Blondie, The Hound, and a Purge

I haven't posted in a while, about four years to be exact, and it's mostly because I was just bored of it. I used to find it somewhat therapeutic writing about what I experienced, but work became busier and the blog just seemed like it was additional work. I was also tired of comments from folks who thought this was all made up, which I never understood. Why would I waste my time writing an anonymous blog that I receive no money or fame from, and just make everything up? It did amuse me, though, thinking about pathetic their lives must be if they thought me going out and having fun was "fake".

Anyway...

So Blondie and I have been dating for over four years now and things are pretty good. Neither of us like or want kids, so there hasn't been any pressure to get married. We talk about moving in together but there's no sense of urgency there either. She comes over 3-4 nights a week and life is pretty chill.

One thing I find interesting is that we've never had a big fight. We occasionally get on each other's nerves but it's isolated, at least from my perspective. For example, when we go to the grocery store after work all I want to do is get in there, get what we need for dinner, and get home as quickly as possible. Blondie, on the other hand, is completely fine spending fifteen minutes weighing the pros and cons of Arugula vs. Spinach. She's content to stand there, looking at the labels or doing god knows what with the packages while I race through the store and get everything else I need. Then I just circle back and I'm like "OK, ready to go?". She's always surprised that I've gotten thirty-seven other items since I left her. I'm sure I do things that annoy her but she rarely breaks my balls about them.

One thing I've noticed is that I'm probably drinking more than I should some nights. It's funny because I never have cravings for alcohol. It's not like I sit in my office staring at the clock waiting for the day to end so I can run out to a bar and tie one on. It's more a matter of boredom at home some nights. I'll get home from work, go to the gym or for a bike ride, feed the dog, eat, then sit on the couch and watch a movie. I'll have a beer or a drink when I sit down, and then before I know it I've had five. I've made a concerted effort to cut back, though.

The biggest thing on my mind these days is my hound. She's fourteen so she's probably on borrowed time. Her hips bother her sometimes, and she's not the force of nature she used to be, but she's still sharp and always up for a walk or a ride in the truck. I'm just hyper-aware of her immortality and it really bothers me. I'm sure her frailty also bothers me because it's a reflection of my growing older as well.

Something that my mind keeps turning to as I think about the dog getting old is that for the past 14 years my travel schedule has centered around finding someone to watch her while I'm away. As such, I always minimize my time away from home. I go to some pretty cools places on business travel: Brussels, Latin America, PR, San Francisco, even just a few days in Miami are fun, but it's always "Get in and get out" as fast as I can. So I have this unsettled feeling that I can't shake. It's a feeling of uneasiness from being unable to take a long trip. And if I'm being perfectly honest, there's probably an element of mid-life crisis baked into the feeling as well.

I try to think how to address the feeling and I keep circling back to the idea of taking a very long road trip on my bike when she passes. I'm going to be completely devastated when that day comes, and for weeks and months after, so maybe a long bike ride would help. Or maybe I'll be so fucked in the head that I'm crash and burn on the on-ramp to I-395. I have two trip ideas. The first is a meandering loop around the entire US. Head north then west starting in the spring. Ride the entire coast of California, north to south. Then head back east through the southern states (fucking Texas is looooong). The other idea is to head south through Mexico and maybe even into Central America towards Panama. I think work would let me take time off and perhaps even a little sabbatical without pay so that I could sort some things out.

Another reason why the trip is so appealing to me is that I crave experiences over possessions. To one degree or another, every year after the holidays I do a big purge in my house to get rid of old "stuff" to make room for whatever new "stuff" I received. This year I really noticed how repulsive the commerciality (is that even a word?) of the holidays are. As I looked through my closet and drawers I realized how much crap I had accumulated and how very little of it gave me any pleasure. So I started pulling things out of my closet and putting them in piles. Suits, shirts, t-shirt, dress pants, sweaters, shoes. It just went on and on. I filled a big box with really nice dress clothes and sent it to my nephew who just start his first job out of college. I filled two contractor bags with other clothes and donated them. I sold a bunch of things on eBay and Craigslist. Do I really need ten suits, five black sweaters, or two hundred ties!? It's kind of like that movie Fight Club when Ed Norton describes his Ikea furniture. I don't need all this shit. I'd rather visit some little town on the coast of wherever than buy another suit.

Anyway, I realize that was a bit of a disjointed rant that covered a lot, or maybe zero ground, I'm not sure which.

An Evening With D-Ron

The following is an email to me from D-Ron about his weekend. Allow me to set the stage:

Message Therapist: Some chick that he met online and has been occassionally having sex with. He says she's "very hot". Twice he has texted her thinking he was texting another girl he's having sex with.

Cougar: 40 year old divorced mother of two that he met at a bar outside Detroit. She divorced well and now has a house on a lake that D-Ron apparently has taken a liking to (more than the woman, I think)

Enjoy.

"So i woke up Saturday at Massage therapist. The lake cougar texted me and wanted to know if I wanted to come out for bonfire. I agreed even though I was supposed to do god knows what with therapist all day. We went out to breakfast and when we got back to her place she wondered why I was not gettin out of car. I said i had to do some things today. She asked if i was gunna come in and get my stuff. i said i had already put in car and she was not happy.


I got to lake and we went out swimming and fishing and drinking. Then her friends arrived so we took boat back. It was 4 ladies in their 40s and there kids in their 20s and younger girls in teens. It devolves from there

I am manning the grill which is a bad idea. The cougars son (20) was there and i was trying to be friendly without too much talking cause I am sure he hates me. I ask him if he likes baseball or hockey. he responds no, only Nascar and hunting. He was supposed to leave for the night, but was still there until 11pm. Then he leaves and Cougar and i go upstaris. Then he returns at 1130 and she rushes downstairs. He is yelling, "where is the guy!" I am doing my best Blair Witch in the corner upstairs in her bedroom, looking for a window. They start yelling. He leaves again, but i fully expect him to come back with a hatchet.

Downstairs the teenagers caught a snake and cut it open to find a frog inside. they teen boy is chasing the girls with a switchblade and they are crying. The girl falls and breaks her tooth. All the women are drunk by the fire talking about sex and just start laughing at the broken tooth girl. I am the voice of reason asking how she is and trying to get pain meds.

Then the daughter (23) starts talking about how last week she called her mom from an accident and how her mom was pissed she had to leave a party. It turned out she was drunk sriving and hit a tree and passed out. Wanted a ride before cops came. Turns out the cops made it there first and she went to jail.

The friend of cougar disappears with my cougars sun (20) and no one can find them. She comes back talking about how hot hew was and my cougar and her get into it. Then another lady is there with boyfriend. He keeps going fishing and then coming back to smoke pot. One of the chicks gets pissed because she is a corrections officer. Then the guy gets pissed at his girlfriend and starts swearing and shit. All the little girls start crying and ask me not to let him hit her momma again. I gathered the kids in the house and lock the dorrs like I am protecting the jews from the nazis.

All calms down and son comes back and I try and hide. The mom goes out and buys beer for her 16 yo son. Cougars son leaves again and i should leave but I need to finish my job so i stay until 5am, with a knife next to me at all times.

Cant wait till next time"

We all lean on different friends for different reasons. I go to D-Ron when I want to make my dating life seem regular.

Rape Fantasy

When does sexual behavior cross from kinky to demented? What is the line between being sexual open and perverse? How do we determine when we've gone "too far" in bed?

One time ME and I were in line at the grocery store together and she was reading an article in Cosmopolitan about things guys like in bed, and she suddenly became very embarrassed. I asked what she read and it took me 30 minutes to pry out of her that the article noted how one guy wanted his girlfriend to play with his balls more. That was pretty tame, I thought it was going to say the guy wanted to be shit on or something. Then it occurred to me that to some people getting shit on is tame. Clearly this is a very subjective topic, but it's still interesting.

I've always been fascinated with people who have to set up a "safety word" before having sex. How does that conversation go? "OK, if I say 'Piano' you need to put the tiger back in the cage and disarm the C-4. Got it, 'Piano'". I suppose you have to be careful what you chose as a safety word. For instance, "harder" probably wouldn't be a good choice. I bet "dagger" isn't used very often either. My problem is that I have a shitty memory. I'd be tied up, getting the shit whipped out of me screaming "Pizza! Pearl! PEARL! Fuck, what was the goddamn safety word?".

I don't know why this pops into my head sometimes, but once in a while during sex I wonder what I would do if a girl put her finger in my mouth and asked me to bite a digit off. Could I follow through with that, or would I break skin them chicken out at the first taste of blood? I'm surprised by how often I think that exact thought.

I get how pain and sex can go together. They are similar sensations but on opposite ends of the spectrum, kind of like hot and cold. You know how sometimes you touch something and you're not quite sure if it's freezing cold or red hot. You hold your hand there for a second, then you think "Oh, that's nice, it's cool, or, cold. No holy fuck it's scalding hot", then jerk your hand away. Sex can be the same. Sometimes a little spanking or biting is nice, but there's a thin line between "nice" and getting read your miranda rights.

I don't think it would come as a surprise to anyone that I kind of like humiliating girls in bed. I like to cum on girls, tie them up, gag them, pour hot wax on them. But again, how far is too far? Where is the line crossed?

Frankly, I've been having sex for more than half my life, and I've never once had a girl ask me to do something and had to take a good hard look at myself, get introspective, and say "You know, I just don't think I can head down that road". Not once. And I feel like I'm missing out.

The problem, I suspect, is that I don't run in the right circles. My friends are pretty preppy and all come from what I would classify as "good" families, though I'm not sure that means the don't do weird shit in the bedroom. But I suspect that if I hung out with Hells Angels more I would be exposed to some really off the wall stuff.

One time in high school the girl I was dating said she had this rape fantasy that a guy would break into her house while she was home alone and force her into sex. After the initial shock of my 16 year old girlfriend telling me she wanted to be raped wore off, I filed that thought away in my head as "shit to remember". A few weeks later I was driving by her house and noticed that her car was in the driveway but both her parent's cars were gone. Seemed like a perfect opportunity to fulfil that fantasy. I parked the car at the end of her street and started snooping around the house. I saw my girlfriend in the living room vacuuming so I snuck back around to the garage, went in the back door, then tip-toed through the kitchen, dining room, and den so I could sneak up behind her.

The suspense was terrible, I was freaked the fuck out as I inched closer to her. The TV was on and the vacuum made a bunch of noise but I still felt like I was being louder than a Louisiana marching band coming up behind her. Every creak in the floor was amplified in my head by a factor of a million. I thought I was going to have a heart attack and all this crazy shit when through my head. "Should I tackle her? Should I take my dick out before I grab her? Will I be able to get hard? What if she hits me with the vacuum? When will her parents be home? Will the cops come? Is she wearing underwear? Does anyone in the house own a gun?"

When I finally got close enough I grabbed her around the waist with my left arm, tried to cup her mouth from behind with my right hand but missed and cupped her nose and poked her in one eye, then lifted her up and started to carry her backwards towards the couch.

However, the scream she let out when I grabbed her, the blood curdling, high pitched, primal terror shrill, was so awful that I froze up. In that second she arched her back, twisted around to the side, and elbowed me in the temple. So I dropped her.

We had great sex after that, but the scene really didn't play out like I thought it would and she didn't get to live out her rape fantasy from me that afternoon. But after she fucked this guy Ryan I knew while we were dating I always prayed she would get to live it out.

"Every part of my body likes being fucked, except my hair."

The title of this post is from Blondie, said Sunday morning while she was brushing her hair. It sums her up very well. It was clever, direct, a little crass, yet sexy.

Things with Blondie are going well, much to the chagrin of my sister, who fucking hates her.

The problem is that I broke up with HW, my sister's friend, for Blondie. To compound matters, I technically cheated on HW with Blondie. So my sister doesn't so much hate Blondie, it's more that she's pissed at me, but conveniently shifted that anger onto Blondie. If the circumstances were different they would get along fine.
Things with Blondie are going so well that we've decided to go on vacation together for NYE. The half-hatched idea of going away for a week after only dating a few months came about the way most things in my life do: after consuming a lot of alcohol. Blondie and I were talking about places we've been, trips we have planned, and places we wanted to see, then, two bottles of wine later we agreed it would be a terrific idea to spend the week around NYE together. Once we sobered up and realized this may not be the best plan for any combination of a million reasons, I think we were both too embarrassed (or stubborn) to back out. After considering a bunch of possible places we wanted to go we settled on Costa Rica and booked flights.

This trip represents a lot of firsts (or close seconds) for me. The only girl I've traveled with in the past was ME, when we went to Miami together a little over a year ago, and that trip was only three nights. Blondie and I are going away for ten days. The thing about Costa Rica is that it's not the most developed place on Earth, and traveling around the country can be challenging. This isn't like going to Europe where there are high-speed trains, super highways, and four star hotels on every corner. Where we're going, the drive from the airport to the hotel requires a 4x4 truck to negotiate the two river crossings, which, coincidentally, was specifically forbidden in the rental car agreement I signed (luckily, my AMEX insurance was considerably more vague about coverage of vehicles swept away by rivers). My point is, we're going to be lounging around the beach and staying in a little cabana that may or may not have running hot water. In the immortal words of Captain Ron, "If anything's gonna happen, it's gonna happen out there". If Blondie and I are going to kill each other, it's probably gonna happen on this trip.

Date 1: Blondie

I will start by saying that my first date with Blondie was the longest continual date (without sleeping) in my life- 16 hours. I would also say it was one of the best.

After a few texts and phone calls Blondie and I decided to go sailing for the day last Saturday. We met up at my house around noon and drove to the boat together. It was nice out when we left, but by the time we got to the boat it was cloudy and very windy, almost too windy to sail (without a crew of people who actually know what they are doing). However, I decided I would look like a pussy if I didn't take her out, so I put up just the mainsail and we went out for a few hours.

Blondie is really easy to talk to. After spending a year with HW, who is quiet and you basically have to initiaite all conversation, it was nice to hang out and not have to pull the conversation out of her. The other nice thing about her is that despite being smoking hot (I think she's the hottest girl ever to say my name back to me) Blondie is extremely low maintenance (so far). She helped out on the boat and didn't care about getting dirty.

We sailed from 1 until about 4, then went back to the dock and popped open a bottle of wine.

Side Note:
I usually keep bedding on the boat, but I took the sheets and blankets off it last month to wash them and never brought them back out. When I was packing stuff to bring out last week it crossed my mind that the sail could turn into a sleepover, but ultimately I decided that a girl this good looking would never stay the night on a first date, and certainly not on my boat in October.

After an hour or so drinking and just hanging out I started to get hungry and asked Blondie what she wanted to do. She said she could eat, then asked "Do you ever sleep on the boat?". The answer is yes, but sleeping on my boat is basically like camping. Sure, there's a kitchen, a bed, and a bathroom, but there's no heat. If it's 50 outside it's 50 inside, period. It can be fun, but I didn't know this girl very well and I thought that I might actually like to have a second date with her and not just fuck her once then never hear from her again because she nearly froze to death in Annapolis Harbor. So I said "Sure, but I don't have any blankets on the boat and it's pretty cold out here this time of year". She left it at that and we packed up and headed back to DC.

We got back to my house around 7 and had a cocktail on my deck. It started to get cold, and we were both hungry, so we decided to walk to H Street to get some dinner. Blondie said "I only have jeans, nothing fancy, is that OK?" Obviously that was fine, so she went into my room and changed while I changed in the bathroom. Five minutes later she walked out of my room looking like a million bucks. She had on tight jeans, a black tank top, and red high heels. I don't think she had on any makeup and was still drop dead gorgeous.

We walked to H St and got some sushi, then went to Smith Commons for a drink. One drink turned into three, and we stayed there until about 1am, at which point the place was pretty empty. It was getting late so we walked back to my place.

I had been with Blondie for about 12 hours at this point and was having a great time. There were a few points in the day/night where we could have politely said good bye and separated, but it never came up. One thing just led to the next. So while we were walking I said "Would you like to take a dip in the hot tub?", and she didn't even hesitate, she just said "Sure, but I don't have a suit, but I have a tank top". No problem.

Back at my place we opened a bottle of wine (our third of the day/night) and I poured us each a glass. Blondie said "I'm going to go change", so I threw on a suit and brought the wine outside. A minute later Blondie walked outside in a tiny black thong, a tight white tank top and got in with me.

We relaxed for a while then started kissing and fooling around. After thirty minutes my suit and her shirt came off, then her thong was pushed to the side and we played "just the tip" for a long time. Blondie did the whole "God I want to but we shouldn't" routine, which is basically a cliche in my opinion. Don't get me wrong, I would have loved to have sex with her right then and there, but I wasn't really pushing all that hard (no pun intended) because I did have some minor moral pangs about the fact that HW was still in the picture and it wasn't a very nice thing to do. Also, I didn't have a condom on me, so I had that in the back of my mind as well. Call it splitting hairs, but I really didn't want to have sex with Blondie while I was still technically dating HW.

I'm not sure how, but we stayed in the tub until 5am. My entire body was pruned-up by then, so we climbed out and went to my room. Blondie said "I can't stay, I have to go home", which I thought was ridiculous given the hour and how far she had to drive to get home (she lives about 20-30 minutes from my house) but I said that was fine and walked her out to her car after she put on some clothes.

Sunday was a day of mixed feelings. I was psyched about Blondie, but I dreaded having to break up with HW. I knew it wasn't going to go well at all. It never goes well, clearly, but I had a feeling HW was going to take it very hard, so I REALLY didn't want to do it. To further complicate matters, I had about nine texts from HW asking what I was doing and why I wasn't returning her messages (she was out of town with her girlfriends). I told her I was out on the boat (true) and that my phone had died (a lie).

I decided to break up with HW when she got home Monday.

Blondie

HW is out. Blondie is on deck.

I've been a pussy, I admit it. I should have broken it off with HW months ago, but a combination of laziness, procrastination and lack of balls kept me from doing it. But unlike wine, time doesn't do anything for festering relationships and the longer I waited, the harder it became to do the inevitable.

Then, riding home from work one day I met Blondie, and I had to sack-up and sever ties with HW.

I spotted Blondie walking down the sidewalk near my office one day this spring. She was tall, with long blond hair, killer legs, she is just a really pretty girl. I then saw her again a couple of days later, then once in a coffee shop, then nothing. Every day that I didn't see her I kicked myself in the ass for not introducing myself. It got to the point where I couldn't walk to my car or cross the street for a sandwich without looking for her. I've never been to a shrink, but I don't think it would be a stretch to say I have mild to moderate OCD.

Anyway, after not seeing her for a month I figured Blondie moved back to the place where obscenely beautiful Viking women live when not tormenting DC guys. I was bumbed, but life moves on. Then two weeks ago I was on my bike heading home from work and I spotted her crossing the street and heading right towards me. My light turned green so I called an audible and pulled the bike over (almost in front of her). She didn't even look at me, she kept walking, so I took off my helmet and said "Excuse me, but I see you around here all the time, and was wondering if I could buy you a cup of coffee sometime?". I'm not sure how or why I said that, it just came out of my mouth. She smiled and said "sure", and started to walk away. The whole scene couldn't have been more awkward. I was sitting on my bike in the crosswalk, she was slowly walking away, there were a few people from my office nearby and a homeless guy trying to get me to give him money. It was full-on AWKWARD. I said "What's your name?". She told me, I said "Nice to meet you, I'm...", and that was that.

So, why didn't I ask her for her number? Great fucking question and I have no idea. That's exactly what I asked myself, out loud, after I put my helmet on. Then it occurred to me that I didn't remember her name. I'd been stalking this chick for months, I finally meet her, and I forgot her name, what an asshole. She had just told it to me eight seconds earlier and I could only remember the first lettter. Jesus, I have the memory of a goldfish.

I fired up my bike and rode off, in complete disbelief of my inneptness. I had all the embarrassment of a ridiculously awkward encounter without the payoff of the digits. I half-expected one of those double-decker Brittish tour buses to run me over and complete the circle.

The only thing that kept me from jerking the bike into oncoming traffic on the ride home was the idea that, completely on accident, it was kind of cool that I didn't ask her for her number. Or at least I told myself that it was kind of cool because I didn't seem too anxious (just accept this and move on).

As luck would have it, I was walking to my car last Monday and saw Blondie on the other side of the street waiting to cross in my direction. I waited on my side of the street and kind of waived as she crossed. Long story short, we talked for a minute and I said I was on my way home, but got her number and asked if I could buy her dinner sometime, which she said would be nice.

I had a bit of a moral dilemma here, because I was now making plans to go out with someone else while I was still technically dating HW. After speaking with Blondie last Thursday, we made plans to meet out Saturday, so I only had a few days to break it off with HW before our date. Further complicating the matter was the fact that HW was leaving Saturday morning for a trip, and we already had plans for Friday night. In the end I wound up going out with HW Friday night and decided to break up with her when she got back from her trip.

Saturday I went sailing with Blondie. More to come on that.

Cracks In The Armor

I realize I've taken a long break, but between the new job (which for every hour worked shortens my life span by two) and things going well with HW, I haven't had much time or material to write.

However, in the past few weeks things with HW began to implode, so I thought I would share.

The Good:
Since meeting in October, HW and I have gotten along rather well. The most notable trait was that HW never gave me a hard time about anything. We always seemed to be on the same page. We did a lot of fun things together, she was adventerous, and I always enjoyed hanging out. She gave me plenty of space, but was always up for hanging out.

Cracks In The Armor:
HW started to show some cracks in the armor right after she bought her condo. I know what she makes at work, so when she started spending lavishly on her new place, especially on her new furniture and kitchen renovation, I knew that her parents were significantly helping her out. This isn't my issue, because it's not my money (and will never be mine), but it showed me that she can't live within her means, and that was a turnoff. The second, and more annoying thing, was that she was wasteful with her spending. She would buy things then decide she didn't like it, put it in a closet, then buy another (though often nearly identical) item. This was the case with coffee tables, lamps, lighting fixtures, etc..

The other huge issue is that HW can't make a decision. A perfect example is the color of her large living/dining room. After she bought the place I helped her paint the room, which took a whole day. Two days later she decided she didn't like the grey she picked and painted the whole area a nearly identical grey. Two days after that she again decided she didn't like Grey #2, and painted three walls a third grey. The next day she decided she didn't like Grey #3, so she painted the whole place Grey #1 again. Mind you, all three colors were almost identical, it's not like she went from blue, to red, to green. It was like painting the room the same color four times, it just didn't make any sense.

Strike One:
One night a few weeks ago we had our first real fight. I drove through traffic to her house after work to pick her up for dinner. I parked the bike out front and she came down from her condo in a skirt, looked at the bike, and had a minor temper tantrum about having to wear a helmet. This never bothered her before, so I didn't understand. At dinner she confessed that she didn't like the bike because it was uncomfortable and made her back hurt. I enjoy the bike, and riding, so it's important that I be with someone who also does, so this was strike one. Do I like the bike more than her? Tough question. The bigger issue is that she knows how hard it is to park in her neighborhood, so her tantrum told me that she cares more about her being uncomfortable for a ten minute bike ride, than me having to drive in circles for 30 minutes in her area in my car searching for parking.

NN Fucks Up:
Not everything is HW's fault. One night a few months ago HW suggested we go to the Hampton's for a weekend. I then launched into a twenty minute diatribe about how much I hate the Hamptons. How it's far away, hard to get to, exhorbitantly expensive, and filled with the most obnoxious New Yorkers. A week later Uncle Charlie emailed me and asked if I wanted to go to his house in South Hampton with him and a bunch of other people, and of course I said yes and went. Clearly, this did not go over well.

I suppose I just don't like the Hamptons with HW.

Strike Two:
Knowing that things were a little stressed, I asked HW if she would like to take my boat out for a weekend. I said we could sail to Annapolis, spend a night there and go out for dinner, then sail to a secluded inlet and anchor for a night and cook dinner on the boat, then sail home on Sunday. She said "I have a confession to make, I don't really like the boat, and don't think I could spend a night on it".

So she doesn't like my bike and won't ride with me, and she doesn't like my boat and won't sail with me.

Foul Tip:
After a few stressed weeks due to the conversations noted above, I took HW to Chuck's beach house for the day during one of those days that it was 105 degrees. We hung out on the beach, had some beers, and swam. She said about ten words the whole afternoon. The next day I was talking to Chuck and he told me that HW was quiet to the point of being rude, and that she "sucks".

So my friends don't like her.

Gather My Stuff:
After Chuck gave her two thumbs down I decided a breakup was inevitable, so I made up some excuses and collected most of my "stuff" from her house. This included a ladder and painting supplies from my help with Grey #1, some clothes, and my Canon digital SLR that she borrowed.

Costa Rica:
Somewhere in the middle of all this fun, HW asked if I would like to go to Costa Rica in August together.

In my mind, the answer was no for four reasons. 1) I have a bike and like to ride in the summer when it's nice out. 2) I have a boat and like to sail in the summer when it's nice out. 3) Let's go to a warm climate in the winter, when it's cold in DC, not when it's nice out. 4) Who the fuck wants to fly towards the Equator in the middle of August!

Luckily, I had an excuse. I may have to fly to China in August for work, but don't have an exact date yet, so it wouldn't be a good idea to book travel and then have to cancel.

Two days later HW booked a trip with three girlfriends to Europe instead.

Bike Weekend:
To say things were "stressed" would be a severe understatement when I left for my annual bike ride last Thursday. We went out for dinner the night before, had sex a couple of times before going to bed, but it wasn't necessarily a fun evening.

Being on a motorcycle with nothing to do but mull over a deteriorating relationship isn't necessarily a great time. I like thinking things over, but sometimes you need outside input, an you just can't get that riding 70 mph for ten hours at a clip. You're alone on an island even though three good friends are just a couple of feet away from you.

So I'm not sure where I stand at the moment. For every reason I can think of to stay with HW, I can think of one to break up with her.

HW

I'm generally a glass half empty kind of guy. If someone gives me something, I automatically wonder what's in it for them. So I am not surprised that while things are going great with HW I am constantly waiting to find out what her issue(s) is(are).

This probably isn't the best way to go through life, but I can't change the way I'm wired. I come from a long line of lawyers, so I was raised to always look for the potential liability in every situation.

Things with HW have been going very well. We have a great time together. She's funny, smart, athletic, sexy, well educated, likes dogs, and works hard at a career she enjoys. As far as I know she doesn't have kids and can even swim. As an added bonus, which is something I didn't even realize I was looking for, she doesn't freak out if we don't talk to each other every night. We can go a day or two without making small talk and she' fine. There's no "Oh baby, you didn't call me. What's wrong. You don't like me anymore" or any of that shit.

I wonder what the rub is? I bet she has a penchant for plucking the fur off live kittens, or collects human tongues.

On other fronts, I ran into Bartender last night. I worked late and decided to go out for dinner on my way home. I went to a new place near my house and she was just finishing up a drink on her way to meeting up with friends. We talked for a few minutes and then she asked if I was interested in going to a party that night. I was exhausted and declined, though I think she was just asking to be polite.

Today I was waiting in line at a deli for a sandwich and thought I hear ringing. I pulled my Blackberry out of my pocket and saw that my phone had ghost dialed ME. I hung it up then locked the keys. I'm sure she's wondering why I'm calling her.

NYE

Things got a little crazy this NYE.

On December 26th I flew to San Juan, PR and met up with two friends, Chavez and Uncle Charlie, and two girls, Socal and Red. The five of us then flew to Saint Maarten where we had rented a house for a week.

Over the course of 7 days we wrecked a rental car, caused a few grand damage to the house, were almost deported from St Maarten, snuck into Anguilla, were nearly arrested, then snuck back out of Anguilla, and finally snuck out of St. Maarten before reporting the wrecked car.

It's not a large island, and basically everyone we came into contact with is pissed at us, so I'm not going to get into any more details, but the short of all of this nonsense is that I need to tone down the antics a bit.

Nothing we did was malicious or (in most cases) intentional. Like I said, things just got a little crazy. We didn't set out to break shit at the house, it was accidental, like friendly fire. We didn't mean to break the car, who knew it couldn't drive itself and that the doors don't open forward 180 degrees (or at least close again once they have been). And if the Anguilla's customs office closes early on NYE and certain guards can't be bribed, is that really my fault? I think not. My point is, if they don't have me or my passport in custody, I didn't do anything wrong...

What I meant was, I need to slow it down a bit, pump the brakes once in a while.

Gifts and Blowjobs

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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.

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.

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.

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 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.