Day 2 (okay, it’s day three, but I was busy on day two…)

So I previously posted about this new “getting healthy” plan from my insurance company and how I’m supposed to answer these stupid questions everyday for a week or so.  Today’s question:

Day 2:
My relationship to my body
“If my body could talk to me, what would it say?”

I think my body would say, “Damn stupid mother-fucker!  What the fuck have you been doing to us?  Is there some kind of reason you’ve been putting us through this horrible abuse for the past 20-something years?  You don’t eat right.  You smoke like a blown radiator on a cold day.  You don’t sleep nearly enough to keep me even slightly happy.  What gives?  What did I ever do to you?

“Oh, that’s right, I only make sure you’re lungs work (even though you treat them like shit…what kind of asthmatic smokes a pack or two EVERY FUCKING DAY?) and your heart beats and your food gets digested… Oh… Wait…  Are you pissed off because I refuse to be happy with eggs and milk products again?  Well too fucking bad you little shithead!  Daddy’s gotta get his revenge somehow, right?  You treat me like shit, I’m gonna make you feel like you’re gonna shit your pants every time you eat something that tastes even remotely good.  Don’t like it?  TREAT ME BETTER!

“Remember that ex you wish you’d treated better?  That one you wish had never gotten away?  I’m gonna be like that.  Now our spine’s fucked up.  You may or may not have had a myocardial infarction AT TWENTYFUCKINGTHREEYEARSOLD!  Haven’t you learned anything?  SLOW DOWN!  CALM DOWN!  Enjoy the ride we’re on.  Take care of us!  Eat better and exercise!  And for the love of all that is clean and fresh QUIT FUCKING SMOKING!”

At least, that’s what I think the world wants me to think my body would tell me.  I think it would simply say, “DUDE!  REALLY?  GET US FUCKING LAID ALREADY!”

Its Dating History Wednesday

Hey, look, I came up with a gimmick!  Go me!

So I was thinking today about some of the crazy “dates” I’ve been on.  Some of these memories are comical, some are tragic, and some are downright embarrassing.  What perfect fodder for me to give to you!

Note:  For those challenged at reading between the lines, implied meaning is conveniently placed between parentheses.  That’s () for those who don’t know that already.

Let’s start this story with a little bit of history:  Recently out of a horrible relationship filled with fireworks (which means we fought like cats and dogs, so of course the sex was fantastic) and wanting to explore my sexuality (which means I finally decided to do something about seeing all these crazy sexy guys and get some cock) I joined this online “dating” site (dating is in quotes because it’s a site that was designed to help men find other men who were currently horny so they could fuck without having to end up being arrested like George Michael’s and the whole Bathroomgate thing), because, let’s face it, Craigslist is great for finding a used couch/refrigerator/drug dealer, but trying to find a disease free guy…good luck.

A large chunk of the guys were strictly looking for hookups (which are stories for a completely different post)(the prior set of parentheses were not for those challenged at reading between the lines, but strictly for clarifying that this post is not about some fling filled with crazy sex had with an amazing Latin lover…not that it ever happened…and not that it couldn’t…it very well could…and might have…carry on), but some of the guys were actually looking for something a little more long-term than a one hour meet & fuck.  That’s where I met this guy…let’s call him Fuzz.  Now Fuzz, on paper, seemed like a great guy.  He had a personality, the same dry sense of humor, and was intelligent.  The fact we were both in food service was also a plus.

He invited me out one night with a group of his friends to play pool, and we wound up hanging out and talking for hours.  It seemed like things were going swell.

And then we went on a REAL date…

Firstly, having spent years in management, if I’m going to go on a date with a manager, I completely expect there to be a phone call and/or tardiness.  So the fact our 7pm dinner was pushed back to almost 9pm didn’t faze me.  I was actually prepared and waited at the coffee shop we were to meet at with a magazine and a book.  Shit happens, especially for managers of restaurants.  I didn’t expect, however, for our plans to be completely changed and for me to have to find my way into some neighborhood I’d never been to, nor even knew existed, with only a five minute time frame in order to pick him up instead of meeting at said coffee shop.  I agreed to a date, not to be a coffee delivery man.

I had planned on taking him to a great Thai place I’d scoped out with a “friend” (it’s in quotes because we had dated and had great sex and still occasionally hung out and watched porn together so, basically, she was kind of a special friend without having any benefits other than getting to listen to her moan and the like, as that would have been written “FRIEND” instead of merely “friend”) which it turns out closed at 9pm.  Apparently Fuzz didn’t like the idea of having a romantic dinner under the stars in the bed of a pickup.  Strike one, Fuzz.

So we wound up at Buffalo Wild Wings, sipping drinks, and neither of us enjoying ourselves because we couldn’t hear no matter how loud we were and we kept getting horrible looks and threatening glares from the other drunken male patrons.  Then his phone goes off.  It was a friend, “Hey, come help me fix my car!”

The date then devolved into him stripping into a wife beater (which I thought would be sexy but HOLY SHIT he had more back hair than a chimp!) and crawling around underneath a car (ok, that was kind of sexy) while I sat and chatted with his friend, who, it turns out, was a friend of mine from high school’s completely annoying little brother.

We then wound up at Jim’s (think Denny’s with better food and worse service) with his friend and his friend for four hours.  Then I took him home and got an, “I’d invite you in, but my mom’s asleep on the couch, but maybe we could…you know…park in the driveway…”  Yeah, sure, Fuzz, let’s just park in the driveway and have wild, crazy butt sex in front of the livingroom window RIGHT WHERE YOUR MOTHER CAN WATCH US FUCK!

“Sounds great, but I’ve got to be at work in an hour.”

“Oh…ok…next time, then. It was…nice…”

Cue awkward hug with a 6′ plus guy in a tiny truck and me driving away thinking “holy shit I’ve met someone worse at dating than me!”

So, why did Fuzz strike out? I mean, sure, talking about your ex who’s obsessed with you to the point of carving your name into his chest while institutionalised and the other ex of yours you set him up with but the guy really only agreed because he thought the guy was kind of hot and was hoping for some super crazy porn style three-way action was bad enough, but, seriously, there are razors for a reason. Watching that guy propose to his chick through a message shaved into his back hair was funny, but, ultimately, not something I wish to experience.

Plus, I don’t enjoy having sex with a laptop sharing bed space. I enjoy using every bit of bed space there is to use during sex, thank you very much and, unfortunately, Fuzz had this obsession with technology and had to have a gadget touching him constantly.  I asked about showering but, honestly, I was too terrified to ask about how that worked while having sex.  The laptop-on-the-bed-thing is the best case scenario.  Worst case involves a corded mouse and strange gyrations in order to play Minesweeper.

Anyone else got any crazy horrid dates they’ve been on? Care to share?

Really, world, this is what I get from you?

So I logged into a social networking app today and said hi to some people.  A few are a bit sketchy, a couple are relatively sane.  It’s a nice change of pace from the crazies I usually end up with.*

Trying to meet people online is like trying to cross the Sahara without a water skin.  Sometimes you find an oasis, sometimes not.  It’s sad that most people don’t even respond.  I take that back.  It’s infuriating.  I mean, you obviously aren’t that fucking busy if you’re logged into a chat app, right?  Who does business that way?  No one I’ve ever met.  Ok, there was that one hooker, but that was just a conversation.  Really.  It was free and there was no business contact with him whatsoever and you can’t prove otherwise!

I know I’m not that ugly, some would even say I’m cute, so maybe I’m the crazy one. But, really, I always thought I was more loveably insane than axe-murder-crazy. Although the whole staying awake for days on end until I begin to hallucinate thing might prove me wrong someday. I might end up hallucinating someone is trying to kill me or end up completely nuts like dude in “My Bloody Valentine”. You never know.

And that’s the entire problem with meeting people online:  you never know.  They could really be an organ harvester looking to sell your kidneys on the black market or, worse yet, your testicles. How much would that suck to wake up in a bathtub filled with ice only to find your testicles gone?

But I guess it could always be worse.  I could always end up on the news like George Michaels and have to release a music video with gold urinals. Talk about tacky.  I never want to be forced to save face by releasing a video like that.  I mean, disco is so out of style it’s not even funny.

*Please note that I could, very well, be lying through my teeth.  That’s the great thing about this medium:  I can say or do whatever I want.  As long as somebody finds it entertaining, that’s all that matters.