I am completely frustrated with my worthless, wireless internet connection. My frustration has reached the point where I can almost see myself, in an adrenaline fueled fit of rage, grabbing the monitor, lifting it above my head, and hurling it out the front window with a hearty primal scream. But then I wouldn’t finish this post. Of course, Blogger itself may keep me from posting this post, but I’ll do what I can, faithful readers- all four of you.
I have come to the conclusion that, upon becoming married, my life has become painfully boring. I love my ManThing more than I can say, but sometimes I miss being able to entertain the masses with my disastrous dating mishaps (I don’t particularly miss experiencing said mishaps). I am kicking myself for not writing down all the horrible dating stories of my past, because they are now gone. And I had some doozies.
Ah, what the hell. I’ll see what I can recreate …
The Crack Fiend
A short story, really. This was a blind date. I met him for lunch. We met at a sushi place, and my biggest concern was making an ass of myself by getting smelt roe all over the place. Somehow, during the first fifteen minutes, the topic of his former addiction to crack came up. Call me judgmental, but I ate my sushi, graciously thanked him, and never called back.
This was the first and last time I made the following mistakes, alllll rolled into one: coworker, smoker, and a pothead. Whew. I’m so very grateful I didn’t have to date several different guys to learn all those lessons. We were good on paper- in real life, however, we were a train wreck. A train wreck that happened sporadically for 3 years.
Okay, that story was supposed to be funny, but it just kind of sucked- as it did in real life. So, I’ll end with the piece de resistance:
The Honker was a guy I met through mutual friends (who, as a result of the Coworker debacle, are no longer). He was your average affable, slightly geeky, but amiable enough kind of guy. We went out once, had some beers, had a good time talking. We didn’t kiss on the first date. If we had, it may well have been the end right there. On the second date, kiss contact was established.
Ever see a lizard with its tongue quickly darting in and out? I had managed to find its human counterpart. But it gets better. The reason I dub him the Honker was because, from roughly a foot away from me, he reached out with both hands and “honked” my breasts. While actually saying the word, “honk.” Slack jawed; I asked why he did that.
“I just wanted to touch ‘em.”
And … good night.