Rock Bottom
Ok, I think I have reached a point where I don't have to go out every single night now. Last night, Billy took me to a gay bar on amatuer strip night. I am usually full of comments about everything, but I honestly could not put into words what my eyes experienced last night. I have pictures. I'm sure you are all dying to see them (especially you, Sir Craig).
Different subject: I'm going to rant here for a second. I met a very cool boy the other night. Yes, he is American. He's very cute, but the more he made me laugh, the hotter he got (smart, funny guys do it for me even if their face looks like the business end of a baboon). Very seldom do I meet guys with my sense of humor in real life that are single, cute, live within driving distance, have a career, a dog, and not politically defunct. So HE asked ME for my number. He said he would call me yesterday. Of course, it didn't happen. Doesn't he know how freaking awesome I am? Hasn't he seen my ass? What is wrong with this dude?
It's my thighs, isn't it?
Different subject: I'm going to rant here for a second. I met a very cool boy the other night. Yes, he is American. He's very cute, but the more he made me laugh, the hotter he got (smart, funny guys do it for me even if their face looks like the business end of a baboon). Very seldom do I meet guys with my sense of humor in real life that are single, cute, live within driving distance, have a career, a dog, and not politically defunct. So HE asked ME for my number. He said he would call me yesterday. Of course, it didn't happen. Doesn't he know how freaking awesome I am? Hasn't he seen my ass? What is wrong with this dude?
It's my thighs, isn't it?
posted by Crystal at 6:49 AM
7 Comments:
I have an IQ > Pi, I know a couple of knock-knock jokes, I have one semi-cute hairless spot on my body, but unfortunately the drive here is killer. I have a cool career (get it, cool?), a mute dog (he lives with dad), and I vote. 6/7...not bad eh? Wink, wink, nudge, nudge.
The idea of a southern gay bar is counter-intuitive. They actually let you take pictures. I think of the 'Fudge Palace' from the movie Pecker, even though that was in Baltimore.
Perhaps he is dyslexic and keeps transposing the numbers as he tries to type them with his thumb. Maybe he tried to call yesterday but ended uo spraining his ankle and there is no calling from your cell ohone while in a hospital. Maybe he drowned.
Many things could have happened ... it most likely is not you.
omg Ramon, i did use the word dick referring to a thingy. i forgot. when you and me and abby were sitting on the tailgate of that truck. i'm sorry. how embarassing...
It's Me, Ramon..again. Yes you did use the word "snatch" I remember because
1. I was sober
2. I was impressed and trying not to laugh.
And yes the beer boob story happened because of you getting beer spilled all over your shirt. Were you soooooooooo drunk that you forgot that I told about if you got busted that you could tell the officer "no I'm not drunk, I just smell like it". PLUS I remember it because I got what I call a "sorta-hug" because you didn't want me smelling like beer.
Being sober does wonders for a person's recall of events.
I think this guy was due for an anal probing and the aliens got to him before he could call. I can't see why else he wouldn't call you.
Space the final frontier...
I have decided to comment in three different styles:
First, in the style of an ultra-gay Puerto Rican drag queen: "Honey, who hasn't seen your ass?"
Second, in the style of a jaded, leathery ex-beauty queen in her 60s: "Yes, it is your thighs."
Third, in the style of me: If you met said fellow in a gay bar that could answer your question. Also, before I was able to snare my wife through trickery (she thinks I'm the bastard son of Prince Charles), I would occasionally meet a gorgeous woman who was funny and laughed at all my jokes and made me feel all stupid and 'wuh-wuh-wuh,' as you say. In the morning, after the beer confidence had worn off, I would think: 'What the hell was I thinking? That woman was way out of my league.' So, maybe he wussed out.
Chris,
That is crazy talk. Plus, he was sober and he'd already seen me IN THE LIGHT by the time he asked for my number.
I'm not worried about it anymore. I only allow men to make me feel bad about myself for a maximum time period of 25 minutes, sometimes more or less depending on my hormones. I feel dumb actually admitting that I get disappointed and this is the only place where I will admit it because that's what blogs are for, right? To bitch to complete strangers about your inner-workings. Good stuff.
If he does call, I will say, "Mike? Mike....Hmmmm....where did we meet again?"
I'm an expert at the game when I actually have a chance to play it.
Post a Comment
<< Home