Am I too picky?
Sun Jun 22, 2003 at 01:53:42 PM EST
The thought occurred to me that I can't find any decent women because my standards are too high. The ones I want don't want me, and the ones that want me I don't want.
I saw this in one of the computer dating services' ads for some brown haired, “average” body type (fat) woman: “I want to be treated as an equal. I am looking for someone who [sic] still old fashioned and opens car doors.”
This sounds like The Evil - X. There are way too many women like this. They want to have their cake and eat mine, too.
Ladies, if you want to be treated as an equal, ask me out, drive, and pay my way. I'll be glad to open your damned door!
Last night daughter Patty walks in the kitchen and, in usual teenager fashion, asks for money.
I tell her OK, but I'll have to walk down to Osco's to cash a check.
“But Rachel's going to be here in a half an hour!”
“OK,” I say, “just have Rachel give me a ride down there.”
“NO! I'm not going to ask my friends to give you rides! Why don't you get the car fixed or get another one?”
Yeah, right now. Teenagers are so reasonable, rational, and logical... as are females generally. Probably why I was so drawn to muchagecko at first, she seemed more rational than most women. Of course, then I found out she's tall and likes 69... besides being a thousand miles away... see? I'm too damned picky.
Go for it, Jay!
So I get a beer and sit on the front porch and drink it. Presently Patty's friend pulls in the driveway, and I ask her for a ride to Osco's.
I let her in the house as Patty's coming out. She tells Patty “I told your dad we'd give him a ride to Osco's.”
Kids. Girls. Sigh...
I cash a check and get some bread and breakfast, and Patty says she wants ten dollars. I give her five and she argues about it.
If you have teenagers you're snickering now. If you are one, just wait...
They drop me off at home and leave.
I walk on downtown to Marley's. Rock House is starting to set up, I see. There is sound equipment piled everywhere. I get a beer and a glass of water, and leave the bartender a tip.
Not many people there yet. Mostly couples.
I see Eddie, so walk over and say “Hi.” Ed's the singer and bandleader, and he used to live down the street from me. We've both since moved.
He says Judd, his old guitar player, isn't with the band any more. Judd had moved to Memphis for a while, and when he got back Ed had already replaced him. I told him I guessed he might not be with Rock House any more, since I'd seen him last winter running the sound board for Ray Lytle's Itchy Pickles Band, but I hadn't had a chance to talk to him. Ed says the new guy is even better than Judd.
He was right. Judd's good, but this guy kicked ass. Joe Satriani, Van Halen (Eruption, no less!), Aerosmith... the new Rock House is even better than the old one was.
I tell Ed I'm divorced now, he says he's sorry to hear it. “I'm not,” I replied. I told him how fat and ugly(er) Evil-X had gotten.
I went back to sip my beer and drink my water while the band finished setting up. My stomach feels empty. I'm always hungry anymore, it seems. So I had the bartender stick my beer and water in the cooler, and walked down to Bread Stretcher's for a Heiffer and a Rolling Rock.
A Heiffer is a bigassed huge sub sandwich. There were two very attractive ladies at the next table, one with the round tattoo on her lower back you see so much these days. I can't understand it, it's like putting a mustache on the Mona Lisa with a crayon.
I smile at them, and they sneer, put their noses in the air and leave.
I finished my sandwich and went back to Marley's. Rock House is rocking. I get my beer and water back, finish the beer and go to the rest room.
There aren't many attractive ladies there, but no matter, I went there to hear Rock House. I didn't expect to pick up any women.
After a while I walked outside for some fresh air.
Ginger walks up.
“Steve! Hi! Buy me a beer?”
I looked at her in amazement. Nervy for sure. But I guess a whore needs nerve.
She laughs. “Boy, you sure were fucked up last time I saw you, how much did you drink? Hey, give me ten bucks and you can fuck me.”
I laughed. “You got my money last time, but we never fucked. Do you still have my CD?” The look on her face said she would have blushed if black girls could blush. “Yeah, I'm gonna give it back to you, honest. Buy me a beer?”
I tell her sure, but “let's go somewhere without a cover as my cash is running low.” I'm thinking Bread Stretcher's, with cheaper beer – in bottles, where it will be harder for her to slip me a mickey.
“Oh, I already been inside here.”
So we walk back in Marley's and I get two drafts. She's sitting on my left, I keep my beer in my right hand, and one eye on it. She keeps trying to sell me some pussy.
After she finishes her beer she slips away. I'm relieved. I get another glass of water and drink the whole thing down, still sipping my beer.
I went to the rest room, and took my beer with me. I learned my lesson last week!
When I got back someone was in my stool, so I walked around. I smiled at a plain looking fat girl and lied that she was cute. I lit an ugly old hag's cigarette for her. I was having fun, I wanted everybody else to, too.
I wound up back in my original stool, trespasser gone.
People are getting drunk. Including the bartenders. The good looking ones must have gotten better jobs, or have been drinking too much beer, because the ladies behind the bar are all sort of heavy tonight.
Except one, who is standing on the bar, walking around pouring something red at people's upturned mouths. Mostly missing, as she's standing on the bar with the bottle held high and the people she's pouring it at are standing on the floor. It's an entertaining spectacle; I'd seen them do it before. I held my empty beer glass up, and she poured some, mostly missing but leaving two fingers at the bottom of the glass.
It was fruit juice. But these drunks would never know!
Ginger walks back in, carrying my CD! She's written on the cover, “Happy Father's Day Steve Love Ginger”.
Nervy, crazy chick. I buy her another beer. I see her drop something in mine, as she looks outside exclaiming “wonder what the cops are doing out there?”
I switched beers with her. Not tonight, honey!
She downs “her” beer, and presently staggers off with a blank look on her face.
I leave the rest of “mine” in case it's a double switch and walk outside for air, and there are three police cars outside. It seems that someone took exception to the girl pouring the juice and attacked her.
I went in for one last beer, and the band did one last song.
I sure wish I could afford to keep doing this every week!