White Bitch

Last night I was walking down H Street with my sister on our way to get a drink at Biergarten when I got into an argument with an old black female motorist.

My sister and I were on H crossing 13th street when a beat up red car ran a red light. The car was going really slow, but the woman blatantly blew the light and made a left onto H Street. I was a little in front of my sister and took a step back so the car didn't run over my toes. As she went by I said "Red light" and slammed my hand on her trunk.

The lady went nuts and started yelling "You hit my caaa, you hit my caaa!" She was screaming it as loud as she could, and my sister and I started to laugh. Then, with complete disregard for other cars the lady did a sweeping u-turn in the middle of the intersection, again very slowly - about idle speed, and drove over to me at the edge of the sidewalk. All the while she was yelling "You hit my caaaaa!"

As she came near me a large, older guy stepped out of the small crowd that was forming and said "You hit my wife's car?". Things were a little less funny now, especially since this guy was thick and I wasn't sure I wanted to tangle with him. I turned to look at my sister and saw that she was nervously power walking up the sidewalk.

There were a good 25 people standing around now, and both the husband and wife were yelling "You hit my caaaa". I said "You ran a red light and almost hit me, sober up then try driving." I don't know for sure that she was drunk, but she looked and sounded like it, and the husband was going into the liquor store on the corner. She then yelled "You put yo hand on my caaa? I kill you?" I looked at her rusty, oxidized, bucket of bolts 1982 Mazda and said "My hand touching it is the best thing that ever happened to that 'caaaa'".

Her response was an instant classic. She looked at me and yelled "White bitch", then did another U-turn in the intersection and drove off.

Random Bits

Below are some random bits from a few recent ME dates.

Monday night ME cooked and elaborate Middle Eastern dinner for me, the second she's cooked for me this month. The difference between this one and the first is that on Monday her son was home. I showed up at about 9pm, and when I got up to her condo she said "I just put Son to bed, can I get you a drink?".

I know that when I was a kid if I heard strange voices in the house I would have been up and snooping around trying to get a peak at who was over. So, all night I had one eye on the hallway that led to the bedrooms to see if the kid was up and about.

The really awkward part was after dinner we were on the couch and ME wanted to fool around. She kept trying to take off my shirt but I was completely distracted. Finally she said "Let's go to my room." I couldn't believe it, she wanted to have sex (and I've already explained she's a screamer) with her son sleeping (or maybe not) just six feet away in the next room. I asked if he would wake up and she said "No, he's a little kid, he could sleep through a hurricane!" If it was OK with her it was OK with me.

We had sex, but I had a hand over her mouth most of the time.

I went over ME's house again on Wednesday night after we got pizza at Two Amy's. We were fooling around on her couch again and she said "Put me on the table". ME's place has an open floor plan, so her living and dining rooms are right next to each other. She was straddling me so I stood up and carried her over to the table and flopped her down on it. We were going at it and I started to hear the table creaking and cracking. ME was close to coming, but I was nervous the table was going to give out before she had a chance. But here's the thing, I kind of wanted the table to break. I don't know if it was because it would make a good story, or if it would kind of be a feather in my cap, but I was rooting for the table to break and pumped harder. When I heard some really loud creaks I eased up, though. I had a vision of the legs snapping and ME crashing to the floor. While an amusing image, she could have gotten really hurt so I picked her back up and put her on the kitchen counter, which was much sturdier. The next morning I regretted not breaking the table.

Last month ME and I met for dinner in Dupont. I rode the bike there and after dinner I gave her a ride to her car which was a few blocks away. I warned her that the pipes were hot and not to touch them, but like the know-it-all she is, she tapped her foot on the pipes a few times and said "It's not hot, see!". Well, the pipes were hot, and when she tapped her foot on them it melted the sole of her shoe a bit and the rubber stuck to my very clean, very expensive, aftermarket chrome exhaust pipes. I looked at the black glob on my pipes, then at her, and decided it wasn't worth getting into it at that point. I suppressed the rage and repeated "They're hot, don't touch them." She drove off in her car and I filed the incident away in the things that piss me off but will bring up later folder.

Wednesday night we took the bike to the restaurant. When I got to ME's place she came downstairs wearing short shorts and flip flops. I said "That's not great biking gear, why don't you go put on jeans and boots?" She said "Oh baby, it's too hot, can't I wear these?" It was hot, and we weren't going very far, so I said it was OK but stressed how hot the pipes were. ME swung her leg over the bike and just as I was about to warn her AGAIN about the pipes I watched as the inside of her calf pressed hard against one pipe.

Now, for those of you who haven't had the pleasure of a motorcycle ankle burn let me explain. The pipes can get very hot, probably 500 degrees after a good ride, and it was pretty hot the other night. When your skin touches the metal there is a moment where you don't feel anything. That moment is followed by a split second where your brain is trying to determine if the nerves are sensing "very cold" or "very hot". By the time the nerves clarify, and the brain translates and sends the signals to the muscles to react, precious moments have passed and the damage is done.

I watched in slow motion as ME went through these steps. The bike was off so I even heard the "hisssssss" of burning flesh. Before I could say anything ME jumped onto the seat and kicked her legs strait out and screamed.

Here's what was going to happen. The burn starts off as a pink mark on your leg about three inches long and two inches tall. Three hours later the mark is deep red and stings like a motherfucker. Hours after that it begins to puss. The next day the puss scabs over. If you're lucky, and you don't pick at the scab, you may only have a slight scar.

ME said "Oh baby, you burned me!". My mind went back to the day ME touched the pipes after I told her they were hot, and her cheap shoes melted onto my pipes and left permanent black blobs of rubber on them. I also heard my own voice from minutes earlier telling her to go put on jeans and to be careful about the hot pipes. I decided that if I said anything it would have been sarcastic, so I just shrugged, scrunched my lips together and made that inhaling noise that signifies "Owwwwwww, that must hurt".

There are some life-lessons that can't be taught, they have to be experienced first hand to learn. This is one of them.

Mistaken Identity

Last week I was thinking to myself how well things were going with ME. We have fun together, the sex is great, we have similar interests, I'm content. On Friday I started to write a post called "Knock on Wood" because things were going so well (which a portion of the name was accidently posted). Then the shit hit the fan Friday evening.

I skipped out of work a little early Friday afternoon. I had plans to get dinner with ME, my sister, and her new boyfriend later on the Hill. The weather was great and I raced home so I could take the hound out for a long walk in the park before dinner. While I was driving, and just a few blocks from home, I rolled a stop sign. As I darted across the intersection I saw a flash of auburn hair out of the corner of my left eye and realized I had almost clipped a pedestrian as she stepped off the sidewalk into the street. When I got across the street I waved to the person I almost hit then slowed down, looked in my review mirror and was very surprised to see it was Bartender. She smiled at me then crossed the street in my direction.

I never gave the full story on what happened with Bartender. In short, things with ME were getting more serious so I let Bartender fade off. She was going away for a few weeks so it was an easy transition. There were no hard feelings, she just thought we ran out of time to see each other before she left, and that was that.

I had pulled off to the side of the road and opened my passenger door. Bartender came over to the car and we chatted for a few minutes about her trip. She looked great. She was tan and wearing a short pair of shorts, and a very low-cut shirt. She said she was late for work but that she would give me a call so we could get a drink and catch up. I nodded and she closed the door and walked away. As I drove off I wasn't sure if my nod meant I would take her up on her offer of a getting a drink together or if it was just a polite reflex.

Fast forward a few hours. ME, my sister, her boyfriend and I had a cocktail at my house then headed to the restaurant for dinner. My sister picked a restaurant I go to fairly often on dates, but I never thought it would be an issue.

When we sat down th waiter, who I know, said "Stoli on the rocks, NN.", then turned to ME and said something like "Nice to see you again, ME" saying her name, which shocked the shit out of both of us. ME said "Wow, you remember my name?", and the waiter went on to say "Yes, the last time you came in you and NN sat at the bar and you had on ...", the waiter, who is very gay, went on to describe ME's outfit from her last visit in great detail. When he was done he took the rest of the drink orders then walked away. Then ME turned to me and said "Who have you been coming here with, because we've never sat at the bar together, and I don't own anything like the outfit he just described"

I was caught off guard and became defensive. I've been to that restaurant many times with Bear, who may not look much like ME but does have a close enough resemblance to warrant the confusion. However, I did take DGII to this restaurant for our one date and she does look very much like ME, though I didn't think this guy was our waiter that night. Whether the waiter was describing ME from the last time we were there but got the outfit wrong, was confusing her for some other customer, or was describing another girl that I had in fact gone there with another evening (albeit, not very recently) the effect was the same: ME was pissed.

So, shocked, and on the defensive, I said "Well, I did have a life before I met you", meaning, perhaps there is chance he is confusing you with another girl that I brought here before we met. Instead of making things better, this infuriated ME who said about seven words throughout the remainder of dinner.

After dinner ME and I got in the car and headed back to her house, since we had planned to spend the night there. Halfway to her house she still hadn't said a word to me, so I said "Are you going to sulk all night or are we going to talk about this?". I don't remember exactly what she said, but the gist was "you're an asshole".

If I take a step back and reverse the roles, I probably wouldn't have been happy if a waiter confused me for another one of ME's dates (if that is even the case), but I think I would have handled it better than she did. Actually, I was angry because I have been trying to be a good guy, and now she thought I was cheating on her when I wasn't. So, for the rest of the night all I could think was "Well, if she is going to think I'm cheating, I may as well get the benefit of it and give Bartender a call."

I didn't do that, though. We stayed up late and fought. Finally, at about 1am, all the cheese I ate at dinner caught up with me and I became doubled-over in pain as the lactic acid from the cheese made knots of my intestines then violently exited me. At that point ME went to bed and I caught up on the fascinating advances in cell research from the only reading material she had in the bathroom, which was some scientific digest.

In the morning we made up two or three times. No word from Bartender.

Knock on