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the handsome loser

The life and times of a handsome loser. Humor. Love. Sex. Dating. Life.

One Bad Date Among Many Part 2

Monday, July 10, 2006

This is the second part of this post. I'm not saying you must adhere to the convention of reading things in order, though. Just giving you a nod in the direction of the initial post so that your enjoyment of my suffering may be enhanced.

So, I'm spinning and I think I'm going to be sick. Now, whether this nausea was brought on exclusively by the ride or partially by the fact that, before I got on, I'd thought of a worst case scenario that involved vomit, I don't know. What I did know was that I felt ill and a grinning fairground worker was coming towards me to spin my orb. He grabbed the outside of the orb and, like a master of his trade, spun us round at a speed that cannot be measured within the current limitations of science and mathematics. I felt my stomach do its best impersonation of the high seas. I didn't know what to do. Ask the worker to stop the ride for me? How completely pathetic would that look? How could I recover from that? In that instant, I'm actually imagining a conversation between Leah and her friends where they are discussing the loser date who went on a fairground ride and screamed like a little girl until they stopped it for him. I'm seeing no circumstances where THAT guy ends up in Leah's bed. None whatsoever. I will not be that anecdote.

I decide to hold on. To fight. The worker moves away, spinning other orbs. Leah asks me if I'm alright, which is embarrassing in itself but potentially a microscopic footnote if I lose it and spew on her gorgeous thighs. For about twenty seconds I keep the nausea at a bearable level but I see the grinning fairground worker head our way again and I know I am defeated. I am not strong enough to survive another of his specialities. I surrender. 'Could you stop the ride, please?' I holler over the thundering machinery and the pounding Snoop Dogg obsessed PA system. Leah laughs. At first she thinks I'm joking but a closer look at the cadaver color of my skin gives away the truth. 'Are you going to be sick?' she asks. I nod my head and scream 'Stop! Stop! Stop!' She joins in. Whether this was any concern for me or more a fear of the unpredictable nature of flying vomit released into a relentless orgy of joyous spinning, I couldn't say.

The fairground worker keeps saying, 'What?' to me. He pretends he doesn't understand me and in that moment I hate more than I've ever hated anything in my entire life. He sees what's happening to me- he's doubtlessly seen it many times before- and he's loving it. 'What? What? What? You want me to spin you,' he asks. 'No!' we scream back.

He spins. I vomit.

And it gets worse, folks. Believe me.

To be continued...

posted by handsomeloser, 11:15 AM


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