I'm sorry for the delay. I was moving to Arizona. Arizona is pretty cool -- it looks just like Rygar.
Anyway -- the plan was to pick up the myspace girl at 7:00 and then go to dinner. Girls are funny about going out for the first time. Half of them want to meet at a neutral location because they don't want to get into a car with a stranger. The other half likes it when the guy picks them up. There is nothing wrong with either point of view. What makes the male point of view intrinsically different is that we don't care about a date's logistics at all. Meet 'em . . . pick 'em up . . . whatever, let's just get on with it. Speaking of getting on with it . . .
When she answered the door, I was simultaneously struck by three powerful impressions: 1) her proportions were eye-popping; she's 5'8", size 2, DD (shirt popping? . . . zipper popping?); 2) her giant mastiff was drooling and growling at me; and, 3) she was DRIIIIIZZZZZZZZUNK . . . stumbly-wumbly, one-eye-closed, SLOSHED. She grabbed my hand and explained that we had to leave quickly before her amateur cage-fighter cousin came home because he probably has an incestuous crush on her (he punches guys who show interest in her amazing body). Ordinarily, early handholding makes me happy, but I was dazed by the sudden anxiety about her violent cousin and relief from escaping her violent dog.
I felt much more at ease once we got into my car, so it surprised me when she slurred, "you're nervous aren't you?" I wasn't. I said that I wasn't. She wouldn't believe me. I guess that most guys who go out with her either try to get into her pants immediately or quiver in fear. Since I didn't try the former, she assumed the later. This theme (the power of her physical appearance) would be the dominant subject of conversation for the remainder of the time that I knew her (the term conversation is misleading -- I didn't say more than a few sentences the entire night). She explained that she lost 100 pounds when she was 21 and went from zero male attention to constant male attention -- the shock may have caused some brain trauma. NBA players and real estate millionaires come on to her on a regular basis -- that would mess me up too.
At dinner the conversation briefly changed from her looks to her mind. Evidently, she is a genius. Her IQ is off the charts. She especially loves language . . . I quote:
"I am litter . . . I am littery . . . I am literary . . . (sigh) . . . I am well with words."
More to come.
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