six weeks or so ago i met some old balls. at cuatro, my most favorite of favorite hanging and dancing and eating and drinking spots at the moment. you should go there. with me, maybe. i'll buy you some beers. i don't mind old balls; frankly, there's a lot less pressure for me when a dude's main priorities are his pension and his heart medication. and trying to stay awake at parties. i rarely discriminate against anything other than missing front teeth and chemical dependencies, anyway. and besides, he was a really good dancer. i mean, twirling and breakdancing and shit in the middle of a fucking disco, which was pretty much proof positive that there wasn't a pacemaker ready to explode in the center of his chest.
we shouted over the music (really, it was just SO LOUD) for three hours in that forced intimacy club environment way, heads and torsos all pressed together. as an aside, can i tell you how much i totally hate it when i can smell someone? i mean, in an intimate way? i hate smelling some strange dude's breath or musk or armpit funk or sweat or butt stink. just thinking about it makes me cringe, the thought of smelling some weird person's mouth. their smelly teeth and tongue. you can always tell a smoker. or a motherfucker who loves raw onions. i suppose this is just further evidence that i am immature and have an intimacy problem and will never have a boyfriend or husband or even a long-term regular-basis booty call, but i mean it with what's left of my whole heart. and i don't even mean it judgmentally; i hate flossing my teeth in the worst way and if i go out without deodorant i smell like a farm animal and my ladyparts stink just like everyone else's. that's why i make a point to always smell as amazing as i can. i just have sensitive-ass nostrils, man. and it just adds to my dread/impending doom when i encounter a new hot piece: will he smell weird? i went on a date once with a dude whose breath made my eyes water. it's just godawful.
i'm sorry about that.
anyway, he was nice enough and wanted my phone number (in retrospect, i'm almost 100% positive he called me using a rotary phone) and he didn't smell bad, and since there are much bigger assholes in possession of those 10 precious digits i figured, why the hell not? we totally hit it off right away. he sort of talked too fucking much, and that annoyed the shit out of me at first. i don't like anyone who thinks they're so interesting that they don't even pause for audience response. if you expect me to laugh, motherfucker, why don't you take a breath? i just chalked it up to his forty years on the planet; he's had a lot of experiences, you know. all of the blah blah blah worked itself out, though, and we got a nice little friendship going. he was very clear that he wasn't interested in anything romantic, which was totally fine by me. i am trying to use abstinence to change my dick karma anyway. besides, he told me about how important having become muslim was to him, and i know that there is absolutely NOTHING about me that fits in with what a muslim dude might want in a ladyfriend. i don't know much about it, but i'm sure tattoos, cursing, and writing a pussy blog aren't kosher with allah. plus, pigs are delicious.
so we talked all the time for weeks and weeks (four, to be precise) before he dropped the "i've fallen for you" bomb. BORING. now i'm not such an asshole that i wasn't totally flattered, let's be fucking clear. but this is a dude who said, almost verbatim, "i don't have time to date. i don't have money to date. i want to focus on my career. i want to focus on my religion. i haven't been out with anyone in TWELVE years." and this is how those statements sounded inside my head: "you shouldn't date me. you shouldn't date me. you REALLY shouldn't date me. my balls are totally wrinkly and a puff of dust will probably come out of my penis if you touch it." and that was cool, man. preferable, even. all this going back to school has resulted in a shitload of new friends, and i love it, especially since the bulk of them are dudes. guy friends (the ones that aren't trying to fuck you) are good for all sorts of insight into how retarded the guys you actually are trying to date really are. and that's handy.
only a super lame delusional dude would think that three weeks of "how was your day?" erases the whole "I WILL NEVER BE A QUALITY BOYFRIEND" thing. and i'm sick and tired of being sick and tired of assholes who treat me unacceptably. at some point it really is just my fault for continuing to deal with it. so i've raised my fucking standards. for the last year or so i have been implementing my new dating plan with sort of meh results: i successfully lay out the plan, they usually attempt to follow it and FAIL MISERABLY. at the risk of sounding like a self-centered bitch, i have decided that it's all about me for the rest of my effing life. not in an asshole way, just in a you-must-take-me-out-several-times-(and no you needn't PAY)-and-return-my-calls-consistently-before-i-let-you-see-the-inside-of-my-apartment way. so i told brother troy what would be required of him and he swore he and his viagra would rise to the challenge.
i don't know, man. sometimes forty looks like forty, and other times forty looks like fifty. and in extreme cases, forty can look like seventy. no hate, just sayin'. use fucking sunscreen. and homeboy looked younger than i fucking do. thank horus for all that melanin and shit. and, as i said before, i can hardly afford to discriminate, so i decided to give granddad a shot at these chonies. i'm not trying to have any babies (sorry, universe), and i figured nothing would fit my child-free bill better than a dude whose sperm are collecting social security. we went on a very nice date. VERY NICE. you know why going out with a dude WHO HAS AN ADULT CHILD (for real for real for real) is awesome? other than the fact that if things don't work out with him you could totally cougar it up with his son? because homeboy wore a suit! a real live jacket and pants! now that's what i'm talking about. finally, a goddamned gentleman! and i know what you're thinking: "pshaw. that shit was from the 70s."
and maybe it was, asshole, but he still looked all neat and clean and put together. i already knew him, so there was none of that weirdo fidgety small talk, but there's always the chance that someone you've gotten to know on the phone is a disgusting fucking imbecile in person. he just kept telling me how amazingly beautiful and wonderful and smart i am (more, please!), which was hilarious considering i was sweating like a whore in church and could barely formulate words other than, "is it just me or is it hotter than the tenth circle of hell in here?" here's a tip: don't go on dates in august.
two days later i get this text while at the mos def show: "allah wants me to be a better muslim. and after our delightful evening i've decided you belong on that journey with me." aww. gee, thanks. now i've met a lot of dudes with incredibly lofty expectations, but since when do a couple of martinis buy you a religious conversion? and ONE of the rounds went on my motherfucking card. the nerve, right? why would you even want to be with a person who'd trade in a lifetime of religious apathy after one measly date?! peach martinis might get you a glance at the meat curtain, but SWITCHING GODS might require a little more of a down payment. unbelieveable, dude. needless to say, i don't have the crushingly low self-esteem to accept such a generous offer and politely ended our acquaintance. idiot.
now he is literally mister x.