Friday, December 9, 2011
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Fucking Egg Sandwich
I was having such a good morning...then I decided to get breakfast.
The day started off great. I rolled over and got laid. I drove home and had a huge cup of freshly made coffee. I strolled into work at a leisurely 8:30am, had a short conference call, then ran to the deli downstairs and grab an egg sandwich.
How could something so simple become such a goat-fuck?
This just happened so it's still fresh in my head. Please tell me if I'm being unreasonable. The conversation at the deli with the clerk went like this:
NN: Morning, bacon egg and cheese on wheat. Two eggs please.
Register Lady [speaking aloud in heavily accented English, my guess is that she was African]: Special number two, two eggs, two cheese, wheat, has browns...ummmmmm. OK $9.37.
NN: Nine thirty-seven for an egg sandwich, no, try again.
RL: Yes, special number two...
NN: I didn't get a special number two. I don't want eggs and hash browns, and pancakes, and all that. Just egg sandwich with an extra egg.
RL: OK
Register Lady then cancels out her last sale item by item and rings me up again.
RL: OK. -$7.23, -$1.07, -$1.07. $1.85, $1.85, $.60, $.60, $6.99. OK, $11.89. [please imagine having to sit and watch this]
NN: I wasn't going to pay nine bucks for an egg sandwich, what makes you think I'm going to pay eleven? It's not reasonable. Just an egg and cheese, but with two eggs. I can't be the first person to order this?
I should point out that the cook, who I know because I go in the goddamn place every week, has overheard this whole aggravating exchange and has already made my sandwich, placed it in a bag and handed it to me.
RL: You want special sandwich.
NN: I want an egg and cheese, but with an extra egg. That's all.
The cook starts to laugh.
RL: Yes, $11.89.
NN: Lady, you're infuriating me. Look at the menu, bacon egg and cheese, $4. Add an extra egg to that and I'll be on my way.
RL: No, see, $1.85, $1.85, $.60...
NN: I don't know what those numbers mean, stop saying that. Here's six bucks, take it or I'm leaving.
Here's the real problem. Someone took the time to open that deli then left their business in the hands of an imbecile, someone incapable of free thought and that is going to be the demise of the place.
After I offered the six dollars she cancels out the last transaction and starts over. Again. Using her imaginary formulas she comes up with eight dollars and something, I don't remember the exact number because I was talking myself out of doing her bodily harm, but it was close to nine bucks. I pulled out a twenty, placed it on the counter, slid it to her, and laughed. I had to laugh, the fucking joke was on me, she won, I was paying almost nine dollars for a take-out egg sandwich.
I hope this isn't an indication of how the rest of my day will be.
The day started off great. I rolled over and got laid. I drove home and had a huge cup of freshly made coffee. I strolled into work at a leisurely 8:30am, had a short conference call, then ran to the deli downstairs and grab an egg sandwich.
How could something so simple become such a goat-fuck?
This just happened so it's still fresh in my head. Please tell me if I'm being unreasonable. The conversation at the deli with the clerk went like this:
NN: Morning, bacon egg and cheese on wheat. Two eggs please.
Register Lady [speaking aloud in heavily accented English, my guess is that she was African]: Special number two, two eggs, two cheese, wheat, has browns...ummmmmm. OK $9.37.
NN: Nine thirty-seven for an egg sandwich, no, try again.
RL: Yes, special number two...
NN: I didn't get a special number two. I don't want eggs and hash browns, and pancakes, and all that. Just egg sandwich with an extra egg.
RL: OK
Register Lady then cancels out her last sale item by item and rings me up again.
RL: OK. -$7.23, -$1.07, -$1.07. $1.85, $1.85, $.60, $.60, $6.99. OK, $11.89. [please imagine having to sit and watch this]
NN: I wasn't going to pay nine bucks for an egg sandwich, what makes you think I'm going to pay eleven? It's not reasonable. Just an egg and cheese, but with two eggs. I can't be the first person to order this?
I should point out that the cook, who I know because I go in the goddamn place every week, has overheard this whole aggravating exchange and has already made my sandwich, placed it in a bag and handed it to me.
RL: You want special sandwich.
NN: I want an egg and cheese, but with an extra egg. That's all.
The cook starts to laugh.
RL: Yes, $11.89.
NN: Lady, you're infuriating me. Look at the menu, bacon egg and cheese, $4. Add an extra egg to that and I'll be on my way.
RL: No, see, $1.85, $1.85, $.60...
NN: I don't know what those numbers mean, stop saying that. Here's six bucks, take it or I'm leaving.
Here's the real problem. Someone took the time to open that deli then left their business in the hands of an imbecile, someone incapable of free thought and that is going to be the demise of the place.
After I offered the six dollars she cancels out the last transaction and starts over. Again. Using her imaginary formulas she comes up with eight dollars and something, I don't remember the exact number because I was talking myself out of doing her bodily harm, but it was close to nine bucks. I pulled out a twenty, placed it on the counter, slid it to her, and laughed. I had to laugh, the fucking joke was on me, she won, I was paying almost nine dollars for a take-out egg sandwich.
I hope this isn't an indication of how the rest of my day will be.
Monday, November 28, 2011
Halloween, Speeding Ticket, and NYE
I've been hanging out with Halloween for about 4 weeks now, and things are going so well that I really don't have much to write about. She's fun, hot, easy going, and a champ in bed. I'm pretty content.
My plans of going to Key West for a month sank due to two construction projects that were supposed to take place in December/January that have been moved to February/March. I was pretty bummed about this until last Friday when Uncle Charlie emailed me and said he was planning a NYE trip to St. Martin and asked if I wanted to join. All he told me was that he had a house picked out on the beach and that our buddy Chavez and two chicks were going (I know one of the girls, she's a lot of fun). I said sure and booked a flight the next morning. The house is expensive, but I have a ton of sky miles, so my flight to Puerto Rico is free, and we're taking Air Uncle Charlie from PR to Saint Martin. Should be a good time.
I've already ranted about how much I hate getting mail. Anything important like bank statements come to me via email, and my utilities and cell bill are on autopay, so the bulk of my house mail is credit card applications and other junk. Last night I received another reason to hate the mail in the form of a DC camera speeding ticket - 39mph in a 25mph zone; fine $125. Motherfucking DC.
I deserve the ticket and frankly am surprised I haven't gotten one sooner. But what really chaps my ass is where I got the ticket. The camera is located on the 1100 block of Bladensburg Rd in NE, which for those of you not familiar with the city, is probably the single most useless stretch of urban blight on the eastern seaboard of the United States. I firmly believe that everything and everyone on Bladensburg Rd from H Street to New York Avenue should be carpet bombed with incendiary rounds, bull dozed under, then bombed again to make sure nothing survived. It's three miles of pimps, addicts, and stores selling single cans of malt liquor. I'm probably the only person driving through that area whose license plate is actually registered to the vehicle it's on.
The city just re-did the entire road. They put in a fancy median with granite curbs, planted sod and trees in the middle, then repaved the whole road and put in about thirty crosswalks so the crack heads could cross the street to buy drugs without getting hit by the cars they are too stoned to see. I'm glad that I could help fund this rahab project that is benefiting so many law abiding, tax paying, citizens.
Believe, me, I would avoid the area like grim death if I could, but it's the fastest way to get in Route 50 from my house.
The city makes a killing on those cameras because it's nearly impossible to fight them. They have pictures of your car from three different angles and a close up of your plate, there's not much to argue. You're fucked. I thought it would be great to screw the city out of a whole day's worth of revenue from the camera by hiring a day laborer to stand at the camera with a "Slow Down! Speeding Camera Here!" sign.
When I get home tonight I'm going to take a steel wool pad to my license plate so I never get another one of these.
My plans of going to Key West for a month sank due to two construction projects that were supposed to take place in December/January that have been moved to February/March. I was pretty bummed about this until last Friday when Uncle Charlie emailed me and said he was planning a NYE trip to St. Martin and asked if I wanted to join. All he told me was that he had a house picked out on the beach and that our buddy Chavez and two chicks were going (I know one of the girls, she's a lot of fun). I said sure and booked a flight the next morning. The house is expensive, but I have a ton of sky miles, so my flight to Puerto Rico is free, and we're taking Air Uncle Charlie from PR to Saint Martin. Should be a good time.
I've already ranted about how much I hate getting mail. Anything important like bank statements come to me via email, and my utilities and cell bill are on autopay, so the bulk of my house mail is credit card applications and other junk. Last night I received another reason to hate the mail in the form of a DC camera speeding ticket - 39mph in a 25mph zone; fine $125. Motherfucking DC.
I deserve the ticket and frankly am surprised I haven't gotten one sooner. But what really chaps my ass is where I got the ticket. The camera is located on the 1100 block of Bladensburg Rd in NE, which for those of you not familiar with the city, is probably the single most useless stretch of urban blight on the eastern seaboard of the United States. I firmly believe that everything and everyone on Bladensburg Rd from H Street to New York Avenue should be carpet bombed with incendiary rounds, bull dozed under, then bombed again to make sure nothing survived. It's three miles of pimps, addicts, and stores selling single cans of malt liquor. I'm probably the only person driving through that area whose license plate is actually registered to the vehicle it's on.
The city just re-did the entire road. They put in a fancy median with granite curbs, planted sod and trees in the middle, then repaved the whole road and put in about thirty crosswalks so the crack heads could cross the street to buy drugs without getting hit by the cars they are too stoned to see. I'm glad that I could help fund this rahab project that is benefiting so many law abiding, tax paying, citizens.
Believe, me, I would avoid the area like grim death if I could, but it's the fastest way to get in Route 50 from my house.
The city makes a killing on those cameras because it's nearly impossible to fight them. They have pictures of your car from three different angles and a close up of your plate, there's not much to argue. You're fucked. I thought it would be great to screw the city out of a whole day's worth of revenue from the camera by hiring a day laborer to stand at the camera with a "Slow Down! Speeding Camera Here!" sign.
When I get home tonight I'm going to take a steel wool pad to my license plate so I never get another one of these.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
How do you ask?
I worked from home for a few hours yesterday and took the opportunity to rub one out on youporn.com. While I was on the site I looked at the categories they have listed and I realized that there is a lot of crazy shit out there on the internet.
I've always thought of myself as adventurous when it comes to sex, but after perusing youporn I would list my sexual proclivities as g-rated, vanilla, and even Victorian. People are into some wild stuff, man, and all I could think was "How do you ask a girl if you can do some of it". It's not that I want to actually do what I saw, it's more that I want to see the reaction of the chick after I ask for it.
For instance.
I saw a video where this dude locked a girl in medieval stocks then gagged her with his elephant cock while a guy in a ski mask burned her with candle wax.
I saw a girl with Tourettes get banged in the asshole. She said things in that 4-minute clip that would have made a carny blush.
I saw a chick take two cocks in her asshole at the same time. AT THE SAME TIME! Not only does that seem impossible to me, but as a dude, how do you agree to have your dick pressed against another dude's dick while simultaneously being shoved into a woman's shit-hole?
In college I saw a video of a woman being fucked by a horse, who, incidentally, had a dick bigger than my whole arm (just to clarify, the horse, not the chick, but I bet you could find both on the internet). You would be surprised how often the term "horsecock" gets thrown around these days, and every time I hear it my mind involuntarily flashes a snipit of that poor woman getting fucked/trampled by Secretariat.
The most disturbing thing I've ever seen, even worse than the horse, was a video I saw while visiting my roommate's younger brother at Vanderbilt his sophomore year. This kid not only watched, but had saved on his computer, this really fucked up clip.
The video showed this Japanese guy cum in a Japanese chick's mouth. She then spit it in a tea cup. The dude then sucked the cum out of the tea cup with a mini turkey baster. Of course I was like "What's he going to do with the turkey baster?". My roommate's brother was like "Wait and see!". That little Japanese dude then bent the girl over, shove the turkey baster up her ass, and squirted his jizz in her butt.
I think I was two forty's deep at that point and I still couldn't imagine what the turn on with that was.
But the little guy wasn't done yet. He took the turkey baster out of her ass and layed down on the floor, and she hovered over his face, kind of squatting. I was like "Holy fuck, what's she doing?" but I kind of already knew, just like you do. That reserved looking Japanese girl shit the dudes jizz into his mouth!
So the jizz came out of his cock-n-balls, went into the girls mouth, she spit it into a tea cup, the guy sucked it out of the tea cup with a turkey baster, then shoved the baster into the girls butt, squirted it in, and then it came full-circle when it was shit into the dude's mouth.
But they weren't done. With his shit-jizz in mouth, the guy stood up and spit it back into the girls mouth, who then swallowed it, thus ending the scene and my trust of anything Japanese.
So, going back to my original question, how do you propose that to someone? Is there an evolution to that finale? Is the guy like "OK, I've come in your ass, we've done the tea cup thing, I turkey basted your face twice last week, why don't we shove it in your ass and then you shit my spooge into my mouth. Is that OK with you?"
I would like to believe that this stuff only happens in porn where the people are getting paid, but deep down inside I don't think that's the case. What fascinates me even more is that somewhere, someone actually thought that jizz-juggling routine up. This is going on in people's homes!
The horse thing I can kind of understand. You're a chick, you live on a farm, you see that the thirty-nine inch cock on the horse and think "That's six times bigger than my boyfriend's, wonder what it would feel like...". I see where the thought process is derived from. I can connect the dots there. But the jizz merry-go-round? That's the work of a guy that lives in his mother's basement and plays 23 hours of World of Warcraft a day.
Getting back to a chick's reaction to being asked to do some of these things, let's suppose you are Bob. You sell tires - wholesale, and make twenty grand a year. You work 12 hours a day in a box filled with florescent light and the high points of your day are the canteen truck coming at 10am, and when you punch out at 7. One day you decide "Geez, I've been married 28 years and not once has my wife ever shit my jizz into my mouth, I'd really like to give that a shot", how the fuck do you even being to go about asking for it? Do you take your wife of 28 years out for a nice dinner and bring it up? Do you show up home after work with a dozen roses and a turkey baster? Maybe email her from work and give a basic outline of what you have planned that night in pictograph format? I can't think of one single scenario that doesn't end in divorce papers.
I think there should be a sex amnesty day each year for couples where on that day you could ask for anything you'd like sexually without penalty. I bet the divorce rate would go way down because people wouldn't look outside of the marriage for sexual gratification. You could come home with a monkey and a reciprocating saw and explain exactly what you'd like your wife to do with them and if she wasn't down with it you'd send the monkey home with the saw and sit down and watch Dancing With the Stars with wifey. No fussing, no 911 calls.
There's no point here really, it's merely an observation.
I've always thought of myself as adventurous when it comes to sex, but after perusing youporn I would list my sexual proclivities as g-rated, vanilla, and even Victorian. People are into some wild stuff, man, and all I could think was "How do you ask a girl if you can do some of it". It's not that I want to actually do what I saw, it's more that I want to see the reaction of the chick after I ask for it.
For instance.
I saw a video where this dude locked a girl in medieval stocks then gagged her with his elephant cock while a guy in a ski mask burned her with candle wax.
I saw a girl with Tourettes get banged in the asshole. She said things in that 4-minute clip that would have made a carny blush.
I saw a chick take two cocks in her asshole at the same time. AT THE SAME TIME! Not only does that seem impossible to me, but as a dude, how do you agree to have your dick pressed against another dude's dick while simultaneously being shoved into a woman's shit-hole?
In college I saw a video of a woman being fucked by a horse, who, incidentally, had a dick bigger than my whole arm (just to clarify, the horse, not the chick, but I bet you could find both on the internet). You would be surprised how often the term "horsecock" gets thrown around these days, and every time I hear it my mind involuntarily flashes a snipit of that poor woman getting fucked/trampled by Secretariat.
The most disturbing thing I've ever seen, even worse than the horse, was a video I saw while visiting my roommate's younger brother at Vanderbilt his sophomore year. This kid not only watched, but had saved on his computer, this really fucked up clip.
The video showed this Japanese guy cum in a Japanese chick's mouth. She then spit it in a tea cup. The dude then sucked the cum out of the tea cup with a mini turkey baster. Of course I was like "What's he going to do with the turkey baster?". My roommate's brother was like "Wait and see!". That little Japanese dude then bent the girl over, shove the turkey baster up her ass, and squirted his jizz in her butt.
I think I was two forty's deep at that point and I still couldn't imagine what the turn on with that was.
But the little guy wasn't done yet. He took the turkey baster out of her ass and layed down on the floor, and she hovered over his face, kind of squatting. I was like "Holy fuck, what's she doing?" but I kind of already knew, just like you do. That reserved looking Japanese girl shit the dudes jizz into his mouth!
So the jizz came out of his cock-n-balls, went into the girls mouth, she spit it into a tea cup, the guy sucked it out of the tea cup with a turkey baster, then shoved the baster into the girls butt, squirted it in, and then it came full-circle when it was shit into the dude's mouth.
But they weren't done. With his shit-jizz in mouth, the guy stood up and spit it back into the girls mouth, who then swallowed it, thus ending the scene and my trust of anything Japanese.
So, going back to my original question, how do you propose that to someone? Is there an evolution to that finale? Is the guy like "OK, I've come in your ass, we've done the tea cup thing, I turkey basted your face twice last week, why don't we shove it in your ass and then you shit my spooge into my mouth. Is that OK with you?"
I would like to believe that this stuff only happens in porn where the people are getting paid, but deep down inside I don't think that's the case. What fascinates me even more is that somewhere, someone actually thought that jizz-juggling routine up. This is going on in people's homes!
The horse thing I can kind of understand. You're a chick, you live on a farm, you see that the thirty-nine inch cock on the horse and think "That's six times bigger than my boyfriend's, wonder what it would feel like...". I see where the thought process is derived from. I can connect the dots there. But the jizz merry-go-round? That's the work of a guy that lives in his mother's basement and plays 23 hours of World of Warcraft a day.
Getting back to a chick's reaction to being asked to do some of these things, let's suppose you are Bob. You sell tires - wholesale, and make twenty grand a year. You work 12 hours a day in a box filled with florescent light and the high points of your day are the canteen truck coming at 10am, and when you punch out at 7. One day you decide "Geez, I've been married 28 years and not once has my wife ever shit my jizz into my mouth, I'd really like to give that a shot", how the fuck do you even being to go about asking for it? Do you take your wife of 28 years out for a nice dinner and bring it up? Do you show up home after work with a dozen roses and a turkey baster? Maybe email her from work and give a basic outline of what you have planned that night in pictograph format? I can't think of one single scenario that doesn't end in divorce papers.
I think there should be a sex amnesty day each year for couples where on that day you could ask for anything you'd like sexually without penalty. I bet the divorce rate would go way down because people wouldn't look outside of the marriage for sexual gratification. You could come home with a monkey and a reciprocating saw and explain exactly what you'd like your wife to do with them and if she wasn't down with it you'd send the monkey home with the saw and sit down and watch Dancing With the Stars with wifey. No fussing, no 911 calls.
There's no point here really, it's merely an observation.
Monday, November 7, 2011
Halloween: Date II
Friday night I went to dinner with Halloween at Ping Pong Dim Sum in Chinatown. I'm not sure why I'm surprised, but I had a pretty good time.
Halloween and I met at the bar around 9pm. She's even smaller than I remember. I saw Halloween walking over to me and she had on tight jeans and huge high heels and she was still just a little over 5', and she must not weigh more than a hundred pounds. I gave her a kiss and as she had a seat next to me at the bar I thought "She's even smaller than Tiny", which would turn out to be funny later.
For the most part dinner went well. Conversation was good in that we didn't struggle for things to talk about. She's very bright and easy to talk to. I noticed that she's either a little shy or reticent to talk about herself. If I asked her a question about herself she would give a very short answer then redirect the conversation to me. I like to be the one asking questions, not answering them, so this was a little uncomfortable for me.
After dinner we got a drink at a bar down the street. She got a little more talkative after a couple of cocktails and mentioned that she did a lot of traveling with her family, and also said something about her dad paying for a condo for her while she was in school in NYC because she didn't want to live in a dorm. That combined with a few other things she mentioned lead me to believe that she comes from a very wealthy family and that she's "daddy's little girl". I'm not holding this against her. There are a lot of very wealthy people out there and I'm sure it's hard to turn down certain things if they are offered to you. I have a lot of respect for people who have the strength and convictions to forge their own path, though. I mention it only because it came up several times.
While at the bar Halloween told me that between college and grad school she spent a year in DC working for a small company in a field that is mostly unrelated to what she does now. I asked what it was she did and when she explained the company it sounded very familiar. When I asked the name of the firm she told me and it was the same company Tiny used to work for. Halloween asked "Why, do you know them?" and I said that I had a few friends that work there. I rattled off two names with Tiny's lodged in between but she didn't know them. It wouldn't have mattered if they knew each other, it's just an example of how small this city really is.
At midnight Halloween said that she was going to NYC in the morning and that she should probably be heading home to pack, which ranks right up there with "I have to wash my hair" and "I need to rearrange my sock drawer". I called her out on this and she said she really did need to pack, but if I didn't mind waking up at 7am I could come over for a night-cap while she packed then spend the night. So we caught a cab and headed to her place.
Halloween lives in a studio in Adam's Morgan. On the way over she told me she wasn't expecting company and that her place was a mess. Her place was nice, and pretty clean aside from clothes thrown all over the place, which I wouldn't hold against anyone.
Side Note:
I've noticed that there are three books you will find in almost all chick's bookcases: The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, The Girl Who Played With Matches, and Memoirs of a Geisha. A Long Way Gone: memoirs of a boy soldier and Water for Elephants are tied for fourth place.
Halloween gave me a drink and I sat on her couch while she finished packing. At 1:30 she took all the little pillows off her bed and said "Bedtime, get in there" and motioned towards the bed. I went to the bathroom and and when I came out the lights were off and she was getting under the covers. I sat on the edge of the bed and turned and started to say "Sorry, I don't have any underwear on..." because I didn't want her to freak out when I stripped down, but when I started to talk she ripped off her t-shirt and then flung her underwear across the room onto a pile of clothes on a chair. My lack of underwear wasn't going to be an issue.
We fooled around a little then I started to move to go down on her. She stopped me and said "No, let me do you", then kind of forcefully tossed me onto my back, which I'm all for, obviously. She went down on me, swallowed, then I reciprocated.
I'm not great at telling when girls come, I can't always pick up on the subtle nuances between "that feels nice" and a full-blown orgasm. I'm always afraid I'm going to stop too soon, and consequently usually go on too long. I was down there for a long time and was starting to get frustrated because I wasn't getting any feedback. Then I felt the bed vibrating a little. The vibrating picked up, then morphed into a tremor, then she started to convulse a little. Again, not wanting to stop too early I kept on going until Halloween clamped her knees together, which I took as my signal to stop.
When I came up for air Halloween said "I don't want to lead you on, but I can't sleep with you tonight". That's kind of a strange thing to say at that moment, but I was fine with it. Of course I would have preferred to have sex, but a great blowjob isn't a bad consolation prize.
Halloween and I met at the bar around 9pm. She's even smaller than I remember. I saw Halloween walking over to me and she had on tight jeans and huge high heels and she was still just a little over 5', and she must not weigh more than a hundred pounds. I gave her a kiss and as she had a seat next to me at the bar I thought "She's even smaller than Tiny", which would turn out to be funny later.
For the most part dinner went well. Conversation was good in that we didn't struggle for things to talk about. She's very bright and easy to talk to. I noticed that she's either a little shy or reticent to talk about herself. If I asked her a question about herself she would give a very short answer then redirect the conversation to me. I like to be the one asking questions, not answering them, so this was a little uncomfortable for me.
After dinner we got a drink at a bar down the street. She got a little more talkative after a couple of cocktails and mentioned that she did a lot of traveling with her family, and also said something about her dad paying for a condo for her while she was in school in NYC because she didn't want to live in a dorm. That combined with a few other things she mentioned lead me to believe that she comes from a very wealthy family and that she's "daddy's little girl". I'm not holding this against her. There are a lot of very wealthy people out there and I'm sure it's hard to turn down certain things if they are offered to you. I have a lot of respect for people who have the strength and convictions to forge their own path, though. I mention it only because it came up several times.
While at the bar Halloween told me that between college and grad school she spent a year in DC working for a small company in a field that is mostly unrelated to what she does now. I asked what it was she did and when she explained the company it sounded very familiar. When I asked the name of the firm she told me and it was the same company Tiny used to work for. Halloween asked "Why, do you know them?" and I said that I had a few friends that work there. I rattled off two names with Tiny's lodged in between but she didn't know them. It wouldn't have mattered if they knew each other, it's just an example of how small this city really is.
At midnight Halloween said that she was going to NYC in the morning and that she should probably be heading home to pack, which ranks right up there with "I have to wash my hair" and "I need to rearrange my sock drawer". I called her out on this and she said she really did need to pack, but if I didn't mind waking up at 7am I could come over for a night-cap while she packed then spend the night. So we caught a cab and headed to her place.
Halloween lives in a studio in Adam's Morgan. On the way over she told me she wasn't expecting company and that her place was a mess. Her place was nice, and pretty clean aside from clothes thrown all over the place, which I wouldn't hold against anyone.
Side Note:
I've noticed that there are three books you will find in almost all chick's bookcases: The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, The Girl Who Played With Matches, and Memoirs of a Geisha. A Long Way Gone: memoirs of a boy soldier and Water for Elephants are tied for fourth place.
Halloween gave me a drink and I sat on her couch while she finished packing. At 1:30 she took all the little pillows off her bed and said "Bedtime, get in there" and motioned towards the bed. I went to the bathroom and and when I came out the lights were off and she was getting under the covers. I sat on the edge of the bed and turned and started to say "Sorry, I don't have any underwear on..." because I didn't want her to freak out when I stripped down, but when I started to talk she ripped off her t-shirt and then flung her underwear across the room onto a pile of clothes on a chair. My lack of underwear wasn't going to be an issue.
We fooled around a little then I started to move to go down on her. She stopped me and said "No, let me do you", then kind of forcefully tossed me onto my back, which I'm all for, obviously. She went down on me, swallowed, then I reciprocated.
I'm not great at telling when girls come, I can't always pick up on the subtle nuances between "that feels nice" and a full-blown orgasm. I'm always afraid I'm going to stop too soon, and consequently usually go on too long. I was down there for a long time and was starting to get frustrated because I wasn't getting any feedback. Then I felt the bed vibrating a little. The vibrating picked up, then morphed into a tremor, then she started to convulse a little. Again, not wanting to stop too early I kept on going until Halloween clamped her knees together, which I took as my signal to stop.
When I came up for air Halloween said "I don't want to lead you on, but I can't sleep with you tonight". That's kind of a strange thing to say at that moment, but I was fine with it. Of course I would have preferred to have sex, but a great blowjob isn't a bad consolation prize.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Halloween Part-I
I'm all Halloweened out. I celebrated twice this year, which apparently is one too many times. I went out Saturday with some friends in Georgetown and wound up at this pretty wild house party on P Street. Then Monday night I flew to Detroit and went out in Ann Arbor with D-ron.
I usually have a Halloween party at my house but this year my sis and I had a party at my place in September, so we opted out on Halloween and instead organized a field trip to a bar in Georgetown.
This year I decided to dress up as my friend C-roc's 5 year old son. I bought a kids set of super hero PJ's and a cape. The outfit was twelve sizes too small and looked hysterical. The downside of such a tight outfit was that I had a permanent wedgie, my bits and pieces were clearly visible, and I had no place to put money, a wallet, or a phone. This would come back to haunt me on Halloween II.
As always, everyone was amped up for Halloween. We had about 20 people meet up at the bar and the owner (a friend of ours) hooked us up with tons of free drinks and shots. At midnight my sister got a text from one of her friends who was at a party in Georgetown on P Street. He had extra invitations so we closed out our tabs and eight of us got in a cabs and headed over.
The party was at this huge mansion. This wasn't your typical house party with a couple of kegs and an iPod playing on the stereo. It was basically like a wedding. There were two large tents in the yard connected to the house. There was security at the doors, caterers walking around with finger food, and three or four open bars staffed by incredibly good looking women who I was told were all San Diego Charger Cheerleaders (not sure if that's true, didn't want to seem like a tourist and ask one of them). The most over the top part of the party, though, were the guests. Everyone was about my age and dressed in high-end costumes. I would say that 20% of the girls there were dressed as Playboy Bunnies and wore only thongs and bras. I saw a couple of girls that had on only a thong and had their chests airbrushed. You couldn't swing a dead cat by the tail without hitting three drop-dead gorgeous, semi-naked, girls.
I was standing in the dining room talking with one of my sister's friends when this girl walked by in the tightest fitting one-piece bathing suit I've ever seen. I had to check to make sure it wasn't painted on. When I confirmed my sister's friend (a female, just to clarify) said something like "I think I can see her asshole", a reference to high tight her costume was. I said "Really, I can't", so she reached out and stuck her finger up the girls ass and said "right here". She didn't touch her ass cheek, or graze her crack, she stuck her finger between the girls but and touched her asshole. Her index finger actually hit pay dirt. Needless to say, when the girl finally came down off the ceiling she was pissed, and naturally thought I was responsible. She turned and looked at me and I threw Sis's friend right under the bus. The bouncers were called over and we were both reprimanded but not ejected (surprisingly).
Shortly after the chocolate starfish incident a girl who was in the periphery of our circle all night come over to me and said "I just wanted you to know I find you very attractive". Obviously, I question anyone's judgement who looks at a grown man in a child's super hero costume and finds it attractive. However, this is what Halloween is all about, and fifteen minutes later we were in the kitchen making out. As a side note, I really liked her approach and will definitely use it.
The girl was dressed in a tight black stretchy outfit with ears and a few other props, but I never really understood what her costume was. She was a mythical character in a book, but I didn't know the book, or the character, and decided she was cute enough that it didn't matter. Let's call her Halloween. Halloween is 28, only 5', very thin, with long black hair, darkish skin, and great eyes. They are brown, but really light, almost blue. She works for a not-for-profit here in DC.
After being shooed out of the kitchen by the caterers Halloween and I went back to the party for another hour then hopped in a cab and headed back to my house. Once at my place we went to my room and got naked. We were both a little tipsy so there was a lot of fumbling around and bumping into each other. Eventually Halloween asked if I had a condom, so I grabbed one out of my dresser, put it on, we had really clumsy sex, then passed out.
My alarm, still set for weekdays, went off at 5:30. I rolled over and turned it off, took a drink of water, then flopped back down to bed. Halloween was sleeping on her stomach with just a t-shirt on. She's a petite girl, and her ass was staring up at me. Long story short, and I can't explain why, before I really knew what was going on I was licking her ass. I guess the evening had an ass theme. I don't think I've ever done that before, it was just not something that ever appealed to me, but it seemed like the right thing to do at the time. As a first, I wasn't sure what protocol was but I fingered her at the same time, which she didn't seem to mind. After a few minutes I rolled her over and went down on her, and after she came she rolled me on my back and gave me a handjob. Normally I would feel like I was short-changed, but I was OK with the handy.
We got out of bed at 9am, had a cup of coffee together, then I walked her to the Metro. We exchanged numbers and have plans to go out tomorrow night.
More on Halloween later.
I usually have a Halloween party at my house but this year my sis and I had a party at my place in September, so we opted out on Halloween and instead organized a field trip to a bar in Georgetown.
This year I decided to dress up as my friend C-roc's 5 year old son. I bought a kids set of super hero PJ's and a cape. The outfit was twelve sizes too small and looked hysterical. The downside of such a tight outfit was that I had a permanent wedgie, my bits and pieces were clearly visible, and I had no place to put money, a wallet, or a phone. This would come back to haunt me on Halloween II.
As always, everyone was amped up for Halloween. We had about 20 people meet up at the bar and the owner (a friend of ours) hooked us up with tons of free drinks and shots. At midnight my sister got a text from one of her friends who was at a party in Georgetown on P Street. He had extra invitations so we closed out our tabs and eight of us got in a cabs and headed over.
The party was at this huge mansion. This wasn't your typical house party with a couple of kegs and an iPod playing on the stereo. It was basically like a wedding. There were two large tents in the yard connected to the house. There was security at the doors, caterers walking around with finger food, and three or four open bars staffed by incredibly good looking women who I was told were all San Diego Charger Cheerleaders (not sure if that's true, didn't want to seem like a tourist and ask one of them). The most over the top part of the party, though, were the guests. Everyone was about my age and dressed in high-end costumes. I would say that 20% of the girls there were dressed as Playboy Bunnies and wore only thongs and bras. I saw a couple of girls that had on only a thong and had their chests airbrushed. You couldn't swing a dead cat by the tail without hitting three drop-dead gorgeous, semi-naked, girls.
I was standing in the dining room talking with one of my sister's friends when this girl walked by in the tightest fitting one-piece bathing suit I've ever seen. I had to check to make sure it wasn't painted on. When I confirmed my sister's friend (a female, just to clarify) said something like "I think I can see her asshole", a reference to high tight her costume was. I said "Really, I can't", so she reached out and stuck her finger up the girls ass and said "right here". She didn't touch her ass cheek, or graze her crack, she stuck her finger between the girls but and touched her asshole. Her index finger actually hit pay dirt. Needless to say, when the girl finally came down off the ceiling she was pissed, and naturally thought I was responsible. She turned and looked at me and I threw Sis's friend right under the bus. The bouncers were called over and we were both reprimanded but not ejected (surprisingly).
Shortly after the chocolate starfish incident a girl who was in the periphery of our circle all night come over to me and said "I just wanted you to know I find you very attractive". Obviously, I question anyone's judgement who looks at a grown man in a child's super hero costume and finds it attractive. However, this is what Halloween is all about, and fifteen minutes later we were in the kitchen making out. As a side note, I really liked her approach and will definitely use it.
The girl was dressed in a tight black stretchy outfit with ears and a few other props, but I never really understood what her costume was. She was a mythical character in a book, but I didn't know the book, or the character, and decided she was cute enough that it didn't matter. Let's call her Halloween. Halloween is 28, only 5', very thin, with long black hair, darkish skin, and great eyes. They are brown, but really light, almost blue. She works for a not-for-profit here in DC.
After being shooed out of the kitchen by the caterers Halloween and I went back to the party for another hour then hopped in a cab and headed back to my house. Once at my place we went to my room and got naked. We were both a little tipsy so there was a lot of fumbling around and bumping into each other. Eventually Halloween asked if I had a condom, so I grabbed one out of my dresser, put it on, we had really clumsy sex, then passed out.
My alarm, still set for weekdays, went off at 5:30. I rolled over and turned it off, took a drink of water, then flopped back down to bed. Halloween was sleeping on her stomach with just a t-shirt on. She's a petite girl, and her ass was staring up at me. Long story short, and I can't explain why, before I really knew what was going on I was licking her ass. I guess the evening had an ass theme. I don't think I've ever done that before, it was just not something that ever appealed to me, but it seemed like the right thing to do at the time. As a first, I wasn't sure what protocol was but I fingered her at the same time, which she didn't seem to mind. After a few minutes I rolled her over and went down on her, and after she came she rolled me on my back and gave me a handjob. Normally I would feel like I was short-changed, but I was OK with the handy.
We got out of bed at 9am, had a cup of coffee together, then I walked her to the Metro. We exchanged numbers and have plans to go out tomorrow night.
More on Halloween later.
Monday, October 24, 2011
Laissez Faire and Key West
The lady who knocked over my bike finally called me last night, though our conversation wasn't very productive. She blocked her outgoing number and wouldn't tell me her name, then went on to deny responsibility for the damage. I can't say this was a surprise given how difficult it was to get her to contact me. When I told her that I could clearly see her on video knocking over the bike, then asked how she could deny causing the damage she said "I can't comment on that now". I said "OK, then you can explain that to the police, I'll file the report in the morning, have a good night." then hung up. An hour later she called me back (blocked number) and asked me to email her the repair estimate. She said she can't afford to pay me the $300 all at once, so I gave her the option to pay me over three weeks, or to call in a credit card to the dealership. I can understand that she may need to pay me over time, but I think she's low-life scum for making me track her down and threaten her into standing up and taking responsibility for her actions. Show some balls, lady.
I'm giving her until the end of the week to make this right. If she doesn't take some action by then I'm going to chain her bike to the rack and call it even. I will certainly derive $300 of satisfaction knowing that she's stranded in a parking garage on a Friday night. I don't feel like involving the police as it will probably cause me more aggravation than the bike damage itself.
After the past few lame dates I've become pretty bearish on dating in general. Between Sausage Fingers, BII, Asia, Princeton, two girls I met in NYC a couple months ago, and a girl I met out with my cousin the week before last (I haven't mentioned her before), I'm discouraged enough that I have been hunkering down at home. Given the choice between sitting on the couch and reading or going out with another mediocre chick, the couch wins every time.
My friend Uncle Charlie has what I call a Laissez Faire approach to dating, and it's starting to make sense to me. Basically, he doesn't do anything, he just "lets it be" and takes whatever comes down the path. However, being a millionaire (or even a billionaire at this point) I think his path is being traveled by different girls than the ones strolling down mine.
Neither of us are the type to sit on our haunches and wait around for shit to happen when it comes to most things in life, but Uncle Charlie has always been this way and it's worked out for him before. Whether I intended to or not, I seem to have taken up the practice.
Moving on.
With my new job that allows me to work from any place I like, coupled with my complete lack of tail here in DC, I've been toying with the idea of renting a house in Key West and moving down there for the month of February or March. The idea popped in my head a few weeks ago and I haven't been able to come up with one good reason not to do it. I found a reasonably priced house for the month with a pool and a fenced in yard within walking distance of Duval Street. I would pack up the dog and drive down with my bike on the trailer and work pool-side for the month. I haven't broached the topic with my manager yet but I don't think he would have a problem with it.
Have to see how this pans out.
I'm giving her until the end of the week to make this right. If she doesn't take some action by then I'm going to chain her bike to the rack and call it even. I will certainly derive $300 of satisfaction knowing that she's stranded in a parking garage on a Friday night. I don't feel like involving the police as it will probably cause me more aggravation than the bike damage itself.
After the past few lame dates I've become pretty bearish on dating in general. Between Sausage Fingers, BII, Asia, Princeton, two girls I met in NYC a couple months ago, and a girl I met out with my cousin the week before last (I haven't mentioned her before), I'm discouraged enough that I have been hunkering down at home. Given the choice between sitting on the couch and reading or going out with another mediocre chick, the couch wins every time.
My friend Uncle Charlie has what I call a Laissez Faire approach to dating, and it's starting to make sense to me. Basically, he doesn't do anything, he just "lets it be" and takes whatever comes down the path. However, being a millionaire (or even a billionaire at this point) I think his path is being traveled by different girls than the ones strolling down mine.
Neither of us are the type to sit on our haunches and wait around for shit to happen when it comes to most things in life, but Uncle Charlie has always been this way and it's worked out for him before. Whether I intended to or not, I seem to have taken up the practice.
Moving on.
With my new job that allows me to work from any place I like, coupled with my complete lack of tail here in DC, I've been toying with the idea of renting a house in Key West and moving down there for the month of February or March. The idea popped in my head a few weeks ago and I haven't been able to come up with one good reason not to do it. I found a reasonably priced house for the month with a pool and a fenced in yard within walking distance of Duval Street. I would pack up the dog and drive down with my bike on the trailer and work pool-side for the month. I haven't broached the topic with my manager yet but I don't think he would have a problem with it.
Have to see how this pans out.
Friday, October 14, 2011
Princeton and BII
Pretty uninspiring few weeks here in DC. I don't know if it's the weather, or what, but I'm not very motivated lately, for dating or much else.
Last Saturday I had a guy's outing in Annapolis. Two friends and I sailed my boat to Annapolis harbor and met up with two other friends who sailed down in their boat and we spent two days at the Annapolis sailboat show. I've never seen such gratuitous rum consumption in my life. A few more days in that atmosphere and I would have been brushing my teeth using Gosling's and pouring Sailor Jerry in my cereal.
Two weeks ago I was out in Georgetown with C-Roc playing pool at a bar and we invited two girls to play with us. I ended up getting one girl's number and made plans to meet up with her last Saturday night, which was obviously an issue since I also had plans to be at the boat show. Saturday evening at about 7pm I got a text from the girl asking if we were still on for 9pm and I had to call her and explain how I forgot about out date. She was cool about it and we rescheduled for last night.
The girl is young, she turned 22 just a couple of weeks ago. She's cute, 5'2", half black half white, freckled, OK body, long wavy black hair. She's super bright which somewhat counters how young she is, but not completely. She went to Princeton so that's what I'll call her.
Princeton and I met out at Zaytinya last night for drinks and some appetizers. The night began and ended with an awkward ass-out hug, but everything in between was pretty normal if not a bit boring. We covered the usual bases: what do you do, where did you grow up, where do you live, what foods do you like, etc.. You know, standard conversation that you basically have to cover to know someone, but that makes you want to claw your ear drums out.
If nothing else the date taught me that the standard "meet for drinks" date is boring as shit and needs to be removed from the line up. Aside from being expensive (drinks and 4 apps were $116 with tip) it always turns into a Q&A session. My new rule is that if I have to get drinks for a date it has to be at a bar with shuffle-board or darts or a pool table, just some sort of activity to do while we drink and talk. I can't sit through another date like last night.
Tonight I have plans to meet BII out for, you guessed it, drinks after work. I'm currently jockeying to change venues to a dive bar with a pool table. BII did have one funny comment when we were making plans. We were going to meet after work at 6pm, but I had a meeting moved so I asked her to push it out to 7:30. She responded back "Sure, but I might be dressed for the 2nd half of the night, hope you don't mind". Does that mean she's coming in costume?
I hate being the early date. Early date guy is the sucker, he wines and dines the chick. Second date guy is who you want to be. I'm not sure how I ended up here.
To top off an all around shitty week, on Tuesday night some chick knocked over my motorcycle in my parking garage. I came out after work and the bike was kind of jacked up. The headlight, blinkers, and pegs were moved and scratched, but luckily there wasn't any major damage.
When I asked the garage manager what had happened he said he walked by at lunch and it was on its side, so he and another attendant picked it up, but he wasn't sure what had happened. We looked at the tape from the cameras and we saw this dumb-ass chick try to move my bike, for God only knows what reason. Naturally, she had no idea what she was doing and the bike, all 700 pounds of it, toppled over. She's lucky it didn't land on her and break her legs. Anyway, after the bike fell she nervously locked up her bicycle and power-walked out of the garage.
You can clearly see her face, and the type of bike she has on the film, so last night put a note on her bike asking her to call me about the motorcycle damage, but she hasn't called yet. She's caught red handed, and she knows it now, so I'm not sure why she hasn't called yet. If she doesn't call by Monday I'm going to lock her bike to the rack with a giant motorcycle lock that can't be cut. Pretty sure she'll call after that, but even if she doesn't the fact that she'd be stranded downtown with her bike permanently locked to a rack more than covers the $600 damage she did.
Last Saturday I had a guy's outing in Annapolis. Two friends and I sailed my boat to Annapolis harbor and met up with two other friends who sailed down in their boat and we spent two days at the Annapolis sailboat show. I've never seen such gratuitous rum consumption in my life. A few more days in that atmosphere and I would have been brushing my teeth using Gosling's and pouring Sailor Jerry in my cereal.
Two weeks ago I was out in Georgetown with C-Roc playing pool at a bar and we invited two girls to play with us. I ended up getting one girl's number and made plans to meet up with her last Saturday night, which was obviously an issue since I also had plans to be at the boat show. Saturday evening at about 7pm I got a text from the girl asking if we were still on for 9pm and I had to call her and explain how I forgot about out date. She was cool about it and we rescheduled for last night.
The girl is young, she turned 22 just a couple of weeks ago. She's cute, 5'2", half black half white, freckled, OK body, long wavy black hair. She's super bright which somewhat counters how young she is, but not completely. She went to Princeton so that's what I'll call her.
Princeton and I met out at Zaytinya last night for drinks and some appetizers. The night began and ended with an awkward ass-out hug, but everything in between was pretty normal if not a bit boring. We covered the usual bases: what do you do, where did you grow up, where do you live, what foods do you like, etc.. You know, standard conversation that you basically have to cover to know someone, but that makes you want to claw your ear drums out.
If nothing else the date taught me that the standard "meet for drinks" date is boring as shit and needs to be removed from the line up. Aside from being expensive (drinks and 4 apps were $116 with tip) it always turns into a Q&A session. My new rule is that if I have to get drinks for a date it has to be at a bar with shuffle-board or darts or a pool table, just some sort of activity to do while we drink and talk. I can't sit through another date like last night.
Tonight I have plans to meet BII out for, you guessed it, drinks after work. I'm currently jockeying to change venues to a dive bar with a pool table. BII did have one funny comment when we were making plans. We were going to meet after work at 6pm, but I had a meeting moved so I asked her to push it out to 7:30. She responded back "Sure, but I might be dressed for the 2nd half of the night, hope you don't mind". Does that mean she's coming in costume?
I hate being the early date. Early date guy is the sucker, he wines and dines the chick. Second date guy is who you want to be. I'm not sure how I ended up here.
To top off an all around shitty week, on Tuesday night some chick knocked over my motorcycle in my parking garage. I came out after work and the bike was kind of jacked up. The headlight, blinkers, and pegs were moved and scratched, but luckily there wasn't any major damage.
When I asked the garage manager what had happened he said he walked by at lunch and it was on its side, so he and another attendant picked it up, but he wasn't sure what had happened. We looked at the tape from the cameras and we saw this dumb-ass chick try to move my bike, for God only knows what reason. Naturally, she had no idea what she was doing and the bike, all 700 pounds of it, toppled over. She's lucky it didn't land on her and break her legs. Anyway, after the bike fell she nervously locked up her bicycle and power-walked out of the garage.
You can clearly see her face, and the type of bike she has on the film, so last night put a note on her bike asking her to call me about the motorcycle damage, but she hasn't called yet. She's caught red handed, and she knows it now, so I'm not sure why she hasn't called yet. If she doesn't call by Monday I'm going to lock her bike to the rack with a giant motorcycle lock that can't be cut. Pretty sure she'll call after that, but even if she doesn't the fact that she'd be stranded downtown with her bike permanently locked to a rack more than covers the $600 damage she did.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
New Bartender and Rant
I had my first real "date" in a while last night. I went out with a bartender I met last week. Overall I would say the date went well, but I can't decide if the chick is a little whacky or not.
Last Saturday I had plans to meet up with my sister and her two friends from Miami for drinks (drinks with one of the Miami-Colombian chicks turned into a hot tub event and all night sexcapade, a story for another time), so I decided to grab a quick drink and a bite to eat at a restaurant by my house beforehand. I was sitting at the bar reading a book while I waited for my food. The bartender asked about the book and we ending up chatting to the point that the rest of the bar was being neglected and our conversation got cut short by her manager. Before I left I asked her for her number so we could talk more, so she wrote her number down on a piece of paper and slid it over to me as I was leaving.
Bartender II:
The bartender is a cute little spitfire. She's short, barely 5' tall, super-thin (no chest, almost too thin), with long strait jet black hair and dark eyes. She's high energy to the point of being spastic and was zipping around the back of the bar like a hummingbird. I'll call her Bartender II, or BII.
This past Tuesday I sent BII a text and asked her if she wanted to meet up for drinks one night this week. She suggested we get together Wednesday after work, and when we decided on a place and time her final text was "Awesome, the food is great there, you'll love it".
This is where I typically go on a tangent about how when a guy asks a girl out specifically for DRINKS for a first date it's fucking rude for her to imply DINNER as well. So I'm going to do it.
If I ask a girl out and clearly say DRINKS, why do chicks make the leap to DINNER? If someone invited you to their house for a cocktail party, would you show up, sit down at their dining room table and ask what they're serving to eat? No, anyone with a modicum of manners would plan to eat before or after the party.
My suggestion for drinks is planned, specific, and has two purposes. The first is that it gives me a way to quickly and comfortably end the night in the event the girl sucks and I want to get out of there. Drinks can be short, thirty minutes to an hour, where as dinner is at least an hour and a half. The goal, both on dates and in most other aspects of my life is to avoid being trapped for extended periods with someone I no longer want to talk to. Secondly, if I truly can't stand her, having to buy her a $100-200 dinner is heaping insult onto injury. Don't get me wrong, I will gladly buy a girl I like dinner, or drinks, or concert tickets, or a fucking helicopter ride over Central Park, whatever she wants, but only after I determine I enjoy spending time with her and she with me. Plus, I still think it's just plain impolite to imply dinner. At least have the balls to say "Well, that place has excellent food, would you like to have dinner?" That shows balls and I would respect that. It says "Hey, buy me dinner motherfucker, I'm worth it" instead of "I'm too shy to ask you to take me to dinner, so I'm going to trick/shame you into doing it."
Let me address the "She'll pay half" argument. It's still goddamn rude. Going back to the cocktail party example, after you were invited over for dinner would you ever say "Oh, I'll bring the sides if you make a roast"? Again, not if you had any social graces. This is the same thing.
My point is, can't a date just be a couple of cocktails?
Anyway, after the chick spun drinks into a four course meal at one of the city's notoriously expensive restaurants I had half a mind to call it off and erase her number from my phone. However, one of my female co-workers talked me out of that and I (still reluctantly) met BII after work for dinner and drinks.
I showed up 15 minutes early and was surprised when she walked in right after me, early as well. She also looked hot, really hot. This description isn't going to work well, but here goes: she had on this VERY short puffy dress-shirt combo thing with no sleeves. It was really strange, like out of a Sci-Fi movie that a chick from Mars would be wearing. It was shiny and from the side you could basically see into it. It was like she had a huge puffy shiny pillow-case on and someone cut the sides off it. I could clearly see what color, style, and size thong she was wearing. Not only that, I could discern the exact pattern of the lace without any real effort. Same for the bra. She also had on really high leather boots. When she walked through the bar everyone, including me, stopped talking and stared. It was borderline slutty, but I'm down with that.
OK, I admit it, I would happily spring for dinner based on the puffy pillowcase dress thing alone.
We had a drink at the bar then asked the host for our table (I had begrudgedly called ahead for a reservation). Turns out she's a pretty cool girl. She's smart, lived all over the world, and has interesting hobbies. The one thing that threw me off was that I thought I caught her in a couple of lies and/or gross exaggerations. For instance, she said she liked to sky dive. I said "That's cool, where did you go?" and she said "I've jumped all over the world, and had 2,000 jumps before my 21st birthday?" I admittedly don't know shit about skydiving, but it would seem to me that 2,000 jumps is a lot in a three year window unless you're in an Airborne unit. There were a few other things, that's just one example.
I am taking her sailing on Sunday, I need another date with her to see what she's really like.
Last Saturday I had plans to meet up with my sister and her two friends from Miami for drinks (drinks with one of the Miami-Colombian chicks turned into a hot tub event and all night sexcapade, a story for another time), so I decided to grab a quick drink and a bite to eat at a restaurant by my house beforehand. I was sitting at the bar reading a book while I waited for my food. The bartender asked about the book and we ending up chatting to the point that the rest of the bar was being neglected and our conversation got cut short by her manager. Before I left I asked her for her number so we could talk more, so she wrote her number down on a piece of paper and slid it over to me as I was leaving.
Bartender II:
The bartender is a cute little spitfire. She's short, barely 5' tall, super-thin (no chest, almost too thin), with long strait jet black hair and dark eyes. She's high energy to the point of being spastic and was zipping around the back of the bar like a hummingbird. I'll call her Bartender II, or BII.
This past Tuesday I sent BII a text and asked her if she wanted to meet up for drinks one night this week. She suggested we get together Wednesday after work, and when we decided on a place and time her final text was "Awesome, the food is great there, you'll love it".
This is where I typically go on a tangent about how when a guy asks a girl out specifically for DRINKS for a first date it's fucking rude for her to imply DINNER as well. So I'm going to do it.
If I ask a girl out and clearly say DRINKS, why do chicks make the leap to DINNER? If someone invited you to their house for a cocktail party, would you show up, sit down at their dining room table and ask what they're serving to eat? No, anyone with a modicum of manners would plan to eat before or after the party.
My suggestion for drinks is planned, specific, and has two purposes. The first is that it gives me a way to quickly and comfortably end the night in the event the girl sucks and I want to get out of there. Drinks can be short, thirty minutes to an hour, where as dinner is at least an hour and a half. The goal, both on dates and in most other aspects of my life is to avoid being trapped for extended periods with someone I no longer want to talk to. Secondly, if I truly can't stand her, having to buy her a $100-200 dinner is heaping insult onto injury. Don't get me wrong, I will gladly buy a girl I like dinner, or drinks, or concert tickets, or a fucking helicopter ride over Central Park, whatever she wants, but only after I determine I enjoy spending time with her and she with me. Plus, I still think it's just plain impolite to imply dinner. At least have the balls to say "Well, that place has excellent food, would you like to have dinner?" That shows balls and I would respect that. It says "Hey, buy me dinner motherfucker, I'm worth it" instead of "I'm too shy to ask you to take me to dinner, so I'm going to trick/shame you into doing it."
Let me address the "She'll pay half" argument. It's still goddamn rude. Going back to the cocktail party example, after you were invited over for dinner would you ever say "Oh, I'll bring the sides if you make a roast"? Again, not if you had any social graces. This is the same thing.
My point is, can't a date just be a couple of cocktails?
Anyway, after the chick spun drinks into a four course meal at one of the city's notoriously expensive restaurants I had half a mind to call it off and erase her number from my phone. However, one of my female co-workers talked me out of that and I (still reluctantly) met BII after work for dinner and drinks.
I showed up 15 minutes early and was surprised when she walked in right after me, early as well. She also looked hot, really hot. This description isn't going to work well, but here goes: she had on this VERY short puffy dress-shirt combo thing with no sleeves. It was really strange, like out of a Sci-Fi movie that a chick from Mars would be wearing. It was shiny and from the side you could basically see into it. It was like she had a huge puffy shiny pillow-case on and someone cut the sides off it. I could clearly see what color, style, and size thong she was wearing. Not only that, I could discern the exact pattern of the lace without any real effort. Same for the bra. She also had on really high leather boots. When she walked through the bar everyone, including me, stopped talking and stared. It was borderline slutty, but I'm down with that.
OK, I admit it, I would happily spring for dinner based on the puffy pillowcase dress thing alone.
We had a drink at the bar then asked the host for our table (I had begrudgedly called ahead for a reservation). Turns out she's a pretty cool girl. She's smart, lived all over the world, and has interesting hobbies. The one thing that threw me off was that I thought I caught her in a couple of lies and/or gross exaggerations. For instance, she said she liked to sky dive. I said "That's cool, where did you go?" and she said "I've jumped all over the world, and had 2,000 jumps before my 21st birthday?" I admittedly don't know shit about skydiving, but it would seem to me that 2,000 jumps is a lot in a three year window unless you're in an Airborne unit. There were a few other things, that's just one example.
I am taking her sailing on Sunday, I need another date with her to see what she's really like.
Friday, September 16, 2011
Red Mercedes
I'm obviously in the midst of a sex recession.
Wednesday night I was walking the dog to the park and spotted this very cute chick getting out of her brand new perfectly waxed and polished red Mercedes SLK. She looked like she was just coming from the gym, all sweaty and in shorts and a t-shirt, but she was still really attractive.
Naturally, as I walked by, the dog stopped and took a monster shit on the sidewalk right next to her sparkling Benz. There really is no way of regaining your mojo after you've picked up half a pound of warm dog shit with a Home Depot bag, though. So, with warm shit in hand I nodded and walked off.
An hour later while I was on my way back home I saw my local meter-maid scooting up the street on his Segway. I was fifteen feet away from the Mercedes and he rolled up to the hottie's car and started to punch her info into his little machine. The dude is a younger African American guy with dreads that I see in the neighborhood all the time. While he was writing the ticket I said "Ah man, the girl who owns this car is hot, smoking hot, you can't give her a ticket!". He said "Who, this red car here?" I said "Yeah, I just saw the girl park it a little while ago, and she's incredible looking, you should let it go this time." He said "Really, she's that good looking?" I nodded and he said "Oh, yeah then, fuck it. But next time you see her you gotta tell her the only reason she didn't get a $50 ticket is because of you." Then he scooted off to his next victim.
So, Red Mercedes Hottie parked on 10th Street, you owe me, wherever you are.
Wednesday night I was walking the dog to the park and spotted this very cute chick getting out of her brand new perfectly waxed and polished red Mercedes SLK. She looked like she was just coming from the gym, all sweaty and in shorts and a t-shirt, but she was still really attractive.
Naturally, as I walked by, the dog stopped and took a monster shit on the sidewalk right next to her sparkling Benz. There really is no way of regaining your mojo after you've picked up half a pound of warm dog shit with a Home Depot bag, though. So, with warm shit in hand I nodded and walked off.
An hour later while I was on my way back home I saw my local meter-maid scooting up the street on his Segway. I was fifteen feet away from the Mercedes and he rolled up to the hottie's car and started to punch her info into his little machine. The dude is a younger African American guy with dreads that I see in the neighborhood all the time. While he was writing the ticket I said "Ah man, the girl who owns this car is hot, smoking hot, you can't give her a ticket!". He said "Who, this red car here?" I said "Yeah, I just saw the girl park it a little while ago, and she's incredible looking, you should let it go this time." He said "Really, she's that good looking?" I nodded and he said "Oh, yeah then, fuck it. But next time you see her you gotta tell her the only reason she didn't get a $50 ticket is because of you." Then he scooted off to his next victim.
So, Red Mercedes Hottie parked on 10th Street, you owe me, wherever you are.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Slightly Ashamed
I'm slightly ashamed of this, but only slightly.
There's a new amazonian blond in my office. She's basically the same as Trouble in my office last year, except she has a prettier face. She's 6' tall, thin, blond hair, blue eyes, you get the picture, she's your average Dallas woman, but I think she's from Arizona.
Anyway, Trouble II started at my office a few weeks ago and sits in the same area original Trouble used to sit in, which is on the far side of my building. I have no interaction with anyone where she sits, so I never bump into her. Trouble was in my office for a full year and I never said more than three words to her and I am determined not to make that same mistake twice. However, the only way I have come up with to talk with her long enough to ask her out is questionable (though I would like to think it's resourceful).
I control security at my buildings so I decided the best way to get a few minutes of one-on-one time with TII was to turn off her building access card. They go dead all the time, so it won't be all that obvious. Then, when she comes by to get a new one I can chat her up and hopefully ask her out.
I told my plan to my sister and she thought it was a great idea. She said "And if you guys start to date, it will make a great story". All I could think was that it might also make a great story at the restraining order hearing.
There's a new amazonian blond in my office. She's basically the same as Trouble in my office last year, except she has a prettier face. She's 6' tall, thin, blond hair, blue eyes, you get the picture, she's your average Dallas woman, but I think she's from Arizona.
Anyway, Trouble II started at my office a few weeks ago and sits in the same area original Trouble used to sit in, which is on the far side of my building. I have no interaction with anyone where she sits, so I never bump into her. Trouble was in my office for a full year and I never said more than three words to her and I am determined not to make that same mistake twice. However, the only way I have come up with to talk with her long enough to ask her out is questionable (though I would like to think it's resourceful).
I control security at my buildings so I decided the best way to get a few minutes of one-on-one time with TII was to turn off her building access card. They go dead all the time, so it won't be all that obvious. Then, when she comes by to get a new one I can chat her up and hopefully ask her out.
I told my plan to my sister and she thought it was a great idea. She said "And if you guys start to date, it will make a great story". All I could think was that it might also make a great story at the restraining order hearing.
Monday, September 12, 2011
You can't idiot-proof anything
My weekend started with a laundry list of items my Middle-Eastern-Princess tenant "urgently" needed repaired, only to find out that nothing was broken, she simply didn't know how to do or use anything. This got me thinking that you really can't make anything idiot-proof, people will always find excuses to be dumb, the most egregious excuse being "you never told me so". Should we really design society for the lowest common denominator of human common sense?
Take seat belts and Russian roulette as examples. We all know it's a law that you have to wear seat belts while driving, any first grader will tell you click-it or ticket, but do we really need a law making it illegal to drive without a seat belt? Shouldn't self-preservation be motivation enough to put a seat belt on? If not wanting to die from crushing ones skull against a tempered piece of glass doesn't compel you to click-it, what is a $50 fine going to do? Do we really need a law for this? Can't we just be happy to know that people who are too stupid to use a device designed to save their life probably won't live long enough to reproduce. It would be like making a law saying it's illegal to play Russian roulette (if there isn't already one). It seems to me that this problem corrects itself and we don't need to waste precious resources enatcing legislation or enforcing it. If you want to play Russian roulette or drive without a seat belt, by all means, go for it, you're only hurting yourself.
How about the fact that all coffee cups now have "Caution: Contents may be hot!" written on them. This is a great example of the "you never told me so" defense to stupidity. The last time I checked coffee is served fucking hot unless you specifically ask for it iced. Why do you need to be reminded it's hot? Do all your coffee mugs at home have the caution written on them? No? Then how do you know if the contents are hot or cold? If you order a coffee, then spill it on your balls, is printing a reminder on the cup that what's inside it is hot going to change anything? Not really, it just makes it harder for the idiot with the scalded nuts to sue and win money from the poor sap who sold it to him. This doesn't make a product safer, it's lawyers at work attempting to make something as simple as a cup of coffee "idiot-proof". You can't do it. How long until some blind dude burns his sack and they have to print that in braille on the cup?
Here's a real life example. Two weeks ago I got a call from an admin at my office who told me that she broke her big toe walking out of the ladies room because someone opened the door too quickly as she was leaving, and the door hit her toe. I listened to her for ten minutes about how dangerous the door was, and that there should be a sign stating "Open door slowly" on all the restroom doors. That makes about as much sense as putting a sign on the inside stating "keep toes away from swinging door". Really, am I responsible for idiot-proofing doors now? If you can't leave a restroom without breaking your toe I think we should have a long talk with your manager and see if you're really competent enough to do your job.
Ever wonder why all rear view mirrors on cars have "Objects in mirror are closer than they appear" written on them? You know some dumb fuck merged left into a truck, got clobbered, then sued claiming the truck looked one-three-hundredth of a mile further away than it actually was. I bet that asshole merged without ever looking, and now every car we buy costs $30 more because the manufacturer has to print that warning on my mirrors.
If these examples don't make sense to you, you're one of the ass clowns I'm talking about. The rest of you should be insulted that The Man feels your not intelligent enough to survive without rules and laws like this.
Take "No Turn On Red" signs at intersections. Once in a while I come to an intersection with a bad blind spot and it makes sense that you should wait for a green light to turn right. But by and large the majority of these signs are up because some fucking jagaloon pulled out into traffic and caused an accident, so the city decided it was easier to put up a sign than teach people to drive. You can't idiot-proof the streets with signage. If someone can't make a right turn on red without pulling into oncoming traffic or running over a pedestrian, no amount of signage is going to prevent them from eventually getting into an accident. Wouldn't it make more sense to take away his or her license than hang a sign? I've never gotten into an accident making a right on red, my record is clean, why am I being forced to sit at lights? Another one that pisses me off is sitting at a red arrow waiting to make a left turn, in the middle of the night, on a deserted street. There's no one coming, I can see three hundred yards in every direction, why can't I turn?
Can someone please explain to me why we have a minimum wage rate when unemployment is at ten percent? If you're willing to work for $4 an hour, what right does the government have to tell you you can't? I'm constantly reading about how the US is no longer a viable manufacturer. I'm no economist, but if we did away with minimum wage, and everyone went back to work making widgets, wouldn't that make our country a viable manufacturer? What ever happened to the "free hand" of the market?
If you want to see a true free market economy, uninhibited by government interference, go to the parking lot of Home Depot on Rhode Island Avenue and hire a day laborer. It's Econ 101. If the market is up, the demand for day laborers goes up, so wages increase. When the economy sucks, demand for day laborers goes down along with wages. You see it in real-time. Two years ago guys would work for $6-8 an hour. The economy seems to have improved a bit, and now no one will work for $6 an hour, the rate has gone up to $8-10. If a guy is really eager to work, though, shouldn't he have the right to do it for $5 an hour? Isn't this good for everyone? Labor has been around for twenty thousand years, why are we trying to idiot-proof it with regulation?
What it boils down to is that no one is willing to take responsibility for their actions. Some chicks is driving and spills a hot cup of McDonald's coffee on her twat, she gets embarrassed and needs to blame someone, and her lawyer convinces her that McDonald's is to blame because they didn't tell her the hot coffee she ordered was hot. She's stupid, her twat is deformed, so she sues. And since the jury on the case is a group of her equally dumb peers (because let's face it, anyone with half a brain can get out of jury duty if they want to) she wins millions and McDonld's has to print warnings on a billion cups. You're just never going to idiot-proof anything.
Take seat belts and Russian roulette as examples. We all know it's a law that you have to wear seat belts while driving, any first grader will tell you click-it or ticket, but do we really need a law making it illegal to drive without a seat belt? Shouldn't self-preservation be motivation enough to put a seat belt on? If not wanting to die from crushing ones skull against a tempered piece of glass doesn't compel you to click-it, what is a $50 fine going to do? Do we really need a law for this? Can't we just be happy to know that people who are too stupid to use a device designed to save their life probably won't live long enough to reproduce. It would be like making a law saying it's illegal to play Russian roulette (if there isn't already one). It seems to me that this problem corrects itself and we don't need to waste precious resources enatcing legislation or enforcing it. If you want to play Russian roulette or drive without a seat belt, by all means, go for it, you're only hurting yourself.
How about the fact that all coffee cups now have "Caution: Contents may be hot!" written on them. This is a great example of the "you never told me so" defense to stupidity. The last time I checked coffee is served fucking hot unless you specifically ask for it iced. Why do you need to be reminded it's hot? Do all your coffee mugs at home have the caution written on them? No? Then how do you know if the contents are hot or cold? If you order a coffee, then spill it on your balls, is printing a reminder on the cup that what's inside it is hot going to change anything? Not really, it just makes it harder for the idiot with the scalded nuts to sue and win money from the poor sap who sold it to him. This doesn't make a product safer, it's lawyers at work attempting to make something as simple as a cup of coffee "idiot-proof". You can't do it. How long until some blind dude burns his sack and they have to print that in braille on the cup?
Here's a real life example. Two weeks ago I got a call from an admin at my office who told me that she broke her big toe walking out of the ladies room because someone opened the door too quickly as she was leaving, and the door hit her toe. I listened to her for ten minutes about how dangerous the door was, and that there should be a sign stating "Open door slowly" on all the restroom doors. That makes about as much sense as putting a sign on the inside stating "keep toes away from swinging door". Really, am I responsible for idiot-proofing doors now? If you can't leave a restroom without breaking your toe I think we should have a long talk with your manager and see if you're really competent enough to do your job.
Ever wonder why all rear view mirrors on cars have "Objects in mirror are closer than they appear" written on them? You know some dumb fuck merged left into a truck, got clobbered, then sued claiming the truck looked one-three-hundredth of a mile further away than it actually was. I bet that asshole merged without ever looking, and now every car we buy costs $30 more because the manufacturer has to print that warning on my mirrors.
If these examples don't make sense to you, you're one of the ass clowns I'm talking about. The rest of you should be insulted that The Man feels your not intelligent enough to survive without rules and laws like this.
Take "No Turn On Red" signs at intersections. Once in a while I come to an intersection with a bad blind spot and it makes sense that you should wait for a green light to turn right. But by and large the majority of these signs are up because some fucking jagaloon pulled out into traffic and caused an accident, so the city decided it was easier to put up a sign than teach people to drive. You can't idiot-proof the streets with signage. If someone can't make a right turn on red without pulling into oncoming traffic or running over a pedestrian, no amount of signage is going to prevent them from eventually getting into an accident. Wouldn't it make more sense to take away his or her license than hang a sign? I've never gotten into an accident making a right on red, my record is clean, why am I being forced to sit at lights? Another one that pisses me off is sitting at a red arrow waiting to make a left turn, in the middle of the night, on a deserted street. There's no one coming, I can see three hundred yards in every direction, why can't I turn?
Can someone please explain to me why we have a minimum wage rate when unemployment is at ten percent? If you're willing to work for $4 an hour, what right does the government have to tell you you can't? I'm constantly reading about how the US is no longer a viable manufacturer. I'm no economist, but if we did away with minimum wage, and everyone went back to work making widgets, wouldn't that make our country a viable manufacturer? What ever happened to the "free hand" of the market?
If you want to see a true free market economy, uninhibited by government interference, go to the parking lot of Home Depot on Rhode Island Avenue and hire a day laborer. It's Econ 101. If the market is up, the demand for day laborers goes up, so wages increase. When the economy sucks, demand for day laborers goes down along with wages. You see it in real-time. Two years ago guys would work for $6-8 an hour. The economy seems to have improved a bit, and now no one will work for $6 an hour, the rate has gone up to $8-10. If a guy is really eager to work, though, shouldn't he have the right to do it for $5 an hour? Isn't this good for everyone? Labor has been around for twenty thousand years, why are we trying to idiot-proof it with regulation?
What it boils down to is that no one is willing to take responsibility for their actions. Some chicks is driving and spills a hot cup of McDonald's coffee on her twat, she gets embarrassed and needs to blame someone, and her lawyer convinces her that McDonald's is to blame because they didn't tell her the hot coffee she ordered was hot. She's stupid, her twat is deformed, so she sues. And since the jury on the case is a group of her equally dumb peers (because let's face it, anyone with half a brain can get out of jury duty if they want to) she wins millions and McDonld's has to print warnings on a billion cups. You're just never going to idiot-proof anything.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Gnome Run
Last year I agreed to run a 5K road race with my buddy C-Roc this Labor Day weekend. Like most of my poor decisions, this was decided at a bar after many, many grain-based drinks, and forgotten as soon as the booze wore off. Two weeks ago when C-Roc asked how my training was coming along and it all came rushing back to me.
I wrestled all through high school and did a lot of running during that period. We would run in the morning, have practice in the afternoon, then run again at night during dinner time because we couldn't eat. I even ran cross country a couple of years to get in shape before wrestling. But when wrestling season ended senior year I hung up my running shoes and have only jogged sporadically since then. I truly hate it (as an aside, I think people who decide to run marathons late in life are nonathletic clowns trying in vain to prove that they have some athletic ability...but what they don't get is that running is not athleticism. Anyone can run and win a race, they only need to be willing to train harder than their opponent).
A three mile run isn't a big deal, though. I could walk outside and run three miles anytime I want to, but I'll be running the race with C-Roc, my former wrestling training partner, AKA, Mr. Competitive. Anything we do together is a no holds barred fight for bragging rights that always degenerates into a physical brawl.
As an example, our junior year in high school the gym we trained at put in a boxing ring for "sparring". The day it was finished we checked out two sets of gloves and head gear and climbed between the ropes. For good reason we were afraid of breaking each other's ribs, so we said that only "head shots" were allowed, then stood there for three minutes and exchanged haymakers to one another's faces. My arms are longer so I jabbed him in the nose and kept him at a safe distance most of the time. After one stiff jab that I though stunned him I eased back for a second to let him gather his wits and he hauled off and landed an uppercut to my chin. I woke up on the canvas a second later with him standing over me laughing and the owner of the gym screaming at us to "take off that fucking gear and get the fuck out of the ring". We were never allowed to get into the ring, much less spar, again.
I should mention that C-Roc is built like a spark plug. He's five foot nothing, a hundred and eighty pounds of muscle, and determined like no one I've ever met before. He played center on our varsity football team and would routinely reduce opponents twice his size to tears. In the heat of battle he's like a Tasmanian Devil on Angel Dust.
When C-Roc and I became roommates after college we would have "feats of strength" challenges when we got home from the bars. Our favorite challenge was to see who could do more hand-stand push ups. We could each do a couple at the time before our arms would give out and we would come crashing to the carper on our heads. Another favorite was one C-Roc claimed was possible, but that we were never able to do, were called the "two legged table". This feat of strength consisted of getting on all fours on the ground and seeing if you could pick up your hands without toppling forward. Supposedly you can do this if you have enough core strength, but I think you need thirty pound calves for it to be possible. We tried on a regular basis and both have had cuts on our foreheads to remind us.
In the event of a tie after "feats of strength" we would wrestle until submission or blackout to determine the winner.
Even going to the beach was a competition. One day we were relaxing at the beach with Chuck and saw two little kids burying each other. C-Roc said to Chuck "I bet you couldn't bury me to the point I can't get out", and next thing I know there's a five foot deep hole in the sand near the water line and C-Roc is standing in it. Chuck filled it in until only C-Roc's head was above the sand and sure as shit he somehow got out. He was like the Hulk, he just growled, raised his arms then pushed his body out of the sand. If Jesus was walking by on the water I would have been like "Yeah, but Jesus, did you just see this shit over here?"
So basically what I'm saying is that I've been training so I can sprint three miles while engaged in hand-to-hand combat with freakishly strong gnome.
I wrestled all through high school and did a lot of running during that period. We would run in the morning, have practice in the afternoon, then run again at night during dinner time because we couldn't eat. I even ran cross country a couple of years to get in shape before wrestling. But when wrestling season ended senior year I hung up my running shoes and have only jogged sporadically since then. I truly hate it (as an aside, I think people who decide to run marathons late in life are nonathletic clowns trying in vain to prove that they have some athletic ability...but what they don't get is that running is not athleticism. Anyone can run and win a race, they only need to be willing to train harder than their opponent).
A three mile run isn't a big deal, though. I could walk outside and run three miles anytime I want to, but I'll be running the race with C-Roc, my former wrestling training partner, AKA, Mr. Competitive. Anything we do together is a no holds barred fight for bragging rights that always degenerates into a physical brawl.
As an example, our junior year in high school the gym we trained at put in a boxing ring for "sparring". The day it was finished we checked out two sets of gloves and head gear and climbed between the ropes. For good reason we were afraid of breaking each other's ribs, so we said that only "head shots" were allowed, then stood there for three minutes and exchanged haymakers to one another's faces. My arms are longer so I jabbed him in the nose and kept him at a safe distance most of the time. After one stiff jab that I though stunned him I eased back for a second to let him gather his wits and he hauled off and landed an uppercut to my chin. I woke up on the canvas a second later with him standing over me laughing and the owner of the gym screaming at us to "take off that fucking gear and get the fuck out of the ring". We were never allowed to get into the ring, much less spar, again.
I should mention that C-Roc is built like a spark plug. He's five foot nothing, a hundred and eighty pounds of muscle, and determined like no one I've ever met before. He played center on our varsity football team and would routinely reduce opponents twice his size to tears. In the heat of battle he's like a Tasmanian Devil on Angel Dust.
When C-Roc and I became roommates after college we would have "feats of strength" challenges when we got home from the bars. Our favorite challenge was to see who could do more hand-stand push ups. We could each do a couple at the time before our arms would give out and we would come crashing to the carper on our heads. Another favorite was one C-Roc claimed was possible, but that we were never able to do, were called the "two legged table". This feat of strength consisted of getting on all fours on the ground and seeing if you could pick up your hands without toppling forward. Supposedly you can do this if you have enough core strength, but I think you need thirty pound calves for it to be possible. We tried on a regular basis and both have had cuts on our foreheads to remind us.
In the event of a tie after "feats of strength" we would wrestle until submission or blackout to determine the winner.
Even going to the beach was a competition. One day we were relaxing at the beach with Chuck and saw two little kids burying each other. C-Roc said to Chuck "I bet you couldn't bury me to the point I can't get out", and next thing I know there's a five foot deep hole in the sand near the water line and C-Roc is standing in it. Chuck filled it in until only C-Roc's head was above the sand and sure as shit he somehow got out. He was like the Hulk, he just growled, raised his arms then pushed his body out of the sand. If Jesus was walking by on the water I would have been like "Yeah, but Jesus, did you just see this shit over here?"
So basically what I'm saying is that I've been training so I can sprint three miles while engaged in hand-to-hand combat with freakishly strong gnome.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Sausage Finger Mimosas
Sausage Fingers just sent me a text asking if I would like to get Mimosas tomorrow morning at 7am when her shift ends. I thought she was kidding, but she isn't. If I didn't have to go to Richmond tomorrow morning I probably would have taken her up on it just to see if morning happy hour works like evening happy hour: people get off work, get drunk, then get laid.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Divorce Sucks
Once again, the fear mongers on our network TV stations worked everyone up into a lather over nothing. Hurricane Irene was a moist fart here in DC. I think the insurance companies could hedge their bets nicely buy buying stock in milk, egg, and bread distributors. Anything they would pay out in claims in an actual emergency would be more than made up by milk, egg and bread sales in all the false alarms.
I have to admit, I bought into the hype on this storm. I used Irene as an excuse to buy a Honda generator I've been pining over all summer (it can also power my boat), so that cost me a grand before the first cloud appeared in the sky. Then, just as the rain started I realized I only had a handle of white rum, a half bottle of dark rum and vodka each, three beers, a fifth of scotch, an unopened bottle of Hendrick's gin, and a full twelve-bottle wine rack in the house. Like any aspiring alcoholic, I wasn't content with this stash because I didn't know how long it would have to hold me. I mean, who knows how long the liquor stores would be closed, remember Katrina? If I was going to stranded waiting for a Coast Guard chopper to pluck me off my roof that would never be enough booze. I decided a Schneider's run would be prudent and picked up a case of Bud and an emergency bottle of Patron (for Cinco de Mayo, you never know...)
While I was at Schneider's it occurred to me that I only had a can of black beans, a moldy cucumber and hot sauce in my fridge, so I'd better stop at the grocery store (for mixers). It just so happens that there is a mom and pop market across from Schneiders. In retrospect, what I bought is amusing:
- two 1.5lb packages of 90:10 ground beef
- one 2lb package boneless skinless chicken breasts
- four pounds pasta (two pounds each Fettuccine and Rotini - let the record show I've never bought Rotini before in my life)
- one yellow onion
- one red onion
- one head of lettuce
- one package tomatoes
- four cans crushed tomatoes
- twelve limes (I think you can see where my priorities were)
- one package corn tortillas
- four boxes rice (??????)
- one package of American cheese singles (the hound can't get enough of them)
I love this list because it's both random, and useless. Almost nothing here can be combined to make a real meal (at least not a square one).
Anyway, enough about Irene.
I've pretty much given up on Asia. We've made plans four times in the past few weeks and we each cancelled twice. I'm sick of texting and trying to make plans, I don't have the patience to keep it up. The ball is in her court now, if she wants to get together she can organize it.
The same goes for Sausage Fingers, who has reached out to me a few times to get drinks. She works irregular hours and will ask me if I want to get drinks at 3 in the afternoon. She can't grasp the 9-5 work concept.
Last week I heard a story that made my stomach turn. My buddy come home from work one afternoon and his wife told him that she doesn't love him anymore, that she rented an apartment outside of NYC and was moving there with their two kids. they were having some issues, but it sounds like he was blind sided by her moving out. She has always been pretty much worthless. My buddy is a financial whiz and was sent to Portland Maine after college to turn around some company. While he was there he met his soon-to-be-ex-wife, who was working as a teller at the branch he banked out. She was young and attractive, but basically didn't have anything else going for her, so she used her good looks and my friend's big heart to get out of east butt fuck Maine. My friend, Hutch, is now worth tens of millions, or at least is until she takes half in their impending divorce. The truly sad part is that they have two young sons. so now Hutch has to deal with this cunt for the rest of his life because they have two kids together.
The really sickening part of the story is that myself and two other buddies each pulled Hutch aside just prior to his engagement and told him he couldn't marry the girl. She was a bitch before they got engaged, marriage wasn't going to improve her demeanor. More importantly, she had no ambition. She never went to college, and as soon as they got engaged she stopped working (and hasn't had a job since). So I figure she will probably walk away with about $8M after eight years of marriage. Maybe she was more ambitious than we gave her credit for. I really feel badly for the guy.
I have to admit, I bought into the hype on this storm. I used Irene as an excuse to buy a Honda generator I've been pining over all summer (it can also power my boat), so that cost me a grand before the first cloud appeared in the sky. Then, just as the rain started I realized I only had a handle of white rum, a half bottle of dark rum and vodka each, three beers, a fifth of scotch, an unopened bottle of Hendrick's gin, and a full twelve-bottle wine rack in the house. Like any aspiring alcoholic, I wasn't content with this stash because I didn't know how long it would have to hold me. I mean, who knows how long the liquor stores would be closed, remember Katrina? If I was going to stranded waiting for a Coast Guard chopper to pluck me off my roof that would never be enough booze. I decided a Schneider's run would be prudent and picked up a case of Bud and an emergency bottle of Patron (for Cinco de Mayo, you never know...)
While I was at Schneider's it occurred to me that I only had a can of black beans, a moldy cucumber and hot sauce in my fridge, so I'd better stop at the grocery store (for mixers). It just so happens that there is a mom and pop market across from Schneiders. In retrospect, what I bought is amusing:
- two 1.5lb packages of 90:10 ground beef
- one 2lb package boneless skinless chicken breasts
- four pounds pasta (two pounds each Fettuccine and Rotini - let the record show I've never bought Rotini before in my life)
- one yellow onion
- one red onion
- one head of lettuce
- one package tomatoes
- four cans crushed tomatoes
- twelve limes (I think you can see where my priorities were)
- one package corn tortillas
- four boxes rice (??????)
- one package of American cheese singles (the hound can't get enough of them)
I love this list because it's both random, and useless. Almost nothing here can be combined to make a real meal (at least not a square one).
Anyway, enough about Irene.
I've pretty much given up on Asia. We've made plans four times in the past few weeks and we each cancelled twice. I'm sick of texting and trying to make plans, I don't have the patience to keep it up. The ball is in her court now, if she wants to get together she can organize it.
The same goes for Sausage Fingers, who has reached out to me a few times to get drinks. She works irregular hours and will ask me if I want to get drinks at 3 in the afternoon. She can't grasp the 9-5 work concept.
Last week I heard a story that made my stomach turn. My buddy come home from work one afternoon and his wife told him that she doesn't love him anymore, that she rented an apartment outside of NYC and was moving there with their two kids. they were having some issues, but it sounds like he was blind sided by her moving out. She has always been pretty much worthless. My buddy is a financial whiz and was sent to Portland Maine after college to turn around some company. While he was there he met his soon-to-be-ex-wife, who was working as a teller at the branch he banked out. She was young and attractive, but basically didn't have anything else going for her, so she used her good looks and my friend's big heart to get out of east butt fuck Maine. My friend, Hutch, is now worth tens of millions, or at least is until she takes half in their impending divorce. The truly sad part is that they have two young sons. so now Hutch has to deal with this cunt for the rest of his life because they have two kids together.
The really sickening part of the story is that myself and two other buddies each pulled Hutch aside just prior to his engagement and told him he couldn't marry the girl. She was a bitch before they got engaged, marriage wasn't going to improve her demeanor. More importantly, she had no ambition. She never went to college, and as soon as they got engaged she stopped working (and hasn't had a job since). So I figure she will probably walk away with about $8M after eight years of marriage. Maybe she was more ambitious than we gave her credit for. I really feel badly for the guy.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Wish this story had a better ending
Yesterday was a long, stressful, aggravating day on the road and in my new Richmond office. When I got to my hotel I had a drink at the bar, checked in, showered, then headed to an area in the southern end of the city known as "Shokoe Slip", which apparently means "Twilight Zone" in some ancient Richmond language. This is a bar/restaurant area kind of like a small version of Adam's Morgan.
Anyway, I picked a restaurant and took a seat at the bar with my book. Before I could even order a drink this hammered cougar accosted me. It was the usual nonsense "Oh, how old are you...how old do I look...I have kids older than you...where are you from..." She was old as hell but you could tell she was probably pretty cute before electricity. I entertained her for a bit, then she grabbed my hand and said "No ring?" I told her I was married but that I took my ring off and left it at the hotel. She wasn't fazed a bit, she plopped down in the empty seat next to me and threw her arm over my shoulder "Whatcha readin'?".
At this point I hear a young girl yell "Mom!", and the cougar jumped up and said "OK, here I come". Just before she walked away she whispered in my ear "I live in a big house up the street, alone. I have rubbers, I'm clean, I have test results showing that I don't have AIDS. I'll slip you a business card."
I can still hear her saying "RUBBERS". It sounded really dirty, and not in a good way.
So, first thought is that she's a hooker, right? But I don't think so. I really just got the impression that she's lonely old fart looking for someone to give her the high hard one, just to make her feel like she's still a hottie. That someone wasn't going to be me, that's for sure.
The plot thickens.
Turns out she's there with her daughter and a big group of her friends who are all in some medical grad program at one of the local universities. The girls were young, early 20's, and drinking wine by the bottle at a pretty good clip. I ordered some dinner and got back to my book.
While I was reading and eating one of the friends came to the bar and asked the bartender about two bottles of wine. One of the bottles she mentioned happened to be an Argentine wine that I really like, and probably the only bottle of wine I know by name, so I told her she should really try it.
The girl ordered the bottle and then another ten minutes later. While she waited for the second bottle she sat down next to me and we started talking. I noticed she had on a diamond ring, but she was being inappropriately flirty. I expect it from older women, but it was unusual for such a young girl because they are still in that (delusional) honeymoon period. As we talked the cougar came over to me and slid her business card into the side of my book and said "email me later".
Almost right after the cougar walked away her daughter walked over to the two of us and said "Who's this?", pointing at me. The girl said "This is the guy that recommended the wine" and the daughter said, in this really sarcastic tone "Oh, he must know something about wine because he's reading such a big book" then picked up my book and flopped it over to see what the cover was. I'm reading Keith Richard's biography, but she said "Yeah, see, really heavy reading, it's written by that Seinfeld guy". I laughed. She obviously had a very high opinion of herself and thought that she was very bright. I said "Yeah, pretty sure you're thinking of Michael Richards, the actor that plays Kramer. This is Keith Richards, he plays guitar". She waived her hand up into the air and said "Never heard of him, what band?"
I ignored her and kept talking to the friend, who had one hand on my leg and the other permanently attached to the wine glass. The daughter said "WHAT BAND!?!" I said "I'll give you a hint, it's one of your mom's favorites. Oh, and here, you can give her her card back, I'm not going to call her." and I pulled her mom's business card out of my book and handed it to her. She looked at the card for a second then stomped off, literally.
I asked the friend about the ring on her finger and she said that she has been married for 3 years. I could tell by the tone in which she replied, the look on her face, and the hand still on my leg that is hasn't been a happy three years. She said "So how often are you in Richmond?". I said that I will be there off and on for the next few months on a project, and she asked me for my number.
I realize I'm not the poster child for Christian morals, but I did have a moment of pause when she asked me for my number. I've hooked up with married women before but they were all in the process of getting a divorce. This girl was married and living with her husband. The distinction may seem like splitting hairs, I mean married is married, but it made me a little uncomfortable.
Not so uncomfortable that I didn't give her my number, though.
It probably won't be an issue. I'm sure she was hammered and I'll never hear from her again.
The girl invited me to join her and the cougar's daughter to a party nearby, but I had to be at work early in the morning and declined. I took a cab back to my hotel and that was it for the night.
Anyway, I picked a restaurant and took a seat at the bar with my book. Before I could even order a drink this hammered cougar accosted me. It was the usual nonsense "Oh, how old are you...how old do I look...I have kids older than you...where are you from..." She was old as hell but you could tell she was probably pretty cute before electricity. I entertained her for a bit, then she grabbed my hand and said "No ring?" I told her I was married but that I took my ring off and left it at the hotel. She wasn't fazed a bit, she plopped down in the empty seat next to me and threw her arm over my shoulder "Whatcha readin'?".
At this point I hear a young girl yell "Mom!", and the cougar jumped up and said "OK, here I come". Just before she walked away she whispered in my ear "I live in a big house up the street, alone. I have rubbers, I'm clean, I have test results showing that I don't have AIDS. I'll slip you a business card."
I can still hear her saying "RUBBERS". It sounded really dirty, and not in a good way.
So, first thought is that she's a hooker, right? But I don't think so. I really just got the impression that she's lonely old fart looking for someone to give her the high hard one, just to make her feel like she's still a hottie. That someone wasn't going to be me, that's for sure.
The plot thickens.
Turns out she's there with her daughter and a big group of her friends who are all in some medical grad program at one of the local universities. The girls were young, early 20's, and drinking wine by the bottle at a pretty good clip. I ordered some dinner and got back to my book.
While I was reading and eating one of the friends came to the bar and asked the bartender about two bottles of wine. One of the bottles she mentioned happened to be an Argentine wine that I really like, and probably the only bottle of wine I know by name, so I told her she should really try it.
The girl ordered the bottle and then another ten minutes later. While she waited for the second bottle she sat down next to me and we started talking. I noticed she had on a diamond ring, but she was being inappropriately flirty. I expect it from older women, but it was unusual for such a young girl because they are still in that (delusional) honeymoon period. As we talked the cougar came over to me and slid her business card into the side of my book and said "email me later".
Almost right after the cougar walked away her daughter walked over to the two of us and said "Who's this?", pointing at me. The girl said "This is the guy that recommended the wine" and the daughter said, in this really sarcastic tone "Oh, he must know something about wine because he's reading such a big book" then picked up my book and flopped it over to see what the cover was. I'm reading Keith Richard's biography, but she said "Yeah, see, really heavy reading, it's written by that Seinfeld guy". I laughed. She obviously had a very high opinion of herself and thought that she was very bright. I said "Yeah, pretty sure you're thinking of Michael Richards, the actor that plays Kramer. This is Keith Richards, he plays guitar". She waived her hand up into the air and said "Never heard of him, what band?"
I ignored her and kept talking to the friend, who had one hand on my leg and the other permanently attached to the wine glass. The daughter said "WHAT BAND!?!" I said "I'll give you a hint, it's one of your mom's favorites. Oh, and here, you can give her her card back, I'm not going to call her." and I pulled her mom's business card out of my book and handed it to her. She looked at the card for a second then stomped off, literally.
I asked the friend about the ring on her finger and she said that she has been married for 3 years. I could tell by the tone in which she replied, the look on her face, and the hand still on my leg that is hasn't been a happy three years. She said "So how often are you in Richmond?". I said that I will be there off and on for the next few months on a project, and she asked me for my number.
I realize I'm not the poster child for Christian morals, but I did have a moment of pause when she asked me for my number. I've hooked up with married women before but they were all in the process of getting a divorce. This girl was married and living with her husband. The distinction may seem like splitting hairs, I mean married is married, but it made me a little uncomfortable.
Not so uncomfortable that I didn't give her my number, though.
It probably won't be an issue. I'm sure she was hammered and I'll never hear from her again.
The girl invited me to join her and the cougar's daughter to a party nearby, but I had to be at work early in the morning and declined. I took a cab back to my hotel and that was it for the night.
Monday, August 15, 2011
Sausage Fingers
Strange fucking weekend.
Saturday afternoon I had plans to go out to the boat to get some work done, but I had a slight case of the Irish flu from the prior evening's festivities and spent most of the day on the couch. At noon I got a text from Nurse asking if I wanted to get together that night. After an obnoxiously long game of phone tag and fifteen text messages, we picked a spot and said we would meet at 8pm.
I don't know if women can't tell time, are inconsiderate, lack some punctuality gene, are disorganized, or what, but I just expect them to be 30 minutes late these days. So, I wasn't surprised when Nurse came rolling in at ten minutes to nine. I can't say I even minded, I sat at the bar and had a few vodkas and talked to buddy who works there.
When I met Nurse she was sitting, and I never saw her stand up, so when she walked into the restaurant Saturday I was surprised to see how tall and thin she was, she was almost my height. She had on a low cut black shirt and tight jeans. We had an awkward ass-out hug, then sat down. When Nurse sat down she leaned way forward and hung her purse on a hook under the bar. When she leaned over her boobs basically spilled out of her shirt, it's not like I was trying to look, and they looked a little too perfect.
Nurse-
The pros:
Nurse was cool. She's easy to talk to, has a good sense of humor, is into the outdoors. We have a lot in common and the conversation flowed well.
The cons:
She's almost a tom boy - a tall blond tom boy with a big fake rack. She's kind of a butter face, too. The most disturbing thing, though, is that she has the strangest hands. They are small, short...thick. Thick is the best way to describe them. They are small thick hands, with short thick sausage-fingers. They are the hands of a mason, or a midget, attached to a lanky blond. Once I noticed her hands I couldn't take my eyes off them. I couldn't decide if the thought of her hands on my cock were revolting, or cool because my dick would look giant being held by those short, thick, fingers.
Maybe she is a dude, I didn't think of that until just now. The fake boobs, the man hands. Is it rude to ask "So, do you, or did you ever, have a cock? Like, your own, attached to you? No. Great! Want to come over to my hot tub?"
The evening ended with another hug and we walked our separate ways. I don't think I'll call Nurse, AKA Sausage Fingers, again.
Friday I called Asia and left her a voicemail. I heard my phone ring while I was riding home from the office, and when I got home I saw that she had called me back and left a message. Asia was out of town this weekend, but said we should get together this week for drinks.
At 6:30 Friday night my boss called me and said that as of September 1st I was being given a promotion. New job, more responsibility, big pay increase, annual bonus, stock options, it's a great position.
Saturday afternoon I had plans to go out to the boat to get some work done, but I had a slight case of the Irish flu from the prior evening's festivities and spent most of the day on the couch. At noon I got a text from Nurse asking if I wanted to get together that night. After an obnoxiously long game of phone tag and fifteen text messages, we picked a spot and said we would meet at 8pm.
I don't know if women can't tell time, are inconsiderate, lack some punctuality gene, are disorganized, or what, but I just expect them to be 30 minutes late these days. So, I wasn't surprised when Nurse came rolling in at ten minutes to nine. I can't say I even minded, I sat at the bar and had a few vodkas and talked to buddy who works there.
When I met Nurse she was sitting, and I never saw her stand up, so when she walked into the restaurant Saturday I was surprised to see how tall and thin she was, she was almost my height. She had on a low cut black shirt and tight jeans. We had an awkward ass-out hug, then sat down. When Nurse sat down she leaned way forward and hung her purse on a hook under the bar. When she leaned over her boobs basically spilled out of her shirt, it's not like I was trying to look, and they looked a little too perfect.
Nurse-
The pros:
Nurse was cool. She's easy to talk to, has a good sense of humor, is into the outdoors. We have a lot in common and the conversation flowed well.
The cons:
She's almost a tom boy - a tall blond tom boy with a big fake rack. She's kind of a butter face, too. The most disturbing thing, though, is that she has the strangest hands. They are small, short...thick. Thick is the best way to describe them. They are small thick hands, with short thick sausage-fingers. They are the hands of a mason, or a midget, attached to a lanky blond. Once I noticed her hands I couldn't take my eyes off them. I couldn't decide if the thought of her hands on my cock were revolting, or cool because my dick would look giant being held by those short, thick, fingers.
Maybe she is a dude, I didn't think of that until just now. The fake boobs, the man hands. Is it rude to ask "So, do you, or did you ever, have a cock? Like, your own, attached to you? No. Great! Want to come over to my hot tub?"
The evening ended with another hug and we walked our separate ways. I don't think I'll call Nurse, AKA Sausage Fingers, again.
Friday I called Asia and left her a voicemail. I heard my phone ring while I was riding home from the office, and when I got home I saw that she had called me back and left a message. Asia was out of town this weekend, but said we should get together this week for drinks.
At 6:30 Friday night my boss called me and said that as of September 1st I was being given a promotion. New job, more responsibility, big pay increase, annual bonus, stock options, it's a great position.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Nurse and Asia
First off, I called Nurse last week and she's giving me the runaround. I don't care if she's interested or not, but why flirt with me, give me your phone number, then pull this shit?
Last week I called her and left a message on her voicemail saying hello and asking her to give me a call. Nurse responded with a text saying she was working the next few days then was going to be out of town for the weekend, but that we should get together the following week (this week). I said fine and haven't heard from her since. Classic blow-off. I suppose I've been guilty of the same once or twice.
Recently I've been going to Wednesday Reggea night at 18th Street Lounge. What I like about it, aside from the music, is that it has a strong following, so I see a lot of the same people there each week.
A few weeks ago I met this Asian girl who was there with this other chick I know. We talked for a short time and she seemed pretty cool. She is five years younger me, about 5'3", really pretty face, long black hair, and a great body (rock-solid legs). My friend later told me that she's half Asian, half Greek, which you would never know by looking at her, she look's 100% Asian, but I'd like to send her parents a thank you card for getting together - fantastic work! My friend wasn't sure what her Asian heritage is, so I'll just call her Asia.
The first night I met Asia my friend said she is a little shy and that some people say she's reserved and "boring", which is a let down because she was so cute. She arrived just as I was leaving and we only talked for a few minutes. She did seem shy, but I wouldn't go so far as boring.
Last night I was there with a group of friends from work and was at the bar waiting for a drink when I saw Asia. I poked her as she walked past and she came over and gave me a huge hug and a kiss. I thought "Jesus, I've only met her once, she's pretty friendly". She was there with the other girl I know, Maggie, so I asked them if they would like a drink. Maggie said she'd have a water, and Asia said she would have one of whatever I was getting, which was a rum and coke. I got the drinks, handed Asia hers, then made my way through the crowd to Maggie to give her hers. As we walked Asia held my arm and tickled the inside of my bicep. When we got to where Maggie was Asia turned to me and said "This isn't a water!" and I said "I know, it's a rum and coke, you said you wanted what I was having. Would you like something else?" She said she wanted a water and handed me the drink and went over to the bar. She came back a few minutes later with another rum and coke for herself. I turned to Maggie and asked what the hell was up with Asia, and she said that she was hammered.
Apparently Asia had gone out with some dude earlier in the night and had a bunch of drinks, then met up with Maggie and the three of them went to the bar. Then, they met up with some other dude that has been chasing Asia. So now the five of us are standing in a circle and the two dudes took turns trying to impress Asia, which got old quickly. After a few minutes of that nonsense I went back over to the group of friends I had some with and hung out with them.
Towards the end of the night the back porch had thinned out a bit and we were all standing around and I saw Asia off to the side sending a text. I had forgot my phone at home last night, so I walked over to her and said "Here, put my number in your phone", which is basically what I did with Beads. Asia typed in my number and hit send so her number would be in my phone. I told her I had left my phone at home, but that I would give her a call and that we would go out some time. Asia said "Well, we'll see, you haven't shown me much tonight". I asked what she meant by that, and Asia said that I hadn't shown any interest in her all night. I said "Well, I didn't feel like competing with your other two dates. There's a few too many roosters in the hen house." She said "OK, we'll see".
I went home shortly after that.
I have Asia's number, but I'm not sure she'll remember giving it to me. I firmly believe in "en vino veritas", so think that all her touchy-feely behavior when I first saw her is a good sign.
Last week I called her and left a message on her voicemail saying hello and asking her to give me a call. Nurse responded with a text saying she was working the next few days then was going to be out of town for the weekend, but that we should get together the following week (this week). I said fine and haven't heard from her since. Classic blow-off. I suppose I've been guilty of the same once or twice.
Recently I've been going to Wednesday Reggea night at 18th Street Lounge. What I like about it, aside from the music, is that it has a strong following, so I see a lot of the same people there each week.
A few weeks ago I met this Asian girl who was there with this other chick I know. We talked for a short time and she seemed pretty cool. She is five years younger me, about 5'3", really pretty face, long black hair, and a great body (rock-solid legs). My friend later told me that she's half Asian, half Greek, which you would never know by looking at her, she look's 100% Asian, but I'd like to send her parents a thank you card for getting together - fantastic work! My friend wasn't sure what her Asian heritage is, so I'll just call her Asia.
The first night I met Asia my friend said she is a little shy and that some people say she's reserved and "boring", which is a let down because she was so cute. She arrived just as I was leaving and we only talked for a few minutes. She did seem shy, but I wouldn't go so far as boring.
Last night I was there with a group of friends from work and was at the bar waiting for a drink when I saw Asia. I poked her as she walked past and she came over and gave me a huge hug and a kiss. I thought "Jesus, I've only met her once, she's pretty friendly". She was there with the other girl I know, Maggie, so I asked them if they would like a drink. Maggie said she'd have a water, and Asia said she would have one of whatever I was getting, which was a rum and coke. I got the drinks, handed Asia hers, then made my way through the crowd to Maggie to give her hers. As we walked Asia held my arm and tickled the inside of my bicep. When we got to where Maggie was Asia turned to me and said "This isn't a water!" and I said "I know, it's a rum and coke, you said you wanted what I was having. Would you like something else?" She said she wanted a water and handed me the drink and went over to the bar. She came back a few minutes later with another rum and coke for herself. I turned to Maggie and asked what the hell was up with Asia, and she said that she was hammered.
Apparently Asia had gone out with some dude earlier in the night and had a bunch of drinks, then met up with Maggie and the three of them went to the bar. Then, they met up with some other dude that has been chasing Asia. So now the five of us are standing in a circle and the two dudes took turns trying to impress Asia, which got old quickly. After a few minutes of that nonsense I went back over to the group of friends I had some with and hung out with them.
Towards the end of the night the back porch had thinned out a bit and we were all standing around and I saw Asia off to the side sending a text. I had forgot my phone at home last night, so I walked over to her and said "Here, put my number in your phone", which is basically what I did with Beads. Asia typed in my number and hit send so her number would be in my phone. I told her I had left my phone at home, but that I would give her a call and that we would go out some time. Asia said "Well, we'll see, you haven't shown me much tonight". I asked what she meant by that, and Asia said that I hadn't shown any interest in her all night. I said "Well, I didn't feel like competing with your other two dates. There's a few too many roosters in the hen house." She said "OK, we'll see".
I went home shortly after that.
I have Asia's number, but I'm not sure she'll remember giving it to me. I firmly believe in "en vino veritas", so think that all her touchy-feely behavior when I first saw her is a good sign.
Monday, August 1, 2011
Nurse
This past weekend was "tenant turnover" at my Georgetown house, which is always a Chinese fire drill. I have 24 hours to get the old tenants out, make any repairs that are needed, then walk the new tenants through the next day. Obviously, I spent most of my weekend at the house, but I did manage to meet a cute nurse Friday night.
Friday night I worked late and wasn't in the mood to go out or cook, so after walking the dog I went down to 8th Street to get some take out. I went to one of my favorite spots down there where I know a couple of bartenders and ordered food. Before I was done with me order one of my friends slid me a beer and said "I poured this by mistake, have one on me". He's no dummy, he knows that if he can get me to have one, I'll probably stay for 4 more and eat there, which is exactly what happened. I bellied up to the bar and "take out" turned into 3 hours at the bar eating and drinking.
Sitting on my left was a blond girl talking to another guy on her left. I overheard bits and pieces of their conversation and it sounded like a first date. They were talking about what they did, where they had lived, and played the ""do you know" game, where you try to see if you have mutual acquaintances - "Oh, you lived in Chicago, my cousin lives there, do you know John Smith?". Yeah, I know your fucking cousin in a city of 4 million.
I shot the shit with the bartenders while I waited for my food, and after a while the blond girl joined our conversation. Turns out she's a nurse that just moved to DC from LA, though the details on how that transition was made are still a little murky. She definitely double-talked her way around the question, not that I care.
Nurse: The nurse looked a bit older than me, I guess she's in her late 30's to early 40's. She has medium-length blond hair, that looked natural. She had a cute face and bright blue eyes. I never got a good look at her body because she was sitting down the whole time. She could have rolled in a wheel chair, for all I know. However, she had on a sleeveless dress, and her arms were cut, so I am 99% sure her body was not bad either.
We talked about LA for a bit and she asked if I had ever been. I said yes and mentioned that it's nice but that I could never live there. I've spent a total of about 6 weeks in LA for work over the years and basically can't stand it. The weather is nice, but that's about the only nice thing I can say about the city. Naturally, she tried to tell me about all the great things her home town had to offer, and kept pressing me about what I didn't like about the city. Eventually I said it was a little pretentious for me, and that it was filled with people obsessed with "Fake tits and Ferrari's". It was right about at that point that I noticed she had a very nice size chest for someone who seemed otherwise petite. There was a momentary pause, but then she laughed and it didn't come up again.
Even with my ill-advised fake tits comment, she became very flirty. We talked for a long time, and I completely forgot that when I got there she seemed to be with another guy. Eventually, First Date Guy touched her arm and said something along the lines of "It was nice to meet you, I have to get going". They shook hands and he walked out.
The bartenders had dropped off my food, so as expected I sat and ate it there, had a few more drinks, and by 11pm I was ready to go home. We had talked about sailing so I suggested we go sailing some afternoon, and she said that sounded like a good time. We exchanged numbers, then I left.
On my way home I was stopped at a red light and Bartender crossed the street in front of me. She was walking with a blond girl and a dude. When she saw me she did a double-take, laughed, gave me a wave, then said something that I couldn't hear over the bike's engine. I nodded, the light changed, and I rode off.
Friday night I worked late and wasn't in the mood to go out or cook, so after walking the dog I went down to 8th Street to get some take out. I went to one of my favorite spots down there where I know a couple of bartenders and ordered food. Before I was done with me order one of my friends slid me a beer and said "I poured this by mistake, have one on me". He's no dummy, he knows that if he can get me to have one, I'll probably stay for 4 more and eat there, which is exactly what happened. I bellied up to the bar and "take out" turned into 3 hours at the bar eating and drinking.
Sitting on my left was a blond girl talking to another guy on her left. I overheard bits and pieces of their conversation and it sounded like a first date. They were talking about what they did, where they had lived, and played the ""do you know" game, where you try to see if you have mutual acquaintances - "Oh, you lived in Chicago, my cousin lives there, do you know John Smith?". Yeah, I know your fucking cousin in a city of 4 million.
I shot the shit with the bartenders while I waited for my food, and after a while the blond girl joined our conversation. Turns out she's a nurse that just moved to DC from LA, though the details on how that transition was made are still a little murky. She definitely double-talked her way around the question, not that I care.
Nurse: The nurse looked a bit older than me, I guess she's in her late 30's to early 40's. She has medium-length blond hair, that looked natural. She had a cute face and bright blue eyes. I never got a good look at her body because she was sitting down the whole time. She could have rolled in a wheel chair, for all I know. However, she had on a sleeveless dress, and her arms were cut, so I am 99% sure her body was not bad either.
We talked about LA for a bit and she asked if I had ever been. I said yes and mentioned that it's nice but that I could never live there. I've spent a total of about 6 weeks in LA for work over the years and basically can't stand it. The weather is nice, but that's about the only nice thing I can say about the city. Naturally, she tried to tell me about all the great things her home town had to offer, and kept pressing me about what I didn't like about the city. Eventually I said it was a little pretentious for me, and that it was filled with people obsessed with "Fake tits and Ferrari's". It was right about at that point that I noticed she had a very nice size chest for someone who seemed otherwise petite. There was a momentary pause, but then she laughed and it didn't come up again.
Even with my ill-advised fake tits comment, she became very flirty. We talked for a long time, and I completely forgot that when I got there she seemed to be with another guy. Eventually, First Date Guy touched her arm and said something along the lines of "It was nice to meet you, I have to get going". They shook hands and he walked out.
The bartenders had dropped off my food, so as expected I sat and ate it there, had a few more drinks, and by 11pm I was ready to go home. We had talked about sailing so I suggested we go sailing some afternoon, and she said that sounded like a good time. We exchanged numbers, then I left.
On my way home I was stopped at a red light and Bartender crossed the street in front of me. She was walking with a blond girl and a dude. When she saw me she did a double-take, laughed, gave me a wave, then said something that I couldn't hear over the bike's engine. I nodded, the light changed, and I rode off.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Heat Index
People who use the term "heat index" should shampoo my scrotum. I'm so sick of hearing "Oh, it's 112 degrees today!". No it's not, it's 98. "Well, with the heat index it's 112". Bullshit, it's 98, and humid, just like it should be. It's the middle of July in DC, that's what the weather is like this time of year, it's called summer. It happens every year. Why are you talking to me about this? Shut the fuck up and give me my coffee. If it was snowing out today that would be something to talk about, a reason to keep my waiting for my morning caffeine. The people who talk about the heat in July are the same mental midgets that will be saying "With the wind today it feels like -10 degrees" in January. Do these morons have so little in their heads that the only thing they can bring up is the weather? Get the fuck out of my way.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
ME's Out
Last night I had the strangest break-up conversation. I tried to be civil about the situation but ME wanted to scream and name-call, which I didn't see as constructive. She really let me have it, gave me both guns.
Here's the background. At a very high level, ME is pissed at me because a) I don't pay enough attention to her b) We don't travel enough together and c) I went riding with my buddies this weekend. I supposed you could say that all three are tied together, but C coming on the heels of B in light of A certainly didn't help my cause.
ME and I had an argument about my trip last week. She didn't specifically give me an ultimatum, but I suppose it was implied that if I went on the bike trip she wasn't going to be happy with me. Obviously, I went on the bike trip (more about that later).
Let me back track a and give some insight into where are relationship stood. Two weeks ago, during Fight-I me said the following to me:
"But baby, I'm very educated. I read the Economist and watch MSNBC. I follow current events. I'm international. I like to travel and never sit still. You don't like to travel, you like staying home...."
What I translated this as is 'I'm so smart and you're so simple. I know what's going on in the world and you live in a bubble. I'm so well traveled and you don't leave town...' I've never heard such lunacy. I was so taken aback that the only response I could muster was "Well, OK, I guess I'll talk to you later".
We made up but only on the most superficial level. Once ME said those things, which basically say "I don't respect you at all" it's hard to reconcile, so I decided then to break it off with her.
Fast forward to last night. I'm back from my trip and ME calls me while I'm at work. As soon as I answer I can tell that she's expecting an apology for going on the trip, and probably for a few other things.
As I see it, though, we're just not right for each other. We acknowledge the obvious like two adults and move on or we can patch things together temporarily and limp along until the next fight, which doesn't work for me.
After a few minutes of bullshit I tell ME that I respect her, but that I don't think I am right for her. I thought it was a very nice way of putting it. It put the blame on me, or at least I thought it did.
ME then launched into a tirade, a personal assault on my character and lifestyle, which I didn't see cause for. She said "NN, you're impossible. You're incapable of being in a relationship, which I knew all along. I should have run away from you. All you need is your dog and your bike. You hang out with your friends, but they have kids, and will have grand kids. You are going to go from dog to dog and bike to bike, and die alone. You don't know how to be in a relationship, and how much hard work it takes..." She went on for several minutes, then repeated the who thing over again. She really worked herself up unto a lather. I let her talk herself out then said "Well, OK then." I thought about asking her why she thought she was such an expert on relationships, what with the ink on her divorce papers barely dry, but opted against it. While some of her points were true I just didn't see see how saying that could possibly help me get off the phone faster, or be productive in some other way.
Here's the background. At a very high level, ME is pissed at me because a) I don't pay enough attention to her b) We don't travel enough together and c) I went riding with my buddies this weekend. I supposed you could say that all three are tied together, but C coming on the heels of B in light of A certainly didn't help my cause.
ME and I had an argument about my trip last week. She didn't specifically give me an ultimatum, but I suppose it was implied that if I went on the bike trip she wasn't going to be happy with me. Obviously, I went on the bike trip (more about that later).
Let me back track a and give some insight into where are relationship stood. Two weeks ago, during Fight-I me said the following to me:
"But baby, I'm very educated. I read the Economist and watch MSNBC. I follow current events. I'm international. I like to travel and never sit still. You don't like to travel, you like staying home...."
What I translated this as is 'I'm so smart and you're so simple. I know what's going on in the world and you live in a bubble. I'm so well traveled and you don't leave town...' I've never heard such lunacy. I was so taken aback that the only response I could muster was "Well, OK, I guess I'll talk to you later".
We made up but only on the most superficial level. Once ME said those things, which basically say "I don't respect you at all" it's hard to reconcile, so I decided then to break it off with her.
Fast forward to last night. I'm back from my trip and ME calls me while I'm at work. As soon as I answer I can tell that she's expecting an apology for going on the trip, and probably for a few other things.
As I see it, though, we're just not right for each other. We acknowledge the obvious like two adults and move on or we can patch things together temporarily and limp along until the next fight, which doesn't work for me.
After a few minutes of bullshit I tell ME that I respect her, but that I don't think I am right for her. I thought it was a very nice way of putting it. It put the blame on me, or at least I thought it did.
ME then launched into a tirade, a personal assault on my character and lifestyle, which I didn't see cause for. She said "NN, you're impossible. You're incapable of being in a relationship, which I knew all along. I should have run away from you. All you need is your dog and your bike. You hang out with your friends, but they have kids, and will have grand kids. You are going to go from dog to dog and bike to bike, and die alone. You don't know how to be in a relationship, and how much hard work it takes..." She went on for several minutes, then repeated the who thing over again. She really worked herself up unto a lather. I let her talk herself out then said "Well, OK then." I thought about asking her why she thought she was such an expert on relationships, what with the ink on her divorce papers barely dry, but opted against it. While some of her points were true I just didn't see see how saying that could possibly help me get off the phone faster, or be productive in some other way.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Life Fucking Sucks
You know, when it rains, it pours.
This past weekend my hound got really sick. She has an infection in her abdomen and the vets aren't sure what's causing it. They put her on meds and IV, and she was improving the past few days, but she started getting ill again this morning so they are doing surgery on her today. I'm very attached to the dog and haven't been myself since I dropped her off at the vet Saturday.
Last night I met up with ME for the first time in a week. She been aloof lately, though I understand why. We hung out last night and I spent the evening at her house. This morning we were hanging out when I got a call from my vet saying the hound wasn't doing well, so I told her I had to go and stop by to see her and pay for her surgery before I went to work. She got angry with me and said the dog is my highest priority. I agreed, the dog is my highest priority. I said "Girls come and go, but the dog will always be #1." Then I walked out. Fairly sure that constitutes a breakup.
This past weekend my hound got really sick. She has an infection in her abdomen and the vets aren't sure what's causing it. They put her on meds and IV, and she was improving the past few days, but she started getting ill again this morning so they are doing surgery on her today. I'm very attached to the dog and haven't been myself since I dropped her off at the vet Saturday.
Last night I met up with ME for the first time in a week. She been aloof lately, though I understand why. We hung out last night and I spent the evening at her house. This morning we were hanging out when I got a call from my vet saying the hound wasn't doing well, so I told her I had to go and stop by to see her and pay for her surgery before I went to work. She got angry with me and said the dog is my highest priority. I agreed, the dog is my highest priority. I said "Girls come and go, but the dog will always be #1." Then I walked out. Fairly sure that constitutes a breakup.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Phone
I don't understand people who like to talk on the phone. ME is a talker. She likes to call even if she doesn't have something to talk about. This makes for very awkward stretches of silence with me holding a phone to my ear, waiting for her to make a point.
This happens often.
Take Wednesday for instance. I woke up at 4:30am, flew to Charlotte, worked a long day, then drove two and a half hours to Raleigh. As I was getting off the highway the phone rang and I knew exactly what was coming. It was ME.
I clicked answer and said hello.
"Oh, hi baby, what are you doing?"
"I'm just pulled into Raleigh, I'm getting off the highway. What're you up to?"
"Nothing, reading?"
So that about covers it, right? She asked me what I was doing, I told her, then asked what she was doing, and she told me. Am I obligated to ask another pointless question? I just saw her the night before, we spent three hours together. We talked about work, a vacation we are thinking of taking, an interview I had this week, my trip, her kid, how the AC in her car was broken, and that I was considering painting my house dark grey. Why do we have to talk everyday? Send me a text to say hello, or I'll send her one. You fucking know what I'm doing. I told you last night.
Continued long silence. All those thoughts scratched through my head like dirty fingernails on a chalkboard while she sat in silence on the other end of the line.
She said,
"You still there?"
"Yes, what's up?"
"Oh, nothing, I just wanted to say hello"
So she already said hello. Am I supposed to entertain her at this point? Ask her the blue questions from Trivial Pursuit? What? At least have more than one thing planned to say if you're going to call. I don't have shit. I was focusing all my attention on driving and navigating, which, incidentally, I can't do any longer because I'm now talking on my iPhone and can't see the map any longer.
"I gotta run, then, I'm getting lost"
"OK, call me later"
WHY!?!
I do see why ME likes to talk on the phone all day and I don't. Her job consists of reading and doing research. She has a quiet career. I'm on the phone all day. I scream and yell at movers, and electricians, and contractors, and architects for a living. Between my desk line, my work cell, and my personal cell, my office rings constantly. When I get home the last thing I want to do is talk on the phone. Especially if it's about nothing.
I was in a bad mood Wednesday. It was a rough day. But when I got off the phone with ME I had to really talk myself out of calling her right back and breaking up with her. I had a mini breakdown right there in I-40. I think we're too different to be together.
This happens often.
Take Wednesday for instance. I woke up at 4:30am, flew to Charlotte, worked a long day, then drove two and a half hours to Raleigh. As I was getting off the highway the phone rang and I knew exactly what was coming. It was ME.
I clicked answer and said hello.
"Oh, hi baby, what are you doing?"
"I'm just pulled into Raleigh, I'm getting off the highway. What're you up to?"
"Nothing, reading?"
So that about covers it, right? She asked me what I was doing, I told her, then asked what she was doing, and she told me. Am I obligated to ask another pointless question? I just saw her the night before, we spent three hours together. We talked about work, a vacation we are thinking of taking, an interview I had this week, my trip, her kid, how the AC in her car was broken, and that I was considering painting my house dark grey. Why do we have to talk everyday? Send me a text to say hello, or I'll send her one. You fucking know what I'm doing. I told you last night.
Continued long silence. All those thoughts scratched through my head like dirty fingernails on a chalkboard while she sat in silence on the other end of the line.
She said,
"You still there?"
"Yes, what's up?"
"Oh, nothing, I just wanted to say hello"
So she already said hello. Am I supposed to entertain her at this point? Ask her the blue questions from Trivial Pursuit? What? At least have more than one thing planned to say if you're going to call. I don't have shit. I was focusing all my attention on driving and navigating, which, incidentally, I can't do any longer because I'm now talking on my iPhone and can't see the map any longer.
"I gotta run, then, I'm getting lost"
"OK, call me later"
WHY!?!
I do see why ME likes to talk on the phone all day and I don't. Her job consists of reading and doing research. She has a quiet career. I'm on the phone all day. I scream and yell at movers, and electricians, and contractors, and architects for a living. Between my desk line, my work cell, and my personal cell, my office rings constantly. When I get home the last thing I want to do is talk on the phone. Especially if it's about nothing.
I was in a bad mood Wednesday. It was a rough day. But when I got off the phone with ME I had to really talk myself out of calling her right back and breaking up with her. I had a mini breakdown right there in I-40. I think we're too different to be together.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Car Bombs
Brain and liver hurt today. Synapses not firing properly. Damn you Dr. Jellyfingers. Damn you handle of Stoli. Damn you 8th Street bars with your fancy Car Bomb delights. Per usual, D-ron, AKA Dr. Jellyfingers, my college buddy and drinking cohort, the guy who burned my eyebrow off while I slept two years ago, almost put an end to another one of my relationships. ME is so pissed at me. I deserve it.
I will preface the following story by saying that if an event; a date, appointment, or activity, isn't in my Outlook calendar it's not real. Every thing I need to remember goes into my calendar. Birthdays, doctor appointments, trips, meetings, dinners, EVERYTHING. If it's not in there, there is literally no chance I'm going to remember it.
I was in Massachusetts last week for work. I drove up so I could swing by and visit a few friends the weekend before, then made the long drove home Friday morning. While I was driving I remembered that I had a voicemail from D-ron that I hadn't listened to from the night before and played it on speakerphone in the car. He was drunk, and the message was mostly incoherent mumbling, but I did hear something about him being on his way to DC from Michigan, and that he slept in his car in a Walmart parking lot the night before.
When the message was over I checked my calendar on my phone and didn't see anything about D-ron visiting. Four seconds later I received a text from ME saying she couldn't wait to get together, and asked if we could stay in and cook dinner and watch a movie "before our trip". Three seconds after that I received the following from D-ron "Jellyfingers on premises". It was 11:52am and he wanted to know if I had a key hidden and what my alarm code was.
None of this was good.
I checked my calendar and it was blank. Nothing on tap for the weekend.
Backtracking a bit, I had also neglected to put a note in my calendar reminding me that my sister was going to Europe for ten days for some R&R. She texted me her flight information from Dulles an hour before she took off Thursday, which was a surprise to me. Again, it wasn't in Outlook so if she did tell me, it went in one ear and right out the other. I had a vague recollection of her saying she was going away, mostly because I bought her part of her flight for her birthday, but there were no dates attached to that faint memory.
While I cursed myself for being so lax with my reminders, I got another text from D-ron "Where is alcohol?". I wrote back "Big bottle tequila in freezer", then wondered what I was going to do about ME. I was away all week, I have another trip scheduled for the following week, and I had one very drunk friend in my kitchen with high aspirations of laying waste to DC. These were not compatible agendas.
The phone rang, it was ME, I let it go to voicemail so I could come up with a plan. D-ron wrote back "Note to self, NN out of margarita mix". I'm not sure how much time passed, but I wondered how it was possible he drank half a bottle of mix so quickly? I pictured him on my couch, in his underwear, racking up heavy fees on my pay-per-view account, with tequila and salt everywhere. I drove faster.
A little while later I stopped for gas and listened to ME's message. In it she said something about a bottle of tequila. When I checked my phone I saw that I had accidentally sent ME the text about the bottle of tequila in the freezer instead of Jellyfingers. That certainly wasn't going to help matters with her. I bit the bullet and called her back. I won't go into the gory details, but apparently at some point last month I had agreed to go to some "quaint little town in southern Virginia" this weekend with her, and that was obviously not in the cards any longer. I told ME I would call her when I got home so we could sort this out. I think it goes without saying that she wasn't happy.
When I finally got home at 5pm D-ron's car was in my tenant's parking space, his shit was everywhere, but he was nowhere to be found. Repeated calls to him went unreturned. He was undoubtedly at a bar.
I called ME and it went right to voicemail.
Have you ever seen that carnival game where a red and blue marble race around a giant funnel, and people bet which one will go down the hole first? The suspense is terrific even though you know that eventually both will go down the tube. That is what I felt like Friday. D-ron was one marble, ME was the other, and I was just watching them spin around that funnel.
At about 6pm D-ron walked in my back gate pushing his bike. He was far drunker than I expected and I have no idea how he rode. Fuck it. It was good to see him, ME wasn't calling me back, so I threw on some clothes and we walked down to the Pour House to shoot pool and have some cocktails.
Here is how our night went. I kept track because I knew it was going to be a marathon.
Pour House: 4 beers
Hawk and Dove: 1 beer, sandwiches
18th Amendment Basement: 1 beer and our first Irish Car Bomb.
- Note: While shooting pool in basement D-ron took long piss on floor, can't believe bartender didn't notice...he wasn't subtle.
Molly Malones: 2 beers, two Car Bombs
Matchbox: Too crowded, walked in then left.
Phase I: Denied entry. Not lesbian enough.
Tune Inn: 1 beer
- Outside CVS after leaving bar D-ron stopped and screamed "Batistuta! Goooaaaal!" over and over at no one in particular. Received standing ovation from large crowd.
Union Pub: 1 beer, 1 car bomb
- Ejected after D-ron made joke about raping a male patron.
Irish Times: 1 beer
Dubliner: 1 beer
- Ejected for comment I didn't hear.
When we were thrown out of the Dubliner at midnight I was ready to call it an evening. I was very drunk, but Dr. Jellyfingers was in full effect and was having none of my calls to go home. Somehow, he got it in his head that he wanted to go to St. Ex, which was out of the question because it would require a cab ride, and I knew how that ride was going to go given the Dr.'s state. We would be thrown out of the car within 1 block. I said "No mas, I'm going home", then turned and starting walking up Mass Ave. I thought D-ron was behind me, but when I got to the far side of Union Station I realized I couldn't hear him shuffling behind me any longer. When I turned around he was no where in site. There was nothing to do but go to bed.
At 3:30am D-ron walked in the back door of my house mumbling about Papa Johns and some "rave" he went to. I suspect he want to one of those cheesy clubs near the convention center but he doesn't remember. Actually, he didn't remember anything after the Pour House.
Saturday morning I called ME again. Still no answer. D-ron and I filled a flask with Vodka and went to the Georgetown pool for a few hours. I can't even begin to explain how many gorgeous women were there. If you're a single guy you need to go.
When we got back from the pool D-ron made VERY strong Vodka drinks and we sat on my deck shooting the shit for about an hour. At 5pm ME called and laced into me. She really gave me both guns, and I deserved it. I fucked up. I completely forgot about saying I'd go away. I forgot D-ron was coming to town. I admit it and let her say her peace. I could tell she was on the verge of snapping, so when she asked me to come over to her place to talk I decided I should.
I spent a few hours at ME's place. I brought flowers. We talked for 20 minutes then had make-up sex for two hours. Worked out pretty well, actually. She's still mad at me, but I'll take her away for a weekend and that will be the end of it.
When I got home from ME's D-ron had drank a truly obscene amount of Vodka. We had chipped away at a new handle over the past 24 hours, but I was astonished to see that there was only about a quarter of it left. D-ron saw me hold the bottle up to the light and chucked. If I didn't know him I'd think he spilled it.
We had another cocktail on the deck then poured roadies and took a cab to Asylum in Adam's Morgan. We had two 22oz PBR's while shooting pool before we thought it would be a good idea to start playing for rounds of beers and Car Bombs. By the time we left we had 4 beers and three Bombs each. D-ron was a disaster again.
After Asylum we went to Madam's Organ. There, we chatted up two Ecuadorian girls and invited them to join us at Rumba for Mojitos and some Salsa dancing. One of the girls was really cute. She was short with dark hair and dark skin, and a great body. The other girls was a dead-on ringer for Frida Kahlo, which is to say not attractive. D-ron danced with Frida and I grabbed the little one.
Things got pretty hazy for me at this point. We danced for a long time, then I went to the men's room and on my way back started talking with some other girl. By the time I broke away from her D-ron was gone and Ecuador was dancing with some other dude. It was already last call, so I walked outside to try and find D-ron. The bars had all let out, so the streets were a fucking mess. There were drunk kids all over the place pushing each other, and the cops were not enjoying the scene. I grabbed a jumbo slice and got off 18th street as quickly as possible. D-ron didn't have his phone on him, so there was no use calling.
I was walking around jamming a piping hot slice of pizza in my face half-trying to catch a cab, but I was mostly focusing on the pizza. When the pizza was gone, though, and I put an honest effort into hailing a cab, I realized that was going to be a tough call at 3am on U Street. I walked down U Street for a long time with this really cute girl right behind me. While we waited to cross a street she caught up with me and I said "Are you following me?" She laughed and said no. We walked and talked for a few more blocks then I asked he where she was going. The girl was walking to Georgia Ave, where she was then going to turn left and walk up to her house in northern Columbia Heights, I forget the exact street. I said "That's not a great neighborhood, you should take a cab". She said "I would, but they're expensive...I don't mind walking." I felt really badly for her, I have three sisters and I wouldn't want them walking in that area anytime, but especially not at 3:30am. When we got to Georgia Ave I pulled a $20 out of my pocket and handed it to her. I said "Get a cab". I had spent over a $150 at the bars that night, but this seemed like a much better use of cash.
I ended up walking all the way to North Capital Street before I was able to get a cab. I'm not going to lie, I was a little nervous myself walking around there after so many drinks.
I finally got home at 4am. D-ron wasn't there, but I was too tired to care. I left the door unlocked and went to bed.
At 8:30 this morning I heard lots of noise in the back hall. I walked out and saw D-ron fully dressed and said "Why are you up so early?". He said "Up? I just got home." I said "Did you hook up?", and he laughed and said "Uhh, no. I slept in the bushes of a house next to St. Ex". Apparently when I went to the bathroom at Rumba he thought I ditched him, so he took a cab to St. Ex. They probably didn't let him in, or at least they shouldn't have. In either case, he was too hammered to get a cab at the end of the night so he climbed under some bushes and passed out. At 8am he woke up, crawled out of the bushes, and took a cab back to my place.
It's important to indulge in this type of behavior once in a while.
I will preface the following story by saying that if an event; a date, appointment, or activity, isn't in my Outlook calendar it's not real. Every thing I need to remember goes into my calendar. Birthdays, doctor appointments, trips, meetings, dinners, EVERYTHING. If it's not in there, there is literally no chance I'm going to remember it.
I was in Massachusetts last week for work. I drove up so I could swing by and visit a few friends the weekend before, then made the long drove home Friday morning. While I was driving I remembered that I had a voicemail from D-ron that I hadn't listened to from the night before and played it on speakerphone in the car. He was drunk, and the message was mostly incoherent mumbling, but I did hear something about him being on his way to DC from Michigan, and that he slept in his car in a Walmart parking lot the night before.
When the message was over I checked my calendar on my phone and didn't see anything about D-ron visiting. Four seconds later I received a text from ME saying she couldn't wait to get together, and asked if we could stay in and cook dinner and watch a movie "before our trip". Three seconds after that I received the following from D-ron "Jellyfingers on premises". It was 11:52am and he wanted to know if I had a key hidden and what my alarm code was.
None of this was good.
I checked my calendar and it was blank. Nothing on tap for the weekend.
Backtracking a bit, I had also neglected to put a note in my calendar reminding me that my sister was going to Europe for ten days for some R&R. She texted me her flight information from Dulles an hour before she took off Thursday, which was a surprise to me. Again, it wasn't in Outlook so if she did tell me, it went in one ear and right out the other. I had a vague recollection of her saying she was going away, mostly because I bought her part of her flight for her birthday, but there were no dates attached to that faint memory.
While I cursed myself for being so lax with my reminders, I got another text from D-ron "Where is alcohol?". I wrote back "Big bottle tequila in freezer", then wondered what I was going to do about ME. I was away all week, I have another trip scheduled for the following week, and I had one very drunk friend in my kitchen with high aspirations of laying waste to DC. These were not compatible agendas.
The phone rang, it was ME, I let it go to voicemail so I could come up with a plan. D-ron wrote back "Note to self, NN out of margarita mix". I'm not sure how much time passed, but I wondered how it was possible he drank half a bottle of mix so quickly? I pictured him on my couch, in his underwear, racking up heavy fees on my pay-per-view account, with tequila and salt everywhere. I drove faster.
A little while later I stopped for gas and listened to ME's message. In it she said something about a bottle of tequila. When I checked my phone I saw that I had accidentally sent ME the text about the bottle of tequila in the freezer instead of Jellyfingers. That certainly wasn't going to help matters with her. I bit the bullet and called her back. I won't go into the gory details, but apparently at some point last month I had agreed to go to some "quaint little town in southern Virginia" this weekend with her, and that was obviously not in the cards any longer. I told ME I would call her when I got home so we could sort this out. I think it goes without saying that she wasn't happy.
When I finally got home at 5pm D-ron's car was in my tenant's parking space, his shit was everywhere, but he was nowhere to be found. Repeated calls to him went unreturned. He was undoubtedly at a bar.
I called ME and it went right to voicemail.
Have you ever seen that carnival game where a red and blue marble race around a giant funnel, and people bet which one will go down the hole first? The suspense is terrific even though you know that eventually both will go down the tube. That is what I felt like Friday. D-ron was one marble, ME was the other, and I was just watching them spin around that funnel.
At about 6pm D-ron walked in my back gate pushing his bike. He was far drunker than I expected and I have no idea how he rode. Fuck it. It was good to see him, ME wasn't calling me back, so I threw on some clothes and we walked down to the Pour House to shoot pool and have some cocktails.
Here is how our night went. I kept track because I knew it was going to be a marathon.
Pour House: 4 beers
Hawk and Dove: 1 beer, sandwiches
18th Amendment Basement: 1 beer and our first Irish Car Bomb.
- Note: While shooting pool in basement D-ron took long piss on floor, can't believe bartender didn't notice...he wasn't subtle.
Molly Malones: 2 beers, two Car Bombs
Matchbox: Too crowded, walked in then left.
Phase I: Denied entry. Not lesbian enough.
Tune Inn: 1 beer
- Outside CVS after leaving bar D-ron stopped and screamed "Batistuta! Goooaaaal!" over and over at no one in particular. Received standing ovation from large crowd.
Union Pub: 1 beer, 1 car bomb
- Ejected after D-ron made joke about raping a male patron.
Irish Times: 1 beer
Dubliner: 1 beer
- Ejected for comment I didn't hear.
When we were thrown out of the Dubliner at midnight I was ready to call it an evening. I was very drunk, but Dr. Jellyfingers was in full effect and was having none of my calls to go home. Somehow, he got it in his head that he wanted to go to St. Ex, which was out of the question because it would require a cab ride, and I knew how that ride was going to go given the Dr.'s state. We would be thrown out of the car within 1 block. I said "No mas, I'm going home", then turned and starting walking up Mass Ave. I thought D-ron was behind me, but when I got to the far side of Union Station I realized I couldn't hear him shuffling behind me any longer. When I turned around he was no where in site. There was nothing to do but go to bed.
At 3:30am D-ron walked in the back door of my house mumbling about Papa Johns and some "rave" he went to. I suspect he want to one of those cheesy clubs near the convention center but he doesn't remember. Actually, he didn't remember anything after the Pour House.
Saturday morning I called ME again. Still no answer. D-ron and I filled a flask with Vodka and went to the Georgetown pool for a few hours. I can't even begin to explain how many gorgeous women were there. If you're a single guy you need to go.
When we got back from the pool D-ron made VERY strong Vodka drinks and we sat on my deck shooting the shit for about an hour. At 5pm ME called and laced into me. She really gave me both guns, and I deserved it. I fucked up. I completely forgot about saying I'd go away. I forgot D-ron was coming to town. I admit it and let her say her peace. I could tell she was on the verge of snapping, so when she asked me to come over to her place to talk I decided I should.
I spent a few hours at ME's place. I brought flowers. We talked for 20 minutes then had make-up sex for two hours. Worked out pretty well, actually. She's still mad at me, but I'll take her away for a weekend and that will be the end of it.
When I got home from ME's D-ron had drank a truly obscene amount of Vodka. We had chipped away at a new handle over the past 24 hours, but I was astonished to see that there was only about a quarter of it left. D-ron saw me hold the bottle up to the light and chucked. If I didn't know him I'd think he spilled it.
We had another cocktail on the deck then poured roadies and took a cab to Asylum in Adam's Morgan. We had two 22oz PBR's while shooting pool before we thought it would be a good idea to start playing for rounds of beers and Car Bombs. By the time we left we had 4 beers and three Bombs each. D-ron was a disaster again.
After Asylum we went to Madam's Organ. There, we chatted up two Ecuadorian girls and invited them to join us at Rumba for Mojitos and some Salsa dancing. One of the girls was really cute. She was short with dark hair and dark skin, and a great body. The other girls was a dead-on ringer for Frida Kahlo, which is to say not attractive. D-ron danced with Frida and I grabbed the little one.
Things got pretty hazy for me at this point. We danced for a long time, then I went to the men's room and on my way back started talking with some other girl. By the time I broke away from her D-ron was gone and Ecuador was dancing with some other dude. It was already last call, so I walked outside to try and find D-ron. The bars had all let out, so the streets were a fucking mess. There were drunk kids all over the place pushing each other, and the cops were not enjoying the scene. I grabbed a jumbo slice and got off 18th street as quickly as possible. D-ron didn't have his phone on him, so there was no use calling.
I was walking around jamming a piping hot slice of pizza in my face half-trying to catch a cab, but I was mostly focusing on the pizza. When the pizza was gone, though, and I put an honest effort into hailing a cab, I realized that was going to be a tough call at 3am on U Street. I walked down U Street for a long time with this really cute girl right behind me. While we waited to cross a street she caught up with me and I said "Are you following me?" She laughed and said no. We walked and talked for a few more blocks then I asked he where she was going. The girl was walking to Georgia Ave, where she was then going to turn left and walk up to her house in northern Columbia Heights, I forget the exact street. I said "That's not a great neighborhood, you should take a cab". She said "I would, but they're expensive...I don't mind walking." I felt really badly for her, I have three sisters and I wouldn't want them walking in that area anytime, but especially not at 3:30am. When we got to Georgia Ave I pulled a $20 out of my pocket and handed it to her. I said "Get a cab". I had spent over a $150 at the bars that night, but this seemed like a much better use of cash.
I ended up walking all the way to North Capital Street before I was able to get a cab. I'm not going to lie, I was a little nervous myself walking around there after so many drinks.
I finally got home at 4am. D-ron wasn't there, but I was too tired to care. I left the door unlocked and went to bed.
At 8:30 this morning I heard lots of noise in the back hall. I walked out and saw D-ron fully dressed and said "Why are you up so early?". He said "Up? I just got home." I said "Did you hook up?", and he laughed and said "Uhh, no. I slept in the bushes of a house next to St. Ex". Apparently when I went to the bathroom at Rumba he thought I ditched him, so he took a cab to St. Ex. They probably didn't let him in, or at least they shouldn't have. In either case, he was too hammered to get a cab at the end of the night so he climbed under some bushes and passed out. At 8am he woke up, crawled out of the bushes, and took a cab back to my place.
It's important to indulge in this type of behavior once in a while.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Met The Kid
I met the kid this weekend and would chalk that up as one of the stranger introductions of my life. He's actually a pretty good guy, a little shy at first, but then kind of funny.
ME invited me over for dinner Saturday night at 8pm, and told me that Kid would still be awake for a little while. While she didn't specifically say "I want you to meet my son", I took the fact that she noted that he would still be awake as a sign that she wanted me to meet him. I know that Kid likes Star Wars, so on my way to her place I stopped at Barnes & Nobles and picked up a Star Wars sticker book for him.
When I got to ME's place I was buzzed up and walked in. Kid was sitting on the couch watching cartoons and finishing up his dinner. As I rounded the corner he stuck his head over the top of the couch, looked at me, then plopped back down and took another bite of his grilled cheese. ME said a bunch of things to Kid in Farsi or Arabic then looked up at me and said "What do you want Kid to call you?" I hadn't thought about it. I said "Just NN, I guess?" ME said that in her culture it's very disrespectful for a child to address an adult by his first name, and said "How about Uncle NN?" I'm not sure I qualify as an adult, especially since I had just been considering stealing his grilled cheese, but Uncle NN was fine with me.
Kid really liked the book, and there were stickers all over the house in no time. I spent a little time talking to him about cartoons, then ME put him to bed and we had dinner.
The weather was supposed to be nice Sunday, so while we were eating I invited ME and Kid to come out on the boat the next day. She said that sounded like fun and we made plans to meet at noon at my place on Sunday. When ME got to my house she asked if I would mind driving because she had gotten lost and didn't want to drive anymore. I said sure and hopped behind the wheel, but as we left my place I looked around and saw ME, then the kid in the backseat surrounded by plastic buckets and other toys, and laughed at the ridiculousness of the scenario. There I was, driving a car with "the whole family" packed in it for a nice day at the beach. Quite absurd, really. It was like that Nicolas Cage movie The Family Man...only I don't have a Ferrari...and ME's way better looking than Tia Leoni...
The boat ride went OK. I was pretty nervous about having a four year old and ME, neither of whom can swim, on the boat at the same time, but everything went smoothly. I let Kid drive the boat for a while, which he seemed to like. I tried to pick out a fixed point and tell him to steer towards it, but he wasn't interested in that. All he wanted to do was make motorboat noises (ironic, since the real motor was running) and furiously spin the wheel from side to side. I don't even think he made the connection between turning the wheel and the corresponding change in direction of the boat. Maybe that logic sets in a few years from now. I have no idea.
When we got back to shore ME and Kid ran down the dock and played on the beach. I had to tie up the boat and take care of a few other things, but I also took the opportunity to fire down a much-needed beer in peace and quiet. The kid took a lot out of me.
One thing about the day freaked me out more than anything. My friend Chuck's parent's split up when he was one, and his mom remarried when Chuck was five. A few weeks ago Chuck's mom and stepfather were in town on their boat, and the stepfather was reminiscing about how he used to take Chuck out on his sailboat when Chuck was just four, the same age that Kid is now. Chuck mentioned how he remembers those boat trips, so I couldn't help but see the similarities in the situation. I'm not so preoccupied about the parallels between ME and I, as I am freaked out about the fact that 30 years from now Kid may remember our day on the boat together.
ME invited me over for dinner Saturday night at 8pm, and told me that Kid would still be awake for a little while. While she didn't specifically say "I want you to meet my son", I took the fact that she noted that he would still be awake as a sign that she wanted me to meet him. I know that Kid likes Star Wars, so on my way to her place I stopped at Barnes & Nobles and picked up a Star Wars sticker book for him.
When I got to ME's place I was buzzed up and walked in. Kid was sitting on the couch watching cartoons and finishing up his dinner. As I rounded the corner he stuck his head over the top of the couch, looked at me, then plopped back down and took another bite of his grilled cheese. ME said a bunch of things to Kid in Farsi or Arabic then looked up at me and said "What do you want Kid to call you?" I hadn't thought about it. I said "Just NN, I guess?" ME said that in her culture it's very disrespectful for a child to address an adult by his first name, and said "How about Uncle NN?" I'm not sure I qualify as an adult, especially since I had just been considering stealing his grilled cheese, but Uncle NN was fine with me.
Kid really liked the book, and there were stickers all over the house in no time. I spent a little time talking to him about cartoons, then ME put him to bed and we had dinner.
The weather was supposed to be nice Sunday, so while we were eating I invited ME and Kid to come out on the boat the next day. She said that sounded like fun and we made plans to meet at noon at my place on Sunday. When ME got to my house she asked if I would mind driving because she had gotten lost and didn't want to drive anymore. I said sure and hopped behind the wheel, but as we left my place I looked around and saw ME, then the kid in the backseat surrounded by plastic buckets and other toys, and laughed at the ridiculousness of the scenario. There I was, driving a car with "the whole family" packed in it for a nice day at the beach. Quite absurd, really. It was like that Nicolas Cage movie The Family Man...only I don't have a Ferrari...and ME's way better looking than Tia Leoni...
The boat ride went OK. I was pretty nervous about having a four year old and ME, neither of whom can swim, on the boat at the same time, but everything went smoothly. I let Kid drive the boat for a while, which he seemed to like. I tried to pick out a fixed point and tell him to steer towards it, but he wasn't interested in that. All he wanted to do was make motorboat noises (ironic, since the real motor was running) and furiously spin the wheel from side to side. I don't even think he made the connection between turning the wheel and the corresponding change in direction of the boat. Maybe that logic sets in a few years from now. I have no idea.
When we got back to shore ME and Kid ran down the dock and played on the beach. I had to tie up the boat and take care of a few other things, but I also took the opportunity to fire down a much-needed beer in peace and quiet. The kid took a lot out of me.
One thing about the day freaked me out more than anything. My friend Chuck's parent's split up when he was one, and his mom remarried when Chuck was five. A few weeks ago Chuck's mom and stepfather were in town on their boat, and the stepfather was reminiscing about how he used to take Chuck out on his sailboat when Chuck was just four, the same age that Kid is now. Chuck mentioned how he remembers those boat trips, so I couldn't help but see the similarities in the situation. I'm not so preoccupied about the parallels between ME and I, as I am freaked out about the fact that 30 years from now Kid may remember our day on the boat together.
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