I don't really like my birthday. It started a few years ago when two of my closer friends completely forgot it. And i mean, we hung out and did all th sorts of things that we were apt to do, (drink wine, bowl, watch movies, whatever). It was fun, but we were sitting on this hill behind our high school watching the sunset and talking and i said something about it being my birthday and they both just looked at each other dumbfounded.
I'm pretty sure I wasn't a fan before that, but that was one of the defining moments of the point.
I'm always afraid of who is going to forget my birthday. Every year someone completely drops the ball on that seemingly unimportant memo. Last year it was my sister. The previous it was both my father and best friend. I know my ability to remember dates is above average, but I'm the oldest child. Come on now.
And for something completely different: Sport dating.
Stewart and I had dinner with one of our friends who moved to California last year and she was talking about her OKCupid scene. She disclosed that a guy she met was immediately crossed of her list as far as sex because of his beer gut. As it turns out, she has a list of disqualifiers: fat, stupid, effeminate, etc. There are six, but I can't remember them.
So she told beer gut that he was not going to be getting laid, and he continued to take her out for a couple of months until he finally realized he actually wasn't going to get laid.
That conversation, in conjunction with this chapter from Richard P. Feynman's book made me realize that I have no standards for who I sleep with.
That's right, fellas. I'm almost 24 and, apparently, I'm a whore. I save all those eligibility checkmarks for people I will actually emotionally invest in. I mean, there was a survey for awhile.
Can you speak German? Can you tap dance? Given the choice, would you watch Futurama or Family Guy? What is the air speed velocity of an unlaiden swallow?
Over a 2.5 (with a bonus question regarding a capella music) was usually a ticket to vagina land. That or some fierce game (and by game I mean innovative pick up lines or cockiness). My workd was a simple place. And I have the battle wounds to prove it.
My low standard or sexual partner gets joked about with stewart, because he is great and exceeds all of my boyfriend requirements. He always tells me I had really low standards to begin with, so it's not hard work.
To end, I was supposed to pull a double at work tonight and stay for 3rd shift. As it turns out, on of the other flex staff was extra and they pulled him (negating the need for overtime) and I wasn't notified until after I had chugged a can of rockstar at 10. So, this is what happened.
No comments:
Post a Comment