The Friend Zone
(Twilight Zone music: Di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di, di-di-di-di-di-di-di) You’re travelling through a lonely dimension, a dimension not only of desire and rejection but of a sad need to be with a woman who will NEVER want you, a journey into a pathetic land whose boundaries are that of man’s inability to have a grip on reality, your next stop: The Friend Zone (buhd-oo-bud-up!)
Written by: Terry Allen Cummings on 03/13/09
Brought to you by: Cous’n Cumm’ns Entertainment
Featuring: The Ghost of Rod Serling
Episode 1: Dominus Nobiscus Hipotomus
The Ghost of Rod Serling: Month of March, Craigslist, and a perceived image of beauty; Imperfect, only in its solemnity. And these are the improbable ingredients to a human emotion. An emotion, say like…fear; a fear of being alone. But as his tale unfolds, this man Terry, will realize that fear. He will understand what the properties of terror are. In this story, like many others, a woman will lead him by the hand and walk with him to a door, a door to a nightmare called…The Friend zone.
In May of 2007 I put up my first post on Craigslist, advertising that I might be in the market meet a woman. Nothing big, I couldn’t tell you what the content of that post was but I’m sure that there were spelling errors, poorly executed film references, and dialogue that reeked of desperation. In other words, it was no different than any other ‘I am a man seeking a woman’ post on Craigslist.
It took me a long time to muster the courage needed to put up that first post on an internet dating website because I felt that if I DID it…I was admitting to myself that I no longer had the ability to meet women while out and about; plus it felt a little bit like pandering. I’ve been in a lot of relationships in my life with girls that I met at work, girls that I approached at the mall, girls that my friends set me up with, and I even dated a girl that my mother pushed on me once. THAT didn’t work out because WHILE we were being intimate, I couldn’t get the image out of my head of my mother patting me on the back and saying, “I’m glad WE really like this girl Terry.”
However, after talking with a few people who had success in the world of internet dating, I sat down in front of my keyboard and started to think of what I could say to stand out from the throngs of perverts, scumbags, and hammy pick-up post artists who make it difficult for an honest man to meet an emotionally available woman.
After 3 months of inner turmoil, and using my dog as a sounding board by saying things like “Ok, I’ll say THIS…” and watching her cock her head to one side while looking at me like my head just turned into a piece of bacon, I finally decided to man up and just say SOMETHING on Craigslist to let the single women of the Chicago land area know that I existed. After all, there HAD to be at least ONE dateable girl on the internet…right?
Because I was new to posting on Craigslist, I didn’t realize yet that no matter WHAT you write…you WILL get about 500 responses routed to your email through your anonymous Craigslist account…the problem is that 499 of them aren’t real. Because Craigslist is a public site, these spammy nimrods send you a dreamy response telling you that they want your wiener in so many words, and then when you reply to them with “OH YEAH? You wanna meet at the World of War Craft convention by my house?” all you’ve done is given some creep your email address and THAT’S why you get a bazilliondy emails offering you 2-3 more inches on your rama lama ding dong. (I have 14 inches coming in the mail by the way, so…yeah. Gonna be KINDA a big deal.)
It didn’t take me long to figure out this scam because these fake responses come in the form of emails that either sound like a special needs Eastern European trying to recite Casablanca OR Yoda rewriting the Kama Sutra; “Interesting penis looking for I am,” “Boyfriend town out of, come bed to my,” and “I am just move to city, special dingus hook up for me.”
I have to imagine that these fake emails wouldn’t exist if the people sending them didn’t GET something out of it. I just picture some fat guy whose keyboard is worn down like a pencil that’s been sharpened to the point where it’s a tip and an eraser, sitting in front of a monitor that’s surrounded by action figures and has a thin sheen of jism on it because it’s taken so much semen shrapnel over the years, posting on Craigslist that he’s a millionaire software developer who lives in a loft by the lake, when the REALITY is that he lives in his mother’s basement; not because he can’t afford his own place, but because he’s SO fat that if he moved into a TOP floor apartment, he’d pancake the building. Also, he’s SO rotund that he has to use a scooter to go from his computer desk to his bathroom where he hooks himself into an elevator type pulley system to lift his ass over the toilet seat. He has a growing bald spot, NOT in the middle of his head but slightly to the left and a pony tail that his mother braids for him on Sundays. When he finally does get a response that reads “I am spice up my marriage your dork on the side,” he gets airlifted out of the basement, sells his WWE wrestling action figure collection and buys a 32 dollar wedding ring at the flea market before emailing back with a wedding proposal only to get a reply drecting him to a ‘midgets peeing on horses’ website. However, because he STILL believes this chick wants him, he steals his mother’s credit card and signs up.
(Deep inhale) Guys like THAT…are the reason these ‘fake’ replies exist.
One of the responses I received from my alpha post seemed like the real deal. The young lady said that her name was Tiffany and that she really liked my post. She went on to tell me that it seemed genuine and it truly spoke to her. The FIRST thing that I look for in a reply is some kind of reference to a specific statement or question FROM my post. In fact, I usually ASK a specific question and tell the reader to answer it or I will assume their reply to be scurrilous. Tiffany answered the question and just for your edification? Her favorite bird IS the ‘swallow.’
Again, at the time I wasn’t familiar with the etiquette of meeting someone on the internet. Now I know that things should move along in a designated time frame. You email back and forth and get a sense of the other person’s personality. Then, you move on to the IM’ing for some quicker banter to see if they can keep up with you mind-wise. Next it’s time for the phone call to make sure they don’t sound like Ned from South Park, and then you make plans to meet. All told you should be meeting for a date in about 2 weeks. It’s an unwritten etiquette, but it’s an appropriate process that I’ve since come to adopt. I didn’t quite follow that process with my first internet sweetie.
I moved us directly from the email part to the phone part. Back then I didn’t suspect that 98 percent of the women on the internet were super sized, so I didn’t even think to ask for a picture. I didn’t have a face book account at the time either, so when she asked for my picture, all I could do was send her some phone pics. I must have spent an hour taking pictures of myself, looking at them to see if they were ok, deleting them and starting over until I realized that the ONLY way I was going to look good in a phone picture was if I draped myself in hundred dollar bills. I finally sent her one that I deemed ‘seeable,’ and she reciprocated with one of herself. I mean…OK? Her hair was a little big, but she was cute.
During our talks, I learned that she lived about an hour and a half away from me, but I didn’t have a problem with that. I was a tad nervous about meeting her in her territory because I usually run the date. I know the places to go, I know the things to do, and I know the people to meet. That’s all well and good as long as my date lives near me. However, she’d have to be the director of this production which put me in the PA seat; not a seat I’m comfortable in.
Tiffany was nervous about meeting so we talked on the phone for 3 months. The fact that she didn’t demand to be met in this time was an indication that something wasn’t quite right, but I went along with it and we formed a telephone bond that ran pretty deep. I got to know her very well in that time, and after about a week…the dirty talk started. She told me that my voice turned her on, and using the picture that she sent me in a stand-in role for my massive imaginary capabilities…I pumped off to her naughty talk like a young man discovering his dick for the first time. The combination of her personality and her sexuality, albeit over the phone, was a huge turn on and I became quite fond of her. However, when I would broach the subject of the two of us meeting for a date and possible sexual encounter…she would still shy away. Fucking hindsight.
We had a telephone romance and after some time, our desire for one another got the better of us. Three months into our talks, she finally agreed to meet me. I was stoked. It had been months since I’d been laid, and even though it would be a long drive…I was looking forward to finally meeting Tiffany. I excitedly told all of my friends and co workers about my impending meet, and they were all happy for me as well…apparently ‘Dating Mike’ is easier to get along with than ‘Alone Mike.’
We decided that we would play it by ear. I would drive out to her apartment that Saturday night, and if we didn’t jump each other’s bones as soon as we met, we’d go to a local bar or diner. The important thing was the actual ‘meet.’ The rest would follow. When Saturday came, I went out and bought myself new clothes, I got her a dozen roses, and then it was on to my car.
If you’re picking someone up for a first date, they can tell a lot about you by your car and the car I had back then was a TOTAL pimp ride that I inherited from my mother after she passed. I loved that car and I coveted it for the 10 years that my mother drove it. She always had big cars, and even though she was a cop? This one was truly the car of a pimp. It was a 1993 PURPLE Lincoln Continental FULLY loaded with all leather seats, lumbar control, cruise control, moon roof, ashtrays, and a big ass back bench seat. But the BEST part of that car, and the part that was eventually the reason why I had to give it up after this date? Had to be the Air Shocks. Every time you put the key in the ignition, the shocks would lift the front end up. When you drove you couldn’t feel a fucking thing, it was like driving on a cloud. Then, when you turned the car off, the front end would lower. It was amazing and every time I was behind the wheel of this boat, my ego inflated like a hot air balloon.
The problem was that I hadn’t been on a date in a while so I wasn’t keeping it clean like I should have. My friends will tell you that if my mother saw what that car looked like after I had it for 2 years? You could have lit an entire city by hooking up copper wire to her as she spun like a fucking turbine engine in her grave. She had it washed and waxed weekly, inside and out, she had the engine checked once a month, and she had it detailed twice a year. That car was her baby and now it was mine.
That Saturday morning I took the Lincoln to a detailing shop that my mother had always gone to and handed the keys over to the attendant who was all too happy to work on it again. I waited for about 2 hours and when I went out to see what they had done, I was blown the fuck away. It looked like it just rolled off of the assembly line. The car looked ok before I brought it in, but there were scratches in the paint. I have never seen a car that was the color purple of that Lincoln, and when I would find a place that could order the paint, it cost a fucking arm and a leg. But this guy STILL had leftover paint from when my mother would bring the car in for detailing years before and he touched up every scratch on it. It looked shiny and factory new.
So, with flowers on the front seat and a fresh glint shining off of my clean ass, I drove my brand new looking Lincoln out to pick up my lady friend. I was all excited and giddy like a little girl in a chocolate factory. I couldn’t wait.
After driving for an hour and following the directions from map quest, I came to a street that was 2 blocks from Tiffany’s apartment. As we had discussed earlier in the evening, I called her up and told her where I was. You could hear the anticipation in both of our voices, and in a jovial spirit, I started to fuck with her as she told me to turn right and then left and then led me down a long parking lot behind a row of apartment buildings.
We’d often joked that we BOTH could be lying about the pictures we sent each other, so as I drove toward her building at the end of the lot, I pretended that everything I saw was her: “OH MY GOD! There’s a squirrel on top of that garbage can! That’s you isn’t it? You’re really a squirrel! Fucking LIAR!” and she would respond with a giggle “No, no silly *hee-hee* I’m not a squirrel.” I drove past the next building and saw a man walking out of the back door of an apartment “OH MY GOD! You’re that guy walking out of that building, aren’t you!? I KNEW it. Couldn’t you have at least shaved your beard?” another giggly response “No silly *hee hee* I’m not a man.” At the next building, an old woman was walking her dog on the sidewalk “OH MY GOD! You’re old AND you have a dog? I’m no gigolo!” Now she was positively livid with laughter “Stoppit, you’re SO silly hehehehhehehe.” At the next building I said “OH MY GOD! There’s a great big fat girl on her phone! WHY couldn’t you…”
And then the fat girl waved at my car.
Let me be clear here…this was NO ordinary fat lady. This was Spaceship Earth from The Epcot Theme Park…with legs. My first thought was that someone had left a sea cow on the front lawn, until I saw it holding a phone to its ear. The realization washed over me like vomit on a floor mat. I was obliterated.
“tee hee hee, what did you say, I was laughing so hard! Here I am silly,” and then another wave confirming my horrifying realization. I almost didn’t want to hang up with the girl on the phone. It felt like I would be saying good bye forever to what I THOUGHT was Tiffany…as I went on to meet the REALITY of Tiffany.
Yeah, I’m an asshole, but I’m NOT that big of an asshole. I pulled up and faked a happy smile as I got out of my car to give her a hug. However, in a hug, one usually wraps thier arms AROUND something…this was more like being pushed up against a wall. I swear, as my face was pressed up against her sweaty boob, I could see a sun coming up over the horizon of her right flank. I took the flowers from the back seat and handed them to her, then I opened the car door for her and put her scooter in the trunk. What was I gonna do? Say “so long hippo!” and screech out of there?
What happened next haunts me to this day. A 1993 Lincoln Continental is a BIG car, but she STILL had trouble squeezing through the door into the seat. Luckily there was butter left over on her hips from when she popped herself out of the door way of her apartment building. When she sat down, a deep moan came from the front of the car as it started to lilt to the right like a sinking pirate ship. It reminded me of the opening credits to The Flintstones when they put the big ass ribs on the side of Fred’s car and it tips over. As my car adopted a ‘gangsta lean’, the front end started to sound like an old man carrying a refrigerator upstairs. Finally, the right side of the air shocks gave way with a loud SNAP! and the wheel well slammed down on top of the tire. She just sat there staring forward and eating the flowers I gave her as if that didn’t just happen.
Because my car was now leaning at a near 45 degree angle, I had to climb up into the driver ‘s side like John McClane in an elevator shaft to TRY and balance things out. But it was too little too late. Once I got in the car, I looked over at her, and in ALL seriousness, Tiffany said in a sexy tone, with a rose petal on her lip; “It’s really nice to finally meet you Michael, I’m glad that you’re not disappointed that I sent you a Glamour Shot picture of my friend from the 80’s.” Well, that explains the big hair; but still; Iwah, Iwah, Iwah…whawhawhawha-whaaa? I was dumbfounded. She said that as if I’d already accepted her lie. She pretendend like she didn’t just break my car! SHE ACTED AS IF HER BETRAYAL WAS OK! There was no apology, there was no explanation, and there was no fucking WAY that she would EVER meet my hog in person.
It wasn’t so much her gargantuan proportions that bothered me as it was her complete disregard for the truth. Sure I don’t like heavy women, but I don’t mind going on a date with them. I may not be sexually attracted to that type, but SOMETIMES they can be cool to talk with. Ok, maybe THAT’S a lie, if I’m being honest in this case; I was truly disgusted by her looks. She had one of those fat ‘piggy’ faces with the big pumpkin sized cheeks and pushed up nose. She looked like a less healthy version of Honey Boo Boo’s mom. Her hair would best be described as ‘stringy’ and you could see sweat on the inner tube that formed under her chin which most people would call a neck. But the worst part? She had no fucking lap. It was like looking at a mountain side. Her chin was engulfed by her neck which melted into her tits, which flowed down into her belly, which mounded into a gunt that dropped over her knees and hung there like a huge muffin top over her redwood sized cankles. If that weren’t bad enough? She must have dumped a vat of Liz Taylor’s “Enough” perfume over her head to cover up the odors that were going on in those folds, because she smelled like a hooker’s asshole.
All I could think about was that I had masturbated under false pretenses. I was fucking my hand to what I THOUGHT was Jessica Alba, when in reality I was jerkin’ my gerkin’ to Jabba the Hutt. I felt violated. I wanted to tell someone but I KNEW they’d just say ‘you were asking for it.’ I was Jodie Foster on the pinball machine, I was a ten year old boy at Neverland ranch, I was Monroe from Too Close for Comfort when he got raped by the two fat chicks in the back of a van. She telephone sexually abused me with the help of a 20 year old visual aid, and I was STILL going to take her out for drinks, so I don’t want to hear any shit from you women’s libbers out there.
Whenever I’ve told this story to my friends, the various differences between men and women become apparent. MEN will say “So you squealed out to there and never talked to her again, right?” and women will say “That’s a horrible thing to say Michael.”Look, I don’t lie to women for the simple fact that the truth will ALWAYS come out. I may be crass and uncouth, but I’m nobodies fucking liar. I TOLD Tiffany that I wasn’t attracted to fat chicks; I made that QUITE clear several times over the previous 3 months. She fucking lied to me in a big way and I had every right to squeal the fuck out of there, but I didn’t. So fuck you, you judgmental twats.
The plan was for us to go out and eat, I wasn’t sure that I had enough money…EVER to feed this woman, but I decided that I’d take her out, drop her off, and then never think of her again. To be honest, I felt a little bit bad for her. I wasn’t familiar with the world of internet dating back then, but it occurred to me that she’d probably told people, on previous occasions, what she looked like and they didn’t bother talking to her anymore, so she adopted the persona that I came to know on the phone in order to lead unsuspecting prey into her maw. She was like a fat chick version of Buffalo Bill from Silence of the Lambs. She was a serial chubber.
I asked her what she’d like to do, and to my surprise it wasn’t ‘to eat.’ She said that she’d like to go to her favorite bar which was several miles away. When I put the car into gear and pressed the gas pedal, the MOST horrendous noise came from my front end. The tire was scraping against the wheel well on the right side of the car. When I looked over at her, she was STILL looking ahead and smiling as if she didn’t notice anything was wrong. Then she said “this is a really nice car.” Yeah, it WAS.
I drove slowly back through the parking lot, but when I came out onto the street, the sound grew. Then, as I hit about 10 miles per hour, I noticed a light coming from the front right side of my car. I thought nothing of it until I hit 20, and saw the sparks. Because the tire was scraping the wheel well, SPARKS were shooting out of it! I asked her if there was a CLOSER bar because I was afraid that my tire would pop and the right front end would start digging into the pavement like a ship running aground. She STILL acted as if NONE of this was happening! “Are you sure you want to go someplace else, I really like this place, they make great Buffalo wings.” So it WAS ‘to eat’. YES I was fucking sure I wanted to go someplace else! My car was leaving fire tracks like the Delorian in Back to the Future! I was getting agitated. “Yes, I’m SURE I’d like to go to the CLOSEST bar to where we are now.” Then SHE copped an attitude with ME! “FINE! There’s one right over there.” She said with a ‘harrumph’ at the end like a child.
I parked the car at this bar, and when she got out, the car teeter tottered sending me flying back and forth in the front seat like a teddy bear in the dryer. Finally, I stumbled out of my door and followed her in. I couldn’t tell you WHERE this bar was, but I’ve spent the last 5 years and great fortunes trying to find it. I’ve never SEEN such beautiful women all grouped together in one place. EVERY girl in this bar was a fucking ten, and it was bar none, hands down THE best vagina/penis ratio I’d ever seen. There were FIVE hot girls to every ONE guy. Unbelievable. If you were a single man? The odds were in your favor. To this day I have never seen the like. I would have been a kid in a candy store…but I just walked in with a grumpy sumo wrestler. Oofa.
Tiffany sat, lapless, on a stool at the bar looking like The Trash Heap from Fraggle Rock, and I took the stool next to her…but one of the satellites orbiting her crashed into my arm so I moved one seat down. There was obvious tension now, she was pissy because she couldn’t have her chicken wings, and I was pissy because I couldn’t hit on ANY of the women in this bar. Then, something that will never happen to me again…happened. The bartender approached me and my jaw nearly hit the bar top. THIS was the HOTTEST woman I’d ever seen. THE HOTTEST! She looked like a hotter Scarlet Johansson if you can imagine such a thing. I ordered 2 shots of Jack Daniels..and then asked the pouty hippo what she wanted. The bartender touched my hand, looked me dead in the eye, and then came in close to me and said “coming right up handsome.”
I have a whole LIST of dating rules, but rule number nine clearly states: You don’t hit on bartenders or waitresses. NOTHING they say can be trusted because they want a tip. But that? I’ve flirted with a lot of women, and that was a ‘just the tip’ flirt…NOT a monetary tip flirt.
Well, Tiffany just sat there in her stool with her face turned up because she had so much neck fat that that’s just how her head sat on it. Every time I tried to start a conversation with her, she’d just ignore me or say something quickly to shut me up, and then she’d shake her head sending a fat ripple across her mass like a rhino about to charge. I kept trying to talk to her and every once in a while I’d order more drinks. When the bartender would come around, I’d make some clever comment or observation and she’d laugh while the big chick just sat there with a puss on her all too big face. Occasionally I would notice the bartender looking at me with a smile, but I just tried to convince myself that I was seeing things.
I freely admit that I’m no prize. I’ve picked up girls in all kinds of places, but never in a bar, and bartenders and waitresses were simply out of the question. You have to be a certain type of handsome to pull bartender / waitress tail WHILE you’re at their place of work. I ain’ t that kind of handsome. Plus…I wasn’t going to hit on someone in front of a date, no matter how atrocious that date might have been.
After 30 minutes of her not talking and generally being a tubby brat, I’d had e-fucking-nough. I mean how are you going to go around looking like that…and have an obnoxious personality. If someone is unfortunate looking, it’s incumbent upon them to at least have a pleasant demeanor. Could she have been more unattractive? I excused myself and went to the bathroom, trying not to drool at my surroundings as I went.
Now, what I did next, I’ve never done before. Like I said, I try to keep it real when I’m on a date, and after all, even though she lied to me, it was my own fault that I was in that situation because while on the phone, I wanted to believe that Tiffany was someone whom I could have a relationship with. I didn’t do my due diligence and because of that? I found myself out on the town with a woman who was so big that her heart had to be the size of a fucking VW bug in order to pump blood through that mass.
When I got to the bathroom, I immediately called my friend Action Jim. I told him that I didn’t have time to explain everything, but that I wanted him to call me in five minutes. He agreed and I went back out into the bar. As I left the bathroom, the bartender was waiting by the door. Yeah, that one. I averted my eyes because she was just so beautiful that I could barely look at her, and tried to walk past. She put her hand on my shoulder and said “Um, hi, I would normally never do this, but I noticed that you’re having a difficult time with your friend…is…she your girlfriend?” Her head was looking down shyly at “is”, and then, not moving her head, she moved her eyes up inquisitively, and looked me dead in the eyes at “she your girlfriend?”. I’ll never forget that look for as long as I live.
What the fuck was happening? Chicks this hot don’t talk to me.
“GOD NO,” I said in the cracked voice of a nervous teenager. “We’re on a first AND last date. I met her on the internet and she lied to me about her looks.” The bartender looked back down at the ground like a shy school girl and then back up at me with a crooked smile, she leaned in and whispered in my ear “Good, then I won’t have to feel bad for doing this…” Then she put a piece of paper in my shirt pocket and said “my names Crystal by the way,” and started to walk back towards the bar. “Of course it is,” I said at her. She half turned and shot me a smile.
What the fuck? SERIOUSLY? Look, that has NEVER happened to me before. I couldn’t believe it. Well, at least something good would come out of this evening. Or so I thought.
When I got back to the bar, there was a man in my seat…talking to Tiffany. She was all smiles and involved in a deep conversation with this guy as I approached them. She ignored me when I grabbed my drink, so I introduced myself to him and sat down in a bar stool at a table just across from them. At first I thought that she knew this guy, but as I listened to them talk, it became apparent that he was hitting on her! HOLY HELL! This was, maybe the hottest guy in that bar. He was so cute that I wanted to fuck him, and I’m not even gay. He looked like Johnny Depp without the go-tee.
That was it; I was officially in the fucking real Twilight Zone. After ten minutes went by, the guy excused himself and went back to his friend’s table. I was getting nervous because Action Jim hadn’t called and while I was gone Tiffany ordered 3 more meals, on my tab. Without that phone call I didn’t know how I was going to get out of this, and I didn’t know how much more money I had on my credit card. Now she wanted to talk.
“He was really nice, we went to the same school together and he gave me his phone number.” She bragged. Are you kidding me? She was trying to make me jealous. “That’s awesome, he’s a good looking guy,” I said in a ‘good for you’ tone. Hopefully he drove a fucking dump truck. And then, thankfully…my phone rang.
One thing I’ve learned over the years is that the BEST lies, the most believable lies are the ones based in truth. Action Jim was dating a girl whose father owned a restaurant and because of this, he had been given a job as the book keeper there. When I answered my phone, I pretended to have the following conversation with him in front of Tiffany.
“Hey Jim, what’s up? …What? …So what happened? …You’re there NOW? …Holy shit, are you OK? …no, no, I can be there in 2 hours. Dude, I’m sorry.”
Tiffany was looking at me during the entire exchange, and like I planned, she heard every word. “What was that?” she asked with a mouth full of hamburger. Then I told her the truth…only the story I told her happened two weeks before.
“Oh man, I am SO sorry, but I have to go. My best friend works in a restaurant that his girlfriend’s family owns. He has his own office there with a big aquarium by his desk. Well, his girlfriend found out tonight that he’s been fucking one of the waitresses and she pushed the aquarium over on his knees. He’s in the hospital right now getting stitches from the broken glass and the doctors think that one of his knees might be broke. I HAVE to go over there.”
“Aw, c’mon, we just got here,” she said spitting bits of food across the bar. Her mood suddenly did a 360. NOW she wanted me to stay. Fat chicks are unpredictable because they can be prone to mood swings brought on by hunger; sugar high’s wearing off, and the satisfaction of eating. Throw in the normal womanly PMS and you get a jumbo sized Cybil. It really is quite disgusting. I apologized profusely, but was insistent that I had to leave. I called Crystal over and asked for the bill. She handed me my tab and winked at me with a smile and when I looked at it, I couldn’t believe my eyes. I had 3 shots of whiskey, 4 beers, and Tiffany had six beers, 2 appetizers, and literally 3 hamburgers. The bill was for 12 dollars. All she charged me for was ONE hamburger and TWO beers. If this chick was as into me as it was looking, I wanted to get that shit PREGNANT.
We left the bar and I made sure to get into my car first this time. During the scrape back to her place, Tiffany kept insisting that I come up for a nightcap. I told her that I would some other time (another bold faced lie) but that I had to leave to be with my friend. She became increasingly more agitated as we got closer to her apartment because she realized that I wasn’t going to fuck her. When we pulled up to her door, her mood did another 360. In a pouty voice she insisted, “You just wanna go see that bartender bitch again. I saw her talking to you by the bathroom.” I told her that she was just going to the bathroom herself and asked me if I’d like another drink when she got back to the bar. It was nothing. Then Tiffany did the unthinkable…
She reached over with her sausage fingers and pulled the piece of paper from my shirt pocket while shouting “THEN WHAT’S THIS?!” I was shocked at how fast she was. I tried grabbing the paper and excitedly shouted, “the fuck are you doing?!?!”
“I SAW her put this in your pocket! You think you’re slick!” I tried grabbing for the paper but I couldn’t quite grasp the physics involved in trying to snatch something so small from something that big. Plus her fingers were like greasy sausages and they still had bits of hamburger on them. Then, she stuffed the paper into her mouth and swallowed it. I couldn’t believe it. She looked at me with a triumphant smile and tried for a dramatic exit. However, it took her 7 minutes to squeeze out of the car door. After my anger died down I tried helping her by putting my shoulder into her back fat and pushing her from behind. I contemplated laying her out on the side walk and pulling everything from her stomach like Richard Dreyfus in Jaws, but I was just happy that it was over. After all, I could drive back to the bar and get Crystals number again.
I must have searched for that bar for 3 fucking hours, driving around as my tire scraped inside of the wheel well. It wasn’t as bad as when she was in the car, but you could defiantly hear it. What the fuck? It had only been like 5 minutes away from Tiffany’s apartment. It was like one of those ‘roaming’ clubs in the beginning of Blade. I thought that I’d eventually find the place, but open the door to find a meat packing plant or something.
All told the evening was a complete and utter failure for me. I felt humiliated, used, lied to, degraded, and sad because the best looking woman I’ve ever seen seemingly WANTED me…and she slipped through my fingers. Also, a few weeks later I ended up having to get rid of my pimp ass car because it would have cost two grand to get the air ride fixed. What had been a nominal disinterest in fat chicks before, was now cemented as a furious disdain for them.
The Ghost of Rod Serling: Exit Mr. Michael Hume. Formerly a lover of all women; big and small. Now a fragmented piece of mirror, shattered on the cold hard cement of the of the internet super highway. A wishful thinker who’s narrowed his options down to nothing. A fat man on his way to join the company of all those whose eyes are ironically bigger than their stomach. Mr. Michael Hume, with one foot through the door and one foot out of…The Friend Zone.
Deleted Scene 1
It seemed that the drama that women created in MY life and the lives around me was endless; so I took a vaginal sabbatical.
Deleted Scene 2
After living like a vaginal hermit for a year…it was time for some much needed pussy; however, since my friends had all moved on, I found myself alone in the vagina world, and walking those streets by yourself can be a frightening experience.
Deleted Scene 3
My Facebook profile picture is me wearing a t-shirt featuring a picture of the pope on the front above a caption that reads ‘Dominus Nobiscus Hipotomus,’ and the translation from Latin on the back that reads: ‘No Fat Chicks.’