I know. I agree. I'm tired of the "Dear [insert worthless ballsack here]" posts. But they work. And my fans love 'em.
This is also a place to share stories of the joke that is my life. And to prove to you that my joke-life is still better than yours. Grab a cocoa while I share. This is a brief vision into to my prowess with single, available women.
During a recent film shoot, a scene partner left a bra of hers in my posession. Not because I removed it, but because she had just bought it and left it behind. After weeks of missed connections and bras forgotten at home (because it might have been put on display like an 12-point buck over the fireplace), we were finally able to meet. Do you know how awkward it is to return a bra to an attractive single woman on a
Several days before that, I had my first actual date in a long, long time. Like, if I bought a dog on the day of my last date, I would be raising its grandpuppy by the time this date showed up. I'm just more of a love-em-and-leave-em guy, I guess. (Is anyone buying this anymore? Don't care. I don't think its dead yet.)
So I clean the whole apartment. I clean my whole body. I clean all the clothes I'm gonna wear, but nothing more because that would waste water and I'm reducing my carbon footprint. I did it all for the Nooky. Fast forward to us walking into the restaurant. As we sit down at the table, she tells me about all the times that she has eaten there. Great pick; way to be inventive, d-bag. Then came the moment that would set the tone for the rest of night: the moment when drinks were ordered. I ordered the standard (Skinny White Bitch, aka Vodka Soda). Safe and masculine, like my arms. She orders a Diet Coke. For future reference, if you order an adult drink and your date doesn't, pay the bill then and there and never look back. It does not turn out well for you. Dinner proceeds fine; we share food, we share laughs, we share stories of exes (mine was just some figment girl that I made up to sound cool). The only real mishap was when she informed me that I had food on my chin. That should be embarrassing enough, until I realized that she was actually discussing the homage that my chin decided to pay to
After wandering our way along the street, attempting to find our way to the theatre where the show we were going to see was being performed, we finally found ourselves in the basement of a restaurant where a makeshift stage has been erected in front of some tables. We also discovered that in addition to the drinks that needed to be purchased, there was a two drink minimum. Meaning that, like the days your mother was pregnant with you, I am drinking for two.
Let's just say that the show was ... better than watching people read Braille? My friend performing was quite good, as usual, and I found his performance compelling. Especially his performance in the scene I now refer to as "The Moment I Knew I Was Going Home Alone". After coming on stage wearing nothing but an adult diaper and a smile, he fell on the stage, in order to purposely explode the pudding packets locked inside, thus covering himself, the stage, and all the other actors in "poo". After receiving the look of "this does not end well for you" from the date, I shotgunned Vodka Soda #4, and left shortly thereafter. While trying to catch a cab in a city void of them, it was decided that she was simply going to take the subway home. Fine. I'm a gentleman. No need to prolong the awkwardness of the night by going back to my place. While en route to the subway, though, words were said that can never be taken back. This beautiful woman thanked me for a very enjoyable evening, a memorable night of theatre, and then informed me that "new friends are always so fun". Hey hon, not in this for new friends.
After glaring at her with my lazy eye, me and my hunchback staggered off into the alleys, wishing her safe travels, a future free of more trolls, and that I had to leave because somewhere there were church bells that had to be rung. And that, dear friends, is how dates go when you get the number after drunkenly singing George Michael at karaoke. Some father figure he was.
And if you're still with me, there was actually a humdinger of run-in that started off the week, and should've been a harbinger of what was to come. This was not a date, by any stretch of the imagination. As has already been established in this and previous blog entries, I am a gentleman, and was helping out a beautiful friend in need. (You will notice that all of these women are beautiful. Word of warning: If you're an uggo, I will never go out of my way for you, and there's nothing you can do to affect my self esteem. I have to focus all my energy on being emasculated by the attractive ones, and there's just not enough of me to go around. Keep walking to the cat supply store.)
This friend was singing at her father's rapidly approaching wedding, and was having a problem finding music to sing. Having sung at more weddings than most people even attend, I offered my music selecting for her perusal. She arrived at my apartment late on a Sunday night; she wearing a ragged hoodie, me wearing a similar ragged hoodie and sweatpants, you could just smell the passion in the air. If passion smells like heavy knit cotton.
We selected a song that worked very well for her voice, and should sound quite beautiful at the wedding. It is now even later on a Sunday night, both of us have to work the next morning, and we're still wearing sweats. As a show of gratitude for helping her out, she asked if I wanted to go get a coffee or something. "Or we could go get a drink" she said, after I stared at her for a good minute with a look of "Seriously? Coffee at 11 on a school night? I don't even drink coffee and I'm exhausted". Yes, I really am that smooth. Although after she said the magic "drink" work, I begrudgingly succumbed to the peer pressure and agreed to go put on pants. While in my room, I hear someone approach my closed bedroom door and awkwardly stand there for a minute. "Oh. Um. Yeah. I didn't mean now."
"Oh. Interesting. Because I thought you did. So I put on pants for you. But now I'm reeling with embarrassment so I'm going to put the sweats on because this is super awkward because I really thought you meant you wanted to go right now but now that you're screaming at me through my door while I'm in my underwear I am really uncomfortable so you know what maybe you should just leave you think? Yeah, you know where the door is right? I think you should just leave and I'm going to take off all my clothes and crawl into bed and die an uncomfortable death."
And I opened the door, pointed to the front door and waved until she left.
Also, you can now find me on eHarmony filed under "Hermit with Ken Doll Parts". See you there.
