OK, I already posted
today. But I just realized I’ve been in my bed for 12 hours straight. Not only
does this need to be celebrated, but I also need to feel like I’m accomplishing
more than just extreme (awesome) slacking. In my (very weak) defense, I was supposed
to have a date tonight (that’s right, people actually want to spend time and
money on me), but he had to reschedule…I am, not so secretly, ecstatic. So you
get a bonus post and I get to feel less disgusting. Let’s talk about this date
I went on yesterday morning. Now, I’m not explicitly against breakfast dates.
Usually I prefer them to come after a sexual encounter as a defense against
awkward exit strategies, but I digress.
Some back story: the
security guard at my hotel has a pretty public crush on me. He asked me out to
dinner and I figured there was no harm in hanging out with the guy (except that
his name is Mike. Har har, universe). He had to reschedule the dinner and he
decided we should get breakfast Tuesday morning after we both worked overnight
on Monday.
Now, I appreciate the fact
that this guy is so into me he wanted to go out ASAP, but seriously, me in the
morning is not pretty; if I’ve been up all night, I’m downright irritating. I
used to work 3pm-7am every weekend and my mom can vouch that I tend to ramble
incessantly until I finally crash out. So, these are the conditions we’re
working with when we get to the IHOP yesterday morning.
Everything is OK. We sit
down. Do the whole ordering thing. Then…we’re just sitting there. It’s like he
spent so much time working up to just ASKING me to go out with him that he
hadn’t gotten to how the actual event would go along. So, he’s not speaking and
I’ve got words ready to burst forth in a never ending stream of nonsensical,
unrelated verbiage. I had, at this point, been awake for 17 hours; 8 of which,
I had been working. I let ‘er rip. I don’t know what part of my brain thought
“Hilarious Sexcapades” was the correct topic choice for my first extended
conversation with someone who wants to get in my pants, but there it was. When
I stopped and looked at him expectantly, all he had was “wow” so I just kept
going. Finally, I looked at him and told him he needed to contribute a funny or
embarrassing sex story. He was a good sport about it and shared an anecdote in
which he got caught having sex in a Taco Bell bathroom with an employee while
she was on break. Not bad, right? This is where he decided to become a
conversation terrorist:
Me (enthused with his
actual contribution): “That’s pretty trashy, huh?”
Him: *laughs* (good sign,
right??) “It was actually with the girl I wound up getting pregnant
with my son that died.”
Me (searching
frantically for an escape route): Uhm………..yeah, I can’t come back from that
*awkward laugh* it’s on you now man.
Him: Why can’t you come
back from that? I’m over it by now. I’ve had my mom die and my little sister
die too, so stuff about death doesn’t bother me anymore.
Me: Well, I was talking
about funny sex stories and you bombed me with super sad shit. I can’t follow
that.
Him (pointing at tattoos):
I got this one for my son, this one for my sister, and this one (brace yourself,
this isn’t going where you think it is) when I lost my testicle.
Me: Uhm, wow. How did
that happen?
Him: Oh when I was in the army
I fell down the stairs in full gear and landed on top of my weapon and my
testicle popped.
I couldn’t even hold it
together, y’all. I just laughed. It was mean, yes. I apologized for laughing,
while laughing, but there was no stopping it. I laughed so hard I cried, like
other people probably thought he was dumping due to the amount of tears. This
man fell down the stairs and popped his testicle…I didn’t even know
testicles could pop! Then I had to ride 45 minutes out of town with him to give
him a ride home (how come everyone who is attracted to me is without a
vehicle??) and it was awkward as hell. I’m slap happy with sleep deprivation
and trapped in a car with a terrorist.
That is the story of my
breakfast date; I think they should stay in their place: hung over mornings
with people you didn’t plan to see naked.
BUT my pimp hand is strong
so when I dropped him off I continued on to Jacksonville and met up with a guy I’ve been
trying to make plans with for a while. What’s his name? Oh, I think you know.
Mike, obviously. That meeting wasn’t as eventful.
I’ll regale you with the
saga of The Mike Curse soon, I promise.
Very funny stuff. I almost laughed out loud at my desk. AV
ReplyDeleteThat is some funny stuff!
ReplyDeleteWhat kind of tattoo does one get to commemorate the losing of a testicle? Better yet WHY would one want to commemorate such a thing? -LJB
ReplyDeleteIt appeared (in my VERY brief viewing) to be some sort of iguana/lizard hybrid. On his inner thigh. I don't really understand the logic behind commemorating something like losing a testicle with a tattoo. I love tattoos, but what the actual fuck?
ReplyDeleteI have an amendment to my above assumption about what the tat is; I was informed it is, in fact...a chipmunk holding an acorn. I'm not joking.
ReplyDelete