taught in schools, man, but people don’t want to do what’s best—only what’s easiest. No, actually what they should be teaching is more art and music and that the banks actually steal our money—not protect it. But they call it ‘interest’ to trick us into thinking they care.” Look, he’s not wrong, but you know what I mean.
I couldn’t stay out all night. I had things to do; starting with Ryder. I asked him, “Do you want to get out of here?” I even turned myself on saying it.
“I have my truck parked here but it’s out of gas. I can leave it parked overnight but I have to get back here early in the morning before it becomes bank parking.”
This is why I don’t like dating anyone with instruments, children, or cats. There’s always some need to “get up early, check on them/drop them off/feed them” situation. And it had been so long since I’d been single I forgot to bring my “emergency gym bag.” That’s when you carry your gym bag in your car with a change of underwear, deodorant, eye-makeup remover, makeup, a blow dryer, and clothes. The average guy who knows nothing about fashion accepts that what you’re wearing the next morning are gym clothes but they’re actually stylish-enough-to-wear-in-public cotton clothes. This way the guy doesn’t think you packed an overnight bag which would immediately scare him into thinking you’re trying to marry him, when all you’re trying to do is take precautions so that everyone at the office doesn’t look at you and think, “She got fucked last night.”
I don’t know what you call something that’s like a nightmare but even worse because you can’t wake up from it because you already ARE awake and in it, but that something was suddenly in Ryder’s lap. A big-boned blond girl who was so drunk that her body had taken on that Muppet-like floppy quality walked over and splayed herself all over my boy toy. I was concerned that she might be breaking his penis. I was planning on using that later.
“Ryderrrrr,” she cooed. “You guys were sooo good.”
She swayed to me.
“Weren’t they sooo good?”
Our eyes locked. It was Daisy. A rather heavyset, now-blond, no-longer-youthful wispy-twig Daisy. It’s like we had both used the last roughly three hundred days to morph into each other’s former bodies. Daisy recognized me too.
“Heyyy. I knew you were coming tonight.” (Loud whisper) “Ryder told me not to bother you guys . . . but I didn’t know this was you. Congrats. You don’t look your age at all and shit.”
Ryder tried to lift her off of his lap like a mall Santa who wanted to keep the line moving.
“Okay, Daisy. We’re just finishing up a drink.”
“I’m getting another.”
Daisy stumbled off. I guess she was more emboldened to drink underaged and get away with it now that she suddenly looked like she was as rode hard as Britney Spears.
“Are you guys still dating?” I asked Ryder, trying not to sound jealous but more like an open-minded, inquisitive, neutral therapist.
“Nooooo. We broke up, like, six months ago. But we still live together. I don’t have any money so I can’t afford to move out. But it’s starting to get awkward.”
“I can imagine it would. You’re sneaking girls to your room at night and out in the morning? What? Do they have to climb out the window so that Daisy doesn’t get jealous?”
“Well, um, we live in a one-bedroom. So, I can’t take anyone home.”
“You sleep in the same bed as your ex-girlfriend!?” I said in a completely closed-minded, judgmental, like-an-old-woman-who-doesn’t-understand-how-kids-today-handle-ending-relationships way.
“I know. It’s okay. We’re like best friends but she gets a little drunk when she knows I have a date.”
I softened. A date? He thought we were on a date? Awwww . . . CRASH. Daisy was back and this time like a dinosaur with an inner ear infection causing her to lose her balance and a huge purse acting like a
I couldn’t stay out all night. I had things to do; starting with Ryder. I asked him, “Do you want to get out of here?” I even turned myself on saying it.
“I have my truck parked here but it’s out of gas. I can leave it parked overnight but I have to get back here early in the morning before it becomes bank parking.”
This is why I don’t like dating anyone with instruments, children, or cats. There’s always some need to “get up early, check on them/drop them off/feed them” situation. And it had been so long since I’d been single I forgot to bring my “emergency gym bag.” That’s when you carry your gym bag in your car with a change of underwear, deodorant, eye-makeup remover, makeup, a blow dryer, and clothes. The average guy who knows nothing about fashion accepts that what you’re wearing the next morning are gym clothes but they’re actually stylish-enough-to-wear-in-public cotton clothes. This way the guy doesn’t think you packed an overnight bag which would immediately scare him into thinking you’re trying to marry him, when all you’re trying to do is take precautions so that everyone at the office doesn’t look at you and think, “She got fucked last night.”
I don’t know what you call something that’s like a nightmare but even worse because you can’t wake up from it because you already ARE awake and in it, but that something was suddenly in Ryder’s lap. A big-boned blond girl who was so drunk that her body had taken on that Muppet-like floppy quality walked over and splayed herself all over my boy toy. I was concerned that she might be breaking his penis. I was planning on using that later.
“Ryderrrrr,” she cooed. “You guys were sooo good.”
She swayed to me.
“Weren’t they sooo good?”
Our eyes locked. It was Daisy. A rather heavyset, now-blond, no-longer-youthful wispy-twig Daisy. It’s like we had both used the last roughly three hundred days to morph into each other’s former bodies. Daisy recognized me too.
“Heyyy. I knew you were coming tonight.” (Loud whisper) “Ryder told me not to bother you guys . . . but I didn’t know this was you. Congrats. You don’t look your age at all and shit.”
Ryder tried to lift her off of his lap like a mall Santa who wanted to keep the line moving.
“Okay, Daisy. We’re just finishing up a drink.”
“I’m getting another.”
Daisy stumbled off. I guess she was more emboldened to drink underaged and get away with it now that she suddenly looked like she was as rode hard as Britney Spears.
“Are you guys still dating?” I asked Ryder, trying not to sound jealous but more like an open-minded, inquisitive, neutral therapist.
“Nooooo. We broke up, like, six months ago. But we still live together. I don’t have any money so I can’t afford to move out. But it’s starting to get awkward.”
“I can imagine it would. You’re sneaking girls to your room at night and out in the morning? What? Do they have to climb out the window so that Daisy doesn’t get jealous?”
“Well, um, we live in a one-bedroom. So, I can’t take anyone home.”
“You sleep in the same bed as your ex-girlfriend!?” I said in a completely closed-minded, judgmental, like-an-old-woman-who-doesn’t-understand-how-kids-today-handle-ending-relationships way.
“I know. It’s okay. We’re like best friends but she gets a little drunk when she knows I have a date.”
I softened. A date? He thought we were on a date? Awwww . . . CRASH. Daisy was back and this time like a dinosaur with an inner ear infection causing her to lose her balance and a huge purse acting like a
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