Chivalry Is Dead…

4 08 2009

If you’ve been keeping up with me, you’ll have read my last post about putting Olivia Munn into my top 5 list.

I can proudly say that she indeed won the popular vote and has taken her rightful place in my top 5 crushes.

Playboy July Issue

Playboy July Issue

So I can thank all my faithful readers for helping me out on that one.

Now to some other pressing issues.

This past weekend I was lucky enough to attend Big P’s wedding on the Oregon coast. You may remember Big P from I’m Still A Virgin which I wrote a couple weeks back. It was a beautiful wedding with the Pacific Ocean as the backdrop, but more on that later.

I had prepared for this wedding knowing full well that Big P and his wife met at the Best Buy that we all worked at. During this time of employment we all became friends as we were all struggling college students and we all worked for the Man.

I knew that there would be a couple of people attending the wedding from Best Buy, and my secret hope was a couple of them would have been the High School Sluts that ran the cash registers at the front.

Before you go getting all indignant about my previous slut statement, let me give you some background. You see, our hiring manager at the time could easily be explained as a dirty old man that like to surround himself with attractive women. Seeing as I was in college I have no real problem with this theory or this practice. I mean, one can only hang out in computers with computer geeks for so long. So the Cashiers were a welcome change to a huge building filled with Computer Geeks and people who frequented Porn Conventions. Regularly. (I wish I was kidding about this.)

As it turned out most of these high school girls not only had low ambitions, but also lower morals. Bingo!

Now, as I am indeed much older than I was back then, it was my hope that indeed these high school girls would also be older, which would negate the creepy factor of me hitting on them.

In preparations for my weekend I believe I hit an all time low. I was getting ready and gathering all the things I would/could possibly need for this jaunt to the coast including condoms. Better to be safe than a dad. I always say. (no offense to dads.) So in my vain attempt to find some condoms in a Mormon household I began to give up the futile search. Then it dawned on me. I had kept a box of them in a travel bag hidden somewhere in my room.

So I began my search and came across the box tucked away in a safe place. I was delighted. If it came down to it, I would indeed be making smart decisions. (Obviously after I made poor ones.)

And then it hit me….

Upon closer inspection of the condoms I realized that these condoms were expired. A whole entire box (minus two I may or may not have used) expired. This is a depressing feeling. Knowing at one point in my life I thought to myself, “dude, you’re getting tons of sex. You should totally get the box” and then having them finding them years later dusty and unused and having to throw them away because they were expired is quite the depressing realization. There is no greater indication as to how your sex life is going, then having to throw out an entire box of condoms.

It goes to show you guys, never get the box. Never. Get. The. Box.

However, I moved on. I had packed my backs loaded the iPod and made the 2 hour drive out the coast to partake in Big P’s wedding. I wasn’t in the wedding so the need for me to be there early was not necessary. I pulled into my hotel and immediately cranked on the AC. You see, I LOVE a cold hotel room. I mean that. I’m not just trying to say that for some sort of literary symbolism (although now that I mention it, my life is a cold hotel room. Empty, cold, and there is never anything on tv. Son of a bitch) I just really love when my hotel is like 62 degrees. It’s bliss.

I began preparations by pouring myself a Jack Daniels on the rocks. Broke out the ironing board, and decided to take a shower. I’m not sure how many of you know this, but drinking and then immersing yourself in any type of hot water tends to accelerate the drunken process on the way.

In my near drunken state I had a breakdown of sorts. I couldn’t decide whether or not I should wear shoes or flip-flops with my khaki’s, shirt, and tie. I decided to ask my friends on Twitter for a quick response, and was told (by ladies) it was indeed ok to wear flip-flops to a beach wedding. Whew.

I was lucky enough to get a hotel room that was essentially right across the street from the reception hall. This would allow for quite some stumbling to my room a great deal later that night. I walked to the reception hall where the hosts were providing drinks for the guests. One of the guests happened to be my ex-girlfriends best friend from college. She was there as a date of one of the groomsmen, so while he was away fulfilling duties, we hung out and became Date-Non-Date friends.

After sometime we were ushered outside, and boarded a private train that took us up to the beach where the wedding would take place. It was an amazing ride, and Gibbs was on board to show me the exotic locales of the Oregon Coast in which he grew up. It was a lovely trip but one couldn’t help notice that the sun had been quickly replaced by cloud cover and a bit of a chill.

We enjoyed a wonderful ceremony and found ourselves back on the train. The cold air had indeed stuck around, and made a certain girl with a blue low cut dress sitting across from me visibly chilled. Which I noticed. A lot. The same girl, I had noticed came with another nice young lady that was sporting a nice white blazer. It was deduced by me and Date-Non-Date that they were indeed a lesbian couple, to which I leaned over to DND and said, “shouldn’t she offer the lady her jacket? Obviously chivalry is dead in the lesbian community.” DND broke into some chuckles and we both had a great laugh.

For some reason, I couldn’t help but think I knew cute lesbian girl. (the one with the low cute dress not the blazer.) Turns out, she knew Big P from back in his cheerleading Power-Stunting days. It instantly clicked. Big P had met this girl Stunting, and brought her to our house one day. It was after practice and she showed up in our house still sporting her cheerleader uniform.

Anyone who knows me, knows that cheerleaders are somewhat Kryptonite to me. I don’t know what it is. But there she was, abs of steel, cute smile, and a cheerleader outfit. However, she was either just out of high school or still in. Either way, I let that one go as just another cute girl to come and go outta my life.

Until now. We re-connected based on the fact I said I had recognized her and began talking again. (Sidebar: The saying I recognized her was actually me trying to save myself from getting called out on staring at her rack.)
Me: “I knew you looked familiar!”
Cute Assumed Lesbian:” Really?!? I thought you were just staring at my rack.”
Me: “uhhh. Nope. Uh huh. No. Not me. You looked familiar.”
CAL: “uuuh huh. So you weren’t staring at my rack. At all?”
Me: “No. No I don’t think so. Sure it was me?
CAL: “ Yeah, the seats on the train were like 2 feet from each other. It was you.”
Me: “Hmmm…. Doesn’t sound like me.
CAL “Pretty sure you were. Like, I caught you.”
Me: “Shit. Yeah I was. But in my defense, you did look familiar.”
CAL: “That’s what I thought.”

She was indeed still cute, with a beautiful smile. While no longer a cheerleader, she did teach dance at a large studio back home. I finally got drunk enoughthe courage to ask her to dance. She agreed and what I thought was going to be a “clutch and sway” (as she called it.) Turned out to be a lesson on how to Waltz.

At one point, I actually said… “I really enjoy how your talking to me like a kid.” To which she replied, “Oh I’m sorry. Force of habit.” And “You’re doing really good.” With a slight smile and pained look on her face. I know when I’m being lied to. I did my best, and we actually danced for a couple of songs. Meanwhile, Blazer had been sitting at a table playing solitaire on her phone.

The night was coming to and end and CAL had to get going. I even got more drunkgot the courage to ask for her phone number which, she gave me and if we wanted to hang out again. It was a big win for straight guys hitting on Assumed Lesbians that night. I felt I did my team a great service and decided to celebrate with some more drinking. And by drinking I mean Keg stands with the bride. No joke.

We ended the night at some Coastie bar that was playing karaoke. The details here are really pretty fuzzy, so I can’t really give many details. I know Big P had his head down and his eyes closed. Gibbs had left. Date-Non-Date finally got some time to put the moves on her actual date. And I?

Well, I drank whiskey.

The night was good.

The moral of the story is… Just because a cute girl brings another girl wearing a blazer to a wedding, don’t automatically assume she’s a lesbian. For you never know.

And DON’T buy the Box!

Until next time…

Email me
SarcasmAsAWeapon@gmail.com

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2 responses

6 08 2009
raq

the box is always good, always.
you go to a lot of weddings ……
love it – crying laughing , always …..
r

12 08 2009
sitting pugs

“You see, I LOVE a cold hotel room. I mean that. I’m not just trying to say that for some sort of literary symbolism (although now that I mention it, my life is a cold hotel room.”

And there you have it. The first or perhaps third sentence of your great American anti-novel.

At one point, I actually said… “I really enjoy how your talking to me like a kid.” To which she replied, “Oh I’m sorry. Force of habit.” And “You’re doing really good.” With a slight smile and pained look on her face. I know when I’m being lied to. I did my best, and we actually danced for a couple of songs. Meanwhile, Blazer had been sitting at a table playing solitaire on her phone.

I don’t know why, but this portion put a big smile on my face, especially the solitaire part. The image of Solitaire seems to fit more than Tetris or Pacman.

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