I have only small things to say about the last couple of weeks. Thanksgiving was great, I got together with my blondes and I tried something so dirty and obscene that I almost don’t want to mention it.
Dinner with the blondes: I may have mentioned supper club a couple years ago. I get together with three of my girlfriends and we go out and eat and then complain about how much we ate and talk about penis. In the past few years I have had a major falling out with one of the members. I didn’t want anyone to make anyone choose sides so I stopped sending the texts that we need to go out. Underestimating my blondes (a mistake on my part) I finally got us together for supper. So one of the blondes is beginning a new job with a little more flexibility and she will able to have a life again. She had mentioned that she wanted to break old patterns and not date someone with untreated depression, a drinking problem or a cheating problem. Lots of luck I said. Then the sparkly blonde piped up:
SB: You need to ask on the first date if they have mental health issue.
Me: Are you fucking crazy? Don’t tell her that! You wait and go through his medicine cabinet like a lady. You ask a question like that on a first date he will think you are the one with the mental issue. First dates are all about lying. And sex. And, if you are lucky, a free meal.
SB: What did you and 3b talk about on your first date?
Me: I asked him why is marriage broke up and why he broke up this his last girlfriend.
Me: He was very straight forward about what will send him packing. That he was set in his ways and didn’t want to be changed. If I was a fixer then he was not interested. Then he lied and told me my bangs looked like a rock chicks and began to make out with me at the bar at the Allen Street Pub. We had sex for three days breaking only for me to make him meals and the rest is history. But we are in our late 40’s and she (the other blonde) is only in her early 30’s. We don’t have years to waste on “discovering” each other. That is why you go through the medicine cabinet, Google the prescriptions. If you don’t like the results you sit down somewhere away from the kitchen, ask for a glass of water, and run out the door when your hear the faucet. Just make sure you have mace and a cell phone. You can’t go by what I do. I am crazy.
SB: I say you should ask. It seems soooo much easier.
Me: It is just plain rude to ask. My way is what a lady (like other blonde) would do.
Long pause while both blondes shake their heads and question my grip on reality.
Me: Why don’t we make out a questionnaire and while we are at it ask him if he is a communist. By the way, I have slept with a communist, or a Trotskyite. I can’t remember the difference.
While sparkly blonde and I argue other blonde is shaking her head laughing. I guess you would have to see all of us together to know that other blonde would NEVER ask that question out right. My way is more practical.
Obscenity: Speaking of nut jobs, I have a friend that has made me her project and not because I think outside the norms of reality. Let me explain. A few weeks ago I got a text from this friend that owns a great fitness studio. She has been trying to get me in there for a class and so far I have not been able to coordinate my schedule to be able to take a class. This text wasn’t about that. She was a real competitor. She ran, she taught spin classes and did things like Ironman things. So I was wondering why she wanted to sit down and talk to me. She is ill with an autoimmune disorder and can no longer be as active so she wants to get into personal training or life coaching or some such shit and asks if I will be her experiment. After I stopped laughing and realized she was serious she asked me what was the one exercise I hated the most.
Me: Movement in general.
After a few minutes of explaining to her that I hate anything that requires me doing anything that I don’t want to do, we narrow it down to the thing I hate the most: running. She says that is where we will begin.
Me: Good luck with that, I am the most unmotivated person on the planet. You will have to stalk me to get me to run.
No sooner were the words out of my mouth as I could see a twinkle in her eyes. She met her greatest challenge. I dropped the gauntlet and she was all in. That bitch stalked me for two straight weeks through a stomach flu and Thanksgiving. She was relentless on text and e-mail. I was afraid to look at my giant phone for fear of her guilting me into exercise. I gotta tell you, after 14 straight days of harassment I finally gave in and met her for a “jog/walk”. I got conned. She knew what she was doing and I played right into her hands. I went out with her and have made arrangements to go out twice more this week. I told her if I didn’t puke I would be her testimonial. Normally I cannot be conned so easily but she played me like a cheap fiddle. I went for a run. I didn’t go fast or far. I was only a short period of time and I didn’t puke. Now I have to keep up my end of the bargain. Crap. I hate exercise.