Tuesday afternoon I went out with Stella after she cancelled on me the prior week due to an alleged car accident. I did confirm that she was in an accident, had totalled her parent's car, and that she had injured her back in the process. I kept my original "guns and dinner" game plan in place, though I wish I had done a few things differently.
I picked Stella up at her apartment around 4pm and we headed to the gun range, which is by Andrew's Air Force Base. She looked cute. She had on jeans, a v-neck t-shirt and flat shoes which worked out well for me (I had on work boots with a huge heel and we were the exact same height, she has to be 6' tall). I hadn't told her what we were going so she kept trying to guess. We passed a sign for an equestrian center and she said "Are we going horseback riding?", and I said "Yes, I'm a cowboy, excellent guess." Then we passed the equestrian center and she realized I was kidding. When we got near Andrew's she said "Are we going on a plane?" and I said "Yes, we're going sky diving out of Air Force One, are you wearing the right shoes for that?". This went on and on until we pulled into the parking lot of the range, which looks like any other non-descript warehouse. Stella turned to me and said "You didn't just kidnap me, did you?"
I explained what we were doing and Stella was psyched. She said "This is way better than what I guessed you had planned, which was making ships inside bottles." Did I mention she has a great sense of humor?
Anyway, Stella was a pretty good shot. She asked a ton of questions, she wanted to know how everything worked, the differences in the guns and ammo, targets, etc. I think she had a good time. There were people around us who heard me giving her instructions. While she was shooting I was standing behind her and the guy in the lane next to me leaned back, looked at her, turned to me while shaking his head and said "Good luck, man.", then went back to blasting away with whatever hand-cannon he was shooting (his gun was rattling my fillings, I think it was a Bazooka).
We finished shooting after an hour then drove to my house to drop off the guns before going to dinner. It's here that I kind of lost the initiative. For some reason I got a little shy and my game fell to shit.
At my house I got somewhat uncomfortable, or at least I was not my usual outgoing self. I didn't want her to think I brought her there to hookup, so I kind of rushed her in and out. She wanted to look around my house, but I just did a two-second tour then we went to Cork for dinner.
Cork was OK. I had never been there before, and Stella went to culinary school and is literally a pro when it came to food and wine, so I figured that was a good place to go. I should have stuck to my tried and true "shoot and cook dinner at home" itinerary. Once in the restaurant I felt like I was no longer in charge. It's hard to explain, but let me give an example.
I knew she liked wine so I looked through the wine list and picked a bottle. My selection was a mid-price range Spanish red wine, something I know nothing about, but the wine list description seemed mild, a safe bet. The waiter brought it to the table, opened it, then poured me a taste. I swirled it around in the glass, took a taste, and it was awful. It tasted "corked" to me, like it had turned to vinegar. I've made mass-quantities of homemade wine before and know first-hand what bad wine tastes like, and this seemed like it was certainly bad. I've never sent a bottle of wine back before, but I turned to the waiter and said "I'm not an expert, but I think this is corked". I didn't want to come across as arrogant or like I was trying to be a big shot, but it tasted like piss. I handed the glass to Stella and had her try it. She tried to be diplomatic, and only said "Well, it's something", as if to say "I don't know if it has turned, but that's the worst bottle of wine I've ever had. Good choice.". Long story short the manager came to the table, made a big production of tasting it and overruled my call. He tried to be diplomatic, but I felt like and ass. Very nice.
I was knocked back on my heels at that point and tried to recover by ordering us a bunch of small plates (the restaurant is tapas style, you share plates). We settled on some fish and meat dishes, and washed them down with my horrific wine selection. By then I was wishing I had just cooked her dinner at home and pulled a bottle of red wine from my rack, something I was sure was good, but it was far too late for that.
Conversation went OK at dinner. We talked about everything from cheese to travel. She's an interesting girl. She's only 27 years old but has done a lot of living in that time. I enjoyed talking to her.
Dinner was not cheap, about $150. She made a sincere effort to pay for half, not just the usual lame reach for her purse move that girls do, but that was out of the question. I don't do that under any circumstances, I am happy to pay. However, between shooting and dinner I spent well over $200. That's an expensive first date by my standards. I usually like a more conservative and laid back first date because I feel it's more "me".
After dinner I drove Stella back home. When we pulled into her driveway I kind of seized up. NN The Idiot Boy had taken the helm and had signaled All Stop on both main engines. I think she sensed my apprehension (read: idiocy) and leaned over and gave me an awkward hug and kiss goodnight. I said "I had fun, let's do this again" and she said sure. I waited for her to get into her building then drove off.
It's been a couple of days now and I have neither sent nor received any texts or calls from/to her. She knows I am away on business until Saturday, so I don't think she expects to hear from me. I thought it was best to play it cool and wait until I get back to send her a text. I'm not sure this is the right plan, but I'm sticking to it as it seems like the best course of action. If we go out again I'm going to take her out on the bike then to the fish market to pick out something to grill or cook at my house. What can I say other then "stick to what you know".
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Stella
Went out with Stella last night on one of the most expensive dates I have had in a very long time. While I do not regret the money spent on the date I am not sure it was a wise investment.
Today I rode from DC to Roanoke on my bike. I thought long and hard and concluded that it was the coldest motorycle ride of my life by a wide margin. As I sat curled up in the fetal position in a booth at Denny's, contemplating setting myself on fire, I realized I was sorely ill-prepared for my adventure and nearly turned back.
Later this week I will update you on the outcome.
Today I rode from DC to Roanoke on my bike. I thought long and hard and concluded that it was the coldest motorycle ride of my life by a wide margin. As I sat curled up in the fetal position in a booth at Denny's, contemplating setting myself on fire, I realized I was sorely ill-prepared for my adventure and nearly turned back.
Later this week I will update you on the outcome.
Monday, April 26, 2010
The Most Destructive Friday Of My Life
11:00am: Arrive at DMV inspection station and have Harley inspected by very nice employee. As I leave I think how efficient DMV is. It is the last time I ever think that.
11:16am: Arrive at M Street DMV. Receive ticket #A097. They are currently serving ticket #A043.
1:45: I finish reading the three magazines I have brought with me for entertainment. I have seen the five informational videos they play on a loop over thirty eight times each and have committed to memory what documents both US and non-US residents need to obtain a DC driver's license. I will never use this information constructively.
2:07: Ticket #A097 is called to window #9. I hand the employee my papers. He is wearing headphones and can hear angry rap music blaring at ear-drum shattering levels. I can not recall over seeing service industry representative wearing headphones. Deaf Employee hands me back a piece of paper and yells "Need to fill it out. Come back."
2:09: Return to Deaf Employee with completed form. He shuffles papers, hits seven keys on computer, scribbles something on a form and shouts "$790." I question his math. Deaf Employee explains math. Most of the fee is from the 6% Excise Tax. Tax is based on NADA retail vehicle value of a bike that isn't even my model, which is TWICE what I paid for the bike. I told Deaf Employee his assumptions and calculations are incorrect, and that pursuant to DC regulations if he cannot find my vehicle in NADA he must use the purchase price per the Bill of Sale.
2:10: Deaf Employee takes ticket number A097 away from me and says "You need to speak to a manager" and hands me my papers.
2:11: Issued ticket #M846.
2:13: Ticket #M843 is called to window #8.
3:10: Ticket #M844 is called to window #8.
4:15: Ticket #M845 is called to window #8.
4:16: I approach main counter in fit of rage and ask to immediately speak to a manager. Severely overweight and stupid employee eating a Snickers bar informs me that I will need a ticket for that, and that they do not issue tickets after 4pm. I explain I have a ticket. Severely overweight and stupid employee says that I must wait my turn, and continues to eat his Snickers bar. I have not eaten lunch and ponder repercussions of killing him and eating his Snickers bar. Determine repercussions would be grave and take my seat.
5:07: Ticket #M846 is called to window #8. I arrive at window to find short foreign man in 18th century knickers, puffy pirate shirt, scarf, straw hat, and knee-high leather boots arguing with Stubborn Employee over $7 registration fee. You cannot make this shit up.
5:14: Seven dollar debate still raging. I inform Chippetto that his time is up, my number has been called to window #8, and if he doesn't leave I will stuff seven one-dollar bills down his esophagus and terminate his breathing rights. He looks confused. Stubborn Employee tells me that if I don't have a seat security will remove me from the premises. Stubborn Employee's threats trump mine. I take seat once again.
5:26: Stubborn Employee calls me to window #8 with non-verbal cues (pursed lips and hands on hips). I explain my reasons why vehicle value is incorrect. Stubborn Employee says my logic is faulty, INCREASES the value by ten percent, and tells me that my new fee is $825!
5:26:07: I fly into nonsensical curse-laden tirade insulting Stubborn Employee, her intelligence, her ancestors, her children, and her unborn grandchildren and great grandchildren. At the end of tirade I nearly break down into tears. I explain I have been there since 11am, I haven't eaten lunch, and that I can only surmise they are attempting to bilk me out of $412 through a campaign of psychological trickery based on repetitively-played mind numbing videos on required documents for licenses. Stubborn Employee is appalled that I have been at DMV for nearly six hours, and in unexpected act of sympathy reduces my fees to $360. I regret wishing cancer on all her living relatives and apologize to her.
6:42pm: Arrive home and have double vodka on rocks. Receive text from Andy asking if I would like to go to party at bar on Pennsylvania Ave. I agree. Andy says will pick me up at 7:15.
7pm: Have second double vodka on rocks.
7:20: While pouring double vodka and Red Bull Andy informs me he will be there in 30 minutes. I warm him that I am averaging a double vodka every 15 minutes. He says he will drive faster, there in 15 minutes.
7:42: Andy arrives, take vodka Red Bull "roadie" in red solo cup for 3/5 of mile drive to bar.
7:51: Arrive at bar. Chug drink in car. Order double vodka and Red Bull. Bartender, semi-ugly blond with backless shirt, refuses to serve me double. I settle for two singles.
8:30: Inexplicably switch to Corona. Blond bartender is not as ugly anymore. I ask her how she wears a bra under backless shirt. She informs me she is not wearing one.
8:52: Order another Corona. Blond bartender makes male bartender serve me.
9:01: Blond girl at party introduces herself. She has accent, I ask where she is from. She makes mocking face at me, says Lithuania. I ask how she likes being Russian. She says not Russian, Lithuanian. I ask if she strips and escorts, or just strips. She becomes incensed and calls me an asshole. I ask her how long she has to hook for before Russian Mob gives her passport back. She walks away from me.
9:18: Order Corona from now-hot Blond Bartender, then ask if she uses duct tape to hold up breasts. She says no, uses nothing. I ask her to prove it and show me and then I will believe her. She declines my offer.
9:40: I announce to large group of guys that Blond Bartender (that now looks like runway model) uses duct tape to hold breasts up. Blond Bartender overhears this and vehemently denies. We dare her to prove it. Again, she declines.
10pm: Upon finishing two more Corona I (surprisingly) clear tab and stumble out of bar.
10:34: [found credit card receipt in morning, don't recall this] Close tab at Lola's. Had one beer (Corona?) and one shot of tequila.
6:45am: Wake up in bed with crushing headache. Sense another human being near me. Roll over and see head of long bushy brown hair. Poke head with finger. It rolls over. It is Bear. I am not pleased. I ask how she got there. Bear informs me that I showed up on her doorstep at 11pm nearly unable to stand up and tell her that "I am not here for a booty call, I just want to have sex". I ask Bear if we did. She says no. I ask her if we can. She says no. Too much talking makes me nauseous, I fall back asleep.
10:31am: Phone rings. Friend Chuck asks what I am doing. Inform Chuck he doesn't want to know and hang up on him.
11am: Drop Bear off at her house. Drive back home and pass out until dinner. Spend rest of evening sulking about horrific prior evening. Ground myself to prevent further catastrophes. I blame entire episode on DC DMV.
11:16am: Arrive at M Street DMV. Receive ticket #A097. They are currently serving ticket #A043.
1:45: I finish reading the three magazines I have brought with me for entertainment. I have seen the five informational videos they play on a loop over thirty eight times each and have committed to memory what documents both US and non-US residents need to obtain a DC driver's license. I will never use this information constructively.
2:07: Ticket #A097 is called to window #9. I hand the employee my papers. He is wearing headphones and can hear angry rap music blaring at ear-drum shattering levels. I can not recall over seeing service industry representative wearing headphones. Deaf Employee hands me back a piece of paper and yells "Need to fill it out. Come back."
2:09: Return to Deaf Employee with completed form. He shuffles papers, hits seven keys on computer, scribbles something on a form and shouts "$790." I question his math. Deaf Employee explains math. Most of the fee is from the 6% Excise Tax. Tax is based on NADA retail vehicle value of a bike that isn't even my model, which is TWICE what I paid for the bike. I told Deaf Employee his assumptions and calculations are incorrect, and that pursuant to DC regulations if he cannot find my vehicle in NADA he must use the purchase price per the Bill of Sale.
2:10: Deaf Employee takes ticket number A097 away from me and says "You need to speak to a manager" and hands me my papers.
2:11: Issued ticket #M846.
2:13: Ticket #M843 is called to window #8.
3:10: Ticket #M844 is called to window #8.
4:15: Ticket #M845 is called to window #8.
4:16: I approach main counter in fit of rage and ask to immediately speak to a manager. Severely overweight and stupid employee eating a Snickers bar informs me that I will need a ticket for that, and that they do not issue tickets after 4pm. I explain I have a ticket. Severely overweight and stupid employee says that I must wait my turn, and continues to eat his Snickers bar. I have not eaten lunch and ponder repercussions of killing him and eating his Snickers bar. Determine repercussions would be grave and take my seat.
5:07: Ticket #M846 is called to window #8. I arrive at window to find short foreign man in 18th century knickers, puffy pirate shirt, scarf, straw hat, and knee-high leather boots arguing with Stubborn Employee over $7 registration fee. You cannot make this shit up.
5:14: Seven dollar debate still raging. I inform Chippetto that his time is up, my number has been called to window #8, and if he doesn't leave I will stuff seven one-dollar bills down his esophagus and terminate his breathing rights. He looks confused. Stubborn Employee tells me that if I don't have a seat security will remove me from the premises. Stubborn Employee's threats trump mine. I take seat once again.
5:26: Stubborn Employee calls me to window #8 with non-verbal cues (pursed lips and hands on hips). I explain my reasons why vehicle value is incorrect. Stubborn Employee says my logic is faulty, INCREASES the value by ten percent, and tells me that my new fee is $825!
5:26:07: I fly into nonsensical curse-laden tirade insulting Stubborn Employee, her intelligence, her ancestors, her children, and her unborn grandchildren and great grandchildren. At the end of tirade I nearly break down into tears. I explain I have been there since 11am, I haven't eaten lunch, and that I can only surmise they are attempting to bilk me out of $412 through a campaign of psychological trickery based on repetitively-played mind numbing videos on required documents for licenses. Stubborn Employee is appalled that I have been at DMV for nearly six hours, and in unexpected act of sympathy reduces my fees to $360. I regret wishing cancer on all her living relatives and apologize to her.
6:42pm: Arrive home and have double vodka on rocks. Receive text from Andy asking if I would like to go to party at bar on Pennsylvania Ave. I agree. Andy says will pick me up at 7:15.
7pm: Have second double vodka on rocks.
7:20: While pouring double vodka and Red Bull Andy informs me he will be there in 30 minutes. I warm him that I am averaging a double vodka every 15 minutes. He says he will drive faster, there in 15 minutes.
7:42: Andy arrives, take vodka Red Bull "roadie" in red solo cup for 3/5 of mile drive to bar.
7:51: Arrive at bar. Chug drink in car. Order double vodka and Red Bull. Bartender, semi-ugly blond with backless shirt, refuses to serve me double. I settle for two singles.
8:30: Inexplicably switch to Corona. Blond bartender is not as ugly anymore. I ask her how she wears a bra under backless shirt. She informs me she is not wearing one.
8:52: Order another Corona. Blond bartender makes male bartender serve me.
9:01: Blond girl at party introduces herself. She has accent, I ask where she is from. She makes mocking face at me, says Lithuania. I ask how she likes being Russian. She says not Russian, Lithuanian. I ask if she strips and escorts, or just strips. She becomes incensed and calls me an asshole. I ask her how long she has to hook for before Russian Mob gives her passport back. She walks away from me.
9:18: Order Corona from now-hot Blond Bartender, then ask if she uses duct tape to hold up breasts. She says no, uses nothing. I ask her to prove it and show me and then I will believe her. She declines my offer.
9:40: I announce to large group of guys that Blond Bartender (that now looks like runway model) uses duct tape to hold breasts up. Blond Bartender overhears this and vehemently denies. We dare her to prove it. Again, she declines.
10pm: Upon finishing two more Corona I (surprisingly) clear tab and stumble out of bar.
10:34: [found credit card receipt in morning, don't recall this] Close tab at Lola's. Had one beer (Corona?) and one shot of tequila.
6:45am: Wake up in bed with crushing headache. Sense another human being near me. Roll over and see head of long bushy brown hair. Poke head with finger. It rolls over. It is Bear. I am not pleased. I ask how she got there. Bear informs me that I showed up on her doorstep at 11pm nearly unable to stand up and tell her that "I am not here for a booty call, I just want to have sex". I ask Bear if we did. She says no. I ask her if we can. She says no. Too much talking makes me nauseous, I fall back asleep.
10:31am: Phone rings. Friend Chuck asks what I am doing. Inform Chuck he doesn't want to know and hang up on him.
11am: Drop Bear off at her house. Drive back home and pass out until dinner. Spend rest of evening sulking about horrific prior evening. Ground myself to prevent further catastrophes. I blame entire episode on DC DMV.
NASA
Two weeks ago one of the senior guys in my company, Dan, came by my office and asked me if I had plans for Thursday night the 22nd. I did not, so he asked me if I wanted to attend a dinner and lecture at one of the Smithsonian Museums that our company is involved in. I didn't have anything going on so I said sure. He gave me the invitation, told me to wear a suit, and that was it. In hindsight I had no idea what I was getting myself into.
When I got into the museum they were kicking out all the tourists, so I told a guard that I was there for a lecture and he told me I was a little early but that I should feel free to walk around. For the next fifteen minutes I had free reign in the museum, I was the only person there except for the guards and three or four people cleaning the carpets. A few minutes after six a woman in a suit with a clipboard walked over to me and said "Good evening. May I help you?". I thought she was going to kick me out, so I again explained that I was there for a lecture, and that one of the guards told me I could walk around until...she interrupted me "Yes, I know sir, come this way please." and walked me to an elevator. When the door opened she said to the guard "Mr. NN is here for the cocktail hour.", then shook my hand and walked off. I thought "OK, this is weird, I don't think I told her my name."
When the elevator door opened I was ushered into a room where about five people were having drinks. I went to the bar and ordered a beer. I mingled and talked to everyone. The conversation was light, we discussed some of the exhibits, DC, the weather. Business never came up, it was just the usual cocktail hour bullshit, people drinking and popping peanuts in their mouths. I felt a little out of place because I was roughly half as old as most of the people in the room but that was fine. Whatever, I downed my beer and walked over to some guy wearing a name tag. While we talked I looked at his name tag a little closer and it took my brain several seconds to catch up to my eyes. The tag said "Director, Smithsonian Institution". I read it again to make sure I was getting it strait, yup, "Director, Smithsonian Institution". I thought "Oh shit, think dummy, what have you said to this man", then replayed the last ten minutes of my life in my head to make sure I hadn't said anything overtly retarded. I concluded I was OK then excused myself.
Luckily, Dan walked in just then. He worked the room a little, grabbed a water, then came over to me. A few people congregated around us, but before I could pull Dan aside and ask him what the fuck was going on, the Director said "So, shall we eat?". I nearly dropped my drink, there were no more than ten people in the room. I thought this was going to be a huge dinner with hundreds of people. A waiter led us around a corner where there was ONE table set as elegantly as any five star restaurant I've ever seen. Internally I said "Holy shit, you gotta get out of here, there's no where to hide at that table".
Behind of all the china and silverware there was a name tag that said "Mr. NN [and my company name]" in perfect calligraphy. To my left was the fundraising director of the museum, and to my right the president of some trade organization. I was flanked. As I processed this the head honcho of the museum stood up, thanked everyone for coming, then went around the room and introduced everyone at the table. It was ri-god-damn-diculous. Everyone was director of this, president of that, this guy invented to wheel, that girl runs NASA, what's his name over there splits atoms for fun.
How did I get here? What sort of cerebral edema did Dan suffer to cause such a severe lapse in judgment that he thought it was a swell idea to bring me along to this? I generally don't get anxiety about social situations but I started to notice a throbbing sensation in my ears that reduced my hearing to near nothing and I was beginning to hear bubbling noises like I was underwater. Plus, my mouth had gone so dry I couldn't speak. My body was shutting down major systems that could cause irreparable harm to itself. It is a classic self-preservation response designed to ensure an organisms survival, like cutting off blood to extremeties in extreme cold to save the internal organs, and I agreed with the plan. "Good thinking, no talking".
Salad, bread and appetizers were served. I ate and responded to questions as succinctly as I could. I felt like a retard at a Mensa convention. I understood only every fifth word but I nodded approvingly at what appeared to be the appropriate times. One woman, who I think did in fact work for NASA, took an interest in me.
NASA: NASA was pretty hot. She was probably in her late 30's or maybe very early 40's. She was easily 5'11" or 6' tall, and her body was ripped. Her arms and shoulders were super-defined and only slightly smaller than mine. Her legs looked like they were chiseled out of granite and had on a short skirt to show them off. She had a big chest for such a tall, thin woman, my guess was that they were fake.
Side note: Based on the above description, it did occur to me that NASA may have been a man. Taken individually, none of the things above would cause me to think someone was a man dressed like a woman. Collectively, though, I was concerned. She didn't have an adam's apple, and she had very feminine facial features, but it did cross my mind that she has or had a dick. I gave it 3% chance that she was a he.
NASA had come with a tall, good looking guy of approximately her same age, and I presumed that was her boyfriend (she didn't have a ring on).
NASA kept asking me questions about what I did, where I lived, what I did for fun. We were sitting three seats away from each other, so I was answering her questions as quietly as possible so as not to draw attention to myself. NASA's boyfriend listened to us talk and at one point chimed with some non sequitur about a fanciful dream sequence he has about "floating through a river of puffed air". The "boyfriend" had a distinct lisp and was beyond a doubt the gayest person I have ever met. This wasn't helping my "she's a dude" nightmares. I increased my original 3% estimate to 5%.
A main course of fillet Mignon with a cream sauce was served. I am lactose intolerant and my stomach was already bothering me a little, so I scraped as much of the cream sauce off the steak as I could and ate up. I was starving. As soon as I finished the steak I realized it wasn't agreeing with me.
Note: For those of you who don't know, lactose intolerance is an inability to digest a certain sugar (lactose) found in most diary products. The symptoms range from mild bloating to uncontrollable explosive diarrhea.
Throughout dinner NASA was overly into everything that I was saying. She prodded with question, laughed at my jokes, and I began to notice Dan shooting me sideways looks. I didn't know what his connection was with this woman (from a business standpoint) but could tell from the looks he was giving me that he didn't want me flirting with her. From this point on I all but ignored NASA and bordered on being rude.
The dinner lasted about 40 minutes then we were led to an auditorium. As we walked in I put some space between NASA and I, there were about three or four people between us. We got to our row and NASA let the few people between us walk into the row first then walked in right in front of me so that we were seated next to each other. After we sat Dan leaned forward in his chair and shot me a not-so-discreet look that roughly translated said "Don't you dare fuck that woman". I nervously smiled back.
The lecture started and my intestines began growling. This was both a protest to the cream sauce and a warning that I had no more than one hour before my entire digestive tract evacuated itself in a very violent manner. Perspiration started to form on my forehead and I mentally withdrew from the talk. I was trying to find my happy place (green fields, a warm day at the beach, Immodium AD, etc). While this was going on NASA started scratching her thigh, and in doing so, she kept creeping her skirt higher and higher up her leg. I thought "Sweat Jesus, why do you test me?"
Had this not been a work function, and had I been 100% certain the woman involved was a woman, I would not have thought twice about saying something really dirty to the chick, likely along the lines of "I bet your pussy is completely shaved." I was picking up her signals loud and clear, but given the situation it was out of the question.
The lecture ended, I thanked Dan, then left at the fastest pace that could still be considered a walk. I waited for the elevator, took a couple of turns, then found the parking garage. It took me ten precious minutes to spot my car, which was on the far end of the lot. I did an about face and half-jogged towards it. It was about then that a BMW convertible pulled up next to me. The tinted window rolled down and it was NASA. She said "It was really nice to meet you...uh, why are you running?" I ignored the second part of the question and said, slightly out of breath "Yeah, me too. Have a great night...see you around". NASA paused, looked at me a little funny, then rolled up her window and drove off.
Post Script: My drive home was not very far, but I ran several red lights and rolled every stop sign along the way. I made it to my house in time, but barely. Dan was not in the office Friday and I haven't seen him yet today, so I haven't talked to him since that night.
When I got into the museum they were kicking out all the tourists, so I told a guard that I was there for a lecture and he told me I was a little early but that I should feel free to walk around. For the next fifteen minutes I had free reign in the museum, I was the only person there except for the guards and three or four people cleaning the carpets. A few minutes after six a woman in a suit with a clipboard walked over to me and said "Good evening. May I help you?". I thought she was going to kick me out, so I again explained that I was there for a lecture, and that one of the guards told me I could walk around until...she interrupted me "Yes, I know sir, come this way please." and walked me to an elevator. When the door opened she said to the guard "Mr. NN is here for the cocktail hour.", then shook my hand and walked off. I thought "OK, this is weird, I don't think I told her my name."
When the elevator door opened I was ushered into a room where about five people were having drinks. I went to the bar and ordered a beer. I mingled and talked to everyone. The conversation was light, we discussed some of the exhibits, DC, the weather. Business never came up, it was just the usual cocktail hour bullshit, people drinking and popping peanuts in their mouths. I felt a little out of place because I was roughly half as old as most of the people in the room but that was fine. Whatever, I downed my beer and walked over to some guy wearing a name tag. While we talked I looked at his name tag a little closer and it took my brain several seconds to catch up to my eyes. The tag said "Director, Smithsonian Institution". I read it again to make sure I was getting it strait, yup, "Director, Smithsonian Institution". I thought "Oh shit, think dummy, what have you said to this man", then replayed the last ten minutes of my life in my head to make sure I hadn't said anything overtly retarded. I concluded I was OK then excused myself.
Luckily, Dan walked in just then. He worked the room a little, grabbed a water, then came over to me. A few people congregated around us, but before I could pull Dan aside and ask him what the fuck was going on, the Director said "So, shall we eat?". I nearly dropped my drink, there were no more than ten people in the room. I thought this was going to be a huge dinner with hundreds of people. A waiter led us around a corner where there was ONE table set as elegantly as any five star restaurant I've ever seen. Internally I said "Holy shit, you gotta get out of here, there's no where to hide at that table".
Behind of all the china and silverware there was a name tag that said "Mr. NN [and my company name]" in perfect calligraphy. To my left was the fundraising director of the museum, and to my right the president of some trade organization. I was flanked. As I processed this the head honcho of the museum stood up, thanked everyone for coming, then went around the room and introduced everyone at the table. It was ri-god-damn-diculous. Everyone was director of this, president of that, this guy invented to wheel, that girl runs NASA, what's his name over there splits atoms for fun.
How did I get here? What sort of cerebral edema did Dan suffer to cause such a severe lapse in judgment that he thought it was a swell idea to bring me along to this? I generally don't get anxiety about social situations but I started to notice a throbbing sensation in my ears that reduced my hearing to near nothing and I was beginning to hear bubbling noises like I was underwater. Plus, my mouth had gone so dry I couldn't speak. My body was shutting down major systems that could cause irreparable harm to itself. It is a classic self-preservation response designed to ensure an organisms survival, like cutting off blood to extremeties in extreme cold to save the internal organs, and I agreed with the plan. "Good thinking, no talking".
Salad, bread and appetizers were served. I ate and responded to questions as succinctly as I could. I felt like a retard at a Mensa convention. I understood only every fifth word but I nodded approvingly at what appeared to be the appropriate times. One woman, who I think did in fact work for NASA, took an interest in me.
NASA: NASA was pretty hot. She was probably in her late 30's or maybe very early 40's. She was easily 5'11" or 6' tall, and her body was ripped. Her arms and shoulders were super-defined and only slightly smaller than mine. Her legs looked like they were chiseled out of granite and had on a short skirt to show them off. She had a big chest for such a tall, thin woman, my guess was that they were fake.
Side note: Based on the above description, it did occur to me that NASA may have been a man. Taken individually, none of the things above would cause me to think someone was a man dressed like a woman. Collectively, though, I was concerned. She didn't have an adam's apple, and she had very feminine facial features, but it did cross my mind that she has or had a dick. I gave it 3% chance that she was a he.
NASA had come with a tall, good looking guy of approximately her same age, and I presumed that was her boyfriend (she didn't have a ring on).
NASA kept asking me questions about what I did, where I lived, what I did for fun. We were sitting three seats away from each other, so I was answering her questions as quietly as possible so as not to draw attention to myself. NASA's boyfriend listened to us talk and at one point chimed with some non sequitur about a fanciful dream sequence he has about "floating through a river of puffed air". The "boyfriend" had a distinct lisp and was beyond a doubt the gayest person I have ever met. This wasn't helping my "she's a dude" nightmares. I increased my original 3% estimate to 5%.
A main course of fillet Mignon with a cream sauce was served. I am lactose intolerant and my stomach was already bothering me a little, so I scraped as much of the cream sauce off the steak as I could and ate up. I was starving. As soon as I finished the steak I realized it wasn't agreeing with me.
Note: For those of you who don't know, lactose intolerance is an inability to digest a certain sugar (lactose) found in most diary products. The symptoms range from mild bloating to uncontrollable explosive diarrhea.
Throughout dinner NASA was overly into everything that I was saying. She prodded with question, laughed at my jokes, and I began to notice Dan shooting me sideways looks. I didn't know what his connection was with this woman (from a business standpoint) but could tell from the looks he was giving me that he didn't want me flirting with her. From this point on I all but ignored NASA and bordered on being rude.
The dinner lasted about 40 minutes then we were led to an auditorium. As we walked in I put some space between NASA and I, there were about three or four people between us. We got to our row and NASA let the few people between us walk into the row first then walked in right in front of me so that we were seated next to each other. After we sat Dan leaned forward in his chair and shot me a not-so-discreet look that roughly translated said "Don't you dare fuck that woman". I nervously smiled back.
The lecture started and my intestines began growling. This was both a protest to the cream sauce and a warning that I had no more than one hour before my entire digestive tract evacuated itself in a very violent manner. Perspiration started to form on my forehead and I mentally withdrew from the talk. I was trying to find my happy place (green fields, a warm day at the beach, Immodium AD, etc). While this was going on NASA started scratching her thigh, and in doing so, she kept creeping her skirt higher and higher up her leg. I thought "Sweat Jesus, why do you test me?"
Had this not been a work function, and had I been 100% certain the woman involved was a woman, I would not have thought twice about saying something really dirty to the chick, likely along the lines of "I bet your pussy is completely shaved." I was picking up her signals loud and clear, but given the situation it was out of the question.
The lecture ended, I thanked Dan, then left at the fastest pace that could still be considered a walk. I waited for the elevator, took a couple of turns, then found the parking garage. It took me ten precious minutes to spot my car, which was on the far end of the lot. I did an about face and half-jogged towards it. It was about then that a BMW convertible pulled up next to me. The tinted window rolled down and it was NASA. She said "It was really nice to meet you...uh, why are you running?" I ignored the second part of the question and said, slightly out of breath "Yeah, me too. Have a great night...see you around". NASA paused, looked at me a little funny, then rolled up her window and drove off.
Post Script: My drive home was not very far, but I ran several red lights and rolled every stop sign along the way. I made it to my house in time, but barely. Dan was not in the office Friday and I haven't seen him yet today, so I haven't talked to him since that night.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Car Accident
On my way to lunch yesterday I received a call from Stella. She was sobbing and said she had just been in an accident, the car was damaged but not totaled, and that she was at home waiting for her friend to come pick her up and take her to the hospital. Stella said that she might still be able to make it to go out, but that she would have to wait and see what the doctors said.
If Stella was making all this up just to get out of our date I would have to give her a tremendous pat on the back because it would have been the most elaborate, well thought through excuse I have ever heard. In fact, it may be the best "get out of a date" story in the history of dating. Plus, she should strongly consider a career change to acting, her performance would have made Hepburn run back to drama school.
Stella called me later that night and said she felt badly, but that she simply didn't feel up for going out. She spent the whole day in the ER and was prescribed some muscle relaxers for whiplash. She did, however, ask if we could reschedule for Tuesday, her next day off, which obviously was fine with me.
More to come.
If Stella was making all this up just to get out of our date I would have to give her a tremendous pat on the back because it would have been the most elaborate, well thought through excuse I have ever heard. In fact, it may be the best "get out of a date" story in the history of dating. Plus, she should strongly consider a career change to acting, her performance would have made Hepburn run back to drama school.
Stella called me later that night and said she felt badly, but that she simply didn't feel up for going out. She spent the whole day in the ER and was prescribed some muscle relaxers for whiplash. She did, however, ask if we could reschedule for Tuesday, her next day off, which obviously was fine with me.
More to come.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Breakups
Last night I had one successful and one unsuccessful breakup. I was really apprehensive before I made the calls, much more so than in recent memory. Actually, I think I was more nervous calling to break up with them than I was the first time I called to ask them out.
I called Beads then Tiny, but got VM for both. I left fairly monotone messages to the effect of "Hey, it's NN, give me a call when you get this", that hinted neither to doom nor dates. I still had no real plan or script of what I was going to say, but I wasn't making any progress coming up with material so I just made the calls, I'd worry about what to say later.
I knew it would go more smoothly with Beads because I had a reason to break up with her; she was annoying me. The reason offered proper motivation so I knew the words would come to me. Tiny was harder because I do like her. I think she's smart, and cool, and is an interesting person, but she's just not right for me. She's a little too quiet or at least not engaging enough.
The apprehension of getting calls back made me nervous, which in typical fashion led me to clean. I vacuumed my car, emptied the dishwasher, swept the hallways. There has to be a psychological term for people who compulsively clean when they are nervous.
Midway through rearranging a cluttered bookshelf my phone rang. Dread and relief hit me simultaneously. I looked and saw it was Beads. I answered and she said she was on the bus on her way home. We talked for a minute, then I asked her to call me when she got home. I think she knew something was up. Fifteen minutes later Beads called and I began my incoherent ramblings about how "it's not you, it's me", "I don't want to lead you on", and "I'm not looking for anything serious right now". I used every cliche in the book. She cried a little, but ultimately she took it fairly well. She said she was not looking to settle down and get married tomorrow, or even next month, but she was looking for something serious and if I wasn't than it was best if we moved on. There were a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, then we said good bye and that was it.
Tiny didn't go as well. When she called me back she was in high spirits. She told me all about her trip, and how great it was there but how nice it was to be back. I just didn't have the heart to do it, perhaps because I was somewhat drained from teh last call. She invited me over for dinner Friday night and I accepted like a mindless zombie, "Yeah, sounds great". What a jerkoff.
I talked to one of my older sisters this morning and explained the situation. Her advise was to change the plans from dinner to drinks and then do it in person. I don't know if in person is better than over the phone in this situation, but I need to steel my resolve and just do it on Friday. Clean break even though I feel badly about this one.
With all this "break up" talk it's hard for me to focus on my date with Stella tonight. I felt pretty badly last night, but this morning I woke up excited. Actually, I didn't sleep very well and was up at 5am cleaning my place to get ready for tonight. I had become complacent about keeping my house clean the past few months so this morning I removed a lot of the clutter than had built up. I hope I didn't jinx myself, but I also changed my sheets.
I called Beads then Tiny, but got VM for both. I left fairly monotone messages to the effect of "Hey, it's NN, give me a call when you get this", that hinted neither to doom nor dates. I still had no real plan or script of what I was going to say, but I wasn't making any progress coming up with material so I just made the calls, I'd worry about what to say later.
I knew it would go more smoothly with Beads because I had a reason to break up with her; she was annoying me. The reason offered proper motivation so I knew the words would come to me. Tiny was harder because I do like her. I think she's smart, and cool, and is an interesting person, but she's just not right for me. She's a little too quiet or at least not engaging enough.
The apprehension of getting calls back made me nervous, which in typical fashion led me to clean. I vacuumed my car, emptied the dishwasher, swept the hallways. There has to be a psychological term for people who compulsively clean when they are nervous.
Midway through rearranging a cluttered bookshelf my phone rang. Dread and relief hit me simultaneously. I looked and saw it was Beads. I answered and she said she was on the bus on her way home. We talked for a minute, then I asked her to call me when she got home. I think she knew something was up. Fifteen minutes later Beads called and I began my incoherent ramblings about how "it's not you, it's me", "I don't want to lead you on", and "I'm not looking for anything serious right now". I used every cliche in the book. She cried a little, but ultimately she took it fairly well. She said she was not looking to settle down and get married tomorrow, or even next month, but she was looking for something serious and if I wasn't than it was best if we moved on. There were a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, then we said good bye and that was it.
Tiny didn't go as well. When she called me back she was in high spirits. She told me all about her trip, and how great it was there but how nice it was to be back. I just didn't have the heart to do it, perhaps because I was somewhat drained from teh last call. She invited me over for dinner Friday night and I accepted like a mindless zombie, "Yeah, sounds great". What a jerkoff.
I talked to one of my older sisters this morning and explained the situation. Her advise was to change the plans from dinner to drinks and then do it in person. I don't know if in person is better than over the phone in this situation, but I need to steel my resolve and just do it on Friday. Clean break even though I feel badly about this one.
With all this "break up" talk it's hard for me to focus on my date with Stella tonight. I felt pretty badly last night, but this morning I woke up excited. Actually, I didn't sleep very well and was up at 5am cleaning my place to get ready for tonight. I had become complacent about keeping my house clean the past few months so this morning I removed a lot of the clutter than had built up. I hope I didn't jinx myself, but I also changed my sheets.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Shennanigans at home
I went home this weekend to visit with the family. I drove up with my sister and stayed at Mom's house.
Saturday night I took mom out for a belated birthday dinner with C-roc and his wife to my buddy's sushi restaurant. We had a sake tasting, and due to a mix-up in the order, C-roc and I also wound up with two giant beers each. Luckily we literally had a boat-load of sushi to go along with our sea of alcohol, so I was still sober enough to safely drive mom home before meeting C-roc and wifey out for post-dinner cocktail at our favorite watering hole.
I chatted up a girl at the bar who casually mentioned her husband mid-conversation. She wasn't wearing a ring, so I don't know if that was bullshit or not, but I took the hint and walked away after I finished my beer. At around 10:30 we all said good night and I started on my way back to mom's house.
Before I continue I need to give a little background. When I was in high school my dad and I built a detached one-car garage way in our back yard to serve as our workshop, which we called simply "the shed". The shed was our only man space in the house and was used for such manly pursuits as carpentry, fishing rod repair, and on occasion some covert motorcycle maintenance. The shed had power, a work bench, a giant vise, and a myriad of power tools. I loved it.
My dad and I went to the same college, so one year for father's day I got him a weathervane for the shed that had our college logo on top of it. It sounds like a strange gift, but he got a real kick of out it. We immediately mounted it on top of the shed and it looked really cool.
When my parents sold that house eight years ago they never removed the weathervane from the shed, and I always joked that I would sneak in an take it one day.
That day actually came on Saturday night after the bar. I was driving home a little tipsy (probably shouldn't have been behind the wheel) and decided it was time to reunite the weathervane with its rightful owner, me! I drove around the house a few times and there were no lights on, so I parked on a side street and cut between a row of houses. This deposited me in the backyard, which was pitch black. In planning this little caper (five minutes before while sitting in my car) I didn't think how I would get on the roof of the shed, which was at least twelve feet tall. I mostly just thought about my victorious drive home with weathervane in hand, Chariots of Fire blaring in the background.
Standing at the base of the shed, drunk and in the dark, things were more complex. I walked around the shed hoping the new owners of the house would have a ladder laying around like we used to, but I wasn't that lucky. My hastily improvised Plan B had me traipsing through my former neighbors' back yards looking for a ladder. Half a black away I literally tripped over one that had been overrun by a massive ivy patch, likely of the poisonous variety. I grabbed two rungs and yanked it out of the weeds and vines, falling twice in the process. It turned out to be a 20' extension latter, which was overkill for the task at hand, but would do.
I carried the ladder the half-block back to the shed through the woods and over a few fences, trying to be as quiet as I could, but probably made more noise than a marching band. I propped it up against the side of the shed and scurried up giggling like a school-girl. Again, in my meticulous planning I failed to bring any tools whatsoever, so once on top of the shed I realized I had no way of removing the weathervane, which I knew was bolted to the roof since I had done it myself years before. Back down the ladder I went. I figured the shed was locked, but tried the door anyway in hopes of scoring a wrench or pry-bar. I was shocked when it opened (adding B&E to the criminal trespassing, public intoxication, and larceny charges). I flicked on the light only to find that the shed, our man cave, was now storage for patio furniture, a child's Playskool kitchen set, and several marble statues. I cursed the new owners for their blasphemy and raced back up the ladder, aware that the light alerted the entire neighborhood that someone was in the back yard.
On the roof I straddled the peak, grabbed hold of the weathervane and pulled strait up with zero success. Next I wiggled the base from side to side and in a few seconds felt it start to give. I wiggled harder and finally heard the distinctive "CHINK" sound of metal fracturing just before I fell backwards and almost to my death. I managed to catch myself before going over the side and breaking my neck, but in doing so I flung the weathervane about thirty feet across the yard.
I ran down the ladder again, gathered my trophy, and casually walked back to my car, or at least as casually as someone in a black hoodie exiting the woods at 11pm carrying a giant weathervane can walk. Once in my car I hightailed it out of there and back to mom's house.
On the road the next morning I reached into the back seat and plopped the cap of the weathervane down in my sister's lap. She immediately knew what it was and laughed hysterically. I think I will mount it on top of my "shed" here in DC.
Saturday night I took mom out for a belated birthday dinner with C-roc and his wife to my buddy's sushi restaurant. We had a sake tasting, and due to a mix-up in the order, C-roc and I also wound up with two giant beers each. Luckily we literally had a boat-load of sushi to go along with our sea of alcohol, so I was still sober enough to safely drive mom home before meeting C-roc and wifey out for post-dinner cocktail at our favorite watering hole.
I chatted up a girl at the bar who casually mentioned her husband mid-conversation. She wasn't wearing a ring, so I don't know if that was bullshit or not, but I took the hint and walked away after I finished my beer. At around 10:30 we all said good night and I started on my way back to mom's house.
Before I continue I need to give a little background. When I was in high school my dad and I built a detached one-car garage way in our back yard to serve as our workshop, which we called simply "the shed". The shed was our only man space in the house and was used for such manly pursuits as carpentry, fishing rod repair, and on occasion some covert motorcycle maintenance. The shed had power, a work bench, a giant vise, and a myriad of power tools. I loved it.
My dad and I went to the same college, so one year for father's day I got him a weathervane for the shed that had our college logo on top of it. It sounds like a strange gift, but he got a real kick of out it. We immediately mounted it on top of the shed and it looked really cool.
When my parents sold that house eight years ago they never removed the weathervane from the shed, and I always joked that I would sneak in an take it one day.
That day actually came on Saturday night after the bar. I was driving home a little tipsy (probably shouldn't have been behind the wheel) and decided it was time to reunite the weathervane with its rightful owner, me! I drove around the house a few times and there were no lights on, so I parked on a side street and cut between a row of houses. This deposited me in the backyard, which was pitch black. In planning this little caper (five minutes before while sitting in my car) I didn't think how I would get on the roof of the shed, which was at least twelve feet tall. I mostly just thought about my victorious drive home with weathervane in hand, Chariots of Fire blaring in the background.
Standing at the base of the shed, drunk and in the dark, things were more complex. I walked around the shed hoping the new owners of the house would have a ladder laying around like we used to, but I wasn't that lucky. My hastily improvised Plan B had me traipsing through my former neighbors' back yards looking for a ladder. Half a black away I literally tripped over one that had been overrun by a massive ivy patch, likely of the poisonous variety. I grabbed two rungs and yanked it out of the weeds and vines, falling twice in the process. It turned out to be a 20' extension latter, which was overkill for the task at hand, but would do.
I carried the ladder the half-block back to the shed through the woods and over a few fences, trying to be as quiet as I could, but probably made more noise than a marching band. I propped it up against the side of the shed and scurried up giggling like a school-girl. Again, in my meticulous planning I failed to bring any tools whatsoever, so once on top of the shed I realized I had no way of removing the weathervane, which I knew was bolted to the roof since I had done it myself years before. Back down the ladder I went. I figured the shed was locked, but tried the door anyway in hopes of scoring a wrench or pry-bar. I was shocked when it opened (adding B&E to the criminal trespassing, public intoxication, and larceny charges). I flicked on the light only to find that the shed, our man cave, was now storage for patio furniture, a child's Playskool kitchen set, and several marble statues. I cursed the new owners for their blasphemy and raced back up the ladder, aware that the light alerted the entire neighborhood that someone was in the back yard.
On the roof I straddled the peak, grabbed hold of the weathervane and pulled strait up with zero success. Next I wiggled the base from side to side and in a few seconds felt it start to give. I wiggled harder and finally heard the distinctive "CHINK" sound of metal fracturing just before I fell backwards and almost to my death. I managed to catch myself before going over the side and breaking my neck, but in doing so I flung the weathervane about thirty feet across the yard.
I ran down the ladder again, gathered my trophy, and casually walked back to my car, or at least as casually as someone in a black hoodie exiting the woods at 11pm carrying a giant weathervane can walk. Once in my car I hightailed it out of there and back to mom's house.
On the road the next morning I reached into the back seat and plopped the cap of the weathervane down in my sister's lap. She immediately knew what it was and laughed hysterically. I think I will mount it on top of my "shed" here in DC.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Observation
I live somewhat near Galludet University, which is a college for hearing impaired students. The main gate and driveway of the school is located on Florida Ave, a busy street in DC. There is a "push to cross" button at that intersection that triggers in the walk signal. When the button is pressed and the walk signal lights up, it is accompanied by a loud "beeping" noise that lets you know when the walk signal is green. That is the only intersection in the entire Washington area I have found that has a sign AND tone to let you know it is safe to walk.
Let me repeat that. The only audible walk signal I have ever heard in DC in located in front of a school for the deaf.
Do you think someone in City Hall did that as a joke? Seriously. Do you think some dude in Public Works was like "Hey, Bob, we got dis one audible cross walk signal in with da rest of the regular signs, whataya want me to do wit it?", and Bob is like "Hey, trow it up in front a tha deaf school!"
Let me repeat that. The only audible walk signal I have ever heard in DC in located in front of a school for the deaf.
Do you think someone in City Hall did that as a joke? Seriously. Do you think some dude in Public Works was like "Hey, Bob, we got dis one audible cross walk signal in with da rest of the regular signs, whataya want me to do wit it?", and Bob is like "Hey, trow it up in front a tha deaf school!"
Recap for the week
I'm going "home" for the weekend. It's strange to call my hometown "home" because DC feels more like home than anywhere else. It's a little depressing there these days. Most of my friends have left town so a weekend in the burbs is as exciting as a few days at a nursing home. The weather won't even be warm enough to go to the beach.
I'm going to grab a bite to eat and maybe a movie with Beads tonight. I'll probably stay at her house then hit the road early in the morning so I don't get struck in traffic. I'll feel her out and see if she's still acting like a Class-V clinger. If she is I'm cutting her loose Monday. That should go really well.
I finally got an email back from Stella. She apologized for taking so long to respond to my email. She claims to have been working double shifts the past week (sis confirmed) and that she is pretty bad about email correspondence (sis also confirmed, which obviously makes me wonder why the fuck she would give me her email address instead of a phone number...). She told me what nights she is free next week and that she would like to get together. She works on the weekends so it will have to be a weeknight, which is fine with me. Something in her email led me to believe that she lives with her parents. I haven't come across that in a very long time. Should make for some very interesting stories.
I was talking to this dude Cameron in my office last night and he mentioned that he got drinks a few times with Trouble. He said she was a cool chick and that they hung out a bunch of times, but that she needed to "tone up" and he "passed on her". Funny thing, because when I went to happy hour with Trouble that one time she said that she had gone out for drinks with Cameron and he slammed five beers to her one and got waisted, so she ditched him. Always fun to get the "he said she said" point of views on a story. Anyway, Cameron said that Trouble is recently single, decent to hang out with, and kind of on the prowl. There was a little strain in his voice, so I can tell that he is angling to get in there despite "passing on her". He's a tool. If Trouble fell for his nonsense-game I would lose all respect for her.
I was walking my dog in Lincoln Park last night and this girl was walking towards me while talking on the phone. I saw her but was focused on other things so I didn't look directly at her until she was three feet away from me. I heard her say "Finally" then "Hello" right as she was next to me, and she lowered the phone away from her face. I said "Hey" as I would to anyone I passed on the street. The girl then paused like I was supposed to recognize her, but I just kept walking. It all happened very quickly and I was in deep thought about other things. I wasn't being rude, I just wasn't paying attention. As I walked away she resumed her phone conversation, which sounded like Portuguese. I don't think I've ever met her before. I'm admittedly bad with names, but pretty good at remembering faces. She was cute, I certainly would have remembered her. I probably should have stopped and chatted with her, but like I said, I was thinking about something else and not paying attention.
On Monday night I was talking to my buddy C-roc. It was kind of a non-sequitur, but I said "You know, your sister-in-law is really hot, it's too bad she's so fucking crazy". She had posted something on Facebook that day, and I saw a picture of her for the first time in a long while. He laughed really hard and said "Oh yeah, forgot to tell you, she's moving to DC in September".
This girl is just flat out fucking loony toons. I'll call her Toons. About five years ago C-roc, his wife, Toons, and I met a bunch of other people in Miami for NYE. The four of us stayed at my sister's apartment there while she was away. I think we were in Miami for 3-4 nights. One night C-roc and his wife went home from the bars early. Toons and I closed the bars then walked home. On the way we passed a really nice apartment complex and decided to go for a 4am dip in the pool wearing nothing but our birthday suits. After being chased out of the pool we ran home and made out in the stairwell for a while. Nothing more than that ever happened.
Why is she so loony, you ask? Lots of reasons. She dated this complete loser for 5 years. He was one of those skinny white kids with the douche-bag-pencil-thin-beard who thought he was a rapper. After dealing with him for that long she decided to start banging his roommate. Douche bag was OK with this seemingly impossible arrangement, and the three of them were all friends until she went back to douche-bag. At that point the other guy split, and shortly after douche-bag hit the road too.
This is just one example of how crazy she is. She is nice, but she has no job, no ambition, and no direction in life. It's ironic because C-roc's wife is the polar opposite. Anyway, I need to give that one a wide birth.
I'm going to grab a bite to eat and maybe a movie with Beads tonight. I'll probably stay at her house then hit the road early in the morning so I don't get struck in traffic. I'll feel her out and see if she's still acting like a Class-V clinger. If she is I'm cutting her loose Monday. That should go really well.
I finally got an email back from Stella. She apologized for taking so long to respond to my email. She claims to have been working double shifts the past week (sis confirmed) and that she is pretty bad about email correspondence (sis also confirmed, which obviously makes me wonder why the fuck she would give me her email address instead of a phone number...). She told me what nights she is free next week and that she would like to get together. She works on the weekends so it will have to be a weeknight, which is fine with me. Something in her email led me to believe that she lives with her parents. I haven't come across that in a very long time. Should make for some very interesting stories.
I was talking to this dude Cameron in my office last night and he mentioned that he got drinks a few times with Trouble. He said she was a cool chick and that they hung out a bunch of times, but that she needed to "tone up" and he "passed on her". Funny thing, because when I went to happy hour with Trouble that one time she said that she had gone out for drinks with Cameron and he slammed five beers to her one and got waisted, so she ditched him. Always fun to get the "he said she said" point of views on a story. Anyway, Cameron said that Trouble is recently single, decent to hang out with, and kind of on the prowl. There was a little strain in his voice, so I can tell that he is angling to get in there despite "passing on her". He's a tool. If Trouble fell for his nonsense-game I would lose all respect for her.
I was walking my dog in Lincoln Park last night and this girl was walking towards me while talking on the phone. I saw her but was focused on other things so I didn't look directly at her until she was three feet away from me. I heard her say "Finally" then "Hello" right as she was next to me, and she lowered the phone away from her face. I said "Hey" as I would to anyone I passed on the street. The girl then paused like I was supposed to recognize her, but I just kept walking. It all happened very quickly and I was in deep thought about other things. I wasn't being rude, I just wasn't paying attention. As I walked away she resumed her phone conversation, which sounded like Portuguese. I don't think I've ever met her before. I'm admittedly bad with names, but pretty good at remembering faces. She was cute, I certainly would have remembered her. I probably should have stopped and chatted with her, but like I said, I was thinking about something else and not paying attention.
On Monday night I was talking to my buddy C-roc. It was kind of a non-sequitur, but I said "You know, your sister-in-law is really hot, it's too bad she's so fucking crazy". She had posted something on Facebook that day, and I saw a picture of her for the first time in a long while. He laughed really hard and said "Oh yeah, forgot to tell you, she's moving to DC in September".
This girl is just flat out fucking loony toons. I'll call her Toons. About five years ago C-roc, his wife, Toons, and I met a bunch of other people in Miami for NYE. The four of us stayed at my sister's apartment there while she was away. I think we were in Miami for 3-4 nights. One night C-roc and his wife went home from the bars early. Toons and I closed the bars then walked home. On the way we passed a really nice apartment complex and decided to go for a 4am dip in the pool wearing nothing but our birthday suits. After being chased out of the pool we ran home and made out in the stairwell for a while. Nothing more than that ever happened.
Why is she so loony, you ask? Lots of reasons. She dated this complete loser for 5 years. He was one of those skinny white kids with the douche-bag-pencil-thin-beard who thought he was a rapper. After dealing with him for that long she decided to start banging his roommate. Douche bag was OK with this seemingly impossible arrangement, and the three of them were all friends until she went back to douche-bag. At that point the other guy split, and shortly after douche-bag hit the road too.
This is just one example of how crazy she is. She is nice, but she has no job, no ambition, and no direction in life. It's ironic because C-roc's wife is the polar opposite. Anyway, I need to give that one a wide birth.
Monday, April 12, 2010
The Ohio Belle
Saturday Beads and I rode the bike to Annapolis for the afternoon. I've noticed a distinct change in her demeanor, and not for the better. I don't know if she got some bad advice from friends or if it is something internal, but Beads is getting very territorial. That aside, she's grating on my nerves a bit. I'm sure this is do in no small part to my sister's constant jabs at her.
When I say that Beads is getting "territorial" I mean that she is trying to claim me as hers. There has been a three-fold increase in hand holding, hugging, and worst of all, public kissing. "I have to go to the little girl's room", then she leans in for a kiss. Sorry, that's just unacceptable. You can piss fine without a kiss. I noticed the change when she got back from her visit home, so I can't help but think that her friends may have given her some (poor) relationship advice.
Another example. It was a little chilly riding out on Saturday so I stopped at a store to pick up some gloves. A sales girl helped me pick something out then rung us up. After I bought the gloves I asked her for directions to downtown Annapolis. As she was giving me directions she leaned forward to get the credit card receipt and her boobs literally spilled out of her tank top. She had a bra on, but I could see both breasts, and both nipples, and I wasn't going out of my way to look, there were just right there. As soon as I saw she was hanging out I looked away, which I thought was the polite thing to do. As we walked away there was a heavy, uncomfortable, silence that I felt the need to address. In hindsight this was not the right move. I said "The girl needed a more substantial shirt", Beads said "Why?". She knew full-well why, she was just baiting me. "Um, because her cleavage was kind of hanging out when she bent over". "Well, first off she didn't have any cleavage, but what were you doing looking down her shirt?". I said "I wasn't looking down her shirt, I was talking to her then she bent over." Beads, who was now walking slightly ahead of me said "I guess I'll just have to show cleavage whenever I want your attention."
That whole conversation could have gone so much more smoothly if Beads wanted it to. She could have just said "Yeah, tuck those things away" or something else lighthearted, and we could have moved on. There was just no need to get huffy about it.
I've mentioned before that Beads lived in Charleston, SC for a few years. One of my sister's biggest problems with Beads is that she has a strong southern accent, yet she's from Ohio. Sis thinks she's trying to be someone or something she's not. I see her point. Accent aside, Beads is obsessed with Charleston. I didn't notice it much until we got to Annapolis, where everything suddenly became a comparison to Charleston. "Oh - my - gosh, this reminds me so much of Charleston, only it's smaller, and not as nice", or "Look at all these little candy shops, I can smell the fudge, it reminds me of when I lived in South Carolina". Say those two sentences in a heavy southern accent and you get the general idea of how that whole afternoon went. If you liked Charleston so much, why did you leave? I don't think I've ever asked her that, I really need to.
Long story short, Beads is getting on my nerves a bit.
I sent Stella an email on Friday and never heard back from her, which really pissed me off. It's fine if you don't want to go out with me, but it's poor form to blow me off entirely and act like you didn't get my email. What's that all about? I mean, I'm not a total stranger off the street, you work with my sister everyday, and we've met a dozen times. But really, what harm is there in going out on one date? What's the worst that can happen? You spend a few hours in the sun on a motorcycle, or get a good meal. We've met, so she knows I'm not going to pull a "Jaws" and be a total fucking flake. The rational part of me thinks "Fine, there's clearly something off about this chick" if she doesn't have the common courtesy to return a message, but the competitive part of me wants to pick up the phone and say "What's your story?"
Whatever, moving on.
I have this couple that live across the alley from me. They are probably my age or slightly older, and live in a giant house with two small kids. Their youngest is a boy, Neal, and loves dogs and motorcycles, so he gets very excited whenever I'm in the alley because I usually have one of those things with me. Through Neal I've become friends with his mom, who seems nice enough. On occasion I get home from work early and usually take the dog out for a walk. I've noticed that the family has a tall blond woman taking care of the kids in the afternoon, perhaps a nanny. I've noticed that she doesn't wear a ring, but oddly enough, I haven't gotten a close look at her face, so I really don't know if she's cute. Her body is excellent, but the few times I've seen her she's had glasses on.
I would kind of like to ask the mom about the girl (who looks to be in her late 20's), but I don't know if that's awkward or not. I really don't know them that well, my dog just licks her son's face a few times a week. I also get the feeling that the husband doesn't care much for me, so that adds to the potential awkwardness of the situation. I'll wait and see if it ever comes up.
When I say that Beads is getting "territorial" I mean that she is trying to claim me as hers. There has been a three-fold increase in hand holding, hugging, and worst of all, public kissing. "I have to go to the little girl's room", then she leans in for a kiss. Sorry, that's just unacceptable. You can piss fine without a kiss. I noticed the change when she got back from her visit home, so I can't help but think that her friends may have given her some (poor) relationship advice.
Another example. It was a little chilly riding out on Saturday so I stopped at a store to pick up some gloves. A sales girl helped me pick something out then rung us up. After I bought the gloves I asked her for directions to downtown Annapolis. As she was giving me directions she leaned forward to get the credit card receipt and her boobs literally spilled out of her tank top. She had a bra on, but I could see both breasts, and both nipples, and I wasn't going out of my way to look, there were just right there. As soon as I saw she was hanging out I looked away, which I thought was the polite thing to do. As we walked away there was a heavy, uncomfortable, silence that I felt the need to address. In hindsight this was not the right move. I said "The girl needed a more substantial shirt", Beads said "Why?". She knew full-well why, she was just baiting me. "Um, because her cleavage was kind of hanging out when she bent over". "Well, first off she didn't have any cleavage, but what were you doing looking down her shirt?". I said "I wasn't looking down her shirt, I was talking to her then she bent over." Beads, who was now walking slightly ahead of me said "I guess I'll just have to show cleavage whenever I want your attention."
That whole conversation could have gone so much more smoothly if Beads wanted it to. She could have just said "Yeah, tuck those things away" or something else lighthearted, and we could have moved on. There was just no need to get huffy about it.
I've mentioned before that Beads lived in Charleston, SC for a few years. One of my sister's biggest problems with Beads is that she has a strong southern accent, yet she's from Ohio. Sis thinks she's trying to be someone or something she's not. I see her point. Accent aside, Beads is obsessed with Charleston. I didn't notice it much until we got to Annapolis, where everything suddenly became a comparison to Charleston. "Oh - my - gosh, this reminds me so much of Charleston, only it's smaller, and not as nice", or "Look at all these little candy shops, I can smell the fudge, it reminds me of when I lived in South Carolina". Say those two sentences in a heavy southern accent and you get the general idea of how that whole afternoon went. If you liked Charleston so much, why did you leave? I don't think I've ever asked her that, I really need to.
Long story short, Beads is getting on my nerves a bit.
I sent Stella an email on Friday and never heard back from her, which really pissed me off. It's fine if you don't want to go out with me, but it's poor form to blow me off entirely and act like you didn't get my email. What's that all about? I mean, I'm not a total stranger off the street, you work with my sister everyday, and we've met a dozen times. But really, what harm is there in going out on one date? What's the worst that can happen? You spend a few hours in the sun on a motorcycle, or get a good meal. We've met, so she knows I'm not going to pull a "Jaws" and be a total fucking flake. The rational part of me thinks "Fine, there's clearly something off about this chick" if she doesn't have the common courtesy to return a message, but the competitive part of me wants to pick up the phone and say "What's your story?"
Whatever, moving on.
I have this couple that live across the alley from me. They are probably my age or slightly older, and live in a giant house with two small kids. Their youngest is a boy, Neal, and loves dogs and motorcycles, so he gets very excited whenever I'm in the alley because I usually have one of those things with me. Through Neal I've become friends with his mom, who seems nice enough. On occasion I get home from work early and usually take the dog out for a walk. I've noticed that the family has a tall blond woman taking care of the kids in the afternoon, perhaps a nanny. I've noticed that she doesn't wear a ring, but oddly enough, I haven't gotten a close look at her face, so I really don't know if she's cute. Her body is excellent, but the few times I've seen her she's had glasses on.
I would kind of like to ask the mom about the girl (who looks to be in her late 20's), but I don't know if that's awkward or not. I really don't know them that well, my dog just licks her son's face a few times a week. I also get the feeling that the husband doesn't care much for me, so that adds to the potential awkwardness of the situation. I'll wait and see if it ever comes up.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Breast Milk
Oh man, weird night with Beads.
Last night Beads and I had a pretty spicy Thai dinner, a couple of drinks, then I crashed at her house. Towards the end of a particularly vigorous round of sex Beads said "Come all over me", but when I tried I overshot and managed to get it on her pillow and headboard. My only response was "I think I missed". Beads spent the next 10-15 minutes searching the room for seamen like she was in an episode of CSI. I fully expected her to break out a black light. Can't say I blame her, though, I wouldn't want jizz on my pillow or headboard either.
When I got up to brush my teeth Beads said "I got you a tooth brush, it's in the medicine cabinet". I had just pulled my "travel" tooth brush out of a backpack I had with me, and said "Thanks......I have mine..." I stood there awkwardly naked for a moment, let the uncomfortable silence hang for a second, then marched to the bathroom.
As I was dozing off Beads said "Are you sleeping with anyone else?" 'Oh man, full court press tonight' I thought. Since I planned on breaking up with Tiny I figured my answer of "No" was technically not a lie. As of Tuesday night I was no longer sleeping with anyone else (unless Stella has a massive lapse of judgement this weekend). Seconds later I fell fast asleep, or so I thought.
I'm not sure how much time passed, maybe twenty minutes, or maybe two, then I sat bolt upright and yelled "It's just breast milk!". Beads said "What?", but I just laid back down and tried to fall back asleep. The line was from a dream I was having that went something like this:
I was in a particularly nasty public restroom, like one in a train or bus station. I was standing at a urinal taking a leak when in walked David Letterman. Dave starts taking a piss two urinals over from me, we chat a second about Leno, then we finish up at the same time. As we turn and start to walk towards the sinks a small flood of milk rushes into the bathroom and goes down a drain in the middle of the room. Dave jumps on the sink, looks at me in terror, and I said "It's just breast milk", only I blurted it out, live and in person, in Beads's bed.
As I fell asleep the second time I dreamt I cut a loud fart under the sheets. I am not certain if it's a dream or really happened. It's official, no more Thai food with dates.
Like I said, weird night.
Last night Beads and I had a pretty spicy Thai dinner, a couple of drinks, then I crashed at her house. Towards the end of a particularly vigorous round of sex Beads said "Come all over me", but when I tried I overshot and managed to get it on her pillow and headboard. My only response was "I think I missed". Beads spent the next 10-15 minutes searching the room for seamen like she was in an episode of CSI. I fully expected her to break out a black light. Can't say I blame her, though, I wouldn't want jizz on my pillow or headboard either.
When I got up to brush my teeth Beads said "I got you a tooth brush, it's in the medicine cabinet". I had just pulled my "travel" tooth brush out of a backpack I had with me, and said "Thanks......I have mine..." I stood there awkwardly naked for a moment, let the uncomfortable silence hang for a second, then marched to the bathroom.
As I was dozing off Beads said "Are you sleeping with anyone else?" 'Oh man, full court press tonight' I thought. Since I planned on breaking up with Tiny I figured my answer of "No" was technically not a lie. As of Tuesday night I was no longer sleeping with anyone else (unless Stella has a massive lapse of judgement this weekend). Seconds later I fell fast asleep, or so I thought.
I'm not sure how much time passed, maybe twenty minutes, or maybe two, then I sat bolt upright and yelled "It's just breast milk!". Beads said "What?", but I just laid back down and tried to fall back asleep. The line was from a dream I was having that went something like this:
I was in a particularly nasty public restroom, like one in a train or bus station. I was standing at a urinal taking a leak when in walked David Letterman. Dave starts taking a piss two urinals over from me, we chat a second about Leno, then we finish up at the same time. As we turn and start to walk towards the sinks a small flood of milk rushes into the bathroom and goes down a drain in the middle of the room. Dave jumps on the sink, looks at me in terror, and I said "It's just breast milk", only I blurted it out, live and in person, in Beads's bed.
As I fell asleep the second time I dreamt I cut a loud fart under the sheets. I am not certain if it's a dream or really happened. It's official, no more Thai food with dates.
Like I said, weird night.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
When Girls Cook Dinner
DC's pollen declared jihad on my eyes this week. They are basically swollen shut. I stayed home from work yesterday because I can barely see I didn't feel like answering a thousand questions about why I was "crying".
Tuesday night Tiny invited two of her friends and I over for dinner. She is a good little cook, but like all single girls I've come across, she can't conceptualize what a "man's" portion of food is. Girls plan dinner like they are cooking for two petite girls. Until they get married they can't get their arms around how much we eat. I learned a long time ago that if a girl is cooking me dinner I need to eat a medium-sized meal before heading to her place or risk looking like a gluttonous fool. Don't get me wrong, any meal I don't have to cook is a good meal, this is simply an observation. Ladies, as a rule of thumb, we can eat two to three times what you normally would or could.
My sister talked to Stella yesterday. The conversation went something like this:
Sister: Are dating anyone?
Stella: No, I haven't had time to lately.
Sister: Good. My brother has been hounding me to get your number, would you be interested in going on a date with him?
Stella: Ummm......OK....
Sis got me Stella's email address and told me to set up a date with her. Three things. First, I wouldn't say I've been hounding her. Inquiring, yes. Hounding, not so much. Second, why would she give me her email address and not her phone number? I hate emailing girls, it sets an awkward tone right off the bat. Lastly, I questioned Sis in great detail about the tone, duration, and facial gestures of Stella regarding the "Um [long pause], OK" comment, and it doesn't sound good. My interpretation would be "Ugh, OK, but only because you're asking me to." Stella works nights, so I'm going to take her for an afternoon motorcycle ride (if she agrees to go out with me and actually follows through).
Tiny leaves tomorrow for a ten day trip and Beads just got back into town last night from visiting her family. It's nice how that worked out.
Last night I went to a Harley dealership to pick up an oil filter, and while I was there I looked at helmets. The shop wasn't huge, and I saw a sales girl kind of stalking me from across the showroom. As soon as I picked up a helmet she ran over and gave me a weak sales pitch. At first she just asked about helmets, then about what kind of bike I rode, then, with all the subtlety of a 2x4 being smashed against a knee-cap, she said "So, does your girlfriend ride with you?"
The sales girl was skanky, no, actually, slutty-skanky. Skanky alone doesn't fully convey the extreme sluttiness. She was young, probably only 25, but you can tell that she had been ridden hard and put away wet many times. She wore too much makeup, had on really tight jeans and spike heels, and giant fake boobs. She was a red hot mess. Every time she spoke to me I had a flash of her bent over a workbench in the shop getting nailed by a (or many) mechanics. I said "No, but my wife does", and she promptly scurried off, perhaps back to the workbench.
I wasn't going to bring this up because I don't know for sure what the story is, but it's been on my mind. I've been emailing Blue, and she is planning a trip down to DC for a visit, so on a whim Monday afternoon I Googled her name. I was shocked to see that there were a great many porn references associated with her name, and several of them were in French, and one even made mention of her being Canadian. Since Blue speaks French, and is from Canada, those are strange coincidences, especially since I didn't mention either in my search. I simply typed in her name and Google spit all this out. She did fuck like a champ. Who knows?
Most would say my moral compass is off by a few degrees, but I think this would be a deal breaker, even for me.
Tuesday night Tiny invited two of her friends and I over for dinner. She is a good little cook, but like all single girls I've come across, she can't conceptualize what a "man's" portion of food is. Girls plan dinner like they are cooking for two petite girls. Until they get married they can't get their arms around how much we eat. I learned a long time ago that if a girl is cooking me dinner I need to eat a medium-sized meal before heading to her place or risk looking like a gluttonous fool. Don't get me wrong, any meal I don't have to cook is a good meal, this is simply an observation. Ladies, as a rule of thumb, we can eat two to three times what you normally would or could.
My sister talked to Stella yesterday. The conversation went something like this:
Sister: Are dating anyone?
Stella: No, I haven't had time to lately.
Sister: Good. My brother has been hounding me to get your number, would you be interested in going on a date with him?
Stella: Ummm......OK....
Sis got me Stella's email address and told me to set up a date with her. Three things. First, I wouldn't say I've been hounding her. Inquiring, yes. Hounding, not so much. Second, why would she give me her email address and not her phone number? I hate emailing girls, it sets an awkward tone right off the bat. Lastly, I questioned Sis in great detail about the tone, duration, and facial gestures of Stella regarding the "Um [long pause], OK" comment, and it doesn't sound good. My interpretation would be "Ugh, OK, but only because you're asking me to." Stella works nights, so I'm going to take her for an afternoon motorcycle ride (if she agrees to go out with me and actually follows through).
Tiny leaves tomorrow for a ten day trip and Beads just got back into town last night from visiting her family. It's nice how that worked out.
Last night I went to a Harley dealership to pick up an oil filter, and while I was there I looked at helmets. The shop wasn't huge, and I saw a sales girl kind of stalking me from across the showroom. As soon as I picked up a helmet she ran over and gave me a weak sales pitch. At first she just asked about helmets, then about what kind of bike I rode, then, with all the subtlety of a 2x4 being smashed against a knee-cap, she said "So, does your girlfriend ride with you?"
The sales girl was skanky, no, actually, slutty-skanky. Skanky alone doesn't fully convey the extreme sluttiness. She was young, probably only 25, but you can tell that she had been ridden hard and put away wet many times. She wore too much makeup, had on really tight jeans and spike heels, and giant fake boobs. She was a red hot mess. Every time she spoke to me I had a flash of her bent over a workbench in the shop getting nailed by a (or many) mechanics. I said "No, but my wife does", and she promptly scurried off, perhaps back to the workbench.
I wasn't going to bring this up because I don't know for sure what the story is, but it's been on my mind. I've been emailing Blue, and she is planning a trip down to DC for a visit, so on a whim Monday afternoon I Googled her name. I was shocked to see that there were a great many porn references associated with her name, and several of them were in French, and one even made mention of her being Canadian. Since Blue speaks French, and is from Canada, those are strange coincidences, especially since I didn't mention either in my search. I simply typed in her name and Google spit all this out. She did fuck like a champ. Who knows?
Most would say my moral compass is off by a few degrees, but I think this would be a deal breaker, even for me.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Peace and Quiet
I declared two nights of "Peace and Quiet" this weekend, Friday and Saturday. I've been going out an average of four nights a week and I'm burned out. Beads went home for Easter and I passively avoided Tiny, giving me some much needed rest. But "rest" doesn't necessarily mean "antic-free".
Thursday night I went for an early happy hour with some people in my office, including Trouble. It was the first time I talked to her at any length and I noticed a couple of things. She is well traveled, articulate, driven, and obviously very bright. The down side is that Trouble's favorite topic is Trouble. To some degree we are all like this, but I sat back and listened to her for a while and whenever possible she turned the conversation back around to herself, specifically, how cultured she is. It may just be an insecurity of being in a new group. I won't judge yet.
I would like to add a footnote to this story (pun intended). We had drinks outside, and Trouble had on flip flops and she has gigantic feet. Not only are they long, and wide, but they are thick. Her feet look like Barny Rubbles'. They are block-like with giant bulbous toes. Furthermore, they look like she never wears shoes. They were black, crusty and all jacked up. I tried to snap a picture with my cell phone but I wasn't sly enough. Perhaps she's training for a marathon...barefoot. That said, Sasquatch feet are not a deal breaker for me, I just thought they were amusing. If there weren't a lot of people around I would have probably said something to her (in a gentle-ribbing sort of way). On Friday I thanked her for arranging the happy hour, but I never got a reply.
After happy hour I met up with Tiny and got drinks and dinner. She is becoming very clingy. Whenever we hang out she wants to hold hands, and is constantly trying to kiss me. I'm not down with PDA, and especially not down with it when it feels like the girl is trying to mark her turf.
Post dinner Tiny came back to my place. While we were having sex Tiny said "I like it when you put a finger in my ass", so I did. Afterwards I went to the bathroom and when I turned on the light I was shocked/terrified to see that my finger was covered in dry blood. My finger nails are very short, so I don't think the blood was the result of something I did. I think it's safe to say that will be the last time anything belonging to me goes into Tiny's butt.
Tiny leaves Friday for vacation. I am going to use her trip to gently phase her out of the picture. There isn't really anything wrong with her, there just isn't anything great about her either. I realize this weekend that if I would rather be alone than spend time with someone I'm supposedly "dating", it is likely not going very well.
Yesterday I met Bear for coffee in Eastern Market. I know she goes there most Sundays, so I gave her a call and we agreed to meet up. While I waited for Bear to arrive I walked through the flea market and spotted two beautiful girls selling creams and lotions. One girl looked younger, had a dark complexion, dark hair, and bright blue eyes. The other girl was slightly older than the first (still youngish), much taller, but also had dark features and a fantastic body. There were both beautiful, and if I had to guess, Brazilian.
Once again I just found myself staring at the two girls, wondering what I could possibly say to them to strike up a conversation. There wasn't a single thing at their booth I had any business purchasing for myself, so that tactic was out of the question. If I had a few cocktails in my I'm sure I would have come up with something funny to break the ice, but it was 9:30 in the morning and that obviously wasn't the case. In the absence of booze, a wingman would have made it a bit easier, but I was solo. After circling them a few times like a hungry shark I eventually gave up and got hopped on on legal stimulants with Bear, completely ashamed with myself.
My sister isn't a big fan of Beads, and has made modified her offer of setting me up with Stella. She will only do it if I break up with Beads. I countered that if I get to date three with Stella I will cut all ties with Beads.
Thursday night I went for an early happy hour with some people in my office, including Trouble. It was the first time I talked to her at any length and I noticed a couple of things. She is well traveled, articulate, driven, and obviously very bright. The down side is that Trouble's favorite topic is Trouble. To some degree we are all like this, but I sat back and listened to her for a while and whenever possible she turned the conversation back around to herself, specifically, how cultured she is. It may just be an insecurity of being in a new group. I won't judge yet.
I would like to add a footnote to this story (pun intended). We had drinks outside, and Trouble had on flip flops and she has gigantic feet. Not only are they long, and wide, but they are thick. Her feet look like Barny Rubbles'. They are block-like with giant bulbous toes. Furthermore, they look like she never wears shoes. They were black, crusty and all jacked up. I tried to snap a picture with my cell phone but I wasn't sly enough. Perhaps she's training for a marathon...barefoot. That said, Sasquatch feet are not a deal breaker for me, I just thought they were amusing. If there weren't a lot of people around I would have probably said something to her (in a gentle-ribbing sort of way). On Friday I thanked her for arranging the happy hour, but I never got a reply.
After happy hour I met up with Tiny and got drinks and dinner. She is becoming very clingy. Whenever we hang out she wants to hold hands, and is constantly trying to kiss me. I'm not down with PDA, and especially not down with it when it feels like the girl is trying to mark her turf.
Post dinner Tiny came back to my place. While we were having sex Tiny said "I like it when you put a finger in my ass", so I did. Afterwards I went to the bathroom and when I turned on the light I was shocked/terrified to see that my finger was covered in dry blood. My finger nails are very short, so I don't think the blood was the result of something I did. I think it's safe to say that will be the last time anything belonging to me goes into Tiny's butt.
Tiny leaves Friday for vacation. I am going to use her trip to gently phase her out of the picture. There isn't really anything wrong with her, there just isn't anything great about her either. I realize this weekend that if I would rather be alone than spend time with someone I'm supposedly "dating", it is likely not going very well.
Yesterday I met Bear for coffee in Eastern Market. I know she goes there most Sundays, so I gave her a call and we agreed to meet up. While I waited for Bear to arrive I walked through the flea market and spotted two beautiful girls selling creams and lotions. One girl looked younger, had a dark complexion, dark hair, and bright blue eyes. The other girl was slightly older than the first (still youngish), much taller, but also had dark features and a fantastic body. There were both beautiful, and if I had to guess, Brazilian.
Once again I just found myself staring at the two girls, wondering what I could possibly say to them to strike up a conversation. There wasn't a single thing at their booth I had any business purchasing for myself, so that tactic was out of the question. If I had a few cocktails in my I'm sure I would have come up with something funny to break the ice, but it was 9:30 in the morning and that obviously wasn't the case. In the absence of booze, a wingman would have made it a bit easier, but I was solo. After circling them a few times like a hungry shark I eventually gave up and got hopped on on legal stimulants with Bear, completely ashamed with myself.
My sister isn't a big fan of Beads, and has made modified her offer of setting me up with Stella. She will only do it if I break up with Beads. I countered that if I get to date three with Stella I will cut all ties with Beads.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Mopedland
Beads came over for dinner Tuesday night. I am amazed and jealous of her ability to have so many orgasms in a row in one night. We fooled around a little in the hot tub and shower, then went to bed. Over the span of two hours she had (or at least claimed to have had) seven orgasms. Yes, I kept track. Not for ego reasons, though, this was scientific research. I just don't see how that number is possible. If I came seven times I would have to be hospitalized.
I have to say, Beads is just really sexy. It's hard to describe how or why. The best I can do is to say that she is naively sexy in that she doesn't seem to know that she is. For instance, in the middle of the night she got up to go to the bathroom and put on her little underwear ("boy shorts". as she called them). She didn't have a shirt on, and when she crawled back into bed it was like a scene out of a porn. She was half asleep but she was still slinking around like a sex kitten. She's oblivious to it, though. Or at least I think she is since she didn't even know I was awake.
On the other end of the spectrum is Tiny, she's just not sexy at all. I think this is exactly the reason I'm kind of losing interest in her. I can't put my finger on it. We're going out for drinks tonight, I'll see if I can get a better grip on it.
I got an email from Blue last night, my little friend from Montreal. She said she would like to take me up on my offer of showing her around DC this spring. She's done with school in a month and would like to come down for a long weekend, 3-4 days. I'm looking forward to that, I'm sure we'll have a good time.
I'm supposed to go to happy hour tonight with some people from work, including Trouble. My goal is to have one or two drinks with them and get her phone number. I'm meeting Tiny out at 7:30 for drinks on the waterfront, that should leave plenty of time to get her number. With any luck she will be in town this weekend and I can talk her into a motorcycle ride.
This has nothing to do with dating, but I think it's funny. I salvaged a scooter this week. It was abandoned and the city was going to have it scrapped, so I decided that was a waste and took it home. I figured it would be a good "grocery getter", just something to run errands around the neighborhood on. It's kind of cool. It's Chinese, but has that retro Vespa look.
It was in pretty rough shape. It had been tipped over on its side for months, so most of the fluids had leaked out of it. A combination of gas, sunlight, and snow wreaked havoc on all the metal surfaces, two of the plastic fairings were cracked and the battery was missing. Just to add insult to injury, someone had reached into the engine compartment and ripped out some of the vital electrical components.
I took the scooter apart, removed all the fairings, and ripped out the ignition which had been cracked open with a screw driver (likely as a result of being stolen). I went online and found an engine diagram and figured out what parts were missing, then found a place in Crystal City called Mopedland that repairs these. I called the dude and he said he had the parts I was looking for. I jumped on my bike and rode out there.
Mopedland is like a morgue in a war zone, only for scooters. There are mutilated frames in varying states of decay strewn all over the room, with parts from other machines stacked on top of them. It's filthy, with oil and other fluids on every inch of the floor. Along the walls are file cabinets with parts overflowing out of them onto the ground. Spark plugs, spare tires, headlights, brake levers, stuff was everywhere. There appears to be no order to it, though I'm sure it makes sense to someone.
That someone would most likely be Bernie, the shops kooky owner, or "Head Mechanic/CEO", as his card reads. Bernie Gratzl is an elderly German man with a shaved head who wears those glasses that turn dark automatically in the sunlight. Knowing Germans' propensity for strict order, and having seen his shop, I can only deduce that Bernie was run out of his homeland and somehow wound up in Northern Virginia.
I walked into the shop and said I was the guy that called earlier, but Bernie had no recollection of speaking to me. I said I needed a spark plug cable and a few other things, and Bernie reached into several cabinets and pulled out a tangle of wires and dusty black parts, then handed them to me. He looked up at the ceiling and muttered, tabulating my total. I can't tell if he was talking in German or English. Finally Bernie said "Nineteen dollars". Seemed like a lot for a few wires and scraps. I pulled out my wallet and only had $16 on me. I said "Do you take credit cards". It was an absurd question and instantly wished I could retract it. He said "How much you got there?", "Um, sixteen bucks", and I showed him the cash. I had some money from Costa Rica in my billfold, worth about fourteen cents, and he said "I take foreign currency, you got Euros?", I just shook my head to say no. Bernie said "Gimme that, we'll call it even." I handed him the cash, thanked him, then headed out.
About an hour later I found another missing part and rode back to Mopedland. As I walked into the shop Bernie was on the phone and said "I'll come to you". He was sitting at his desk so I walked in and was looking at the various scooter frames. Two steps later he yelled "I SAID I WOULD COME TO YOU!". I froze, and he slowly walked over to me. "What do you need, I'm very busy?". Apparently I was really putting him out. I mean, he owns a scooter parts store and here I have the balls to come in and try to purchase scooter parts! He acted like I walked in and started giving him shit about German aggression in the forties. Christ! I told him I needed an ignition coil, and he walked away. I saw I was standing in a puddle of black motor oil, but was afraid to move.
Bernie came back with the coil and said "Hmmm, this is a very expensive part. Very expensive". I had stopped at an ATM machine on the way there, so I had cash this time. I looked around the shop and tried to gauge what Bernie's definition of "very" expensive was. The part was the size of a 35mm film canister, and had a 10" cable coming out of one end. I figured $20, and pulled a bill out of my wallet. Bernie looked at my wallet, perhaps searching for Euros, or Ducats, and repeated "Very expensive". I'd had enough, "Are you going to sell me the part? What are we talking about, a million dollars here? How much is the thing?". He said "There aren't many of these around..." I pulled out another twenty. He said "It's $55". I said "Whatever" and handed him the money and left. I KNOW I got hosed, but he's the only show in town, what can I do?
I got on my bike and was waiting at the light in front of his shop. Thirty second later he came out screaming and waving his arms at me as if I had taken a dump in the middle of his shop floor. I couldn't hear him over the engine so I turned it off. "What are you, an idiot? You want to sit there at that red light all day? Back up, jerk, the sensor can't read you from there!" I looked around and saw I was past the white line you're supposed to stop at. Apparently there is a sensor that trips the light. He continued "Look, it's infra red, the sensor is up there (pointing to the top of a light post), idiot! Back up. BACK UP! Move back. Or do you want to sit here all day?" Now I'm starting to laugh hysterically. Here is this fat little German man, in his greasy coveralls, shouting at the top of his lungs at me. What's funniest is that he's genuinely mad, no irate, at the fact that I don't know this light is infra red activated. I shrugged my shoulders and backed up a few feet. I moment later the light turned green. Before I could restart my bike I heard him yell "See, you jerk".
Bernie is awesome. I love that he doesn't give a fuck and will berate his customers. He should open a restaurant.
I have to say, Beads is just really sexy. It's hard to describe how or why. The best I can do is to say that she is naively sexy in that she doesn't seem to know that she is. For instance, in the middle of the night she got up to go to the bathroom and put on her little underwear ("boy shorts". as she called them). She didn't have a shirt on, and when she crawled back into bed it was like a scene out of a porn. She was half asleep but she was still slinking around like a sex kitten. She's oblivious to it, though. Or at least I think she is since she didn't even know I was awake.
On the other end of the spectrum is Tiny, she's just not sexy at all. I think this is exactly the reason I'm kind of losing interest in her. I can't put my finger on it. We're going out for drinks tonight, I'll see if I can get a better grip on it.
I got an email from Blue last night, my little friend from Montreal. She said she would like to take me up on my offer of showing her around DC this spring. She's done with school in a month and would like to come down for a long weekend, 3-4 days. I'm looking forward to that, I'm sure we'll have a good time.
I'm supposed to go to happy hour tonight with some people from work, including Trouble. My goal is to have one or two drinks with them and get her phone number. I'm meeting Tiny out at 7:30 for drinks on the waterfront, that should leave plenty of time to get her number. With any luck she will be in town this weekend and I can talk her into a motorcycle ride.
This has nothing to do with dating, but I think it's funny. I salvaged a scooter this week. It was abandoned and the city was going to have it scrapped, so I decided that was a waste and took it home. I figured it would be a good "grocery getter", just something to run errands around the neighborhood on. It's kind of cool. It's Chinese, but has that retro Vespa look.
It was in pretty rough shape. It had been tipped over on its side for months, so most of the fluids had leaked out of it. A combination of gas, sunlight, and snow wreaked havoc on all the metal surfaces, two of the plastic fairings were cracked and the battery was missing. Just to add insult to injury, someone had reached into the engine compartment and ripped out some of the vital electrical components.
I took the scooter apart, removed all the fairings, and ripped out the ignition which had been cracked open with a screw driver (likely as a result of being stolen). I went online and found an engine diagram and figured out what parts were missing, then found a place in Crystal City called Mopedland that repairs these. I called the dude and he said he had the parts I was looking for. I jumped on my bike and rode out there.
Mopedland is like a morgue in a war zone, only for scooters. There are mutilated frames in varying states of decay strewn all over the room, with parts from other machines stacked on top of them. It's filthy, with oil and other fluids on every inch of the floor. Along the walls are file cabinets with parts overflowing out of them onto the ground. Spark plugs, spare tires, headlights, brake levers, stuff was everywhere. There appears to be no order to it, though I'm sure it makes sense to someone.
That someone would most likely be Bernie, the shops kooky owner, or "Head Mechanic/CEO", as his card reads. Bernie Gratzl is an elderly German man with a shaved head who wears those glasses that turn dark automatically in the sunlight. Knowing Germans' propensity for strict order, and having seen his shop, I can only deduce that Bernie was run out of his homeland and somehow wound up in Northern Virginia.
I walked into the shop and said I was the guy that called earlier, but Bernie had no recollection of speaking to me. I said I needed a spark plug cable and a few other things, and Bernie reached into several cabinets and pulled out a tangle of wires and dusty black parts, then handed them to me. He looked up at the ceiling and muttered, tabulating my total. I can't tell if he was talking in German or English. Finally Bernie said "Nineteen dollars". Seemed like a lot for a few wires and scraps. I pulled out my wallet and only had $16 on me. I said "Do you take credit cards". It was an absurd question and instantly wished I could retract it. He said "How much you got there?", "Um, sixteen bucks", and I showed him the cash. I had some money from Costa Rica in my billfold, worth about fourteen cents, and he said "I take foreign currency, you got Euros?", I just shook my head to say no. Bernie said "Gimme that, we'll call it even." I handed him the cash, thanked him, then headed out.
About an hour later I found another missing part and rode back to Mopedland. As I walked into the shop Bernie was on the phone and said "I'll come to you". He was sitting at his desk so I walked in and was looking at the various scooter frames. Two steps later he yelled "I SAID I WOULD COME TO YOU!". I froze, and he slowly walked over to me. "What do you need, I'm very busy?". Apparently I was really putting him out. I mean, he owns a scooter parts store and here I have the balls to come in and try to purchase scooter parts! He acted like I walked in and started giving him shit about German aggression in the forties. Christ! I told him I needed an ignition coil, and he walked away. I saw I was standing in a puddle of black motor oil, but was afraid to move.
Bernie came back with the coil and said "Hmmm, this is a very expensive part. Very expensive". I had stopped at an ATM machine on the way there, so I had cash this time. I looked around the shop and tried to gauge what Bernie's definition of "very" expensive was. The part was the size of a 35mm film canister, and had a 10" cable coming out of one end. I figured $20, and pulled a bill out of my wallet. Bernie looked at my wallet, perhaps searching for Euros, or Ducats, and repeated "Very expensive". I'd had enough, "Are you going to sell me the part? What are we talking about, a million dollars here? How much is the thing?". He said "There aren't many of these around..." I pulled out another twenty. He said "It's $55". I said "Whatever" and handed him the money and left. I KNOW I got hosed, but he's the only show in town, what can I do?
I got on my bike and was waiting at the light in front of his shop. Thirty second later he came out screaming and waving his arms at me as if I had taken a dump in the middle of his shop floor. I couldn't hear him over the engine so I turned it off. "What are you, an idiot? You want to sit there at that red light all day? Back up, jerk, the sensor can't read you from there!" I looked around and saw I was past the white line you're supposed to stop at. Apparently there is a sensor that trips the light. He continued "Look, it's infra red, the sensor is up there (pointing to the top of a light post), idiot! Back up. BACK UP! Move back. Or do you want to sit here all day?" Now I'm starting to laugh hysterically. Here is this fat little German man, in his greasy coveralls, shouting at the top of his lungs at me. What's funniest is that he's genuinely mad, no irate, at the fact that I don't know this light is infra red activated. I shrugged my shoulders and backed up a few feet. I moment later the light turned green. Before I could restart my bike I heard him yell "See, you jerk".
Bernie is awesome. I love that he doesn't give a fuck and will berate his customers. He should open a restaurant.
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