Anybody seen Robert Redford's "The Horse Whisperer?" You know...before Scarlet Johanson had boobs? If not, my aunt can give you a full description of the "crisp, white snow" and the "beautiful, strong-legged horses" "agghh!!! Montana! It's so beautiful!" Well I'm a self-described "Weirdo Whisperer." (If the horse parallel is still lost on you then think Cesar Milan "Dog Whisperer").
I tend to find the most socially inept person in the room and antagonize them. Instead of exploiting their anxiety, I end up employing their deepest emotions and set the stage for a period of mild obsession. Oddly enough, I will entertain the idea of going out with them and possibly sucking face. I mean totally sucking face.
Well, last Thursday I went out with one of these said individuals. Since he pushed our drink(s) date back to 9 p.m., to have dinner with his parents, ugh, I took it upon myself to drink 3/4 of a bottle of wine before arriving. I was dreading the date because it was encroaching on my bed time and the emails we had shared had been less than stimulating. Maybe because they were all about his family?
In an effort to "get it over with," I arrived at 8:55. This is really early for me because I'm always late. After downing three tall drafts and berating him with boring, interview-esqe questions, I was chalking this up to a first date only. Much to my surprise, he invited me back to his house for drinks and pool. Drunk, bored and probably looking for a make out, I lamely said "Or we can go to my place. It's closer but I don't what we would do." For the first time all night, he made direct eye contact with me and said "massages." That word normally makes me more uncomfortable than the experience of puberty, but do you know what I said back to him? "Oh yeah, and probably a hand job too." What.the.hell!
After much hemming and hawing, I was following his Mercedes SUV up Livernois to Rochester Hills. But not before calling my roommate, Robyn, to ensure someone else was the last to hear me alive.
When we arrived at his place, he gave me a tour. It was a typical east side, Persian Palace, probably decorated by his mom and sister. I wasn't too keen on his pet cat either, that would nestle up to his Gucci tennis shoes...gag.
We proceeded to play two extremely quiet and, to be consistent with the theme of the night, uncomfortable games of beer pong. Just picture me, in a skirt, chasing ping pong balls around, careful not to expose my crotch. The only noises in the room were the balls hitting the rims of the cups and loud swallows of beer.
I won twice. Well, someone had to maintain a level of testosterone! We retired to the living room upstairs for an episode of Tosh.O...and some spooning. Yeah, I know, it felt like college date night.
At this point I was tired and had lost the will to resist him anymore. Sigh. We sucked face and I agreed to stay the night to avoid drunk driving. OF COURSE, he sleeps in the nude and asked if it was OK. What he should have asked was "is it OK to make a sexual advance on you?" I laid frozen on the edge of the bed before slipping downstairs to sleep for the remainder of the evening.
In the morning he walked me to the door, gave me a hug and said "last night was fun." What?! I hadn't heard from him until Tuesday evening when he sent me a text "Want to come over and keep me warm tonight?" I wanted to say "may be if you didn't sleep naked, you'd be able to keep warm."
This post will continue with Parts II "38 year old boy wonder with aspbergers" and Part III "Single. White.Gay?"