Ever had the feeling that the universe always means to screw you over?
I have. It is in fact days such as these that I am glad I traded in my heart for some lumpy custard and jelly-filled veins. If I hadn’t I am pretty sure I would have been pushing daisies for my decomposing flesh and bug ridden corpse with a front row seat to the end of days bonanza. Alas love is not for me....
It all started when I came back from England last year. I had finally settled back into the swing of things and needed a good evening out with friends to feel the boet-bru swagger of my native land, that I missed so much and the lollipop Chiquitas that love them so dearly. Now those in the know understand “boet-bru” to be a term used synonymously with those muscle covered, testosterone pumped men who like doing stupid things for fun...you know...the true evolution of the cave man.
Anyway, I phoned a friend, let’s just call her Charlie for, to find out what her Halloween plans were and whether we should dress like hillbillies and paint the town in checks. She agreed and we went on this pre-Halloween adventure. Our first stop was this once trendy place named after an alcoholic beverage in town near her flat. She went as Malice in wonderland and I went as the not so shiny version of Edward Cullen (*Sparkle sound*).
On entering the establishment my eyes where blinded by flashing neons and my ears tormented into silent protest by the horrible sound that this place called music for that evening. Honestly as if Ke$ha is a fitting corpse resurrection song? Mind you in retrospect I believe that was the only highlight of the evening.
Just then in walks my nightmare before Christmas. She was tall, with a figure that models would kill for. Her chest and breasts were trapped beneath a red corset that gave me the impression that she was trouble, or at least in trouble (her life seemed to ebb away slowly in that richly embroided death trapped). In walked Wrath and out walked my sense of dignity, what can I say? I am a sucker for girls in corsets. She chatted me up and I felt warm and fuzzy inside (or at least the custard was placed in the microwave)...after all I was in the barren wasteland of unrequited love, hence my lumpy custard heart. Turns out she knew Charlie as well...(inside info schweet!)
Night went as follows:
She was drunk I was not, I should have known better as with her level of intoxication even a cross-eyed tortoise named Frank would have been a sex symbol. Lucky for me my dignity came back in time and I left before things went south.
I went home feeling charmed with the fact I got her number....she did not remember me in the morning. Case closed.
Two days later I went to my close friend birthday party. I wore my true hillbilly-ness, right down to Sunday best check and red suspenders, the very same demon suspenders that brought trouble into my life before. Anyway there he was a strange man with strange tendencies. He seemed keen so I played along...soon we had facebooked each other and here I was being charmed by a man older than myself into the ways of the wayward Jew. I told him that I dabbled in equatorial sailing... (Pursuits of bisexuality). And get this he was really sweet and honest and things went well for a while, but alas all good things end. I got the silent treatment two dates later. I swear did I miss the memo or the training class at Douche Bag Academy of Excellent in Screwing You Over? Where’s the humanity? Let’s just say I totally understand how girls feel now and will never, ever treat a woman that way ever again. Not that I have in the past.
But just before Christmas I got called a ‘dick’ by some really beautiful girl that seemed to like me. That has never happened before. I have never been called a dick! I was so happy....I am known as Mr Reliable amongst my friends. So being referred to as a dick for once was the highlight of my year. Mind you it was in light of a misunderstanding, but nonetheless I felt like a real man, how sad?!
Yet I guess even with my rotten luck nothing beats being approached by someone in a bar (case-study for a later blog) and being asked to perform in appropriated forms of sado-masochism, because and I quote: “You look the Sort.”
So here goes, Rules for self:
1) Stay away from women in tight corsets, clearly they can’t breathe, and so it follows that they are cold and dead inside.
2) Be wary of the second date; In fact be wary of men in general.
3) And when you are a simple boy with simple thoughts...being called a dick can be the best Christmas present of all.
Until we next meet Emo Kids
Kaleb.
No comments:
Post a Comment