Truth and lies about dating...

Dating.

You know....  For as long as I can remember I haven't been that comfortable in the whole dating arena.  I mean lets face it, dating is hard.  You meet someone, you get set up with someone, so and so brought someone to a BBQ that they thought you should meet and it's pretty much the most uncomfortable feeling.

At least for a few seconds.

People in my experience aren't really huge fans of putting themselves into awkward situations that they have little control over.  I know I sure wasn't when I first started to get back into the dating scene.  I mean really, why would I want to be in that situation willingly where it feels like I just had my beer spiked with Visene and Jay ninja punched my throat?  Well, it's mainly not my fault. 

It's the women.

Ok, maybe it's not the women, but seriously, dating, habitually dating, pro-dating as I did for a time this summer or even just the "Good god I need to go on a date, just to see if I still can handle it!" date is hard stuff folks.

Dating is hard, that's for sure, BUT! there are things that make it worth the work!  I have evidence to support my theories and lets have a little share share time.

To protect his name, I will not name him....  There's no truth to the guy in this tale being named Mike, and the fact that one of me best guy friends names is Mike.  So if you think this is Mike Stumph, well, you can just go on thinking that if you want, but you might be wrong.

Suuuuuuurrrrrree......

Mikey, Shadly PQ, and Myself had headed out on the town one evening with the usual bunch.  The usual bunch is of course those that we at the time were able to safely surround ourselves with, and between the majority at least could scrape up bail money in the event that someone may or may not have been flapping their arms like a chicken while going down Broadway on the back of Shad's bulletbike.  (So wasn't me, I'm not sure who that guy was, but I'm a lot more responsible than that.)  But, in case you ever do find yourself in that situation, the correct response to the police officer's question "Do you know why I pulled you over?" is "Yes sir, because he is acting like a total clown."  (Again, not me, some other person did that, I as a motorcycle owner know much better than to behave in such a manner.)

The amazing thing with this bunch of hooligans, nincompoops, and long haired hippy-types is that we never really amounted to much trouble.  Mainly because women are smarter than men in all areas, and only talk to men out of scientific need, and a strange sense of self loathing that is defined in the phrase "Women like fixer-uppers."  I know this phrase is the lord's truth, because some of my friends managed to marry themselves with women that are way way wayyyyy out of their league, and really it's the only thing that makes sense.  If it isn't true then I take it all back, and the women are stupid.

So we have this gaggle of weirdos, and I don't even know for sure where we were as I was likely not paying that close of attention, or I may have thought that at the time I was posessed by a chicken, we may never know, and we run into a few girls that we had been kicking it with.  Kicking it with means they had allowed us to be near them, hadn't thrown up yet from drinking too much, or perhaps had really really low IQ's.  In this case we are going with low IQ, it is afterall a story about Mikey.

I was immune from this story due to a few reasons.  The majority of the girls there were blonde, and if you know me, I am afraid of blonde haired girls.  They are scarey.  One girl in particular was described by "Mike" as "The Bomb".  There was a time that "The Bomb" was a very descriptive term for Mike, but now we know that before he married up this was actually an intellectual term to him.  Now I'm not going to lie.  This girl was cute.  She was actually pretty hot.  I'm sure that Mike drugged her with horse tranquillizers or something nastier to even get her talking to him but all you could see in his face was a sure ticket to la la land while Mikey kicked his game to this girl that was a bomb.

I think her name was Brittany.  But it doesn't really matter, for the sakes of this tale she shall be named "Hot Girl"

So Mikey decides to plan a date with this girl and take her and.....  Amy?  Someone else and a date to Lava Hot Springs in his Jalopy.  Jalopy is a kind term in referring to a car that is owned by Mikey.  This was a pristine Mercury Sable, or something equally as terrible with 4 doors and a drivetrain that howled like Ellingford boozed up on cough syrup listening to Judas Priest in Grendel.  (Jay is ammo for more stories, we will get to him in due time.)  So they hop in the jalopy and make tracks to Lava Hot Springs.  I'm surprised that they even got as far as Blackfoot to be honest, where he stole the gas money from is still a mystery!

And there I was.  Sitting at home likely wrapped up in a towel since I was too lazy to get dressed likely playing some damn video game and eating 4 day old pizza next to the wall of shame when the phone rang. 

(phone rings, I finally answer)  "Hello?  What?  Where?  Uhh...  Yeah I guess...  I'll be there soon.  Yep.  Go to hell, bye."

The call had been made.  You see, for some strange reason I am that guy.  I'm that guy you call when your car stops working and you want some free advice form someone that doesn't even work on cars (I'm a BOAT MECHANIC you ASSHOLES) and I do the best I can with what I have learned being blessed with common sense when it comes to mechanical things, a sense that Mike was born without.  His eyes are spaced properly so I know it isn't fetal alchohol syndrome, but if you want to see a car destroyed, let this guy have it for a while!

With a couple quarts of oil (after much badgering I finally was able to get Mr. Hellen Keller to figure out what a dipstick looked like, and I am also positive that one of the girls showed him what it was) I toss on some shades, and hop on the V-Max to zip down the highway on a bald tire to feed this car oil.  Yes folks, there he is, on his date, trying to be all romantic with Hot Girl and his car died.  Because it had no oil in it.  God bless Ford for making a car that can still run in the heat of summer with only fumes that used to be oil in the engine.  After I show up, bugs palstered to my face in all my glory, I pour in two quarts, we stop and buy at least one more and the jalopy is running.  What did I get out of this trip?  a REALLY bad cheeseburger and bugs in my teeth.  Tho I did rescue Mikey on his date, which I think eventually turned out in his favor for at least a little while. 

You see, dating me, people I have lived with, or people I have known for over 15 years is at the very least dangerous ladies.  That was a tame story, and it also happened many years ago.  But times really haven't changed much either.  The selection has just thinned some.  We are currently down to Todd, Myself, and I am sure that Casey would also part with Mike if she was asked.  The dating has just changed some is all.  Mainly us.

Let's be honest.  I'm not the fine figure of a man that I was pre-marriage, or even wall of shame days.  I'm greying out my hair, and my athletic prowess is mostly based on grunting while trying to tie my shoes, (or even reach them) and watching a tendon slowly peel off my left knee.  My glory days of being in shape consist of perhaps one summer where I was able to go up 1 flight of stairs before feeling like barfing my lungs out.  Sure sure... the grey hair.... makes you look all distinguished.  Really?  I think it makes me look prematurely old actually!  And now?  NOW I have to date?

Hmm ok, so lets see here.... Moderate to low self esteem... Check.... Not a lot of money.... Check....  All my friends are married or with children.... Check!  Alright then, to hell with it, I'll just to ask a girl out, screw it!  I can do this!

Here's what I think.  I think that there is a tiny little elf, demon, muse, whatever following me around poking me with a magic stick to do stupid things.  I'm also pretty sure that if cast in a movie, this imp would be played by Jon Peirsol.  (Also, will get to him at a later time)

But hey, you can't get ahead in the relationship department if you don't try right?  So I try.  I go to the bank.  There is cute girl.  I see cute girl.  I muster.  Mustering for me takes a lot, but for some reason I mustered on the spot and actually point blank cold case asked this girl out for dinner.

What really sucked is that she said yes.  If she had said no, well I could have avoided the whole thing and just moved ahead as if nothing ever happened, but.... Then we wouldn't have.....  Wait for it......  Wait for it....  "Barnes and Noble Girl"  Ahhh finally, I named my pain.

Barnes and Noble girl was quite pretty.  Dark dark long straight hair, beautifully skinny legs with high heels, white hosey and a business type skirt.  I'm a sucker for that crap.  I don't know why, but hey it worked on me, and it always does.  I took her to Olive Garden with the hopes of getting her as drunk as I could off of wine so that she might actually find my conversation interesting, or in case it all went bad she might just chalk it all up to a bad hangover and not tell all her friends about what a nut I was.

She had other plans....

Instead I spent 50 bucks on dinner, and got a diatribe history over the course of an hour and a half about her ex-husband, her ex-boyfriend, and what gigantic douchebags they were.  She really did spend the whole time other than a brief period talking about her job rehashing the misery and unfulfilled love that she has had in her life with me, over dinner, on my nickel, drinking the wine, and eating the salad.

Oh....  My..... God.....

She just wouldn't stop.  Needless to say when the meal was over I feigned an emergency phonecall, something I have to go do for my parents, etc and got the holy shit out of there.  But..... apparently I was a good listener.  She called back the next day saying what a great time she had and if I'd like to go out again.

*cry*

But seriously folks...  She was so pretty.  Sooooooo pretty.  If this girl was a motorcycle she'd be a Ducati Desmo, or if she was a Coffee she'd be an endless Caramel Mocha.  Which is fitting because as her name suggests, the coffee house is where this story ends.  Of course there was NO WAY I was going to feed this woman again.  I mean really.  You spent the whole night talking about ex's etc and want MORE FOOD?  Noway.  So I, keeping in mind how incredibly hot and delish she was, agreed to have coffee with her at Barnes and Noble.  She asked me to bring my motorcycle because she hadn't ever ridden on one before.  ZING!  A girl on the back of my bike....  That's like.... Proof that I don't suck totally right?  So we go to coffee.

And she does it all again.

It was a repeat of the night before...  she had a really bad day, or whatever and I was smack dab back in the same place I was 20 hours before listening to the same thing come out of this torturously hot females lips.

I snapped.  I snapped like a twig.  And I completely came unglued.

It wasn't so much I think about the 50 bucks, I mean, I did actually get to be seen in public with someone a lot prettier than me, so hey that's nice.  And honestly I am pretty good at doing the wrong thing, or putting up with something I don't like for way too long, but I lost it anyways.  I started to rant.  When I start ranting it's like the depths of hell open up and all the bad intentions of man and beast come shooting forth out of my mouth like Rosie O'Donnel coughing up a rotten peice of ham.  I ranted, I raved, I spewed forth curses.  Then I left.

And damnit I left my coffee sitting there on the table.  Those suckers are like 5 bucks you know?  But before I made it completely away from the tables there was a shining light.  5 or so tables away, a complete stranger, and I'd like to name him Ralph, stood up and started to clap loudly.  While clapping she said "Yeeeeahyah, that's what I'm talkin bout".

Bless you Ralph.  I will always love you.




But I'm still pissed about leaving my coffee there.