Shades of Me
Tuesday, September 11, 2001After the unfortunate events of today (I'm referring to the terrorist attacks), this much is clear: genius is not a moral dimension.
Wednesday, September 05, 2001I got my driving learner's permit today. I am now a bona fide fucking "Novice" driver. Peace.
Saturday, September 01, 2001Yesterday, while I was downtown on the market, I saw a guy wearing an interesting T-shirt. It said "Institute for the Sexually Gifted." I would not have thought anything of this, except that the guy had a beer gut and was smoking a cigarette. Those are two things which don't exactly scream "panther-like prowess." Peace.
Friday, August 31, 2001It seems that people are always eager to hear other people's stories of bad dates. It's kind of a downward comparison thing. "My last date was terrible but at least I'm not that guy/girl." Well, I have a rather interesting dating story to tell. A couple of nights ago I went on a blind date (two words which spell disaster). A friend who will remain nameless (*cough*Fred*cough*) told me there was this girl whom he knew that I absolutely had to meet and how she was totally my type, etc., etc., etc. First of all, I don't have a "type" per se, as long as the triple-B criteria are fulfilled (brains, beauty, breeding), but that's beside the point. I should have known what I was getting into... but I figured "Hey, what do I have to lose? The worst case is that I get dinner and a fun time. The best case is that I meet someone I'd want to see again." It had been well over a year since my last real date and I thought maybe it would be fun to give this a try. I have thought of so many ways to write this... and I have decided to give as few details as possible about my date because I don't think anyone deserves to be scandalized here. I did end up going to a wonderful restaurant which was very high-class and which I intend to patronize in the future. My date did have good taste in restaurants (I will give her credit for that). She also drove a very nice car. In fact, it was a Corvette. My date had very good taste in cars (I give full credit for that too). A Corvette is a very sexy car.... and in fact *she* was sexy too. I venture to say she was every bit as sleek as the car she was driving. Now that I look back on it, I feel very silly. Why would a young, attractive mid-twenty-something-year-old be driving a Corvette? Well, she told me that she worked in investments and had a very good portfolio herself. That is plausible, is it not? Well, I did have fun behind the wheel. That's right, folks! I got to drive a Vette! I didn't tell her about not having a license. Don't for a moment think that I can't drive just because I am not licensed. I can too drive. I am just not licensed! Anyhow, enough of that. We drank red wine with dinner. I hardly ever drink, but I was smooth-talked into it. That is yet another thing I give my date credit for... smooth-talking. Damn, was she ever good at that. It is a skill that serves her well in her profession, no doubt. I had one glass and it was very good wine. It was very smooth, very silky, very full-bodied wine. I have new-found respect for wine, yes I do. Wine is a wonderful thing because when taken in generous quantities, it can serve as somewhat of a truth serum. Generous indeed. For my one glass, my date had the rest of the bottle. It's just was well because she paid for it. We talked over hors d'oeuvres, over our main course, over an exquisite dessert, and all the while, the wine flowed. We talked about everything from reincarnation to trash rod culture and all the while, the wine flowed. She tells me that she would give anything to be in a good relationship, but that most men are scared off by her line of work. It seemed a mite strange to me that men would be put off by the fact that she was a high-powered investment agent. Perhaps they felt emasculated by a woman more successful than themselves. Perhaps... but was there more to the story than that? Well, the wine flowed until the truth started to flow. Then, the wine and truth together just flowed and flowed. The wine and truth flowed until the mid-twenty-something investment agent with a strong portfolio that I saw sitting in across from me and looking adorable was no longer a mid-twenty-something investment agent at all. Ah yes, the truth. How I do love wine and the truth it brings. A bottle of wine later and I see before me a girl who gives exotic massages for a living. Let's just clarify what we mean by exotic, shall we? You shower, get a sensual massage and then *anything* else. Are you curious as to what anything means? Well I was too, so I asked. Since the wine and truth were flowing so nicely, I got a good answer. In her case, anything really does mean anything, as long as you have the cash to back your request. This is cash which turns into such things as the maintenance of a Corvette and dinner with yours truly. It truly is amazing how much a man will pay when he's sex-starved. I know just how much, because I heard it straight from the horse's mouth. Our discourse, from that point on, consisted exclusively of massage parlour vignettes. Oh, the fun. What man doesn't love to hear his drunken date talk about the sexual quirks of the lonely, bald, middle-aged man who routinely cums in her ass every sunday afternoon for a fee. I found the whole conversation to be absolutely charming. I especially loved the debate about whether black men really do have larger penises. It was just the sort of flirtatious banter between a young man and woman that sets the stage for a meaningful union. In all fairness, I consider myself to be open-minded. People who know me know this. Virtually nothing shocks me any more. However, I am not open-minded enough to be dating a prostitute. I also do not think that it is fair for anyone who works in the sex trade to expect to have a functional relationship at the same time. That is having your cake and eating it too, quite frankly. Let it be noted that if this friend of mine ever tries to fix me up again, I will ever-so-politely kick him in the head. Peace.
Wednesday, August 29, 2001How exciting does your life have to get before you write about a damn driving test on your web site?
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