This is part two in the five part series depicting the girls that will never get a second date. I have sat down several times to write this blog. Each time I became too enraged and had to relax by driving though the projects while throwing copies of my W2 from my car. You should see the faces of the people as they stare at all those zeros.
Background:
This girl has been in my social group for a while but always on the outer ring. Hot, but knows it. Skinny, with just enough plastic to let me know that she once hated herself. Did you expect otherwise?
7PM Thursday Night:
I jump in the truck and start on my way to her uptown Condo. Fact: if she lives in a place (other than a house) that allows you to park for free turn around. Parking fees help filter out the poor. Think about it, people get mugged walking to their cars. If they weren’t so fucking poor they would have spent the $4 to park in the garage and wouldn’t have had their GO phone stolen.
Back to the story. It has been a while since I have worn them, but this is a chic that definitely likes a guy in 7 Jeans ( told you, Charlotte has changed me a bit). I have on a crispy polo fresh from the dry cleaners. Fact, I am looking good. She meets me at the bottom of the elevator and we head up stairs for a pre-dinner drink.
The night starts off slow, she isn’t much of a talker (knows her place). We speed though our cocktails and start on the second. Little more talking. 3 cocktails down. Reservations are at 8:30. This girls isn’t going to make it if we don’t leave now. We get down to my truck and I open her door. This makes her smile like I just told her we could be facebook friends.
As we pull out of the garage I put on the radio for a little silence filler. Then it starts. Just a little hum. Nothing big, but I notice. Things are fine, we get to a stop light and then she pours it on. I am sitting next to mother fucking Rihanna junior. She starts singing like it is American Idol and I'm Simon fucking Cowell.
Now let me be clear. I don’t mind fun singing in the car after a few drinks or when driving back from the bars. But chics, if you are 24 (yeah I know she is old as shit) and you don’t have an album, chances are you suck. You are the only one who thinks you are a good singer.
I turn up the radio to drown her out and Rihanna Junior just gets louder. She starts with the squinty eyes and some hand movement. I may have to Chris Brown her ass. It doesn’t stop. No joke, Taylor Swift is sing, “ Romeo save me, I’ve been feeling so……” I can’t hear the radio. I’m trapped. This is before dinner.
There is no saving her now. I am cashed. She could give me a hand job (with full eye contact) during dinner as I eat my Mediterranean Pasta and I still would rather be watching my grandparents make out. Did you get a visual?
A few days later I get a text. "Had a lot of fun. Should do it again -T. Swift."
I learned so much about her in that short drive.
1. She thinks she is great.
2. She is the girl that sings Karaoke seriously. You know the one who chooses Carrie Underwood while everyone else is singing Aerosmith.
3. The plastic work is only a temporary fix for an inevitable collapse when she finds out that not only was she born looking like a boy, but she also has a voice like one.
Who has ever heard of a naturally good looking confident woman. Honestly. The reason why you are good looking is because you are worried about what guys like me think. THIS IS A GOOD THING. Once you start having things like “opinions” and “thoughts” it all goes downhill. The only things you need for success are a nice cable knit sweater, pearl earrings (not the cultured bullshit, we know the difference) and low self-esteem. Remember these things and you will be rewarded with a divorce at the age of 35, full custody and 50% of all my possessions.
If you ever get that feeling to sing just look at the W2 on my seat and imagine half of it is yours.
Background:
This girl has been in my social group for a while but always on the outer ring. Hot, but knows it. Skinny, with just enough plastic to let me know that she once hated herself. Did you expect otherwise?
7PM Thursday Night:
I jump in the truck and start on my way to her uptown Condo. Fact: if she lives in a place (other than a house) that allows you to park for free turn around. Parking fees help filter out the poor. Think about it, people get mugged walking to their cars. If they weren’t so fucking poor they would have spent the $4 to park in the garage and wouldn’t have had their GO phone stolen.
Back to the story. It has been a while since I have worn them, but this is a chic that definitely likes a guy in 7 Jeans ( told you, Charlotte has changed me a bit). I have on a crispy polo fresh from the dry cleaners. Fact, I am looking good. She meets me at the bottom of the elevator and we head up stairs for a pre-dinner drink.
The night starts off slow, she isn’t much of a talker (knows her place). We speed though our cocktails and start on the second. Little more talking. 3 cocktails down. Reservations are at 8:30. This girls isn’t going to make it if we don’t leave now. We get down to my truck and I open her door. This makes her smile like I just told her we could be facebook friends.
As we pull out of the garage I put on the radio for a little silence filler. Then it starts. Just a little hum. Nothing big, but I notice. Things are fine, we get to a stop light and then she pours it on. I am sitting next to mother fucking Rihanna junior. She starts singing like it is American Idol and I'm Simon fucking Cowell.
Now let me be clear. I don’t mind fun singing in the car after a few drinks or when driving back from the bars. But chics, if you are 24 (yeah I know she is old as shit) and you don’t have an album, chances are you suck. You are the only one who thinks you are a good singer.
I turn up the radio to drown her out and Rihanna Junior just gets louder. She starts with the squinty eyes and some hand movement. I may have to Chris Brown her ass. It doesn’t stop. No joke, Taylor Swift is sing, “ Romeo save me, I’ve been feeling so……” I can’t hear the radio. I’m trapped. This is before dinner.
There is no saving her now. I am cashed. She could give me a hand job (with full eye contact) during dinner as I eat my Mediterranean Pasta and I still would rather be watching my grandparents make out. Did you get a visual?
A few days later I get a text. "Had a lot of fun. Should do it again -T. Swift."
I learned so much about her in that short drive.
1. She thinks she is great.
2. She is the girl that sings Karaoke seriously. You know the one who chooses Carrie Underwood while everyone else is singing Aerosmith.
3. The plastic work is only a temporary fix for an inevitable collapse when she finds out that not only was she born looking like a boy, but she also has a voice like one.
Who has ever heard of a naturally good looking confident woman. Honestly. The reason why you are good looking is because you are worried about what guys like me think. THIS IS A GOOD THING. Once you start having things like “opinions” and “thoughts” it all goes downhill. The only things you need for success are a nice cable knit sweater, pearl earrings (not the cultured bullshit, we know the difference) and low self-esteem. Remember these things and you will be rewarded with a divorce at the age of 35, full custody and 50% of all my possessions.
If you ever get that feeling to sing just look at the W2 on my seat and imagine half of it is yours.
1 comment:
you do realize you're absolutely NUTS... but i still laughed.. i'm ready for the next installment...
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