Thursday, February 26, 2009
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
The closest I've come to understanding the urge was when I found myself attracted to Eddie Izzard despite the fact that he was wearing rather nasty nail varnish and a skirt shorter than mine. It taught me that you can never predict or dictate what's going to turn you on. Reverse discrimination is rife in what we wear. Women sport ridiculous concoctions, call them fashion and are admired by their contemporaries. Men are barely tolerated out of trousers.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Thor, a guy I met when I was out with a friend one night, was 45 minutes late picking me up. He drives us to a Japanese restaurant and lets me know that he has never tried sushi. He asks the waitress why sake doesn’t taste like wine and if Geisha stomp on rice to make it. “I think I’m going to get this California Roll,” he says. “Now, what about this avocado fish? What’s that like.” I explained that avocado was actually a fruit. Dinner arrives and he eats with his hands because “this chop stick thing blows my mind.” He talks about his take on religion, the book he has just read that is a “cross between Dungeons and Dragons and the Bible,” how his mother is going to love me and then about how attractive and tall our children will be. He reaches up to get his Budweiser from the table. His elbow hits the underside of the table flipping it over. Sushi, soy sauce, beer and red wine take flight in the direction of my white pants.
Finally, the bill comes. He opens it, closes it … and hands it to me. Then says, “So, ah, what are you throwing in?” Stupidly, I reach in my clutch and put down the entire contents of my wallet (forgetting to save cab fare so I don’t have to accept a ride home). He drops me off at home and asks if I am busy over the weekend. “Yes Thor, I am busy,” I say. He asks, “What about next week?” I said I was busy and then going out of town and then simply just not interested. “This evening did not go very well,” I explained. He said that he had a great time. Then he asks, “What about your friend? Do you think I could call her?”
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Monday, February 9, 2009
I asked a girl I was casually dating to attend a charity wine tasting event and, as could be expected, we both caught a pretty good buzz. At dinner afterwards, I ordered a Cabernet, while she had a straight gin martini. Followed quickly by another. And another. She then says she’s not feeling well and heads to the restroom to purge, but returns feeling much better, and wants to head to the bar across the street for one more drink. Unfortunately, another dude she was dating happened to be there. He looks at her, ignoring my presence, and asks her if she was coming over that night. Annoyed, I started to leave and she ends up following me. As we were walking along on our way home, she keeps talking about this other guy.
I suggested that we sit down to discuss what just occurred. However, instead of sitting on the bench, she went head first into it and looked up at me with blood pouring out of her nose. People began stopping and asking her if she is OK, while looking at me like I just punched her in the face. I duck into a bar and grab a ton of napkins. I am now cleaning blood of both our shoes, while she tries to get Niagara Falls to stop. She starts slurring about the other guy again, at which point I blurted out an obscenity, and turned around and went home.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Sometimes we are subjected to the worst date ever, and sometimes we are the cause of the worst date ever. My first job out of college was pretty lame, but the thing that kept me going back each day was this cute, blond Canadian girl. Our relationship started from conversations at the copy machine to lunches and daily conversations in each other’s cubicles. I finally invited her on a rafting trip I was going on with some friends, which I thought would be the perfect first date. For lunch that day, I went down to the work cafeteria and bought myself the Friday Special: the Super Burrito. As usual, it tasted great and filled me up. At the end of the day we headed out for the three-hour drive and life was perfect, until about a half hour from the campsite.
At that point my stomach started doing things I had only seen in movies. Twisting left, twisting right and bubbling like a witches pot. I quickly pulled over to the side of the road ran out of the car and into the bushes. After a few more stops with similar results we made it to the campsite. But by this time I was hanging on by a thread and my symptoms had moved from throwing up to extreme abdominal pain. She was worried for me, but was slightly annoyed when she had to figure out how to put up the tent, while I lay on the ground writhing in pain.
Right about midnight things went from bad to worse. I woke up to an experience similar to throwing up, however from a different part of the body. Being that we didn’t have proper facilities, I had to wash myself in the river, naked and dispose of that set of clothing. Too embarrassed to go back into the tent, I stumbled to the top of the hill by the Porta Potties and slept on the ground, all the while fearing that a mountain lion was going to drag my emaciated body away for an early morning breakfast.
As I was in no condition to drive, she was to be the pilot for the three-hour ride back. Of course the drive may have been shorter if we weren’t stopping at a gas station every 20 miles so that I could remember that Super Burrito I had eaten the day before. I know you are thinking that in the end it probably all worked out and that we looked back on the incident and laughed about it. Unfortunately there is no recovering from bad burritos or bad dates.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
As we've heard and read, the truth is often sacrificed in the prose of online profiles. Presentable becomes "gorgeous." Obesity is passed off as "a little extra meat." Being "athletic" means having been to the gym once in the last six months. So we were amused to read about the self-deprecating, self-lampooning lonely hearts in the London Review of Books via The Guardian. There's no way of knowing how factual/satirical the claims are but we enjoyed the the cheek of these Brit bibliophiles:
"Mentally, I am a size eight. Compulsive-eating F, 52, WLTM man to 25 for whom the phrase 'beauty is only skin-deep' is both a lifestyle choice and a religious ethos..."