Happy Day after Thanksgiving!
I, personally, feel like a beached whale. The post-Thanksgiving diet starts today. Ugh ... ate waaaaay too much yesterday. Food regret falling on me like a ton of bricks!
While Thanksgiving tends to be a parade of food gluttony. The day after Thanksgiving ("Black Friday") tends to be a day of overwhelming commercial gluttony. Instead of telling tales of shopping, I have decided that today's blog post will be about something that makes me just as nauseous as the day after Thanksgiving food hangover ... BAD DATES.
I will warn you in advance that this blog post is of an adult nature. Children should shield their eyes and run away screaming. Proceed at your own risk in reading this blog post. I am not responsible nor liable for any emotional scarring and/or nightmares you may have after reading this blog post. I may be responsible for my own emotional scarring though ... feel free to send donations for my therapy fund!
Masochists continue reading ...
About a month ago, a gentleman I shall refer to as "Baby Huey" asked me out for cocktails at one of my favorite local bars.
(Cue the dramatic horror movie music here ...)
I knew within the first five minutes that "Baby Huey" was not the future love of my life. He was waaaaay too into himself ("But enough about me, what do you think of me?") and kept telling me stories of how great he was in high school. Did I happen to mention Baby Huey was in his early 40's? After the umpteenth story of how great he was in high school, I wanted to ask Baby Huey if he had a time machine because maybe I'd have a better date with his high school self than I was having with the middle-aged bumpkin in front of me.
But I told myself that it wasn't like I was sizing up Baby Huey to be my future life partner, I was just looking to go out and have fun. I had dumped the pathetic man-child Reymundo the Annoying and was looking to meet new people. But the little voice inside my head told me that even that simple goal was most likely not going to be achieved tonight. I ordered another drink ... I should have probably just excused myself and called it a night, but evidently I am a glutton for punishment.
Baby Huey dominated most of the conversation and the combination of alcohol plus boredom must have extracted these memories from my head. I barely remember what he talked about, even though several hours of "Me, Me, Me" conversation kept spewing from his mouth. Pretty soon Baby Huey was dominating the alcohol portion of the evening as well - pounding two to three drinks for every one of my low-alcohol cider beers. Then the conversation went a little more devious. Baby Huey entered the "We Zone."
Not familiar with the "We Zone"? It's where a person you barely know starts making all these long-term statements about the two of you. "We should adopt a puppy together." "What should we buy your mother for her birthday?" "Should we get adjacent burial plots or are we going to be cremated? Oooh, should we get matching urns?" The purpose of ensaring you into the "We Zone" is usually to meet the short-term goal of getting into your pants. Once this task has been accomplished, the person will disappear faster than you can say "we??"
I particularly abhor the "We Zone" game. No one likes to be conned. I would have infinitely more respected and appreciated Baby Huey if he had just said "Hey, I think you're hot and I'd like to take you home and plow you like a field until the sun comes up." But noooooo ... Every other sentence out of Baby Huey's mouth was suddenly all about how we were going to be as a couple and how great he would be as a long-term exclusive boyfriend to me. Wow, "long term and exclusive"? Baby Huey was laying it on EXTRA THICK.
(P.S. While I would have respected Baby Huey if he had been honest in his intentions, I would NOT have gone home with him. Just want to make that clear for the record! Blech!)
(P.P.S. If a girl thinks "blech!" in response to the thought of sleeping with you, this is probably not a girl you should pursue.)
Now I don't know if I had "STUPID GIRL" painted on my forehead or if it was just wishful thinking/hoping/praying on Baby Huey's part, but I am not a "We Zone" novice. I am waaaay familiar with the "We Zone." I fell for it HARD when I was a first year grad student and because of such a rotten experience, I now can usually smell it a mile away. Baby Huey's lame attempts to draw me into the "We Zone" were only serving to make me angry and the poor drunk bastard didn't even know it!
Ladies, here's a tip on how to spot when you've fallen into the "We Zone" - if the guy is drunkenly making proclamations that sound way too good to be true ... it's usually not true love. It's more likely true lust or just an emotional reaction to the large quantities of booze. Take everything that is said with a huge grain of salt. It's all a mirage. Trust no one! Don't get sucked in!
To be honest, I didn't need to be Sherlock Holmes to know that Baby Huey was full of bullsh*t and deep in the "We Zone." He was slurring his words with an overly exuberant amount of saliva and kept trying to subtly look down my shirt, which trust me was not subtle since half the time his nose seemed to be wedged inbetween my cleavage.
Drunken We Zone ramblings + nose in my cleavage does not equal true love and adoration on my part. (This is called Lily Math!)
I stared at my half-empty glass of cider beer, which for some reason, now tasted like paint thinner ... is this my cosmic reward for breaking off an unhealthy relationship with Reymundo the Annoying? Is this what I had to look forward to? Weekends of drooling, self-obsessed neanderthals who think making some "we" references are the trick to getting to my bedroom? Sigh ... double sigh ... triple sigh!
Baby Huey must have interpreted my silence as lusty invitation, because he started to get very handsy at the bar. Dude, this is my neighborhood bar - watch the PDA! Quadruple sigh ...
Luckily, Baby Huey then excused himself to use the restroom. I had lost count of how many beers he had pounded, but was grateful for the slight reprieve. I realized that I had had too many cider beers and was grateful that I was in very short walking distance home from the bar. I tried to focus on an extraction plan to get me far away from Baby Huey and his "We Zone," but my tipsy brain was useless for any rational game plans. Darn you, intoxicating cider beer!
Suddenly, Baby Huey appeared out of nowhere and was standing in front of my bar stool. Was he a drunken ninja? Yep, I definitely had had too many beers at this point.
Now I knew very early in the evening that Baby Huey was not my future soul mate. I figured out shortly thereafter that Baby Huey would not even reach the ranks of Mr. Right Now ... but what proceeded to happen next definitely sealed the deal on my not wanting to have anything to do with Baby Huey in the future ...
I was sitting on a bar stool and I had swiveled to the side. Baby Huey, the drunken ninja, stood in front of me. He stared at me. I wondered why he kept standing there looking at me.
Was he going to sit down?
Nope, he just kept standing there, facing me.
I started to get apprehensive about what could possibly happen next. Why aren't you sitting back down, Baby Huey? Argh!
Slowly, Baby Huey began jerking his hips back and forth rhythmically. The band had taken a break, so he definitely was not swaying to any music in the bar.
He started gyrating faster. Hips going in and out in a more furitive motion.
Whaaat?
What the heck was going on here?
What the heck was Baby Huey doing?
(drum roll please ...)
Ladies and Gentlemen ... BABY HUEY WAS DRY-HUMPING MY KNEE!
I sat there with this look of shock frozen on my face. Was he really? Is this really happening? Is my knee getting violated right here in the bar? Maybe he just bumped into me ... repeatedly .. while thrusting ... ugh!
Sweet Jesus, my knee was being subjected to the rhythmic humpings of a drunk neanderthal!
Yep, Baby Huey was rocking, thrusting and grinding his private parts into my right kneecap, right there at the bar.
I have lots of erogenous zones on my body. When the right guy kisses my ear lobes and neck, I am in brain-melting ecstacy. But let me tell you an area that is not an erogenous zone for me - my right kneecap!
I stared at Baby Huey, completely flabbergasted! His eyelids were half-closed. His head slightly tilted back and of course those hips-- thrust, thrust, thrust! Evidently, he was quite enjoying ramming himself against my kneecap.
I guess, I give good knee???
I was beyond grossed out!! If this is foreplay, call me a freakish prude. My knee was not wanting any part of this action!
My drunken brain could only scream out: "EWWWWW! HE'S HUMPING MY KNEE! EWWWWWWW!"
While my brain couldn't get over the "ick factor," my body went into action. I jerked my knee back, picked up the bar stool and completely swiveled around in one frantic movement. Baby Huey did one last thrust into my side, but evidently dry-humping my hip is not as tantalizing as my right knee cap. He looked sad and disappointed and ordered another beer.
Sorry, I guess my hip isn't as humpable as my rock hard right kneecap!
Needless to say, the evening ended shortly thereafter. Baby Huey did not get to hump anything else on me. I hope he enjoyed his tryst with my right kneecap, because no other part of my anatomy was signing on for Baby Huey's hump-a-thon!
One of the good points about dates like these is that when my friends ask "So how did the date go?" and I reply: "He drunkenly dry-humped my knee at the bar." My friends say "OK enough said!" and change the subject. There is no debating the merits over whether I should go on a 2nd date with Baby Huey. It's fast and efficient communication!
Perhaps my right kneecap was putting out sexy signals I was not aware of ... perhaps Baby Huey could just not resist the allure of my right kneecap. Who's to say? Maybe he was so drunk, he was clueless as to what he was rubbing himself on. (Ack!) Lust is not a subtle thing.
I was afraid that my encounter with Baby Huey and his ramming, knee-loving hips would send me running to the nearest convent. But I knew I couldn't let one violated kneecap, keep me from the dating scene.
My next date after Baby Huey was with a charming man who did not dry-hump any parts of my body but did give me a nice firm hug at the end of the evening. Charming, chivalrous and sexy as hell with no gratuitious game play like trips to the "We Zone." My evening was great conversation with a jaw-droppingly intelligent man. Just lovely!
On my second date with this charming man, I pounced on him like I was a panther and his face was a porkchop. Poor guy didn't know what hit him! But at least I didn't thrust myself into his kneecap! I'm not a complete Baby Huey disciple! Perhaps this charming man will write a blog post about how he got mauled by a man-hungry panther in faux snakeskin heels. Although evidently he wasn't too frightened by the attack, since we've been on several dates since then. ;-)
It's nice to know that there is life after getting one's knee dry-humped without proper consent. ;-)
Happy day after Thanksgiving, everyone!
Update: After I published this blog, I saw that one of my Google Ads was now featuring an "Asian Dating Service" with pictures of what looks like either drunk Asian women or women trying to make a come hither face ... maybe a drunken come hither face? Since I am a heterosexual 1/2 Asian female, I find it a bit disconcerting to see an ad pimping out Asian chicks on my webpage ... but alas, I cannot pick what ads go on my Blogger page (although I wish I could, let's get on that GOOGLE!) So please promise me that if you must equate "LilyOnTheLam.Com" with hot Asian chicks, that the only hot Asian chick you are referring to is me! And by virtue of publishing this blog post with the words "hot Asian chicks," I am bound to disappoint hundreds of people who are Googling for porn at this very minute. A million apologies for that one!
I, personally, feel like a beached whale. The post-Thanksgiving diet starts today. Ugh ... ate waaaaay too much yesterday. Food regret falling on me like a ton of bricks!
While Thanksgiving tends to be a parade of food gluttony. The day after Thanksgiving ("Black Friday") tends to be a day of overwhelming commercial gluttony. Instead of telling tales of shopping, I have decided that today's blog post will be about something that makes me just as nauseous as the day after Thanksgiving food hangover ... BAD DATES.
I will warn you in advance that this blog post is of an adult nature. Children should shield their eyes and run away screaming. Proceed at your own risk in reading this blog post. I am not responsible nor liable for any emotional scarring and/or nightmares you may have after reading this blog post. I may be responsible for my own emotional scarring though ... feel free to send donations for my therapy fund!
Masochists continue reading ...
About a month ago, a gentleman I shall refer to as "Baby Huey" asked me out for cocktails at one of my favorite local bars.
(Cue the dramatic horror movie music here ...)
I knew within the first five minutes that "Baby Huey" was not the future love of my life. He was waaaaay too into himself ("But enough about me, what do you think of me?") and kept telling me stories of how great he was in high school. Did I happen to mention Baby Huey was in his early 40's? After the umpteenth story of how great he was in high school, I wanted to ask Baby Huey if he had a time machine because maybe I'd have a better date with his high school self than I was having with the middle-aged bumpkin in front of me.
But I told myself that it wasn't like I was sizing up Baby Huey to be my future life partner, I was just looking to go out and have fun. I had dumped the pathetic man-child Reymundo the Annoying and was looking to meet new people. But the little voice inside my head told me that even that simple goal was most likely not going to be achieved tonight. I ordered another drink ... I should have probably just excused myself and called it a night, but evidently I am a glutton for punishment.
Baby Huey dominated most of the conversation and the combination of alcohol plus boredom must have extracted these memories from my head. I barely remember what he talked about, even though several hours of "Me, Me, Me" conversation kept spewing from his mouth. Pretty soon Baby Huey was dominating the alcohol portion of the evening as well - pounding two to three drinks for every one of my low-alcohol cider beers. Then the conversation went a little more devious. Baby Huey entered the "We Zone."
Not familiar with the "We Zone"? It's where a person you barely know starts making all these long-term statements about the two of you. "We should adopt a puppy together." "What should we buy your mother for her birthday?" "Should we get adjacent burial plots or are we going to be cremated? Oooh, should we get matching urns?" The purpose of ensaring you into the "We Zone" is usually to meet the short-term goal of getting into your pants. Once this task has been accomplished, the person will disappear faster than you can say "we??"
I particularly abhor the "We Zone" game. No one likes to be conned. I would have infinitely more respected and appreciated Baby Huey if he had just said "Hey, I think you're hot and I'd like to take you home and plow you like a field until the sun comes up." But noooooo ... Every other sentence out of Baby Huey's mouth was suddenly all about how we were going to be as a couple and how great he would be as a long-term exclusive boyfriend to me. Wow, "long term and exclusive"? Baby Huey was laying it on EXTRA THICK.
(P.S. While I would have respected Baby Huey if he had been honest in his intentions, I would NOT have gone home with him. Just want to make that clear for the record! Blech!)
(P.P.S. If a girl thinks "blech!" in response to the thought of sleeping with you, this is probably not a girl you should pursue.)
Now I don't know if I had "STUPID GIRL" painted on my forehead or if it was just wishful thinking/hoping/praying on Baby Huey's part, but I am not a "We Zone" novice. I am waaaay familiar with the "We Zone." I fell for it HARD when I was a first year grad student and because of such a rotten experience, I now can usually smell it a mile away. Baby Huey's lame attempts to draw me into the "We Zone" were only serving to make me angry and the poor drunk bastard didn't even know it!
Ladies, here's a tip on how to spot when you've fallen into the "We Zone" - if the guy is drunkenly making proclamations that sound way too good to be true ... it's usually not true love. It's more likely true lust or just an emotional reaction to the large quantities of booze. Take everything that is said with a huge grain of salt. It's all a mirage. Trust no one! Don't get sucked in!
To be honest, I didn't need to be Sherlock Holmes to know that Baby Huey was full of bullsh*t and deep in the "We Zone." He was slurring his words with an overly exuberant amount of saliva and kept trying to subtly look down my shirt, which trust me was not subtle since half the time his nose seemed to be wedged inbetween my cleavage.
Drunken We Zone ramblings + nose in my cleavage does not equal true love and adoration on my part. (This is called Lily Math!)
I stared at my half-empty glass of cider beer, which for some reason, now tasted like paint thinner ... is this my cosmic reward for breaking off an unhealthy relationship with Reymundo the Annoying? Is this what I had to look forward to? Weekends of drooling, self-obsessed neanderthals who think making some "we" references are the trick to getting to my bedroom? Sigh ... double sigh ... triple sigh!
Baby Huey must have interpreted my silence as lusty invitation, because he started to get very handsy at the bar. Dude, this is my neighborhood bar - watch the PDA! Quadruple sigh ...
Luckily, Baby Huey then excused himself to use the restroom. I had lost count of how many beers he had pounded, but was grateful for the slight reprieve. I realized that I had had too many cider beers and was grateful that I was in very short walking distance home from the bar. I tried to focus on an extraction plan to get me far away from Baby Huey and his "We Zone," but my tipsy brain was useless for any rational game plans. Darn you, intoxicating cider beer!
Suddenly, Baby Huey appeared out of nowhere and was standing in front of my bar stool. Was he a drunken ninja? Yep, I definitely had had too many beers at this point.
Now I knew very early in the evening that Baby Huey was not my future soul mate. I figured out shortly thereafter that Baby Huey would not even reach the ranks of Mr. Right Now ... but what proceeded to happen next definitely sealed the deal on my not wanting to have anything to do with Baby Huey in the future ...
I was sitting on a bar stool and I had swiveled to the side. Baby Huey, the drunken ninja, stood in front of me. He stared at me. I wondered why he kept standing there looking at me.
Was he going to sit down?
Nope, he just kept standing there, facing me.
I started to get apprehensive about what could possibly happen next. Why aren't you sitting back down, Baby Huey? Argh!
Slowly, Baby Huey began jerking his hips back and forth rhythmically. The band had taken a break, so he definitely was not swaying to any music in the bar.
He started gyrating faster. Hips going in and out in a more furitive motion.
Whaaat?
What the heck was going on here?
What the heck was Baby Huey doing?
(drum roll please ...)
Ladies and Gentlemen ... BABY HUEY WAS DRY-HUMPING MY KNEE!
I sat there with this look of shock frozen on my face. Was he really? Is this really happening? Is my knee getting violated right here in the bar? Maybe he just bumped into me ... repeatedly .. while thrusting ... ugh!
Sweet Jesus, my knee was being subjected to the rhythmic humpings of a drunk neanderthal!
Yep, Baby Huey was rocking, thrusting and grinding his private parts into my right kneecap, right there at the bar.
I have lots of erogenous zones on my body. When the right guy kisses my ear lobes and neck, I am in brain-melting ecstacy. But let me tell you an area that is not an erogenous zone for me - my right kneecap!
I stared at Baby Huey, completely flabbergasted! His eyelids were half-closed. His head slightly tilted back and of course those hips-- thrust, thrust, thrust! Evidently, he was quite enjoying ramming himself against my kneecap.
I guess, I give good knee???
I was beyond grossed out!! If this is foreplay, call me a freakish prude. My knee was not wanting any part of this action!
My drunken brain could only scream out: "EWWWWW! HE'S HUMPING MY KNEE! EWWWWWWW!"
While my brain couldn't get over the "ick factor," my body went into action. I jerked my knee back, picked up the bar stool and completely swiveled around in one frantic movement. Baby Huey did one last thrust into my side, but evidently dry-humping my hip is not as tantalizing as my right knee cap. He looked sad and disappointed and ordered another beer.
Sorry, I guess my hip isn't as humpable as my rock hard right kneecap!
Needless to say, the evening ended shortly thereafter. Baby Huey did not get to hump anything else on me. I hope he enjoyed his tryst with my right kneecap, because no other part of my anatomy was signing on for Baby Huey's hump-a-thon!
One of the good points about dates like these is that when my friends ask "So how did the date go?" and I reply: "He drunkenly dry-humped my knee at the bar." My friends say "OK enough said!" and change the subject. There is no debating the merits over whether I should go on a 2nd date with Baby Huey. It's fast and efficient communication!
Perhaps my right kneecap was putting out sexy signals I was not aware of ... perhaps Baby Huey could just not resist the allure of my right kneecap. Who's to say? Maybe he was so drunk, he was clueless as to what he was rubbing himself on. (Ack!) Lust is not a subtle thing.
I was afraid that my encounter with Baby Huey and his ramming, knee-loving hips would send me running to the nearest convent. But I knew I couldn't let one violated kneecap, keep me from the dating scene.
My next date after Baby Huey was with a charming man who did not dry-hump any parts of my body but did give me a nice firm hug at the end of the evening. Charming, chivalrous and sexy as hell with no gratuitious game play like trips to the "We Zone." My evening was great conversation with a jaw-droppingly intelligent man. Just lovely!
On my second date with this charming man, I pounced on him like I was a panther and his face was a porkchop. Poor guy didn't know what hit him! But at least I didn't thrust myself into his kneecap! I'm not a complete Baby Huey disciple! Perhaps this charming man will write a blog post about how he got mauled by a man-hungry panther in faux snakeskin heels. Although evidently he wasn't too frightened by the attack, since we've been on several dates since then. ;-)
It's nice to know that there is life after getting one's knee dry-humped without proper consent. ;-)
Happy day after Thanksgiving, everyone!
Update: After I published this blog, I saw that one of my Google Ads was now featuring an "Asian Dating Service" with pictures of what looks like either drunk Asian women or women trying to make a come hither face ... maybe a drunken come hither face? Since I am a heterosexual 1/2 Asian female, I find it a bit disconcerting to see an ad pimping out Asian chicks on my webpage ... but alas, I cannot pick what ads go on my Blogger page (although I wish I could, let's get on that GOOGLE!) So please promise me that if you must equate "LilyOnTheLam.Com" with hot Asian chicks, that the only hot Asian chick you are referring to is me! And by virtue of publishing this blog post with the words "hot Asian chicks," I am bound to disappoint hundreds of people who are Googling for porn at this very minute. A million apologies for that one!
Things like this make me appreciate my single status even more!!!!
ReplyDelete