario is I wind up in the ER with an adrenaline needle shoved in my heart. And drugs or no drugs, you've seen me dance, it's not the best way for me to impress a girl" He sounded genuinely bummed and said "Man, why do you have to be that way? Always so negative."

I have to admit that I thought long and hard about what to do and almost went solely because I knew I would get a great story out of it. Either I would have had mind blowing sex or been completely humiliated and never talk to ME again. I was prepared for the worst just for the story. However, in the end I pussed out and said I couldn't go. I opted for a much safer fist date of drinks on Saturday night.

I met a bartender last Saturday night and got her number so last night I gave her a call. The phone rang a bunch of times and I was expecting it to go to VM then I heard her pick up. Fuck, who does that, who answers calls from numbers they don't recognize! I had my message all planned in my head, then she goes and fucks it all up by answering the goddamn phone.

For all my bitching I kind of like that she answered because there aren't any games. We talked for a short time then made plans to get together Sunday. This chick seems really wild.

Pork!

I'm not going to lie, I'm still drunk from last night. I went to a concert with Bear and I must have had fifteen screw drivers. Really, who drinks screw drivers? What in the holy hell was I thinking? The following post will be heavily influenced by Russian Vodka and OJ made from cencentrate.

Friday night I went to dinner to celebrate a friend's birthday. In attendence were three other couples who apparently were all Jewish. The restaurant was tapas style so we all ordered a few plates and they were served communal-style. At one point the waiter set a plate down and one chick at the table yelled out "PORK! Who ordered pork?" I thought for a moment then realized I had indeed ordered something with bacon on it, so I said "Yeah, I think I did". The girl stared at me then said "Oh!", and pushed it away like it was a plate of AIDS riddled human baby flesh. Am I not allowed to order bacon because someone at the table is Jewish?

While I was stuffing my face with swine the Jewish chick was pontificating about her superior politcal views and said something like "...and he's not even anti-gun...", which in context implied that this person was clearly an idiot for NOT being anti-gun. I said "So, you're against guns and the second amendment?" and she said "Yes, of course! Aren't you?". I said "No. Actually, I'm a big fan of guns. As a matter of fact, I have one strapped to my ankle right now", which I didn't but was amused to see her go white when I said it. I was surprised that basically ended the debate.

Saturday night I went to dinner with my sister. It was kind of late so we sat at the bar. While we were eating I chatted up the bartender who was pretty cool. Towards the end of dinner I said "So, do you ever get a night off?". She said she did and I asked her if she would like to get together for a drink some time. She looked at me for a second, then glanced at my sister. There was a second of uncomfortable silence then I said "Oh, actually, this is my sister!". The bartender laughed and then wrote her number on a piece of paper and handed it to me.

We'll see how that goes.

Ferris Wheel

I talked to ME on the phone last night. I waited two days before calling her then she waited the requisite day before returning the call. Very predictable. What's all the pomp and circumstance about, who needs it? How are you? How was your day? What did you do for dinner? Does she really believe I care about any of those things? Does she really believe that I believe she cares how I answer? Doubtful, it's just two people being polite.

Why can't we just say what's on our minds "So, this is kind of awkward, you know, meeting at a coffee shop and then calling you on a Tuesday night. We have nothing in common at this point, or at least that we know of, so here is a list of things I thought of ahead of time to drag out this conversation just long to convince you I'm not just calling to sleep with you. Ready, here we go...?"

I'm not certain where she was but if I had to guess I would say a monster truck rally. I heard a crowd in the background, lots of cheering, and I swore at one point I heard a funny car engine revving up followed by crushing metal.

So after the usual niceties we did the date-book dance to try and figure out when we could get together for the first of three dates before we slept together or stopped speaking. Tonight was no good, though neither of us gave a good reason why. She's out of town Friday to Sunday. Sunday night I'm going to a concert with Bear. She had something on Monday. She started to ask me to some concert on Tuesday night but then must have remembered she already asked some other guy and rescinded the offer. Wednesday my mom comes to town, Thursday is Thanksgiving. Friday my mom is still in town. Saturday...well who the fuck can plan that far out? I'll tell you who can't, this guy. We left off that we would "talk" sometime next week, which sucks because I have to come up with bullshit to stoke 15 more minutes of benign conversation.

I know I sound bitter, but I'm not. I think I'm just jaded, or maybe bored. I already know what's going to happen, I've seen this movie before. The storyline goes something like this:

Date 1: Weeknight. Drinks someplace nice, maybe dinner. We'll both drink just enough to loosen up but not so much that we get "drunk". Conversation is light with lots of forced laughter. We'll linger a little long after the table is cleared then walk outside. Just before she gets in the cab we'll kiss on the cheek or maybe lips, but no tongue.

Date 2: Weeknight. Same dinner as above then move to another bar for drinks afterwards. Questions will become more personal. She will tell me she's divorced or was engaged or has a tattoo someplace she can't show me and I will feign interest. At the end of the night we'll kiss then go our respective ways because we have work in the morning.

Date 3 - Option 1: Weekend. This will include some sort of activity like shooting or a chilly motorcycle ride. After the activity we'll adjourn at my house for a seemingly impromptu though actually well-planned dinner, which of course will include two bottles of wine. Afterwards we'll go in the hot tub where our clothes will come off followed by fucking and either uncomfortable sleep or an awkward "can you call me a cab" discussion.

Date 3 - Option 2: Weekend. This will include some sort of activity like shooting or a chilly motorcycle ride. After the activity we'll adjourn at my house for a seemingly impromptu though actually well-planned dinner, which of course will include two bottles of wine. Afterwards we'll go in the hot tub where our clothes will stay on and we will make out until we are driven from the tub by heat-induced heart murmurs. Queue the awkward exit and days of strange text messages.

How do I get off this Ferris wheel.

Hot Yoga and Hot ME

For the past two weeks my buddy Chuck has been breaking my balls that I don't get out enough. He wants to know why I'm not meeting more women. When I explained that I just don't seem to interact with many single women on a daily basis he dismissed my excuse and said it was bullshit, and that I don't go out of my way enough to meet girls. My response was "Where da white women at", a quote from Blazing Saddles that I use all the time. His response: Everywhere! Rather than fight with him I decided to branch out a bit and see if there were places other than the bars to meet successful, attractive, single women.

My sister is always telling me how many cute girls are in her yoga class so last Thursday I went with her to an evening hot yoga class at Down Dog in Georgetown. I've done yoga twice before about six years ago. My first class was a beginner class and my second was a beginner's hot class that was not very hot at all. Being a former wrestler and used to working out long hours in hundred degree rooms while wearing sweat suits I wasn't nervous about going.

I will preface this story by saying this was a profoundly stupid idea.

I arrived at the studio 15 minutes early and signed up. My sister brought me a mat and a towel and had set me up with her and her friends at the front row. I stripped down to a pair of shorts and a white wife-beater in the lobby then went into the classroom which was a sweltering 90 degrees and probably 90% humidity. My guess is there were 50 women and 10 dudes, including myself. Standard dress for the women was black spandex "shorts" and a sports bra. The other guys had on shorts only, no shirts, but I opted to keep the wife-beater on.

The class started out easy enough with light stretching then transitioned to a series of easy moves. Aside from the stifling heat, it was about 1/8 as stressful as my normal evening workout. Then the pace picked up, and as it did the temperature soared. Within 30 minutes my shirt was completely soaked and I had to peal it off because I was afraid I was going to overheat.

The instructor was like a sadistic hairy Yoda on meth. Up, down, stand on one leg, stand on your head, raise your arms, inhale, exhale, inhale your biggest breath, exhale mouth open, right eagle, saran wrap on your fingers. What the fuck does all this mean? There were a couple of times I wanted to skip a position or take a break, but then I would spot one of the dorky guys holding strong and I silently repeated to myself "anything he can do I can do better, anything he can do I can do better..." over and over and pressed on.

The pace and difficulty of the poses picked up and finally reached a crescendo 75 minutes into the class. By then I had pretty much run out of fluids (vodka) to sweat out and would have gladly killed Yoda in order to end the class early. He wasn't even doing the poses with us, he was just walking around the room barking orders. Why don't you come over here and stand on one fucking leg and arch your head back and I'll walk around and call out impossible contortions for a while.

Side Note:
I'm not sure what the point of yoga is. It has no cardiovascular benefits, you don't gain muscle, and the only weight you can lose doing it is water weight, which you put back on in 24 hours. You sweat like a motherfucker, but do I need to pay $20 to do that?

The class ended with a cool-down and some chanting that I thought was ridiculous. Afterwards, the whole class of sixty sweating dizzy people poured themselves into the tiny lobby and tried their best to get dressed. It was a tangle of sharp, sticky elbows and knees. There is literally no way you could chat up a girl in this environment. Everyone is half-naked, light headed and encrusted in a layer of their own body salts. There was one very tall, very skinny blond that was stunning whom I would have liked to say hello to, but it was just impossible. I pulled on a shirt and a hoodie and left as soon as I could. I may try this again but I don't think this is the right place to pick up women.

Yesterday I went to Tryst to get some coffee and read a book. I've said it before, I'm not usually one to sit inside on a nice sunny day, especially not in a coffee shop, but I thought I would give it a shot.

I got to Tryst around 1pm and took a seat on a couch near the back of the restaurant and ordered a coffee. While I was reading a girl came over and asked if the seat next to me was open. I said yes and she sat down. She was my age or maybe a little younger, with dark eyes, long black hair, pretty face, dark complexion, medium height and very fit. She was wearing a short skirt, high heels, and a black sweater, so she was considerably more dressed up than the rest of the clientele. I also thought I detected a slight accent but couldn't place it.

After a while typing on her computer she asked if I would watch her things while she went to the restroom. I said sure and she left. While she was gone I tried to think of something witty to say when she came back. I was going to make a reference to going through her purse, as a joke, then came to my senses and realized how retarded I was going to come off. I said nothing and just smiled when she came back.

A little while later someone came and asked if there was room on the couch for one more, so the girl said yes and scooted over to me so that the other girl could sit on the end seat. I don't know why, but I started to get shy. I pressed my face further into my book and sat completely still. I had zoned out for a bit when the girl nudged my arm and said "What are you reading?". We talked about my book and she asked "Are you a musician?". It was kind of left field, I said no, and we chatted for a little longer. I found out that she's middle eastern, lives in the city, travels a lot, and is very bright/educated. I'm going to call her ME, for Middle Eastern.

After my third coffee I was all hopped from the caffeine and decided it was time to leave. I cleared my check, shook her hand and said it was very nice to meet her. Just before I got up I said "Would you like to get a drink sometime?". She nodded and said "Yeah...yes" in a cute kind of shy way. I took her number and then left.

A Trainer and Bette Midler

Friday night I went to the Capitols-Bruins game at the Verizon Center with my friends Paul, Andy, and Andy's buddy Mike. I "planned" the night, and I use the term in the loosest possible sense. After the game we went to Rocket Bar (big surprise) and then Marvin's on 14th and U Streets where I made out with one girl and "took" another one home. Sorry for all the quotation marks, later you'll see why they are necessary.

Part of the fun of living in a city is that there is always something going on, and lately I've been feeling like I don't take enough advantage of that. Hockey games are always a good time so last week I sent out a few text messages to see if anyone was interested. Paul and Andy said they were in and asked if I had tickets. Tickets? To the Capitols? They blow, I bet people will be giving them away on every street corner. They should fucking pay us to go! Of course none of this is true. The Caps are great this year, and the Bruins are good as well. The Caps have sold out the past 67 home games, they are as hard to get, if not harder, than Redskins tickets.

As you can see I am a broad strokes kind of planner, I don't bother with the details, that's what secretaries are for. So, we showed up at the Verizon center at 6:30 to scalp tickets. I walked up to the first guy I saw and said "I need four". He asked how much I wanted to pay and, still under the impression that the Caps sucked, said "Forty?". He didn't even dignify my offer with a counter, he just walked off. Andy said "I don't think we're going to get anything inside for forty a ticket, why don't you try sixty or eighty." Fuck that, I thought. I walked up to another shiester and said "Hey, you got four together in the Club Level?". The guy, who was drinking a 22oz beer in a brown paper bag and smelled like he hadn't showered in this century said "Man, ain't no one got four together in Club, they sold out motherfucker, ain't you know that?" OK, time to adjust my expectations.

Just as I was thinking we were going to be watching the game from Clyde's shiester #3 overheard Andy and I discussing our options and said "I got four clubs together". I was skeptical but said "OK, how much?" He said "Six hundred". What started out as a easy going night of hockey and beer was turning in a complicated, expensive production. Jesus, I just want to watch the game, I don't want an ownership stake in the team. Four years ago I could have bought the licensing rights to the team for just a little more than we were about to pay for four 200-level seats. I said "Eighty a piece" and he almost pimp-slapped me. I said $90, he countered at $135. I said $90 again, he went to $125. "No, ninety". He was indignant and said $125. I couldn't believe I was standing on 7th Street negotiating with a guy that had gold teeth. I said "OK, dude, a hundred, that's it". He said "One. Twelve. Fifty!". we started to walk away and he said "OK, a hundred" then muttered under his breath "But ya'll is cheap as fuck." I guess we are. I mean, his teeth probably cost more than my car. I wondered if the black two door Bentley parked across the street at Rosa Mexicano was his.

The game was fun. We had good seats low on the second deck right near the bar. I'm testing a new theory that beer makes me sleepy and prone to passing out early, so I snuck in a flask of Captain Morgan's rum that I mixed in a giant cup of Coke. If you're wondering how to get a flask in to a stadium I subscribe to the "hide in plain sight" school of thought that Chuck taught me. What you do is hold your ticket in one hand and the flask in the other (works best with small flasks). When they frisk you keep sticking the ticket in their face. They will be so distracted and annoyed that they won't see the flask. It works every time. My other favorite hiding spot is in my boot, which coincidentally is also a great place to hide other items.

After the game we headed over to Rocket Bar where we met some of Andy's coworkers. The bar was packed but there wasn't much talent there so after a couple of hours we all cabbed over to Marvin's on U Street.

I talked to a few of Andy's friends at the bar, and one was cute enough, but a little on the boring side. Mike, who was completely hammered at this point and barely on his feet said "It's my turn to buy a round, let's make it a shot". Mike ordered shots of chilled rail vodka...who does that? Just as we took the shot these two blond girls walked over to the bar and stood behind us. Andy said "NN, buy those two girls a drink, they're hot." It's true, they were hot but in that stripper sort of way. I said hello then noticed that one of the girls had a bar going through the bridge of her nose, a ring like a bull through her two nostrils, and some piece of equipment in her lower lip. If you're wondering if it's acceptable to ask a girl with all that shit in her face if her clit is pierced as well, I can now say with some degree of certainty that it is not.

After the two strippers walked off in a huff I threw Mike's shot of rubbing alcohol down and ordered a rum and coke. A short brunette who was standing next to me turned and said "I find you so attractive", which is a pretty unusual opener. I checked her out and said "Hi, I'm NN" and reached out to shake her hand. With that she jumped up and stuck her tongue down my throat.

Trainer: The Trainer was about 5'2", petite, with long black hair and blue eyes. Her body was fantastic, a solid 8.

Turns out she was a trainer from San Diego that was in town visiting her brother. While we were on the dance floor mugging down (shame on me, I know) I said "You're visiting your brother? Where is he?" and she said "Right over there" and pointed to a guy in the corner who looked like a Miami cocaine dealer. He was tall, barrel chested with bleached white hair and a nose that looked like it had been busted a hundred times. He had on a white suit and a shirt almost totally unbuttoned. I said "great" then looked at him a little closer and said "Actually, I think I know him. Where did he go to college?" Trainer said the school and I said "Yeah, I knew he looked familiar, that's where I went." We had been dancing and making out for a while so I said "Uh, so is that going to make it awkward, you coming home with me and all?". Trainer thought about it for a second and said "I can't go home with you, he'd kill me".

Fair enough, I guess.

Not long after Trainer and her gooned-up brother left. I regrouped and found some of Andy's friends standing in a corner. I started chatting with this tall blond girl with a great body but who looked like Sideshow Bob from the Simpsons. No embellishment could shine a flattering light on this girl, she was simply not attractive. She had this crazy kinky blond Jew-fro, buck teeth, wild eyes. She looked like a tall (well over 6'), thin Bette Midler. I asked Bette where she lived and she told me the address, which was literally two blocks from my house. It was getting about 2:45 by then so I said "want to share a cab home?", which of course is late-night-bar-code for "want to come back to my house and wake up my neighbors". Bette said sure and we gathered up our coats.

Just as we were heading out this other kid who worked with her asked if we were leaving. She said yes, and he asked if he could split a cab with us. I gave him the look of death and thought "Dude, I already used that line, you can't fucking piggy back on it", but trying to seem laid back simply said "Yeah, sure".

In the cab I was determined to salvage the night. When we got closer to my house I said "Hey, Bette, want to come over for a beer? Doofus, you're welcome to come too" badly wanting to call him "Doofus" for real, but saying his real name instead. Bette said yeah, sure. Then, Fuck-Nut, not taking any of the obvious hints said "Yeah, that would be great, it's still early". Are you kidding me! If he had been sitting next to me I would given him an elbow to the solar plexus.

The cab stopped on the corner near Bette's house. Fuck-Nut and I split the fare then as we got out he said "Where is your place, NN?" I couldn't believe how fucking dense this dick head was being. I'll play the war of attrition game, but Bette Midler over there wasn't worth the sleep loss. Scram, loser. I pointed down the street and said "I live one block over" pointing down the street, then turned to Bette and said "You still want a drink or are you calling it a night?". Bette said "I don't know. My bed is sounding so good right now. I really don't want to make out, I think I'm going to call it a night."

At least she was honest and didn't waste my time.

I said good night and started walking home. To my amazement Fuck-Nut followed me the whole block. When we got to my house I was like "Hey, guy, I think I'm going to call it a night as well" and started up my steps. He said "Yeah, OK, it's getting late, maybe another time." I said "Right!" in my most sarcastic tone and dead-bolted the door behind me.

Strange fucking night. Dry spells suck.

Bank and Post Office

I was the seventh person in line at the bank, it was 1pm, there were only two tellers, and one customer was trying to waithdraw funds from his account that had not yet "cleared" - a concept he could not grasp. My face was flush from the surge of rage overtaking me. This is why normally sane people snap and go on homicidal rampages. I don't condone it, but I understand why they do it.

While I stood there surpressing the desire to tackle and choke to death the guy at teller #2, I tried to decide what I hate more, mail or banking. What good really comes of either?

We are nearing the end of 2010, what do you still receive in the mail? My billing is all done online, salary is direct deposited, financial statements are emailed to me, my friends wish me Happy Birthday on Facebook, and yesterday I renewed and printed my registration online. The only thing I get in my mailbox is my neighbors mail, credit card applications and useless fliers. All this goes directly into the recycling can, this junk never even makes it into my home. There was a period where I was getting a lot of wedding invitations, but my friends are all married now, so I don't even get those anymore.

When I renovated my house I tried to end this senseless paper parade by not putting up a mailbox, but the mailman just stuffed the crap between my front door and my storm door. When I locked the storm door he left it on my stoop wrapped in rubber bands. Who needs this? Stop harrassing me. And who do you think you are with that pith helmet, anyway? Get a real job, you're nothing but a glorified paperboy.

The only thing I mail anymore are Thank You cards, and I just drop them in a the mailbox at work. Once it's acceptable to send Thank You emails, I'm out, no more mail for me. Period.

Banking is another story. It's a necessary evil. Once a month I take my 8-10 rent checks and deposit them into my account. Last month I tried Capital One's new ATM scan option and the technology is not quiet there yet. You can only scan a few checks at a time and it takes forever. I've tried putting the checks in an envelope and depositing them in the slot, but this delays the actual deposit by at least a day, and when you're dealing with deposits and mortage payments and all these dollars crossing each other on the electronic super-highway, every day counts. So, for the time being I seem to be stuck making physical deposits at the teller window each month, but it doesn't mean I have to like it.

The only other time I go to the bank is if I have to withdraw a large amount of cash. If I'm going to buy a motorcycle I like to pay with crisp new one hundred dollar bills so I can negotiate, bank checks don't work. Last spring I went into my bank, Chevy Chase at the time, and handed the teller my license and a check for $8,000 made out to me. She looked at the check, looked at the license then asked if I called ahead to have the cash ready? I said no and she explained that I could only take out $2,000 at a time from a branch. I said "So I'll have to go to four different banks today to get my eight grand?" and she said "That's right." I thought about it for a second then said "OK, then, I'd like to close out my account." They gave me my eight thousand but asked that in the future I call ahead two days for large withdrawls. I said "No, I don't think so, you'll make an exception then as well". The whole point of a fucking bank is that you can get cash there!!!!

Go about your business.

Happy Halloween...Now Clean This Up.

As I've said before, Halloween is my favorite night of the year. You can let your freak flag fly, go bananas, and no one will judge. This year was the second annual NN Halloween Costume Fiesta and as usual mayhem reigned.

I simplified things a little this year. Instead of tons of food and a huge array of beer, wine, and booze, I ordered some party platters of sandwiches, got six cases of Bud Light, and two handles each of: vodka, rum and whiskey. I also bought an ice louge and the biggest bottle of Cuervo 1800 Silver they had to accompany the louge. This apparently was the downfall of several people.

There were some really great costumes. There were scary, gory, funny, creative, stupid, and of course slutty ones. One girl dressed up like Sarah Palin and looked so much like her that when my sister answered the door she was shocked for a second and wasn't sure if she should open it, fearing it was the real Palin.

One of my neighbors brought this crazy clan of Argentines who were completely off the wall, screaming, pounding beers, and never having seen one before, made sweet, sweet love to the ice louge all night. There was also a French group, and one of the girls was SOOOO fucking good looking, but there with this little dorky French kid. He must have been hung like a Wookie to score her. I think there were also about five CIA agents, real ones, not people dressed up like agents, there.

One of the agents brought a girl dressed up as a high class hooker. She was pretty tall to begin with then had on these huge high heels and a giant afro wig that made her look even taller. She was also wearing big sunglasses, a fur coat, and underneath a very skimpy shiny dress that showed off her really tight body. At one point in the night I was standing in a group with her talking about the show The Jersey Shore when she mentioned "DTF". I said "DTF, what's that?" and she said "Down To Fuck". The word "fuck" is thrown around a lot, but the way she said it, and the context it was being used in, shocked me for a second. She must have seen it on my face because she followed that up with "There's also "DTAF". It didn't take me too long to figure out what the "A" was for, but I played along and said "OK, what's that?" and she said "Down To Ass Fuck" then casually took another drag off her cigarette. I thought she was dating the CIA guy, but had to ask, I said "You down with that?", and again very casually she said "Sometimes". I wasn't sure if it was her talking or her costume persona. Naturally I was intrigued, though.

A few of my friends showed up at 11pm, and one said "We brought you something" then slid me a zip-lock bag that was filled with two heavy squares individually wrapped in paper towels. I looked at it for a second then asked "brownies?" and they both said "Yup". I asked "Did you guys have one?" and they said "One and a half each." I wisely opted not to eat them.

At about 1am was stunned to see Madonna from last year's Halloween party walk in with a group of people. There was a connection for her to the party, but the reason I was surprised was because I had been told she wasn't thrilled with me after hooking up with her a few times and never seeing her again. Frankly, I was kind of glad to see her because I didn't have many prospects at the party and I knew she would be "DTF".

A little later in the night I was talking to my sister and one of the CIA agents when she said "You should hook up with the hooker". It caught me really off guard because I thought she was the CIA agent's girlfriend. I mumbled and pointed to the agent, unsure what to say. He sensed what I was doing and said "She came with me, but we're not dating, I have a girlfriend." Game on.

After the crowd thinned a group of us were sitting around in the yard talking, and I was flanked: on one side was the hooker and the other Madonna. Madonna had that thousand meter stare and I knew she was pretty tanked. The hooker seemed buzzed, but I was having a really hard time talking to her. I decided that she was neither DTF nor DTAF, and when her friends got up to leave I said good night and that was that.

Right around this time both my brownie friends hit a wall and promptly passed out on my couch. It was 2:30am and time to go home. Madonna's friends said "OK, it's getting late, I think we're going to head home". This was partially a statement and partially a question aimed at Madonna to see what her intentions were for the rest of the night. She looked at them, waived and waived at one of the girls and said "Good night" to her. That was that, I suppose. She's staying.

I wasn't surprised that the crazy fucking Argentines were the last ones to leave, and by leave, I of course mean "thrown out of the house". They drank their way right up to my front door then stopped, and basically refused to take another step. I grabbed a bunch of beers and some plastic cups and bribed them to leave one at a time with roadies. When the last one stepped over the threshold onto my porch I quietly closed the door then locked the deadbolt.

When I turned around I saw Madonna trying to walk upstairs but unable to make forward progress, all she was doing was swaying. I've seen this movie before and knew my prospects of hooking up were slim. I said "Are you OK" but got no response. I helped her up the stairs and put her in my bed. She passed out into a heap of dead weight before her head hit the pillows.

I turned off the music outside, killed the lights then locked up. I had face paint on as part of my costume so I took a shower and washed it all off. When I got into my room I stripped down and crawled into bed with the lifeless Madonna, who was still in her slutty little costume. I hadn't been in bed for more than a second when she popped up and sprinted to the bathroom. "Sweet!", I said out loud, at least grateful that she made it to the bathroom. Then, I smelled it. I jumped out of bed and turned on the lights. There, ALL over my room, was red and white vomit. It was on my floor, on my dressers, on my stereo, and all over my bed. My dog walked in and was about to start eating it when I grabbed her and shooed her down the hall, but when I got into the hall I saw that Madonna had puked her way all the way to the bathroom like she was on a bombing run. I yelled to no one in particular "Are you kidding me! This is so not cool." I heard a muffled moan come from the bathroom, and thought she might be drowning. Still holding the dog's collar to keep her from lapping up the puke I looked in the bathroom and saw Madonna, on her hands and knees, sloshing around a pool of puke with a wad of toilet paper.

If I believed in Karma I would say this was fair retribution for many of my despicable past indiscretions.

So, at three in the morning I stripped my sheets and my duvee cover off my comforter, mopped the floor, cleaned the bathroom, and sterilized every surface in my room. Finally, after fifteen minutes of vomiting Madonna reappeared and I changed her (like a baby) into a t-shirt and a pair of boxers.

For the rest of the night my house smelled exactly like a hospital. Caustic ammonia-based cleansers trying unsuccessfully to mask the odors of various violently expelled bodily fluids.

At 11am we finally got out of bed. I can honestly (and happily) say that I have never seen anyone leave as quickly as Madonna did. I'm not sure she said a single word to me. As a matter of fact, she left in such a hurry that she didn't even close my front door. I wish I had footage of it, she fled like a refugee.

It was at this point that I noticed that in all the excitement my dog had a nasty bout of diarrhea and sprayed the comforter, which was on the floor in the hallway, with shit. I started laughing uncontrollably. My sister walked into the hall and said "How is that...that shit and puke covered blanket funny?" I said "It isn't, but I would almost like to bring it to my dry cleaner, Mrs. Hung, to see what she says".

NYC-Mira

New York City has a unique way of exacting a toll from visitors whether they want to pay or not. You can kid yourself and say "I'm going to go for the weekend but will take it easy, nothing crazy" but NYC doesn't play by those rules. It's going to get its pound of flesh one way or another. Last weekend was no different, I went up to hang out with some friends and as per usual all hell broke loose.

Side Note:
Last week I considered the ways in which I could get up to NYC. Train round trip was $230, a flight was $248, and I figured between gas and parking it would cost me about $150 to drive up. However, I wasn't too excited about driving because it's a pretty shitty ride, so I scratched that. Then my sister suggested the Bolt Bus, which was $46 round trip. I was skeptical but for that price how can you not give it a shot? So, Friday afternoon I skipped out of work early and caught a 12:30 bus which got me into the city right at 5:30, which wasn't too shabby.

Friday night I stayed with one of my sisters who lives in the city (with her four children). We had dinner, watched the Yankees get bitch slapped by the Rangers, then hit the hay early.

Saturday afternoon I met C-roc, my brother, some of his friends, and a couple of my college pals in the city to watch football and drink our body weight in over priced beer. We bounced around the city, moving from dive bar to dive bar until my brother and his crew had to head home. C-roc was supposed to bail with them but made a (poor) last minute decision to stick around. I had loose plans to crash at my buddy Junior's house for the night, but Uncle Charlie had also left me a key to his apartment.

C-roc and I drank our way down the west side of the city. By 8pm I was mildly out of control from a near lethal combination of Miller Lite and Jim Beam. As we left our third bar I informed C-roc that we needed to eat something or very bad things would happen. He agreed so I said "this looks like a nice place". I don't know the name of the restaurant, but it was a very fancy white table cloth affair. C-roc and I barged through the door and the maitre d' was obviously skeptical. He made a half-hearted attempt at seating us, pratically unable to hide his contempt, but I breezed past him and made my way to the kitchen. I walked through the double swinging doors to the kitchen and went over to the line where I informed the chef "I'm going to whip up a couple of sandwiches for my buddy and I, this will only take a minute." While this was going on C-roc was in the dining room trying in vain to convince the manager not to call the police. Luckily for me two dishwashers and one rather large sous chef physically ejected me from the premises before the police could arrive. Thank god fat donut-eating cops are slow.

We were just getting our stride. With the last food run having gone horribly wrong we decided it would be a good idea to get another drink. We walked about two blocks then rounded a corner, thinking walking two full blocks would throw the cops off our trail. C-roc and I bellied up to the bar which, was pretty crowded considering it was only about 9pm. We tried in vain to get the (very sexy blond) bartender's attention for about five minutes. Growing impatient, I leaned way over the bar and held out my arm, waiving it wildly. She saw me, rolled her eyes, held up one finger and said "I'll be there in a minute". Nope, that wasn't good enough for me, so I started whipping coasters at her ass as hard as I could while yelling "Nurse! Oh, nurse! I think this patient is coding down here!" pointing to C-roc, "Quick, drinks are needed! Hurry, we're losing him!!!" She was quasi-amused by our antics and didn't throw us out of the bar, and even gave us two beers.

While C-roc and I made small talk with two chubby girls I spotted a cute blond walking in with another girl. I was looking at her trying to figure out how I knew her when it hit me, it was Mira, the girl I met in Lake Placid this past New Year's. I walked up behind her and said "Hey, so what happened, you didn't want to get drinks with me?". She turned around, looked at me with her mouth open for a long time, then said, "It's you!".

You may recall that I don't like to lose. You may also recall that I mentioned to Mira that I was in the city fairly often and suggested we get together for a drink sometime, to which I received no reply, and I took very personally. So naturally I used our fortuitous meeting as an opportunity to scold her for not returning my email. Mira was kind of meekish and maybe even felt a little bad, but who really knows what her situation is. She's married for all I know. Whatever the case, after I finished giving her a hard time C-roc and I left and went to another bar. If she was on the fence about hanging out with me before, I think she's certain now that she made the right decision.

I am ashamed to admit that shortly after leaving the next bar the lights went out in NN-Land. C-roc said that one minute I was chatting up a girl and the next my eyes had rolled into the back of my head and the only thing I could say was "I don't know, man. I just don't know". I couldn't remember Uncle Charlie's or my sister's address so C-roc called my younger sister and got my NYC sister's address. He then escorted me there in a cab, dumped me off with the doorman, and made his way back home.

It was not the high-point of my life. Do I care, not really.

This weekend is obviously Halloween, the best night of the year. I'm having a big party at my house then moving the party to the bars late night.

Stream of Consciousness

There is a girl in my office who's boyfriend was recently run over by a bus and killed. She went from portly and bland to thin and attractive almost overnight. Is it wrong to think that this may be the next diet fad or that I see a reality show opportunity here? The show could be hosted by Dr. Phil, Joan Rivers, and the cast of Jackass. Dr. Phil would pretend to counsel the girl for being fat and having low self esteem, Rivers would rip apart her old wardrobe, then Johnny Knoxville and Bam would throw her boyfriend in front of a bus, or train, or tie him to a giant home made rocket and launch him into oblivion. Don't mock just because you didn't think of it first.

I think tall boots should be mandatory for girls year-round. Sometimes I make girls keep them on during sex. However, more often than not they leave vicious scrapes and chaffing on my side and hips.

It should be legal to stone drivers to death that "block the box".

I have found no place in DC where there is a higher concentration of hot girls than Chop't on 12th Street NW.

Whenever I think my life sucks I think of the attendant at my parking garage and how much his life blows then suddenly feel better.

Why is everyone dressing like it's 1982?

My dog took the loaded pistol I keep under my bed and buried it in my yard. It took me a thirty minutes, and many holes, to find the spot she buried it in. It was very unnerving digging up a gun that I knew had a hair-trigger. I probed the soil like I was searching for land mines.

If I'm having sex with a girl and she says "cum on me" does that mean anywhere I want?

If a girl lets you drink beer out of her shoe, she will let you sleep with her. Don't believe me? Try it.

If you're girlfriend asks "does this make me look fat?", and it does, should you tell her the truth?

Is this what life is about?

Jesus I'm bored lately. I literally have no excitement in my life. Am I old enough to be having a mid life crisis?

The last two books I read were Rogue Warrior and A Dawn Like Thunder, both of which are about being in the Navy. I have to tell you, it really makes me want to go and join the Navy so that I can kill people with impunity. I've always had a violent streak, maybe a government funded strafing run is what I need to get out of this funk.

The tipping point of my mood came last Saturday at a baby christening. I was sipping a Heineken and listening to this little Vietnamese chick telling me about her job in retail, her monthly trips to Vegas and NYC, and how all the restaurants in DC were "soooooo awful". She was really attractive until she opened her mouth, and once it was open all I wanted was for it to shut. Each syllable made me loathe her more.

It really wasn't even about her, though, it was about who and what she represented. Prada retail and the people who shopped there. Fuck seven dollar coffees and cars that parallel park themselves. Fuck the south Beach diet, "Rehab" at the Hard Rock in Vegas, pedicures, walk-in closets, people who can't cross a street properly, Kardashians, and yes, people who "blog". Fuck me too.

I talked to my buddy Chuck this morning and he said "you just need a new piece of ass", but I doubt that's it. I thought about volunteering, but I'm pretty sure I need something physical and/or violent, like boxing or hunting wild boar with a knife. The only downside is if the boar wins, then you look like a jerk because really it's just a pig that lives in the wild. I'll pass on that.

Then he said "you need to buy something", I said "like a sandwich?" and he said "no, like another property". True, that would help, but the banks have cut me off for at least a few more months, so that's out.

I'm just looking for some fun. My biggest thrill is my daily four mile motorcycle commute. Is this really what life is about; work five days, take two off, repeat? Wouldn't it be cool to sail around the world, or hike the Himalayas, or ride a horse to the tip of Patagonia.

I can't help but think that my priorities are out of line. There are so many cool things to experience in life and I only get three weeks off a year to do them. That's not enough time. Maybe the answer is to lower my standard of living and work less. I should quit my job and...I don't know, pick figs during the harvest season and backpack the Rockies the rest of the year.

Or maybe I just need a new piece of ass.

Judgement

I am often astounded at both how good and how poor my judgement can be. In a matter of seconds I can make both excellent and astonishingly asinine choices. Maybe I'm bipolar and there are a couple of people at the helm.

Friday night I decided to stay in. I rented a couple of movies and picked up some things for dinner at Eastern Market. After dinner I was sitting on the couch watching Robin Hood (awful) and finishing up a six-pack of Yuengling (OK, maybe it was more like a twelve-pack) when my phone rang, it was my downstairs tenant. I looked at my watch and it was just a little before midnight. I really didn't want to answer the phone because calls from tenants are generally to report that something is broken, and let's face it, I was in no shape to play the handyman role. However, this is technically part of my "job" so I picked up the call. My tenant said that she had locked herself out and was wondering if I was around and could let her in. Generally she would have been shit outta luck and would have had to spend the $100 on a locksmith to let her in the house, but since I was home I didn't mind going downstairs and unlocking her door, so I grabbed my keys and went down.

My tenant isn't a bad looking girl. She's 25 years old, tall - about 5'11", long brown hair, thin with huge boobs, but she's a slightly socially awkward and her face is just OK. If I met her out at a bar I would bang her. She's nothing special, though, so I have never considered hooking up with her given that she lives directly below me. That would just never work out.

Anyway, I go outside to let her into her place and she's sitting on her front porch with a cute blond girl and a case of Natty Light - I know, really classy (like my "I would bang her" comment). I said hello, unlocked the door then started walking back up the stairs to my door. My tenant introduced me to the girl and asked if I wanted a beer. If it was just my tenant sitting out there I would have declined because I have a strict "No drinking with female tenants" rule, a lesson I learned from experience (a story for another time). However, since she was with a friend I decided it was more like a party and thus acceptable (I can rationalize anything). She reached into the case to pull out a beer then said "Oh shit, we're out!". The blond giggled and said "I can't believe we drank a whole case". Tenant said she had tequila inside and asked if I'd rather have a shot. I told them it was OK and that I really didn't need another drink, then continued walking upstairs.

I grabbed a beer out of my fridge, plopped down on my couch, and had the following thoughts:

-Beer is good
-Girls are good
-I have beer but no girls
-There are girls downstairs with no beer
-Me's thinks there is an opportunity to greatly improve both our evenings
-Beer + hot tub + two girls = the three of us naked
-Shower
-Threesome

Now, notice how my mind made the quantum leap from "I should offer them a beer" to "threesome". My brain instinctively segued to the best case scenario. I picked up my phone and began to write a text message.

Luckily, not to mention surprisingly, while I was writing I had a glimmer of what was more likely to happen, which was:

-Invite them up for beer
-Me drunkenly making a pass at the blond and being rejected
-Me drunkenly making a pass at my tenant and being rejected
-A long awkward period of silence
-Blond and tenant quickly leaving creepy landlord's apartment
-Tenant not renewing her lease in the spring

I deleted the text message I was writing, went to bed, jerked off, then fell asleep. In the morning I was elated that I hadn't sent that text. Girls are crafty. I'm sure they ran out of beer and my tenant devised that little ruse of being locked out to replenish her beer supply.

That was NN making sound, prudent, decisions.

I must have used up all my Good Decision chits on Friday because last night I was a jackass. I had just finished cleaning up my dinner dishes when I got a text from Bear asking what I was up to. I said nothing and asked if she wanted to come over for a drink. She said yes and was there in 45 minutes.

Bear and I do get together for a drink now and again, but usually out at a restaurant, she hasn't been to my house in months. But no big deal, I really didn't think much of it. Bear came over, we had a beer and watched TV for a while, then at 11pm I said it was time for me to go to bed. There was a strange silence then she just followed me down to bed.

Bear is such a little freak, I love it. She said "I have my period, and I don't want anal tonight, so put your cock in my throat". I love it when she talks dirty.

After fantastic head Bear said "We never had that threesome, when can we do that?" She's been dangling that carrot in front of me for practically two years now, I said "You find the other girl and I'm in".

I really don't want to get back into the same groove with Bear that I do every year, it's just bad news. I regret having her over.

One final thought. Saturday night I met some buddies in Alexandria for a couple of beers and to watch football. Sitting next to us was this giant douche bag and his girlfriend who looked like an out-of-work porn star. The dude was kind of big, but goofy looking. He had on a white shirt that had blue swirls and, I don't know, eagle talons all over it. On each finger he had a silver ring with skulls and dragons and other gay mythical creatures. He was also covered in tats. The chick was striking. She was tall with long wavy blond hair, GIANT boobs, and she seemed fairly pretty. However, upon closer inspection her hair looked fake, her boobs were fake, her tan was fake, and she was kind of ugly. Her tits were hanging out of her shirt and she wanted everyone to look at her.

I'm not sure why, but when I looked at this couple I figured they were into some really crazy shit. The rings and the tats and the huge fake stripper-tits, I just couldn't help but think that they did things in bed that would never occur to me. Right? I mean, there are probably people walking around that fuck each other in ways that I wouldn't dream up in a million years. Who knows, maybe they like to fuck each other while live chickens run around the room. Or maybe he wants to fuck her while a machine shoots tennis balls into her stomach. Maybe they like to have sex in burning buildings, or while covered in Major Grey's Mango Chutney. People are so creative, they have to be doing some wild shit, right? Or maybe these two are all fucked up on the outside and have really vanilla sex while the geek in my IT department is totally cookoo in the sack and will only bang aboriginal pygmy twins after he sprays them head to toe with black Rustoleum paint.

Clean Break

I made a clean break with Tiny last night. It went fairly well, or at least as well as that sort of thing can go. I chose to do it over the phone. Cowardly? Perhaps, but I decided it would be easier and/or best that way. We talked for around a half hour and essentially agreed that we had different long-term goals in life and it would be best if we ended things now. Just before we hung up Tiny said "I hope you find what you're looking for.", which I didn't didn't know how to respond to. After a pause I said something like "Um, thanks, you too." and that was it.

So now I'm single with virtually no prospects, which wasn't much of a plan.

Heroine Relapse

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I'm not sure how to answer that...

I'm not normally one to go to a coffee shop to read or do work, but I finished up some appointments early yesterday and decided to stop at a place called Jacob's on 8th Street to get an iced coffee and read before heading home.

I don't like to sit with my back facing a door so I found a seat in the corner of the shop facing the front window and entrance. I had been reading for a while when I spotted this blond girl across the street walking towards Jacob's. She was very beautiful, but what was most striking about her was that she was not dressed for "5pm, Thursday afternoon, coffee at Jacob's". She had on skin tight black pants, 4" black high heels and a low cut shirt. She had long blond hair with big loopy curls, and a fair amount of make-up on (a little too much). Basically, she looked like she was going out to a club.

Blondie opened the front door, took two steps in then came to a dead stop. She made half an attempt at backing out before an older gentleman sitting at table looked up and said her name. There was a long, awkward pause then she said "Heeyyyy, how are youuuuuu?" Blondie was still standing in the doorway holding the door open but the old guy stood up and was waiting for a hug or a kiss or some sort of greeting. Old Guy said "I'm great. Small world, what are you doing here?" Blondie let the door close behind her but didn't walk in any further. She said "I just drove into DC, and you?" Old Guy said he had just finished something or other (I think he said "class") and stopped in for a coffee.

At this point the only reason I am semi paying attention to the conversation is because the girl is extremely good looking. I was glancing up as often as I could and at some level listening to their conversation because, well, it was awkward and I love awkward interactions.

Anyway, Old Guy said "I thought you were in school?" and Blondie said she still was and studying journalism and then threw in a couple of non sequitur fillers: "blah blah blah, traffic was bad, blah blah blah, I get into the city once a week". Then, after all this she finally decided to walk in and give the guy a hug. Oh man, so fucking awkward. It was one of those "walk up, bend at the waist, stick your ass way out, pat on the back, I don't want to hug this person" hugs. As soon as it was over she took two steps back. Old Guy then asked "So, if you're in school what are you doing here?"

Yes, exactly what I had been thinking!

Blondie tilted her head slightly, looked at the ceiling, waited a full four seconds then said "Hmmm, I'm kind of working."

Working? Working how? Is she fucking hooking? I wanted to run over and introduce myself so I could join in the discussion.

Old Guy said "Working, what are you doing?" Blondie again took forever before saying "How can I explain this...." trailing off at the end.

Fuck my book. Please, sweetheart, tell us, what kind of work could you be doing here in DC on a Thursday night dressed like that? Old Guy and I are on the edge of our seats!

Old Guy said "Oh, you must be meeting an ex boyfriend, is that it?"

There you go, honey, that's an easy out for you, take it and run. All she had to do was agree, say "nice to see you" get a coffee and get the hell out of there. It could have been so easy, but luckily for me she let this debilitating seen continue.

Blondie said "No, no, that's not it.... How can I explain this...?" Old Guy said "Do your parents know where you are?"

What? That's a great question! I didn't think this scene could get any more uncomfortable. The old bastard knows her parents? Holy shit, she's fucking screwed. I wasn't even pretending to read anymore. I set the book on my lap, kicked my feet up on the table and gave them my undivided attention.

Stammering now and fidgeting with the zipper on the back of her pants (that, by the way, barely covered her perfect ass) Blondie said "Oh, sure. I'm trying to think how I can explain the work to you..."

I laughed out loud. Why are you saying you're working! Just fucking drop it already. There's no good way to explain to your parents' friend that you're supporting your coke habit by doing anal porn in DC. I can't believe you don't have a cover story. Any cover story! You're meeting friends. You have a date. An interview. Come on, you can't think of anything? No wonder your selling her body, there's no goddamn way you're going to get a college degree, you're dumb as a post.

Old Guy was visibly uncomfortable with the whole exchange at this point and really just wanted it to end. He said "Should I just stop asking you questions now?"

No, please God, no!

But Blondie was too stupid to let it go. She tried to come up with a plausible explanation for what she was doing in DC dressed like a stripper instead of at the library at her community college, but there obviously wasn't a single thought running through that beautiful head of hers. She just kept saying "No, I'm just trying to think of a way to explain it. How can I explain it?" over and over.

At last Blondie's phone rang. She answered it and said "Oh, OK, you're here?" She looked out the window and said "No, but I'll find you. See you soon. Bye."

I practically jumped out of my seat to see if Ron Jeremy was waiting out front.

Blondie put her phone away and said to the now completely stupefied Old Guy "Ok, I have to run, great to see you though!" Old Guy, in fatherly protective mode, looked as if he was going to follow her outside for a second then thought better of it and sat back back down.

I tried to see where Blondie went but she turned a corner and went out of site.

So, let's list all the possible explanations for what a young beautiful college student from outside DC could be doing in the city "working" at 5pm on a Thursday afternoon. We know she's a journalism student, meeting someone (male, I could hear his voice when she answered the phone) at a coffee shop who didn't actually come into the shop, and was she dressed...seductively.

a)Escort
b)Prostitute
c)Selling drugs
d)Buying Drugs
e)Porn
f)Modeling (read with sarcastic snicker)

Life is amusing.

On another front, a few minutes ago I rounded the corner on the way to the men's room and saw two LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGG legs walking down the hallway. They were on 5" heels and led up to a very short skirt. When I finally worked my way up to the body they were attached to I realized they belonged to Trouble. I'm going to put on the full court press next week to get drinks with her. The problem is that I never see her in the office, I just don't have any interaction with her.