Monday, June 20, 2011

Dating story #55, a slew of douche-canoes.

I have a new philosophy.

The fact that I've now dated or had some involvement with such a staggering number of douchy dudes is a GOOD thing.  
Good, you ask?
Good, I say!
My theory is that I'm just weeding through them, slowing picking them off.  Like reaching your hand into the ice cold beer trough, weeding through the Nattie Light and PBR just to find the classy bottle of Stella that's settled at the bottom.  Sure, your hand gets wet and cold, uncomfortable and somewhat numb.  But eventually, it's worth it, right?


This leads me to a follow-up on Punz, the Food Dude.

I know many of you enjoyed that last post and felt excited about Punz's potential. 
Shame. On. You.
For some reason, after Punz left my apt that night, post me cooking him a rather EPIC (not to mention quite 'spency) meal, I just had a strange feeling that would be it.  I can't explain why, but turns out, my feelings are somewhat accurate!
We had a small (very small) amount of text banter the next morning. On Wednesday, I found a dog bone under my kitchen table that he had left.  Thinking I was being quite hilarious, I texted him this pic and wrote:
ME: "What do you think I could get for this on Craigslist?"
HIM: "A big fat dick."

ummm....ex'ume, WHAT?
You'll be happy to know I did not respond.  But if I had, it would've said

After that lovely piece of literature, I headed out to meet my friend Mel who is newly single and loving life, tearin' it up like I did last summer. We met at the Standard (again) and I must say that despite the overall hatred most people have for the place, the sheer VOLUME of men makes it a constant success there. I walked in to find tiny Mel holding court with literally FIVE dudes, all above 6 ft tall. It was quite a sight.  Although upon further investigation, most of them seemed to have rocks for brains and less sense of humor than my pinky toe.  I was engaged in a game of eye-ping pong with a muscle-y armed guy who seemed so hot I really couldn't figure out if he was actually looking at ME.
Luckily, he was.
And even better? He was a Brit.
Hello, 50% extra hotness built right in!
Muscle Brit and I hit it off right away and the girls loved him too.  He dragged his dudsville (and possibly mute?) friend with us to another bar, and even gave Mel a piggy-back ride when her heels hurt her.  
Chivalry. Figures it would be a Brit who doesn't live here, right?
It also figures he'd be hot, smart and a wicked good kisser. 
Thanks, universe!
But we had a blast. And maybe I'll see him on my biz trip to London. In November.  Think he'll remember me? Survey says...DOUBTFUL.

Anyway, throughout the whole evening I was engaged in an email/txt situation with 6'4. 'member him?  
Yeah, just when I almost forget about him, he's BACK. Sorta. Kinda.
I just can't figure out what the hell he wants, but my new theory? ENTERTAINMENT.
He hasn't expressed that he want's to see me, per se, but I think he enjoys the amusing banter.  Whatever. At this point I'm more interested to see what the conclusion is.  I've definitely lost any "potential hope" I once had for him.
Here's the textchange:
HIM: I was just randomly thinking of you. Would you like me to tweet you a picture of my junk?
ME: Well, it would be apropos with your future senator aspirations.  
And, randomly?
HIM:  Yes, it's not okay to randomly think of you? Should it be a deliberate and well thought-out occurrence? 
ME:  I'll allow both.  When should I expect my junk tweet? I want to prep myself.
[a day later]
HIM: My Junk
Here's the picture. Please keep between us.  This is solicitous shit.

I must say, I laughed. A lot. It's funny.

So I responded:

ME: Solicitious? That's downright scandalous. Perhaps I should text you a picture of my breast to level the playing field?
HIM: I think it's only fair at this point. Or ass.

So, I sent him both.

He liked it.
We'll see what happens in this game I like to call "Retarded Love."

Is this what it's come down to?
Someone. Anyone.