Saturday, July 7, 2007

Nice Guy Gets High Fast

"The best part about alcohol: If you don’t remember, it didn’t happen."

Omg!! I just had the best dream ever!

For me, when people say this before they proceed to try and describe their dream, I'm like please, just shut up already. Honestly, your dream was only good in your mind, while you were sleeping. I, however, wouldn’t have brought my dream up if I didn’t think that it wasn't worth sharing.

I know I'm great. I share. Well, in my dream, I was on a party bus, with Cameron Diaz, on the way to Vegas!!

See, now I bet you want to hear more, but that’s all I got. I woke up before I got to the good stuff.

Yeah, I was disappointed too.

Waking up after another date from hell, the Cam dream did totally make my day though.
Yeah, yeah I’m dating. It sucks. Please spare me any commiseration. I already feel sorry for me too.

So, I met this guy about a month ago. He’s kind of slow. Slow as in, when I tell a joke, he has like a three second witticism delay. Not that I’m a comedian or anything. I mean if it’s not funny, it’s not funny. But if he's laughing late, because I had to rewind and break down the joke for him to get it, then it’s funny and he's just f*cking slow. (Or I could be a bad joke teller, but I'm going to stick to my original argument of him being slow).

I should also mention that he smokes weed on an “occasion.”
He filled me in on this bit of information during an intellectual conversation, where I told him that I try to avoid dating guys who are into smoking weed and playing video games. I didn’t know that it would be so hard to find a guy to meet the criteria of hobbies that don’t include killing brain cells. These days they are hard to come by. I don’t know, maybe the weed explains the delay. At the same time, if he were *high* there wouldn’t be a delay, right? He would laugh quickly at pretty much anything.

I'm not sure where I'm going with this...

Let me just say, I’m trying to see past the slowness and the weed smoking, because he’s nice. And I drink.

Anyway, slow guy took me out to dinner on Friday, to Romano’s, a.k.a., the Macaroni Grill. Somewhere I had never been before, because in my mind I had pictured Bertha, with a hairnet, scooping macaroni out buffet style to Jimbo and them.

I was pleasantly surprised when we got situated at the bar that this was a place I might actually enjoy.

I would call our dinner date, the ‘official’ third date for slow guy and I. (We still had to suffer through small talk and ask each other every five minutes, “is everything ok?”) The evening started off like any other opening night, as he made a toast we giggled and flirted. Slow guy was even sweet enough to help me figure out the foreign menu of pastas and wines.

Somewhere between the appetizers and the main course I managed to have one too many Washington Apple shots. I washed them down with two glasses of wine and grew impatient with our now dry conversation. I’ll admit, I’m a cheap date and by the end of dinner I had to pee and slow guy was getting on my nerves with his Q&A survey of, “so tell me about you?”

I’ll tell you about me. I have a small bladder and I’m going to need another shot to continue this boring ass conversation.

By the time we headed back to his place I wasn’t walking crooked, I was walking in circles. (I think I played it off though; my slurred speech might have been the only thing giving me away). When we got back to his place his roommate was sitting on the couch rolling a fatty. Without any hesitation, slow guy plopped down on the couch, eager to join in on the rotation of the puff. I know I was a ‘little’ sloshed, but couldn’t he have waited until I went home to satisfy his craving? He might as well have whipped out his d*ck and slapped me in the face with it.

Oh well, I guess it never would have worked out with slow guy anyway. We obviously don’t share the same interests. He's a pothead, I'm a drunk. He eats, I throw up. He stares at things for long periods of time, I pass out. He chills on the couch, I stumble around. You get the point.

He was considerate enough to offer me a hit.

I told you he was a nice guy.

7 comments:

Rodrigo said...

Oi, achei teu blog pelo google tá bem interessante gostei desse post. Quando der dá uma passada pelo meu blog, é sobre camisetas personalizadas, mostra passo a passo como criar uma camiseta personalizada bem maneira. Se você quiser linkar meu blog no seu eu ficaria agradecido, até mais e sucesso. (If you speak English can see the version in English of the Camiseta Personalizada. If he will be possible add my blog in your blogroll I thankful, bye friend).

Damsel Underdressed said...

Oh dear Lord! This reminds me of a guy I dated. He didn't smoke pot but listening to him ramble on about his boring ass job was like watching paint dry. He'd be talking and I would mentally be making my grocery list for the week.

MsPuddin said...

rodrigo-I'm sorry I can't read Spanish very well, pero gracias por me escribas...

du-hmmm thanks if I get bored next time I will have something to think about...

So@24 said...

please please please keep posting more of your dating adventures. i thought that mine were bad... looks like i have some competition

Anonymous said...

LMAO, Aww now that's a little bit of a different problem then him being just a nice guy. He doesn'thold your interest either, so your reason is valid. But damn!! you and these nice guys are killng my life. LMAO

Drea

MsPuddin said...

Drea'!

I know I'm so mean...

Blah Blah Blah said...

...awww, I feel sorry for slow guy...ummm, an dyou too.
This was hilarious.