Well, here I am, back in the blogosphere (not going to spell check that. I still hate the word "blog" and continue to pretentiously refer to my posts as "articles.") My computer shit the bed late last year and thanks to a gracious and caring ex, here sits in front of me a functional laptop. Thank you MLN. I'm going to start by saying thank you to anyone who in the past couple of months has either approached me or messaged me with anything along the lines of, "yo, what's up with the fuckin' blog, kid?" I really do appreciate it and I'm glad that some people, however few, actually missed my weekly drivel.
As you probably gathered from the previous paragraph, my hiatus included a breakup. I won't bore you with details, so fucking relax. I only mention it because now my thoughts will truly be coming from this side of the fence again; not that any of my opinions have changed, it's just that now I can laugh at the suckers who still claw through heaps of douchebags in search a soul mate from the same field of play rather than from the box seats. Hello you single assholes, where do I get my two-month chip? Is there such a thing? Being rewarded just feels so special. <3
Thanks to my new status, I have been re-exposed to things I haven't really dealt with in a couple of years. For instance, I have been reminded on a good number of occasions how much of a turn-off a sloppily drunk girl can be. It boggles my mind how many guys are on the lookout for the most clearly fucked-sideways chick at the bar. I personally cannot keep it up for a chick that needs help figuring out which end she is supposed to pee out of, but maybe I'm just picky. I think that for most guys it comes from the lack of desire to put in any conversational effort with a prospective co-boot knocker. I once saw a friend (who will remain nameless) approach a group of six women. He proceeded to strike up what I assumed was supposed to be a conversation with his top prospect. From that distance I couldn't hear what was said, but her face told me that he had probably asked her if she would like to slurp dog shit from an ice cream cone. This was then repeated with the other five women in the group in fairly rapid succession. In short, he was rejected by six different women without moving his feet. At that level of frustration, I can only imagine how enticing it must be to approach a girl that might be sloshed enough to consider the shit-cone.
I've also been reintroduced to the post-club walking-back-to-the-car girls. I forgot about this phenomenon for a while. It's quite a sad visual most of the time. They are usually mere shells of the strong, sturdy and sexy women they had been on the way to the club. They still travel in tight groups but at this point in the evening, each of them has given up on her shoes. They always seem to be moving as quickly as they possibly can while employing a haphazard team-carry technique on the one that drank too much to care about blisters. The reason for this haste is presumably to escape the incessant barrage of questions like; yo, what's good? and you trying to chill? from surrounding males. Those currently seem to be the go-to, last-ditch do you wanna fuck or not? lines that I hear as distance is created between lamb and wolf after the bar closes.
It should be fun to watch these types of events unfold around me while I count more emerging reasons not to give a shit for the struggles of the vigilantly single. See you Sunday...
No comments:
Post a Comment