<body><script type="text/javascript"> function setAttributeOnload(object, attribute, val) { if(window.addEventListener) { window.addEventListener('load', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }, false); } else { window.attachEvent('onload', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }); } } </script> <div id="navbar-iframe-container"></div> <script type="text/javascript" src="https://apis.google.com/js/plusone.js"></script> <script type="text/javascript"> gapi.load("gapi.iframes:gapi.iframes.style.bubble", function() { if (gapi.iframes && gapi.iframes.getContext) { gapi.iframes.getContext().openChild({ url: 'https://www.blogger.com/navbar.g?targetBlogID\x3d30803456\x26blogName\x3dthe+handsome+loser\x26publishMode\x3dPUBLISH_MODE_BLOGSPOT\x26navbarType\x3dBLUE\x26layoutType\x3dCLASSIC\x26searchRoot\x3dhttp://thehandsomeloser.blogspot.com/search\x26blogLocale\x3den_US\x26v\x3d2\x26homepageUrl\x3dhttp://thehandsomeloser.blogspot.com/\x26vt\x3d6748470031806658155', where: document.getElementById("navbar-iframe-container"), id: "navbar-iframe" }); } }); </script>

the handsome loser

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

One Bad Date Among Many Part 3

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

Allow me to direct you, if I may, towards parts one and two of this 'mental scar inducing' date before you read on.

So, I vomit. Copiously. I do a damn good job of ensuring it all lands on me. All in my trousers, in fact. None on my shirt, none on my shoes and- most importantly- none on Leah. I take what small pride I can from that fact. The fairground worker laughs at me- to be fair, I'd be laughing at me too- and then gestures to someone to stop the ride. We slow down and I get up, sick falling off me onto the floor. I get out of the orb and go past the once more grinning fairground worker. I feel like doing something really violent- like brushing past him- but I know if I even look at him the wrong way he'll put his fingers in his mouth, whistle the code red and every fairground worker in the country will suddenly be surrounding me and removing my soft bits from my hard bits- Hey, I've seen it happen. Do not fight with the boys that work at the fairground. I don't care who you are, you will lose. The other 'spinners' look around, wanting to know why their orgasmic spinning has come to an abrupt halt. Then, of course, they all spot the vomit splattered asshole and laugh it up.

We get back on to solid ground and I just keep saying sorry. I'm humiliated. I'm officially the anecdote waiting to happen that came of age. I give Leah the chance to run that she must be waiting on and tell her to go on to the gig without me. She says, 'No. What do I want to do that for? We got to get you cleaned up first.' I had expected her to run like the wind but I had been wrong. A warm sensation flows through me and right then it feels like not giving up on me is the most wonderful, tender gesture a woman has ever made for me.

We get to the street but it's a Friday night and there's not an empty cab in sight. We try calling for one but it's going to be at least an hour. I have no plans to stand in vomit-covered pants with a beautiful girl for any longer than neccesary but getting back home quickly is sounding impossible. Then I have a brainwave. A guy I know, Steve, who's always been on the cusp of being called a friend, lives nearby. If he's in he might have something I can borrow. Maybe I can escape this soiled pants Poseidon after all.

It takes about ten minutes to get to Steve's. I apologize over and over the whole way. I have since learned that apologizing for the same thing more than twenty times is extremely off-putting to the ladies due to the pathetic, needy nature of it. Anyhow, we get there and Steve is about to head out the door. I explain the situation and he almost pisses himself laughing. 'And this is your first date?' he keeps saying again and again. 'Yeah. It is.' I ask if there's something of his that I could wear and it's here that the problem with this idea jumps up and bites me in the nuts. I'm six two and weigh a hundred and ninety pounds. Steve is five three with a top hat on and is a waif fit to grace the very best homo-erotic literature. Why hadn't this occurred to me before now? I don't know. I hear women talking a lot about the likelihood of them fitting into another woman's piece of clothing. You ever hear guys talking about that? No. 'Cos we don't think about it.

We leave Leah in the lounge and go into the bedroom. The trousers come off. They smell disgusting and they simply cannot go back on. I throw them into the sink to soak them. Steve's handing me different things to try. He's giving me jeans that I can't get past my lower thighs, pants that are shorter than my arms. It's undoubtedly the funniest moment of his life but I feel like crying. Eventually we find something that fits me. A pair of shorts. They fit because of the elastic waist and because they are designed to be long shorts on a small man. I look in the mirror and even I laugh. The radioactive yellow nature of them didn't allow me to keep a straight face. 'I need to wait here until a cab comes,' I say. 'No,' says Steve. 'I need to go now.' 'I can't go out like this,' I say. 'Give me a spare key, I'll lock up.' 'I don't have a spare key. I'd give you this but I'm heading out of town. I might not be back for the next few days. Put the trousers back on or wear the shorts.' I now had my very own 'Sophie's Choice.'

So, decision made, I'm standing in the street with Leah. The soaking wet, death smelling pants were not an option. I went for the bright yellow Bermuda shorts. We also found a dodgy t-shirt big enough for me to squeeze into- smart shirt and shorts isn't a good combo- but the footwear I was stuck with. So, picture it. Tight, bright yellow shorts, tight, purple 'Animal from the Muppets' t-shirt, black socks and smart black leather shoes, holding a plastic bag with vomit covered trousers in it. It was truly a disappear into the cracks in the pavement moment. Leah, who's tried to spare my feelings up to this point, can't hold back any more and just laughs her head off. 'Is there still a chance?' I'm thinking. Uh.... No.

Down in the street the silence has become uncomfortable. I dont know what to say. 'We could do something else.' I suggest, optimistically. She shakes her head. 'I think Ill just head to the gig alone,' she says. The vomit she could handle. The yellow shorts and smart black leather shoes were too much. I think she liked the Animal t-shirt. I nod and we part ways. I have to walk around like this for an hour before I manage to hail a cab. It was the definitive first date from Hell.

Don't worry though. I've got plenty more awful dates to tell you about. Plenty. It's the result of being the combination of 'tall dark and handsome' and 'geek loser'. The awful female encounters are seemingly endless.

(of course she liked the Animal t-shirt)

muppet show drums fight



Now them's the skills. Amazing.

Tags:
posted by handsomeloser, 4:44 AM

1 Comments:

And I thought I was a dating disaster... kudos to you, handsome stranger!
commented by Blogger lady miss marquise, 9:23 AM  

Add a comment