WTF Is Going on Out There:
Part Three of Draco to Tiny Race Cars“If you own a home with wheels on it and several cars without, you just might be a redneck.”~Jeff Foxworthy
As we further delve into the pathetic depths of my dating life it has become apparent to me through the responses I have gotten that I am certainly not alone in my great talent to attract those with their freak flags all the way up on the pole. In fact my good friend, who for the purposes of privacy and the keeping of authority at work we will call him “Kelso”; he has had a few amazing dates himself. In today’s post he has submitted his version of events to the best of his memory.
This is my blog though so… ladies first.
My decision making skills while at clubs should be monitored like a freaking drunk that has had too much. They should just put me in a cab to go home as soon as I start handing out my number. Or taze me... This theory has been proven time and time again.
While living in my first apartment so many…. Uh… months ago; I met a young man who shared my same taste in music at the time. Only one song but you know you can really build on that… So whilst bumping the infamous Staind and Fred Durst “Outside” acoustic version duet from the “Family Values Tour” we drove around in his busted up truck.
Whatever happened to Fred Durst?
Well anyway it is not important. Busted up Truck guy drives me to South Carolina, which is not that far from my home… but I figured if he kidnapped me it was technically crossing state lines and then would be a federal case. Not sure that’s better, but it sounded good and completely logical at the time.
The idea was to go to this really cool bar/club, when I say really cool I do not mean that… it is a big damn lie that I told myself to justify going to this place. The place was/is called “The Money”.
We never actually made it there. Instead he wanted to drive me by his “homestead” which meant an empty pasture he planned to put a modular home on one day or as he put it “if I can’t afford that I will get a trailer, but a nice one”. He looked me all moon eyed and said “WE could have us a yard full of kids! Look at all that space!”
I am sure I looked terrified and said “Easy there, cowboy… you ain’t even out of the fucking chute yet.”
I have actually been taken to two homesteads, counting this one. The second was with one of those good guys. Still I find it kind of freaky for the first time spending any amount of time together. The good guy at least waited until we had known each other a long time. I ramble…
He announces we had to go by the house of a friend of his and that it shouldn’t take long. Well alrighty then… When he said house I thought he meant one that had maybe a functioning door and not wax paper windows. The pit-bull in the yard might have been a killer once, but I am fairly positive he was drunk. Or that unsteady walk of his was rabies, but he was on a chain at least. Inside the um, house. I am immediately informed to watch the “hole”. When they said hole… I had no idea that directly inside the front entrance would be a hole that dropped to the large crawlspace under the house… you had to kind of shimmy around it up against a wall. That shed paint chips on my nice, brand new blouse I had purchased for an evening at a bar.
Neither of the two individuals inside spoke English. They were from Mexico and here to work. It kind of broke my heart that this living space was considered acceptable. I am not gonna judge though because they work hard and do work most of the rest of us would not want. This shit hole they lived in literally had a shit hole. Not the one at the front door, but when I asked to use the restroom I was shown to what might have once been a broom closet with a hole cut in the floor and a plastic bucket, the bottom cut out, and an obviously previously loved toilet seat affixed to the top. Being Southern, I have had the pleasure of an outhouse before. (Please allow me to fulfill all your freaking, stupid stereotypes.) This was not out… but in the house… and I found it wrong on so many levels. Yeah, just freaking wrong.
I found my way back to the one room of the house that had a heater, and took my seat on the available “chair” a cooler. I smiled at the two gentlemen sitting there looking at me. Language barriers have never been more uncomfortable for me. Busted up truck guy, was nowhere to be seen. I could see out the “entrance” that his truck was still there so he had to be close by… right?
Turns out the friend he had come to see took him to his pot dealer’s house to make a purchase and pay off some gambling debt. As I sat there as I guess either the entertainment or collateral; I try not to dwell on that at night in the dark. When Busted up Truck guy, came back and I could see his purchase and that he had clearly been partaking on the way back. I told him I was sleepy and needed to go home. I had only sat on that cooler staring at two men, staring at me for four damn hours. I was beginning to worry and think about jetting for the door. Busted up truck guy, did keep paging me telling me he was on his way. I guess his dealer lived in damn Georgia or something.
The drive home which should have only taken about 45 minutes, took more like two and half hours because I was not gonna let Busted up loser truck guy, drive. I have never been able to drive a stick shift and do not function well without power steering and as tall as I am I still had a lot of trouble reaching the pedals. So it did take a while to get myself home. Especially after Busted up loser truck guy passed out over his Cheerwine and bag of Fun Yuns. (Why do you only see people eat Fun Yuns when they are high?) I left him in his truck and went inside and slept for about 45 minutes before I had to get up and go to work at the coffee shop I worked at. On my way past his beat up truck I hit it with my baseball bat a few times… His dumbass was still passed out.
And now the part I am sure you have ALL been waiting for… Kelso’s contribution, so without further ado:
Rise of the Taylor Lautners“Crazy people don't sit around wondering if they're nuts.” ~Jake Gyllenhaal
I met this girl at work, many moons ago. For the sake of not calling her by her real name, I will just refer to her as "Taylor". Taylor was into the Goth scene...replete with the long black hair, excessive eye-liner and of course the usual aversion to anything that resembled sunlight. We had been talking for a while, before she asked me out. Our first date was at a local watering hole, in downtown Fairfax, Va.
We drove separately, a precaution on my part just in case she turned out to be too interesting for my taste. I arrived at this place at about 10 pm, because apparently fake vampires and D&D players like to begin their evening activities at this hour. This place was a converted auto repair garage. It was old and well...creepy inside. If you had to imagine where freaky people would hang out, then this was the place. When I walked in, I immediately realized that I was in the minority here. I was the only one there not dressed from head to toe in black, nor was I wearing a horned Viking helmet...yes, I said Viking helmet with horns. I must have missed the memo on that one. I mean, I love to wear black too and I was that night, but it was relegated to my boots, an old biker jacket and a five o'clock shadow, a month old.
I found Taylor, but not without some difficulty, as she blended in with the crowd. What caught my eye looking for her, however; was the rather large amount of cleavage she was sporting, impossibly wrapped in a black leather corset and a long black hippy dress. She looked like a diminutive Elvira impersonator. Taylor was with a few friends whose names escape me now. I sat down, willing to give anything a try however. We all exchanged the usual greetings...you know, "Nice to meet you..." and "What's your opinion on drinking blood..." Everyone except “Red” a flaming red goateed guy; he just stared at me from across the table with this, "I am so going to eat your fucking face" look.
I found it mildly annoying, so I ordered a beer to soothe myself and got the strangest looks from everyone.
Taylor looked at me, aghast and said, "We don't drink spirits here."
"I'm not drinking spirits kid, I am drinking a beer."
Thinking she was pulling my leg, I took a huge swallow to demonstrate my lack of concern. Taylor then proceeds to explain, with some additional commentary from her friends, that as vampires, they no longer imbibe on beverages that "Normals" do.... uh, Normals?...Really? At this point I'm thinking that I don't care how nice of a rack Taylor has, it's time to go, but I was committed to finishing my beer first.
It was at this point that red goatee guy opens his mouth and says,
"I'm going to take this mortal trash outside and beat his ass."
This got my attention and I locked eyes with his. "I wouldn't recommend that." I replied.
I didn't yell, nor did I cuss, rather I said what I wanted to and went back to drinking my "normal" beer. It was at this point that he got up from his chair, walks within two arm’s length of me and flaps his long leather coat open with a flourish...like he was Batman and growls that it is time for this mortal to leave. I stay in my seat and without skipping a beat; I took another swallow of my beer and calmly told him to go fuck himself or whatever it is vampires do.
Red makes a dive for me, making this crazy howling noise. Is there a vampire war cry? Is this guy for real? As he was flying through the air towards me, I slid my chair back just far enough to let him hit the floor...rather unceremoniously. Not surprisingly, this pissed him off even more.
I had stood up at this point, telling Taylor it was nice, but I was leaving now. Just as she was about to say something to me, Red had collected his bat-ness and decided he was going to grab onto me. Now, let me explain what happens to me when someone pushes my “piss me off button” I don't like to be touched, unless I know you and you have it like that. I apparently bared my teeth and met his attack with what Taylor would describe as animal ferociousness. I picked him up, throwing him through the nearest window. Not out...but through.
I was more than angry at this point as I leapt out of the window after him. There he lay, on the pavement, face cut up and his hands peppered with little shards of glass; now begging me to leave him alone. What happened to "I'm going to take this mortal trash outside and beat his ass."? I think if I hadn't realized the severity of the situation I was in, I probably would have continued to pummel him into oblivion. The owner of the joint comes up, looks at both of us and tells us both to leave. Apparently the smoke-in he was having in the stockroom warranted him NOT calling the police on us. I left a murmuring, disbelieving crowd behind and went home to drink more beer, without "vampire" supervision.
The next day went as usual, work sucked, couldn't wait to clock out, etc. Taylor comes in at mid-day and takes me aside and with the most dead pan look I have ever seen, says to me,
"How long have you been a werewolf?"
I laughed...surely she jests; right? Am I wrong? Isn't that crap supposed to happen in the movies or something? She keeps that same serious look on her face, as I finished laughing myself to tears. Then it dawns on me...Taylor was serious and she actually believed what she was saying.
Taylor then proceeds to list off all the werewolf-esque qualities I had. Never clean shaven, surly and sarcastic attitude and more importantly, my rather long and natural canine teeth, (which I have since had shortened). A werewolf, huh… okay, she said it made her hot, so I let her run with it. I am only a man. Never once did I ever say that I was a werewolf, but never did I deny it either. I'm not proud of it, but we did have a great run though. Seriously though, a werewolf…really?