TGSNT, Part 11.
By the way, if you're not supporting Stein's efforts to raise money for hemophilia research, or his wife's marathon blogging to aid breast cancer research, then I don't want to hear it when somebody you love dies. Simple as that. I don't give a good goddamn because you didn't. You have enough time to read my maudlin BS? Then you have enough time to send these beautiful people (ok, one beautiful person, one Steinmetz) some money, ANY money. Do it, if only because I said to do so, and I probably know where you live. They're nice people, and I am not. End of sermon, for now.
I staggered back a bit, wondering how quickly a pregnancy test actually works (mere months later, I would know that answer, perhaps a bit TOO well).
"What do you mean, you couldn't have done it without me?"
(My experience with women is pretty easily summarized as follows: I never understood them, I don't understand them now, and chances are, I will never understand them. I merely count myself fortunate that the ones I know are, for the most part, either nice enough to befriend me, despite my many faults, or sympathetic enough to sleep with me. Sometimes both, and never let it be said that I am ungrateful for this inexplicable good fortune. Ladies, I love you all, provided we're still friends/lovers, and I still don't understand a blessed thing. Go with that; it's a constant.)
D laid out a tale that flattened my already frail corpus callosum. It seems that she and a number of other women (many of whom I knew, including some good friends) were part of a sexual scavenger hunt. At one end of the gubernacular spectrum was Stein, who was hardly worth any points because most of the ladies involved had already slept with him, or knew they could do so at will. At the other was yours truly, the Maltese Falcon of Connecticut Man-meat, an elusive quarry whose only appearances in that most carnal of venues had been with unaffiliated coeds from other towns or schools, and those tales were apocryphal at best (these were not Canadian Girlfriends; other people met them, and they still exist, to my knowledge. References are available upon request.)
At the onset of the competition, there were probably questions raised about my preference (which is understandable; until my mother walked in on me with one of the aforementioned partners, I'm pretty sure everyone who knew me, including my family, thought I was gay) or my affability. Mind you, had any of them just walked up and asked, that scoreboard would have looked like a Floridian voting booth. D won the contest, just by landing the Great White Whiner.
It seemed so shallow, so contrived...not that I minded the part about coed Greco-Roman wrestling, but why the pretense?
"It just seemed like the right thing to say."
This girl from the North Woods had come down into my beloved City and tricked me out like she was procuring tenderloin for Gary Glitter at a Boy Scout Jamboree. I'd been played, thoroughly. It was as if she hung a sign on my chest that said, "Unable to defend himself against feminine wiles" that still hangs there today (if you look at me in the right lighting, anyway.)
I slunk away, tail (what little there was left of it) between my legs, and went back to Jen's house eventually. Time was slippery at best in those days, and it gets no easier to grab using my flailing memory; it may have taken an hour to traverse that half-mile. I was that stunned.
There weren't many people left, thankfully...I'd wager that Jen's harridan of a roommate had chased them out, or that Jen herself had, in a nurturing and understanding way, explained to the guests that it was really time to go, and she'd catch up with them later. I collected my car and oozed off into the greenery of Valley Street to make sense of things. I was happy (it had been an amazing night; even the cat got pregnant), I was warm (as I tend to be, most times), but I was extremely disoriented. It would be hours before I could think of sex again.
Just the post-mortem left to go, kids. Then you should go see what Stein says about the same evening.
By the way, if you're not supporting Stein's efforts to raise money for hemophilia research, or his wife's marathon blogging to aid breast cancer research, then I don't want to hear it when somebody you love dies. Simple as that. I don't give a good goddamn because you didn't. You have enough time to read my maudlin BS? Then you have enough time to send these beautiful people (ok, one beautiful person, one Steinmetz) some money, ANY money. Do it, if only because I said to do so, and I probably know where you live. They're nice people, and I am not. End of sermon, for now.
I staggered back a bit, wondering how quickly a pregnancy test actually works (mere months later, I would know that answer, perhaps a bit TOO well).
"What do you mean, you couldn't have done it without me?"
(My experience with women is pretty easily summarized as follows: I never understood them, I don't understand them now, and chances are, I will never understand them. I merely count myself fortunate that the ones I know are, for the most part, either nice enough to befriend me, despite my many faults, or sympathetic enough to sleep with me. Sometimes both, and never let it be said that I am ungrateful for this inexplicable good fortune. Ladies, I love you all, provided we're still friends/lovers, and I still don't understand a blessed thing. Go with that; it's a constant.)
D laid out a tale that flattened my already frail corpus callosum. It seems that she and a number of other women (many of whom I knew, including some good friends) were part of a sexual scavenger hunt. At one end of the gubernacular spectrum was Stein, who was hardly worth any points because most of the ladies involved had already slept with him, or knew they could do so at will. At the other was yours truly, the Maltese Falcon of Connecticut Man-meat, an elusive quarry whose only appearances in that most carnal of venues had been with unaffiliated coeds from other towns or schools, and those tales were apocryphal at best (these were not Canadian Girlfriends; other people met them, and they still exist, to my knowledge. References are available upon request.)
At the onset of the competition, there were probably questions raised about my preference (which is understandable; until my mother walked in on me with one of the aforementioned partners, I'm pretty sure everyone who knew me, including my family, thought I was gay) or my affability. Mind you, had any of them just walked up and asked, that scoreboard would have looked like a Floridian voting booth. D won the contest, just by landing the Great White Whiner.
It seemed so shallow, so contrived...not that I minded the part about coed Greco-Roman wrestling, but why the pretense?
"It just seemed like the right thing to say."
This girl from the North Woods had come down into my beloved City and tricked me out like she was procuring tenderloin for Gary Glitter at a Boy Scout Jamboree. I'd been played, thoroughly. It was as if she hung a sign on my chest that said, "Unable to defend himself against feminine wiles" that still hangs there today (if you look at me in the right lighting, anyway.)
I slunk away, tail (what little there was left of it) between my legs, and went back to Jen's house eventually. Time was slippery at best in those days, and it gets no easier to grab using my flailing memory; it may have taken an hour to traverse that half-mile. I was that stunned.
There weren't many people left, thankfully...I'd wager that Jen's harridan of a roommate had chased them out, or that Jen herself had, in a nurturing and understanding way, explained to the guests that it was really time to go, and she'd catch up with them later. I collected my car and oozed off into the greenery of Valley Street to make sense of things. I was happy (it had been an amazing night; even the cat got pregnant), I was warm (as I tend to be, most times), but I was extremely disoriented. It would be hours before I could think of sex again.
Just the post-mortem left to go, kids. Then you should go see what Stein says about the same evening.
posted by Thom Guthrie, Bassist and Adventurer at 10:23 PM
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