Thursday, June 26, 2008

Pillow Talk

I think it's time I no longer step foot in any business, cab, or building owned by anything other than a white male, 30 years old. Why? Because nobody else understands the fucking concept of air conditioning.

Does the body temperature of old people fall below eighty degrees once they hit 60?

Elizabeth's normal body temp is two degrees less than normal. This is not an exaggeration. It really is. So I'm sweating in the middle of the night with no covers on and she can be wrapped up in a snow suit lying over hot coals with mittens and a scarf on wondering if there is another blanket nearby.

Have you ever spent the night at someone's place where they have one or more pillows that are flatter than a John Grisham hardcover? Is this not the world's most pointless pillow? I want to meet the man with so much neck fat that he only needs an inch of pillow support. I'd also like to predict that anyone who owns such a pillow is a douchebag.

Years ago my girlfriend at the time and I went to Key West. We were staying in Key Largo and drove down. We kayaked through the mangroves, we wasted my hard earned money on a seance, and then we bar-hopped. In our naivety we figured we could find a cheapish place to crash that night and not have to drive home. As it turned out we were wrong. Everything was quite expensive and quite full.

So we partied on and befriended a bartender who was just getting off her shift. She was very kind and offered to let us stay at her newly rented apartment. She did warn us that she didn't have any furniture moved in yet and that we'd have to sleep on the floor, but I didn't think that was such a big deal at the time because I was busy thinking three-way really tired.

We slept that night on a hardwood floor with a piece of luggage as our pillow. I think I made it about 4 hours before I made her walk with me back to the car to sleep there.

Luggage is roughly equivalent to the flat pillow.

In college I slept on a bean bag that was smaller than it should have been. It was on the dorm floor, which was basically cement, so my body was half on cement and half on a bean bag chair the whole night.

Now that I think about it, this was in the room connected to mine. What the fuck was I doing not going 20 feet back to my bed?

Must have been trying to let my roommate get his groove on. The guy was absolutely not a ladies man, though. Weird.

In college I spent many a night an hour away at a smaller college where some friends attended. One night out at the bar I met a girl who looked just like my high school sweetheart. I mean same size, same weight, same hair and face, same everything. It was freaky really.

So I did what any normal young lad with World Class Calves and Thrice Confirmed Huge Junk would do.

I tried to get her in the sack.

That night we slept on a huge bean bag thing. It wasn't really a normal bean bag, this thing was huge. I tried to work my magic but in the end I failed to deliver. Maybe I should have been more subtle and just flopped it out for her.

Though I'm 0-3 with that tactic.

The first girl screamed and ran, and with the other two I misjudged the distance and knocked them out with it on accident.

Once during college I had been dating a girl who I knew from high school. She had gone to college an hour away from me at our school's bitter rival. On average our school lost more often to our rival than they did to us. I considered the conquering of this chick a win, not only for me, but for my school.

I had also been dating another girl at the time since neither of these relationships was anything more serious yet, and just prior to going back to the hometown where I'd see the rival chick, I found myself making out with the other girl. She gave me a hickey. A big hickey.

So I head back home and run into the rival chick. She had just gotten a new car from her dad. It was a Dodge Neon. She was really excited to see me and show it off. I, on the other hand, was really uninterested in showing off my brand spanking new gift.

So I put the requisite hooded sweatshirt on and went off to meet her, knowing full well I needed to keep her on my left as much as possible.

So what happens when we meet up?

She asks me if I want to drive her car ultimately placing her on my right in plain site of my hickey. I declined and she pressed on. It was as if she knew there'd be a payoff for her if I did drive. She was relentless.

If she saw the hickey she never mentioned it.

She must have wondered why I was wearing a hooded sweatshirt during late summer, though.


Joaquin "The Rooster" Ochoa said...

Only guys with no game let girls give them hickey's that might blow it with the other girl. Talk about your roomie with no game.

Unknown said...

I have no game, and proud of it. But, even with a jumbo sized hickey I managed to score my first date with the future wife.

Maybe hickeys are the new Axe body spray and highly under-rated for getting women in the bean bag?