I had dinner last night with Tiny. Everything was going great until we got home and she initiated "the talk".
Before I get into that, though, I had a great NN The Idiot Boy moment that needs to be shared. I was walking into the gym last night and Gym Girl was in the aerobics room stretching. She had on a pair of totally form-fitting grey spandex pants, a sports bra, and was standing spread eagle and bent over at the waist touching her toes. I had to walk past her to get the the locker room and was blatantly staring because I didn't think she could see me. However, I forgot how mirrors work and she could totally see me glaring at her ass as I approached. When I noticed that she could see me I panicked and blurted out "thank you", apparently a response for her being kind enough to wear those pant and assume that pose. What a jackass.
Back to Tiny's place. Here's the thing. After dinner we're hanging out on the couch talking, everything is cool, it gets late, and we decide to go to bed. I get into bed and tiny goes into the bathroom. She comes out a few minutes later in this sexy little tank top and underwear. She crawls into bed and after a few minutes of kissing she leans back and say "So, where are WE headed?". OK, fair enough, we've been going out for a few months now so this was inevitable. I said I don't know, I like things to develop on their own organically, I'm not big into titles, etc. In a very matter of fact tone she said "Well, I'm 33, and I want to have kids, so if you don't see this headed in that direction I would like to know now".
I have to say, I really respect how she worded her entire argument. She was totally non-confrontational and emotionally neutral. She basically said fish or cut bait and it was probably the most I have ever been attracted to her. It's the only time in my life that I've had this conversation with a girl (and I've had this talk many times) and didn't feel like a cornered animal. However, was this really the proper time to have this talk? We just spent two hours at a restaurant and thirty minutes hanging out on her couch. Those would have been good times to have a serious discussion, NOT while were were in bed about to have sex. I was at a distinct disadvantage. Plus, she's getting skewed data at that point since the little head had taken control of the body.
Anyway, I think the moral of the story here is that she's out soon.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Dateguy vs Sexguy
I haven't heard from Stella in a few days, my guess is that situation has pretty much run its' course. That's OK, though, because it's a perfect example to illustrate something I've wanted to talk about for a while: Dateguy versus Sexguy.
First let me give a little background. People have always said that I am impatient when it comes to dating and that I throw in the towel if a girl doesn't sleep with me right away (i.e. several dates). They say I give up too easily and that if I put in more time I would get a higher caliber woman.
On a superficial level this may be true but if you explore the topic deeper you run into the Dateguy vs Sexguy conundrum. Here is how this works. There are single women and women who are in a relationship. Let's put the "relationship" girls aside for now. In the single female population there are those that are 100% detached, and those that are seeing multiple people and basically playing the field. They are in that limbo between single and in a relationship. This limbo group is the population I would like to focus on as I feel it represents the largest group that I encounter in DC.
So you have this girl that is neither in a serious relationship nor 100% single. She may have gone out a few times with one guy, there may be an ex still in the picture from last year, she may have some guy in another city that she's visited once or twice. You get the picture, she's single but she's not a hundred percent single. She's weighing various opportunities. In this world she has at least two guys in her life and they are called Dateguy and Sexguy (there is usually only one Sexguy, but there may be multiple Dateguys).
Dateguy: I am the nice dude that does thoughtful things for girls. I call and send text messages, take the girl out for dinner, and generally go out of my way to show her a good time. I plan special events, buy concert tickets, and attend holiday parties. The girl, in turn, accepts my advances because she enjoys the attention and is comfortable around me. However, the girl doesn't quite like me enough to sleep with me so I forever live in Heavy Petting Land.
Sexguy: I am who the girl sends the following text when she gets out of the car after being wined and dined with Dateguy: "Just got home from drinks with the girls, want to meet up?". Girls come to my house several times a week to have sweaty, wildly experimental, no-strings-attached, sex. I am like a vampire, I am never seen during daylight.
One of my favorite sayings has to do with playing cards, and it's "If you can't spot the sucker in your first half hour at the table, you ARE the sucker!". Similarly, if you're not having sex with the girl within the first few dates, you're Dateguy!
There are always exceptions to the rule, but I've already admitted to being impatient. I don't have time to sniff out each exception. I use the best historical data available to make decisions with the greatest probability of a favorable outcome. I short, I play the odds.
Using Stella as an example I was playing the Dateguy role perfectly. All the elements were there. I was wining and dining her for the past few weeks and I'd bet dollars to donuts that she was sleeping with some other dude. I'm not saying there is anything wrong with that, because God knows I've been on that side of the equation. All I am saying is that as soon as I determine I'm Dateguy I'm out of there.
Is there a possibility of shifting from Dateguy to boyfriend? Sure, but the question is how long are you willing to play the rube? My answer is about four dates.
First let me give a little background. People have always said that I am impatient when it comes to dating and that I throw in the towel if a girl doesn't sleep with me right away (i.e. several dates). They say I give up too easily and that if I put in more time I would get a higher caliber woman.
On a superficial level this may be true but if you explore the topic deeper you run into the Dateguy vs Sexguy conundrum. Here is how this works. There are single women and women who are in a relationship. Let's put the "relationship" girls aside for now. In the single female population there are those that are 100% detached, and those that are seeing multiple people and basically playing the field. They are in that limbo between single and in a relationship. This limbo group is the population I would like to focus on as I feel it represents the largest group that I encounter in DC.
So you have this girl that is neither in a serious relationship nor 100% single. She may have gone out a few times with one guy, there may be an ex still in the picture from last year, she may have some guy in another city that she's visited once or twice. You get the picture, she's single but she's not a hundred percent single. She's weighing various opportunities. In this world she has at least two guys in her life and they are called Dateguy and Sexguy (there is usually only one Sexguy, but there may be multiple Dateguys).
Dateguy: I am the nice dude that does thoughtful things for girls. I call and send text messages, take the girl out for dinner, and generally go out of my way to show her a good time. I plan special events, buy concert tickets, and attend holiday parties. The girl, in turn, accepts my advances because she enjoys the attention and is comfortable around me. However, the girl doesn't quite like me enough to sleep with me so I forever live in Heavy Petting Land.
Sexguy: I am who the girl sends the following text when she gets out of the car after being wined and dined with Dateguy: "Just got home from drinks with the girls, want to meet up?". Girls come to my house several times a week to have sweaty, wildly experimental, no-strings-attached, sex. I am like a vampire, I am never seen during daylight.
One of my favorite sayings has to do with playing cards, and it's "If you can't spot the sucker in your first half hour at the table, you ARE the sucker!". Similarly, if you're not having sex with the girl within the first few dates, you're Dateguy!
There are always exceptions to the rule, but I've already admitted to being impatient. I don't have time to sniff out each exception. I use the best historical data available to make decisions with the greatest probability of a favorable outcome. I short, I play the odds.
Using Stella as an example I was playing the Dateguy role perfectly. All the elements were there. I was wining and dining her for the past few weeks and I'd bet dollars to donuts that she was sleeping with some other dude. I'm not saying there is anything wrong with that, because God knows I've been on that side of the equation. All I am saying is that as soon as I determine I'm Dateguy I'm out of there.
Is there a possibility of shifting from Dateguy to boyfriend? Sure, but the question is how long are you willing to play the rube? My answer is about four dates.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Full Moon
This was a strange weekend, it was like there was a full moon.
Friday night I went out with Tiny for dinner then to a movie. Midway through dinner asked me about kids and how many I wanted (not with her, just in general). I think the topic came up innocently enough and then spiraled into a long discussion (debate) when I told her I wasn't sure I wanted any. This is a deal breaker for most women and Tiny seemed irked by my candid responses. While it wasn't a full blown issue on Friday I know the topic will come up again and she will have refined her argument.
Saturday night I got side-swiped by my friend Chuck. He invited me over to his house for a BBQ. I was the first to arrive and while he was starting up the grill his wife said something like "It's not going to be awkward with Kay here, is it?". Chuck hadn't mentioned she would be there and I know it was intentional. To be perfectly honest had he told me I probably would have made other plans. I just don't want to hang out with her, I still foster a little resentment. I know I shouldn't, but there is still that tiny little spot deep inside me that is pissed off. It's like a sliver that you think is gone then something rubs against it and reminds you that it's still there. In the end it was pretty cathartic, bolstered by the fact that she gained a lot of weight and really didn't look good.
Sunday I went out on Chuck's boat. It was the first outing of the season so we just ran up the Potomac. We picked up his wife in Georgetown then threw anchor a few hundred yards past the Key Bridge. Anchored a hundred feet away was a pretty big boat that looked like the set of a music video. On board were two fat middle aged white guys and six hot blond girls in some of the tiniest bikinis I've ever seen on the river. The girls were all laying out on the front deck of the boat and the dudes were like lost puppies, wandering around the boat looking for something to do. I was like, are you kidding me, all that tail and you two fucking knuckle-heads are look bored? I wanted to swim over and throw the two goofs overboard Somali-pirate style.
After the boat ride I was relaxing at home when I received a text from Bear that said she was in the neighborhood and wanted to stop by. I said sure and she came by an hour later, hammered, and extremely confrontational. Bear doesn't usually get drunk like this in the middle of the day (that's my MO) so I didn't see it coming. Bear was pretty hard to handle. She was charged up and needed constant monitoring to keep her from hurting herself or breaking something in my place. Just when I thought I had her under control she said "So, who is this college girl you hooked up with in Canada?" Wow, I hadn't seen that coming! She was referring to Blue, and I guess she pieced it together by the timing of when she became my Facebook friend. She continued "I was hooking up with other people at the time too, but I just want to hear you admit it...I won't get mad". When girls say they won't get mad, it means they will get FURIOUS. I side stepped the question, I didn't feel the need to tell her anything or, frankly, to explain my actions. By the time I calmed her down it was 10pm and I was tired, so I said "Well, it's getting late and I have to be up early tomorrow, I need to get to bed soon", hoping she would get the hint and head home. She said "Good I'm tired too" but I got the distinct feeling that didn't mean she was going home. I said "Would you like a ride?" and with that she burst into tears. Sobbing with tears streaming down her face she said "You're not going to invite me to stay?". Uhh, no, not with you in combative hysterics, I'm not. I didn't actually say that, though. I had an early meeting this morning so I used that as an excuse and she left a few minutes later.
Friday night I went out with Tiny for dinner then to a movie. Midway through dinner asked me about kids and how many I wanted (not with her, just in general). I think the topic came up innocently enough and then spiraled into a long discussion (debate) when I told her I wasn't sure I wanted any. This is a deal breaker for most women and Tiny seemed irked by my candid responses. While it wasn't a full blown issue on Friday I know the topic will come up again and she will have refined her argument.
Saturday night I got side-swiped by my friend Chuck. He invited me over to his house for a BBQ. I was the first to arrive and while he was starting up the grill his wife said something like "It's not going to be awkward with Kay here, is it?". Chuck hadn't mentioned she would be there and I know it was intentional. To be perfectly honest had he told me I probably would have made other plans. I just don't want to hang out with her, I still foster a little resentment. I know I shouldn't, but there is still that tiny little spot deep inside me that is pissed off. It's like a sliver that you think is gone then something rubs against it and reminds you that it's still there. In the end it was pretty cathartic, bolstered by the fact that she gained a lot of weight and really didn't look good.
Sunday I went out on Chuck's boat. It was the first outing of the season so we just ran up the Potomac. We picked up his wife in Georgetown then threw anchor a few hundred yards past the Key Bridge. Anchored a hundred feet away was a pretty big boat that looked like the set of a music video. On board were two fat middle aged white guys and six hot blond girls in some of the tiniest bikinis I've ever seen on the river. The girls were all laying out on the front deck of the boat and the dudes were like lost puppies, wandering around the boat looking for something to do. I was like, are you kidding me, all that tail and you two fucking knuckle-heads are look bored? I wanted to swim over and throw the two goofs overboard Somali-pirate style.
After the boat ride I was relaxing at home when I received a text from Bear that said she was in the neighborhood and wanted to stop by. I said sure and she came by an hour later, hammered, and extremely confrontational. Bear doesn't usually get drunk like this in the middle of the day (that's my MO) so I didn't see it coming. Bear was pretty hard to handle. She was charged up and needed constant monitoring to keep her from hurting herself or breaking something in my place. Just when I thought I had her under control she said "So, who is this college girl you hooked up with in Canada?" Wow, I hadn't seen that coming! She was referring to Blue, and I guess she pieced it together by the timing of when she became my Facebook friend. She continued "I was hooking up with other people at the time too, but I just want to hear you admit it...I won't get mad". When girls say they won't get mad, it means they will get FURIOUS. I side stepped the question, I didn't feel the need to tell her anything or, frankly, to explain my actions. By the time I calmed her down it was 10pm and I was tired, so I said "Well, it's getting late and I have to be up early tomorrow, I need to get to bed soon", hoping she would get the hint and head home. She said "Good I'm tired too" but I got the distinct feeling that didn't mean she was going home. I said "Would you like a ride?" and with that she burst into tears. Sobbing with tears streaming down her face she said "You're not going to invite me to stay?". Uhh, no, not with you in combative hysterics, I'm not. I didn't actually say that, though. I had an early meeting this morning so I used that as an excuse and she left a few minutes later.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
That thing in NC
I eat lunch with a couple of women from my office three to four days a week. Betty and Martha are only a few years older than I, but they are both married with kids, so our lives are polar opposites. They enjoy the stories of my exploits and failures, and I find a special sort of satisfaction in hearing the fucked up tales about their kids and relish in the fact that I don't have any spawn of my own (or at least any that you can prove) to drive me to the brink of insanity and financial ruin.
Yesterday we were waiting in line at a deli to order lunch and another woman from my office, Annie, was waiting a few people behind us. Martha waived to her and said "Annie, why don't you join us for lunch". It was a bold move because there were five or six people between us waiting to order and Annie jumped past them like a hungry jackal. Plus, I really don't like Annie much and wasn't thrilled about spending my lunch break with her. The damage was done, though...or so I thought.
When we got our food we sat down at a table and Martha said to Annie "So, whatever happened to that thing in North Carolina". I was unwrapping my sandwich and overheard the question, but Martha had asked it quietly enough so I wasn't sure if it was intended for general discussion. Betty was fiddling with her salad dressing and I don't think she caught it. Annie, however, looked really uncomfortable. Then she kind of got up out of her chair and I thought she may have been choking. She may have even been trying to leave the table. I couldn't tell for sure. Annie just hovered above her seat and her mouth took on an odd shape, like she had a whole egg in there and was trying not to break or swallow it. Then the look morphed into something else. I thought she may have broken a tooth, or worse, found someone else's tooth in her sandwich. It was a grotesque mixture of horror and disgust. Martha kept asking "What's wrong? Are you OK? Are you OK?"
Finally, Annie swallowed and said "Well, that's kind of an ongoing thing." Martha said "Oh, that's too bad, how's your father doing?" Annie sat back down, but it was now clear that she was highly uncomfortable with the topic and the manner in which it was brought up. Annie continued "Well, his Alzheimer's is getting really bad, and this has kind of turned into a covert mission...like a kidnapping...but...um...I'm not sure..."
At this point Betty and I (and everyone else in the deli within earshot) are really uncomfortable and trying to stuff Boar's Head meats in our pie holes' as quickly as possible if for no other reason than to perhaps choke to death and escape this ugly scene. I gently try to kick Martha in the shin, but all I can find is the leg to her chair.
With that Martha drops the a-bomb on the table "Oh, I'm sorry, maybe they (referring to Betty and I) don't know. [turning to us] Did you guys know that Annie's mom passed away two weeks ago?"
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM! The bomb detonated and every molecule of oxygen was sucked out of the room. I would have been less surprised if Martha pulled an eighteen-inch black rubber dildo out of her purse and pimp slapped me across the face with it.
I couldn't muster a single word, not even a noise. Nothing. I estimate one full minute passed before Betty said "Oh, no, I didn't know that. I'm very sorry to hear that." Then another minute passed.
But no, Martha wasn't done. Facing Annie she said "Well, I wasn't sure if they knew." No fucking shit, how would we know? I've never said more than ten words to this lady, why on God's green fucking earth would you ever bring this topic up over lunch...two weeks after the fact? What ever happened to talking about polite shit like weather, and, oh, I don't know, pap smears. Anything other than her mother's passing and her father's kidnapping (whatever the hell that was about) and imminent death.
Annie was doing her best to hold it together but she was on the verge of crying. Even I, the most callous bastard alive, felt badly for her. She said "Yes, she passed away two weeks ago" then searched for the right words and continued "...but I'm not really sure this is appropriate lunch conversation."
That's exactly what I was thinking! With that I landed a precision shot to Martha's right shin and shot her a "shut the fuck up" look.
As much as I love watching humanity crumble to dust, this was really ruining my sub. I decided to change the topic and blurted out "Vienna!". Betty nearly snarfed a strand of lettuce out of her nose. "I need to go to Vienna, VA today, anyone know where that is?" It was the most thinly veiled attempt at changing an awkward subject in the history of man, but desperate times call for desperate measures. "First I have to stop in Springfield, then I have to be in Vienna at 3pm. Will I hit traffic on my way there? Will I-66 be one-way by then?"
With that the horror ended.
What the fuck is wrong with chicks? Jagaloons.
Yesterday we were waiting in line at a deli to order lunch and another woman from my office, Annie, was waiting a few people behind us. Martha waived to her and said "Annie, why don't you join us for lunch". It was a bold move because there were five or six people between us waiting to order and Annie jumped past them like a hungry jackal. Plus, I really don't like Annie much and wasn't thrilled about spending my lunch break with her. The damage was done, though...or so I thought.
When we got our food we sat down at a table and Martha said to Annie "So, whatever happened to that thing in North Carolina". I was unwrapping my sandwich and overheard the question, but Martha had asked it quietly enough so I wasn't sure if it was intended for general discussion. Betty was fiddling with her salad dressing and I don't think she caught it. Annie, however, looked really uncomfortable. Then she kind of got up out of her chair and I thought she may have been choking. She may have even been trying to leave the table. I couldn't tell for sure. Annie just hovered above her seat and her mouth took on an odd shape, like she had a whole egg in there and was trying not to break or swallow it. Then the look morphed into something else. I thought she may have broken a tooth, or worse, found someone else's tooth in her sandwich. It was a grotesque mixture of horror and disgust. Martha kept asking "What's wrong? Are you OK? Are you OK?"
Finally, Annie swallowed and said "Well, that's kind of an ongoing thing." Martha said "Oh, that's too bad, how's your father doing?" Annie sat back down, but it was now clear that she was highly uncomfortable with the topic and the manner in which it was brought up. Annie continued "Well, his Alzheimer's is getting really bad, and this has kind of turned into a covert mission...like a kidnapping...but...um...I'm not sure..."
At this point Betty and I (and everyone else in the deli within earshot) are really uncomfortable and trying to stuff Boar's Head meats in our pie holes' as quickly as possible if for no other reason than to perhaps choke to death and escape this ugly scene. I gently try to kick Martha in the shin, but all I can find is the leg to her chair.
With that Martha drops the a-bomb on the table "Oh, I'm sorry, maybe they (referring to Betty and I) don't know. [turning to us] Did you guys know that Annie's mom passed away two weeks ago?"
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM! The bomb detonated and every molecule of oxygen was sucked out of the room. I would have been less surprised if Martha pulled an eighteen-inch black rubber dildo out of her purse and pimp slapped me across the face with it.
I couldn't muster a single word, not even a noise. Nothing. I estimate one full minute passed before Betty said "Oh, no, I didn't know that. I'm very sorry to hear that." Then another minute passed.
But no, Martha wasn't done. Facing Annie she said "Well, I wasn't sure if they knew." No fucking shit, how would we know? I've never said more than ten words to this lady, why on God's green fucking earth would you ever bring this topic up over lunch...two weeks after the fact? What ever happened to talking about polite shit like weather, and, oh, I don't know, pap smears. Anything other than her mother's passing and her father's kidnapping (whatever the hell that was about) and imminent death.
Annie was doing her best to hold it together but she was on the verge of crying. Even I, the most callous bastard alive, felt badly for her. She said "Yes, she passed away two weeks ago" then searched for the right words and continued "...but I'm not really sure this is appropriate lunch conversation."
That's exactly what I was thinking! With that I landed a precision shot to Martha's right shin and shot her a "shut the fuck up" look.
As much as I love watching humanity crumble to dust, this was really ruining my sub. I decided to change the topic and blurted out "Vienna!". Betty nearly snarfed a strand of lettuce out of her nose. "I need to go to Vienna, VA today, anyone know where that is?" It was the most thinly veiled attempt at changing an awkward subject in the history of man, but desperate times call for desperate measures. "First I have to stop in Springfield, then I have to be in Vienna at 3pm. Will I hit traffic on my way there? Will I-66 be one-way by then?"
With that the horror ended.
What the fuck is wrong with chicks? Jagaloons.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Stella II
I had a second date with Stella last night and stuck with my tried and true bike/fish market evening. The night started out OK but nearly ended with a free ride in a police cruiser.
I picked Stella up at her house after work. She came out of her building and she looked cute. I know I keep saying this, I just can't stress it enough, she's TALL. I mean giant Viking, queen of the Norse, slayer of Grendel, tall. Everything on this girl is long. She has long legs, a long torso, long arms, long neck. All night I kept noticing "long" and "tall" features. Stella wore sneakers and at dinner I noticed they were almost my size, and I wear 11 or 11.5's. I like it. As we rode I kept bumping into parts of her; legs, elbows, shoulders. I felt like a humongous praying mantis had climbed on my back. Again, I'm not complaining, I like tall chicks, this is just an observation.
Here's another one: I think Stella is the classic ugly duck that transformed into the graceful swan. I have two reasons. The first is because she mentioned that she never got much attention from boys when she was younger. She's painfully shy now, so my guess is that she was a lanky, gawky child and kids tend to prey on weaknesses. The second reason I think she was the ugly duck is because she still sees herself somewhat as the ugly duck. She's extraordinarily self conscious about her height, and she seems to have no idea that she's beautiful. Honestly, she could easily be modeling in Europe right now, instead she was drinking wine on my deck. I'm not saying she should be modeling, only that she could be.
Anyway, back to the date. Stella and I rode the bike for a little over an hour. We went out to Virginia, road around the hills a little, then hopped on I-395 and ran back into the city. We stopped at the fish market on Maine Ave, grabbed some seafood for dinner and went back to my place to cook.
Stella went to culinary school so I opened some wine and put her to work in the kitchen. I handed her some ginger and garlic and asked her to "cut it up". Generally that description is sufficient for most girls. Stella, though, asked "How do you want it, chopped, minced, crushed...", I stopped her, "Minced is great". I was cleaning the fish and a second later I heard chock-chock-chock-chock-chock in rapid-fire succession. I looked over her shoulder and the knife was moving so fast it was blurred. This girl takes her mincing seriously.
We sat down for dinner at about 9pm on my deck. It was Stella's first time on a motorcycle, and despite my going very slow I think she was a little shaky from the ride. After a few glasses of wine she loosened up and relaxed. She's a pretty cool chick, she's amusing in a quirky (but good) way, and is really bright.
After dinner we cleaned up and did our best to get the crab smell off our fingers. While I loaded the dishwasher I noticed it was almost 11pm. Stella didn't have work the next day and was showing no signs of slowing down, but I had to be up at 5:30am. It was time to "call the ball", we were either going to open a second bottle of wine and see where that took us, or I was going to drive her home and have another awkward hug-cheek-kiss exchange in front of her building.
As I plopped another dish in the dishwasher I said "Hey, want to grab another bottle of wine off the rack and open it?" Without missing a beat Stella said "Sure, where's the opener?" That seemed to go well. She opened the bottle and we went back on the deck.
While we talked I went back and forth about whether or not I should suggest a dip in the hot tub. I certainly wasn't getting any overt "I want you to take my clothes off" vibes from her like with Firecracker. She was, however, making it very clear that she was having a good time and didn't want to leave. The crux was I didn't want to scare her off by being too aggressive, but if I didn't make a move I ran the risk of floundering into that mushy "friend" ground. I finally said "Would you have any interest in going in the hot tub?" [I still had the strained ending to our last date in the back of my mind and couldn't help but think that she "thought I was a nice guy" and "just wanted to be friends". If that was the case I guessed she would decline the hot tub offer.] Much to my surprise she said, in her funny way, "Sure, but I don't have appropriate attire". I set her up with a pair of mesh short and a t-shirt and she changed in the bathroom.
I feel the need to point out that she was in there for at least fifteen minutes. Maybe even twenty. How long does it take to: remove shoes and socks, take off jeans and a t-shirt, then put on another t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts? What was she doing in there? Please, tell me, I sincerely want to know. Was she polling her friends to see if this was a good idea? I finally grabbed my Blackberry and started going through work emails. Eventually she came out and we got in.
By now Stella was a little tipsy and became very talkative. I stopped drinking because the heat tends to get to me, but she plowed through another glass of wine in the tub. Stella was sitting in a corner seat and I think her long legs were acting like a ships rudder because she kept getting swept out of her seat by the jets and pulled across the tub, talking the whole time and unaware of her voyage. She was constantly fighting the "current" until finally I moved to the spot she kept getting blown to and she bumped right into me. We started kissing and she said "I'm an 'old fashioned' girl". I said "Are you implying that I'm not an 'old fashioned' guy? What does that mean?" Stella said "It means not much more is going to happen tonight and I expect a ride home later". I can respect that. I've looked back at my first dates with girls I respected and eventually had relationships with and none of them slept with me on first, or even second, dates.
We made out in the tub until about 1:30. Our fingers were getting pruned so we decided to get out. I wasn't even going to suggest a shower together because I knew the answer, so Stella went into the bathroom to change and I put on jeans and a t-shirt in the bedroom.
Stella came out a few minutes later and I said "You ready to go?" She said she was and asked me if I was OK to drive, which I felt I was. The dog hadn't been out in a while so I grabbed her leash and we hit the road.
This is where the night got a little hairy.
As I drove up 18th Street through Adam's Morgan I saw a marked police cruiser in a parking lot. I'm not sure why I noticed it, or what made me think it was unusual, but I kind of did a double-take. We had passed dozens of cop cars on the street (it was 2am, and the bars were getting out, so there were cops everywhere), that one looked out of place. Anyway, I passed him and he immediately pulled out behind me. I figured it was a coincidence and kept driving. As I crossed Columbia Road he hit his lights. I wasn't sure if he was pulling me over or going to a call and wanted to get around me (or at least I didn't want to admit he was likely pulling me over), but I immediately stopped on the side of the road. He pulled right behind me and turned on his spot light, which pretty much answered my question. A second squad car pulled in behind the first one, and a motorcycle cop passing by did a u-turn and joined his friends. This was going really well. Stella kept asking "Why did he stop us? What's he doing? What's going to happen?" I don't know if I said "shut up", or put my hand in her face, or both, but something finally made her stop talking and I was relieved.
As the first cop approached the passenger side of the car my dog went bananas, growling, barking, and doing her best to get through the soft top. I turned off the car and put on my dome light. The windows were already down, and a second cop came to my side, but was standing way back from the car. He said "Driver, do you have that dog?" I said I did, but he said "You sure!". I apologized for the dog but assured him I had her. He said "Why don't you close those windows a little so he can't get out, then slip me your license, registration and insurance". No problem, I handed him everything and he walked back to his car. His friends, however, had by then surrounded my car, hands on guns, and the dog was nearly apoplectic. She's very protective and I was afraid she would get through the thin plastic top and then I'd really have a situation. I kept one hand on her collar to restrain her, and the other hand on the steering wheel so I wouldn't get shot in the face.
The cop came back and said "Do you know why I stopped you". Why do cops always ask that? It's such a stupid fucking question. What am I, a mind reader? My license plate doesn't say "Psykik". I always think of the movie Liar Liar when cops ask me that and want to say "Well, that depends on how long you've been following me". I said "No sir". "Well, you were traveling at a high rate of speed up 18th Street, and you stopped on the white line at that red light back there". For those of you who are unfamiliar, that is technical police lingo for "You're tail lights are both working and I needed to stop you for something to see if you've been drinking, so here's the bullshit I came up with". Also, let the record note that he didn't say I was "speeding", because I wasn't. I made a point of going exactly the speed limit up 18th Street just for this reason, and he knew it. Maybe they ask you if you know why they stopped you to see if your reason is better than theirs. Perhaps if I said "I turned without signaling" They would think "Sweet, he really did do something" then say "Exactly!" I apologized again. He left and went back to his car.
As he came back to my car I expected this was when he would start with the "Where have you been-where are you going-have you had anything to drink tonight?" questions. After my last near-DWI I consulted with my attorney who advised me that "If you think you will pass a field sobriety test, say you've had nothing to drink all day, and they likely won't have adequate probable cause to get you out of the car" [notice attorney's liberal use of vague terms such as 'likley']. He went on to say that it's a calculated risk, but one he would be willing to take. Since I averaged less than one drink an hour all night, and hadn't had anything to drink in more than an hour, I was confident I was 100% sober, so I was ready to roll the dice.
When he got to my window he said "Thank you Mr. NN, please drive carefully tonight".
I drove like a preacher on his way to church the rest of the way to Stella's house. We had a quick make-out session in front of her building. Then I drove like a preacher back home. When I went back through Adam's Morgan the two cop cars and the bike were still parked where they pulled me over. As I drove past all five cops stopped talking and slowly watched me go by, this time with the dog sitting in the passenger seat. I meekly waived but kept going and never made eye contact.
I believe this is why my friends say I should write a bog.
*UPDATE*
I emailed D-Ron today and told him about my night, his respone is below:
"what does old fashioned mean...no anal?"
I picked Stella up at her house after work. She came out of her building and she looked cute. I know I keep saying this, I just can't stress it enough, she's TALL. I mean giant Viking, queen of the Norse, slayer of Grendel, tall. Everything on this girl is long. She has long legs, a long torso, long arms, long neck. All night I kept noticing "long" and "tall" features. Stella wore sneakers and at dinner I noticed they were almost my size, and I wear 11 or 11.5's. I like it. As we rode I kept bumping into parts of her; legs, elbows, shoulders. I felt like a humongous praying mantis had climbed on my back. Again, I'm not complaining, I like tall chicks, this is just an observation.
Here's another one: I think Stella is the classic ugly duck that transformed into the graceful swan. I have two reasons. The first is because she mentioned that she never got much attention from boys when she was younger. She's painfully shy now, so my guess is that she was a lanky, gawky child and kids tend to prey on weaknesses. The second reason I think she was the ugly duck is because she still sees herself somewhat as the ugly duck. She's extraordinarily self conscious about her height, and she seems to have no idea that she's beautiful. Honestly, she could easily be modeling in Europe right now, instead she was drinking wine on my deck. I'm not saying she should be modeling, only that she could be.
Anyway, back to the date. Stella and I rode the bike for a little over an hour. We went out to Virginia, road around the hills a little, then hopped on I-395 and ran back into the city. We stopped at the fish market on Maine Ave, grabbed some seafood for dinner and went back to my place to cook.
Stella went to culinary school so I opened some wine and put her to work in the kitchen. I handed her some ginger and garlic and asked her to "cut it up". Generally that description is sufficient for most girls. Stella, though, asked "How do you want it, chopped, minced, crushed...", I stopped her, "Minced is great". I was cleaning the fish and a second later I heard chock-chock-chock-chock-chock in rapid-fire succession. I looked over her shoulder and the knife was moving so fast it was blurred. This girl takes her mincing seriously.
We sat down for dinner at about 9pm on my deck. It was Stella's first time on a motorcycle, and despite my going very slow I think she was a little shaky from the ride. After a few glasses of wine she loosened up and relaxed. She's a pretty cool chick, she's amusing in a quirky (but good) way, and is really bright.
After dinner we cleaned up and did our best to get the crab smell off our fingers. While I loaded the dishwasher I noticed it was almost 11pm. Stella didn't have work the next day and was showing no signs of slowing down, but I had to be up at 5:30am. It was time to "call the ball", we were either going to open a second bottle of wine and see where that took us, or I was going to drive her home and have another awkward hug-cheek-kiss exchange in front of her building.
As I plopped another dish in the dishwasher I said "Hey, want to grab another bottle of wine off the rack and open it?" Without missing a beat Stella said "Sure, where's the opener?" That seemed to go well. She opened the bottle and we went back on the deck.
While we talked I went back and forth about whether or not I should suggest a dip in the hot tub. I certainly wasn't getting any overt "I want you to take my clothes off" vibes from her like with Firecracker. She was, however, making it very clear that she was having a good time and didn't want to leave. The crux was I didn't want to scare her off by being too aggressive, but if I didn't make a move I ran the risk of floundering into that mushy "friend" ground. I finally said "Would you have any interest in going in the hot tub?" [I still had the strained ending to our last date in the back of my mind and couldn't help but think that she "thought I was a nice guy" and "just wanted to be friends". If that was the case I guessed she would decline the hot tub offer.] Much to my surprise she said, in her funny way, "Sure, but I don't have appropriate attire". I set her up with a pair of mesh short and a t-shirt and she changed in the bathroom.
I feel the need to point out that she was in there for at least fifteen minutes. Maybe even twenty. How long does it take to: remove shoes and socks, take off jeans and a t-shirt, then put on another t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts? What was she doing in there? Please, tell me, I sincerely want to know. Was she polling her friends to see if this was a good idea? I finally grabbed my Blackberry and started going through work emails. Eventually she came out and we got in.
By now Stella was a little tipsy and became very talkative. I stopped drinking because the heat tends to get to me, but she plowed through another glass of wine in the tub. Stella was sitting in a corner seat and I think her long legs were acting like a ships rudder because she kept getting swept out of her seat by the jets and pulled across the tub, talking the whole time and unaware of her voyage. She was constantly fighting the "current" until finally I moved to the spot she kept getting blown to and she bumped right into me. We started kissing and she said "I'm an 'old fashioned' girl". I said "Are you implying that I'm not an 'old fashioned' guy? What does that mean?" Stella said "It means not much more is going to happen tonight and I expect a ride home later". I can respect that. I've looked back at my first dates with girls I respected and eventually had relationships with and none of them slept with me on first, or even second, dates.
We made out in the tub until about 1:30. Our fingers were getting pruned so we decided to get out. I wasn't even going to suggest a shower together because I knew the answer, so Stella went into the bathroom to change and I put on jeans and a t-shirt in the bedroom.
Stella came out a few minutes later and I said "You ready to go?" She said she was and asked me if I was OK to drive, which I felt I was. The dog hadn't been out in a while so I grabbed her leash and we hit the road.
This is where the night got a little hairy.
As I drove up 18th Street through Adam's Morgan I saw a marked police cruiser in a parking lot. I'm not sure why I noticed it, or what made me think it was unusual, but I kind of did a double-take. We had passed dozens of cop cars on the street (it was 2am, and the bars were getting out, so there were cops everywhere), that one looked out of place. Anyway, I passed him and he immediately pulled out behind me. I figured it was a coincidence and kept driving. As I crossed Columbia Road he hit his lights. I wasn't sure if he was pulling me over or going to a call and wanted to get around me (or at least I didn't want to admit he was likely pulling me over), but I immediately stopped on the side of the road. He pulled right behind me and turned on his spot light, which pretty much answered my question. A second squad car pulled in behind the first one, and a motorcycle cop passing by did a u-turn and joined his friends. This was going really well. Stella kept asking "Why did he stop us? What's he doing? What's going to happen?" I don't know if I said "shut up", or put my hand in her face, or both, but something finally made her stop talking and I was relieved.
As the first cop approached the passenger side of the car my dog went bananas, growling, barking, and doing her best to get through the soft top. I turned off the car and put on my dome light. The windows were already down, and a second cop came to my side, but was standing way back from the car. He said "Driver, do you have that dog?" I said I did, but he said "You sure!". I apologized for the dog but assured him I had her. He said "Why don't you close those windows a little so he can't get out, then slip me your license, registration and insurance". No problem, I handed him everything and he walked back to his car. His friends, however, had by then surrounded my car, hands on guns, and the dog was nearly apoplectic. She's very protective and I was afraid she would get through the thin plastic top and then I'd really have a situation. I kept one hand on her collar to restrain her, and the other hand on the steering wheel so I wouldn't get shot in the face.
The cop came back and said "Do you know why I stopped you". Why do cops always ask that? It's such a stupid fucking question. What am I, a mind reader? My license plate doesn't say "Psykik". I always think of the movie Liar Liar when cops ask me that and want to say "Well, that depends on how long you've been following me". I said "No sir". "Well, you were traveling at a high rate of speed up 18th Street, and you stopped on the white line at that red light back there". For those of you who are unfamiliar, that is technical police lingo for "You're tail lights are both working and I needed to stop you for something to see if you've been drinking, so here's the bullshit I came up with". Also, let the record note that he didn't say I was "speeding", because I wasn't. I made a point of going exactly the speed limit up 18th Street just for this reason, and he knew it. Maybe they ask you if you know why they stopped you to see if your reason is better than theirs. Perhaps if I said "I turned without signaling" They would think "Sweet, he really did do something" then say "Exactly!" I apologized again. He left and went back to his car.
As he came back to my car I expected this was when he would start with the "Where have you been-where are you going-have you had anything to drink tonight?" questions. After my last near-DWI I consulted with my attorney who advised me that "If you think you will pass a field sobriety test, say you've had nothing to drink all day, and they likely won't have adequate probable cause to get you out of the car" [notice attorney's liberal use of vague terms such as 'likley']. He went on to say that it's a calculated risk, but one he would be willing to take. Since I averaged less than one drink an hour all night, and hadn't had anything to drink in more than an hour, I was confident I was 100% sober, so I was ready to roll the dice.
When he got to my window he said "Thank you Mr. NN, please drive carefully tonight".
I drove like a preacher on his way to church the rest of the way to Stella's house. We had a quick make-out session in front of her building. Then I drove like a preacher back home. When I went back through Adam's Morgan the two cop cars and the bike were still parked where they pulled me over. As I drove past all five cops stopped talking and slowly watched me go by, this time with the dog sitting in the passenger seat. I meekly waived but kept going and never made eye contact.
I believe this is why my friends say I should write a bog.
*UPDATE*
I emailed D-Ron today and told him about my night, his respone is below:
"what does old fashioned mean...no anal?"
Monday, May 3, 2010
Roanoke
One of the nicest things about living in DC is that there is plenty of wilderness nearby to explore. I had to go to Roanoke, VA for a few days for business and decided to incorporate a little R&R into the trip. My plan was to hustle down I-81 to Roanoke Wednesday on my bike, get my work done, then take a leisurely ride back to DC on the Blue Ridge Parkway and Skyline Drive, stopping to camp Friday night in Shenandoah National Park.
My first issue was that it was 48 degrees when I left DC on Wednesday and I was under dressed. By mile-100 I was shivering uncontrollably and had to pull into a Denny's to warm up. I threw my gear into a booth and walked into the bathroom. My alien reflection in the mirror was pale white with hints of light blue around my nose, ears, and lips. My fingers were white and I had all the manual dexterity of a lobster. I was without a doubt moderately hypothermic. It took me forty five minutes, a lumberjack special, and four cups of steaming coffee to warm up. Before leaving the restaurant I put on a second thermal long-sleeved shirt and two more t-shirts (for a total of two thermals and three t-shirts under my leather jacket), along with my full rain gear. My transformation into an alien was complete and the looks from the Denny's staff confirmed this.
I rolled into Roanoke two hours later and checked into the Hotel Roanoke. This ornately restored historic hotel was built in the 1880's and has a distinct robber baron vibe. The valet's looked a little perplexed when I pulled up parked my bug-splattered bike between a row of Mercedes and Porches. As I got off a valet walked over to me and mumbled something. I took off my helmet, pulled out my ear plugs and shouted "WHAT?". He leaned in a little closer and said "May I help you sir?" I said "NO, JUST CHECKING IN" still half deaf from five hours of baritone muffler noise.
The two days I spent in Roanoke were similar to Punxsatawney in the movie Groundhog Day and I was Bill Murray's character, Phil Conners. I was somewhat surly and really didn't want to be there. Roanoke is a tiny little place and everyone is into everyone else's business. Within 24 hours there I had: made friends with a cute brunette bartender then blew off a date with her after getting food poisoning at her restaurant and nearly shitting my pants in my hotel elevator, befriended a homeless man who extorted money and malt liquor from me, told a 90 year old woman that the state should revoke the driving privileges of all "old bags" after she (gently) hit my parked bike with her clunker in a Walmart parking lot, was propositioned by a pre-teen meth hooker at a gas station, was offered a $20,000 a year managerial position at the clothing store Hollister, got into a heated debate with a tattooed skin head after overhearing his warped views on Jesus and Jews, and finally broke up a couple after the girl blatantly flirted with me in front of her boyfriend and suggested we get drinks together sometime. It was a nightmare and if I didn't leave town early the next morning I probably would have been chased out by an angry mob carrying torches and pitch forks. I have too much dignity to recount any of those tales so you will have to use your imagination and fill in the blanks.
With my work literally and figuratively complete in Roanoke I left town at first light on Friday. It took me a little while to actually get out of Roanoke because there is only one sign in the whole town to direct you to I-581 North, and it's located twenty feet up the entrance ramp (I can't begin to explain how much this infuriated me).
Once on the road my blood pressure quickly returned to normal and I felt my stress dissipate. It was warm and sunny out, traffic was light, and I had 250 miles of mountainous winding road ahead of me. A few miles outside of Roanoke I picked up the entrance to the Blue Ridge Parkway and settled into a relaxing 50mph stride.
The Blue Ridge is a narrow ribbon of smooth blacktop that extends north until it merges with Skyline Drive at the entrance to Shenandoah National Park. As I carved my way through the mountains noting the elevation changes from one scenic overlook to the next I suddenly realized that the only barriers in the park were a series of pitifully short stone walls that were present on only the nastiest curves. The walls were about 18 inches tall and if I lost control of the bike they would likely only snap my shins in half just before I pin-wheeled off the road and down the jagged escarpment. It does serve as a very effective natural speed limit, though, and I eased my speed back to a conservative 35mph.
I arrived at the Lewis Mountain Campground at 5pm, checked in, and unpacked my gear. The campground was small, but like the rest of the park it was immaculate and filled with friendly travelers. Turned out my bike was a real conversation piece around the RV's and tents so most people at the site came by and introduced themselves. One nice old couple even offered me some "pork-n-beans" and a few logs of firewood. I thanked them profusely for the firewood but declined the food simply by saying "Thank you, but I don't eat pork". The truth is that I do eat swine, I was just anxious to try out my new stove and freeze dried dinner. In hindsight I should have accepted the pork.
Just before my new friends left the wife reminded me to put my food in my car before I went to bed. I stared at her with a look that must have screamed "I don't know what I'm doing in the woods" so she went on to explain that there are a lot of bears in the area and they will be attracted to the food. I could grasp the concept, but the threat of bears always seemed like a distant and remote possibility. She, however, described it in terms that seemed less like "if" you run into a bear and more like "when" you run into one. Suppressing my natural sarcasm in the face of growing fear I pointed out that I did not have a car to place my food inside of. She said "Oh, then just put it inside your bear bag and hoist it up high into a tree, you should be fine". I believe this statement was roughly the equivalent of me telling her that if she wears gang-neutral colors in Compton she would be fine.
As the nice old couple walked away I considered the ways in which I could hoist myself high up into a tree. Moments later the old woman appeared again with a crumpled up Coca Cola can filled with pebbles and handed it to me. Clearly thinking she would assuage my fears she said "Don't worry, if you hear any gruntin' outside your tent tonight just jangle this can and them bears usually go a runnin". This really wasn't helping me.
My neighbor on the other side of me ended up letting me put a bag of food and toiletries in her trunk. I can say with near certainty that no bears came around that night because I was up the whole time and had my spidy-senses on code red alert.
The rest of the trip was pretty uneventful.
I have my second date with Stella tonight.
My first issue was that it was 48 degrees when I left DC on Wednesday and I was under dressed. By mile-100 I was shivering uncontrollably and had to pull into a Denny's to warm up. I threw my gear into a booth and walked into the bathroom. My alien reflection in the mirror was pale white with hints of light blue around my nose, ears, and lips. My fingers were white and I had all the manual dexterity of a lobster. I was without a doubt moderately hypothermic. It took me forty five minutes, a lumberjack special, and four cups of steaming coffee to warm up. Before leaving the restaurant I put on a second thermal long-sleeved shirt and two more t-shirts (for a total of two thermals and three t-shirts under my leather jacket), along with my full rain gear. My transformation into an alien was complete and the looks from the Denny's staff confirmed this.
I rolled into Roanoke two hours later and checked into the Hotel Roanoke. This ornately restored historic hotel was built in the 1880's and has a distinct robber baron vibe. The valet's looked a little perplexed when I pulled up parked my bug-splattered bike between a row of Mercedes and Porches. As I got off a valet walked over to me and mumbled something. I took off my helmet, pulled out my ear plugs and shouted "WHAT?". He leaned in a little closer and said "May I help you sir?" I said "NO, JUST CHECKING IN" still half deaf from five hours of baritone muffler noise.
The two days I spent in Roanoke were similar to Punxsatawney in the movie Groundhog Day and I was Bill Murray's character, Phil Conners. I was somewhat surly and really didn't want to be there. Roanoke is a tiny little place and everyone is into everyone else's business. Within 24 hours there I had: made friends with a cute brunette bartender then blew off a date with her after getting food poisoning at her restaurant and nearly shitting my pants in my hotel elevator, befriended a homeless man who extorted money and malt liquor from me, told a 90 year old woman that the state should revoke the driving privileges of all "old bags" after she (gently) hit my parked bike with her clunker in a Walmart parking lot, was propositioned by a pre-teen meth hooker at a gas station, was offered a $20,000 a year managerial position at the clothing store Hollister, got into a heated debate with a tattooed skin head after overhearing his warped views on Jesus and Jews, and finally broke up a couple after the girl blatantly flirted with me in front of her boyfriend and suggested we get drinks together sometime. It was a nightmare and if I didn't leave town early the next morning I probably would have been chased out by an angry mob carrying torches and pitch forks. I have too much dignity to recount any of those tales so you will have to use your imagination and fill in the blanks.
With my work literally and figuratively complete in Roanoke I left town at first light on Friday. It took me a little while to actually get out of Roanoke because there is only one sign in the whole town to direct you to I-581 North, and it's located twenty feet up the entrance ramp (I can't begin to explain how much this infuriated me).
Once on the road my blood pressure quickly returned to normal and I felt my stress dissipate. It was warm and sunny out, traffic was light, and I had 250 miles of mountainous winding road ahead of me. A few miles outside of Roanoke I picked up the entrance to the Blue Ridge Parkway and settled into a relaxing 50mph stride.
The Blue Ridge is a narrow ribbon of smooth blacktop that extends north until it merges with Skyline Drive at the entrance to Shenandoah National Park. As I carved my way through the mountains noting the elevation changes from one scenic overlook to the next I suddenly realized that the only barriers in the park were a series of pitifully short stone walls that were present on only the nastiest curves. The walls were about 18 inches tall and if I lost control of the bike they would likely only snap my shins in half just before I pin-wheeled off the road and down the jagged escarpment. It does serve as a very effective natural speed limit, though, and I eased my speed back to a conservative 35mph.
I arrived at the Lewis Mountain Campground at 5pm, checked in, and unpacked my gear. The campground was small, but like the rest of the park it was immaculate and filled with friendly travelers. Turned out my bike was a real conversation piece around the RV's and tents so most people at the site came by and introduced themselves. One nice old couple even offered me some "pork-n-beans" and a few logs of firewood. I thanked them profusely for the firewood but declined the food simply by saying "Thank you, but I don't eat pork". The truth is that I do eat swine, I was just anxious to try out my new stove and freeze dried dinner. In hindsight I should have accepted the pork.
Just before my new friends left the wife reminded me to put my food in my car before I went to bed. I stared at her with a look that must have screamed "I don't know what I'm doing in the woods" so she went on to explain that there are a lot of bears in the area and they will be attracted to the food. I could grasp the concept, but the threat of bears always seemed like a distant and remote possibility. She, however, described it in terms that seemed less like "if" you run into a bear and more like "when" you run into one. Suppressing my natural sarcasm in the face of growing fear I pointed out that I did not have a car to place my food inside of. She said "Oh, then just put it inside your bear bag and hoist it up high into a tree, you should be fine". I believe this statement was roughly the equivalent of me telling her that if she wears gang-neutral colors in Compton she would be fine.
As the nice old couple walked away I considered the ways in which I could hoist myself high up into a tree. Moments later the old woman appeared again with a crumpled up Coca Cola can filled with pebbles and handed it to me. Clearly thinking she would assuage my fears she said "Don't worry, if you hear any gruntin' outside your tent tonight just jangle this can and them bears usually go a runnin". This really wasn't helping me.
My neighbor on the other side of me ended up letting me put a bag of food and toiletries in her trunk. I can say with near certainty that no bears came around that night because I was up the whole time and had my spidy-senses on code red alert.
The rest of the trip was pretty uneventful.
I have my second date with Stella tonight.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
