It’s effing FRIDAY, you whores! It’s been one hell of a week for me, and I’m assuming Gizmo too, considering I got this text from her yesterday: “ANnnnd I fucking missed the test because the goddamned hoopty fell apart on the way there and I had to stop and get it fixed.”
Thankfully, ShyGuy is baaaaaaaaack for a special treat! Enjoy it kiddos!
So as Lucky alluded to, I’ve managed to find an attractive young woman who’s actually interested in dating me and that I feel likewise towards. I’m considering myself currently about waste deep in a girlfriend free-trial.
I call it a free-trial because I’m currently reaping the benefits of a girlfriend without having to put much more in than the promise that eeeeeventually I’ll have to fork out some serious dough.
Think of it like the 30-day free trial to Netflix. You go to the website once you’ve decided to join. You fill in all your information that is pertinent: name, address, phone number, movie tastes, etc.etc. Then before you actually begin your free-trial you input your credit card information with the promise that nothing will be charged for 30 days. At this point you’re thinking, “This is gonna be sweet, free movie rentals for a month. I’m not gonna be doing shit-else but getting drunk and watching movies.”
So you load up your queue with movies you’ve wanted to see. Since it’s totally anonymous you have no reservation putting the entire first season of Jersey Shore, (the saddest movie ever) Brian’s Song, and some awesome throw-backs like Ferris Bueller’s and Breakfast Club at the top of your queue. Hey- John Hughes makes a great classic. At least I didn’t say the new Hannah Montana movie.
So a few days later, that little red envelope comes in the mail. Hurray! And thus begins a month-long bender of Netflix movies, beer, and chips and queso. You get so excited when you see that little red number in your mailbox, and before you know it, you’re addicted to Netflix.
Soon, you’re neglecting your friends just to rush home to get your movie fix. You’ll be staying in on Friday nights to make bread crumb encrusted salmon, green beans, and homemade biscuits with a nice bottle of vino for your beloved Netflix. You begin to constantly check Netflix at work to check the status of your queue or to post comments on your most recent movie date…. I mean night. You even got a new blue-ray DVD player so you can play high-definition movies so your Netflix wouldn’t feel like its being neglected and to show them you care.
But then Netflix starts to aggravate you. It takes a day longer than expected to get a couple of movies, or you get one that’s all scratched up and won’t play. You joined this free-trial with the idea that you’d have fun and be care-free with your viewing pleasures, but now you realize that Netflix has consumed your life and is now more demanding than you expected. Between watching movies, managing your lineup, and dealing with Netflix’s constant nagging to rate and review movies, you’re patience is waning.
But the problem with free-trials is that eventually they end and in the height of your aggravation you forgot that once your free trial- thirty days- is up Netflix starts to automatically charge your credit card that you were required to enter, oh-so-long-ago; just taking money from your wallet. Well shit, that was over three months ago.
So now you’re left constantly irritated with Netflix; fat from only consuming chips and queso and beer for four months and never going to the gym; friendless-having bailed on your buddies every night to spend time fucking Netflix so it doesn’t feel neglected only so it can take all your money, consume all your time and then leave you feeling like you need to change and be more like all the other Netflix subscribers who are sweet and compassionate.
Fuck. Are we still talking about Netflix?
So right now, I’m basking in the foot-loose and fancy-free aspects of my current free-trial. Don’t get me wrong here, I like this broad.
*She actually likes that I call her a broad before any of you ultra-fems get all pissy about how it’s a derogatory or misogynistic term- well not all broads think that …okay?*
But like I said… I haven’t had to start paying for my subscription yet.
So one of my new responsibilities, as a newly anointed free-trial boyfriend, was to meet the parents. And by parents I mean the parents, the siblings, the grandparents, the uncles, and the cousins. Yes, the whole family. If I hadn’t been buzzed most of the weekend, I might have been a little intimidated.
The whole story is a bit long for one post, but I’ll give you the ‘first impression story’.
We took the train. I’ve never been on a train for a trip before so this was all new to me. I was basically told that there would be no taking my slam-piece to Bonetown while we’re at her grandparents house (I respect that). So, I was hoping we could get that out of the way on the train ride up; and so as not to lose my mind seeing her in an itty bitty bikini all weekend and have to conceal the chubby I get on the beach when my neglected libido takes on a mind of its own. It’s a cruel, cruel world as it turns out.
What’s the train equivalent of the mile-high club? The Rail club? (see what I did there) I swear that just came to me. I like it, we’re going with it.
But, when she shows up with jeans on it’s no dice to the Rail club this trip. So, immediately my thoughts go to the next, most pressing concern of mine, booze. I, like an idiot, left my flask on my kitchen counter, full of my favorite tequila, so I suggest we hit up the liquor store before we board. We pick up the beer and I precede spending the train ride making fun of the people seated around us and taking beers to the face. What does this girl see in me?
By the time we get to our destination, I’m sufficiently drunk. Glad I don’t have to drive. As soon as we stop and get off the train, I need a bathroom. (I hadn’t broken the seal once in on our three hour train ride (awesome!-I know right!)).
So while I’m standing in front of the urinal, my mind starts to wander. I start to think about how awesome it would have been to have pulled a Risky Business move and gotten laid on the train. Have her sit on my lap, or taken a trip to the restroom for a quickie. Anyway, these thoughts excite me. Like really excite me, and we all know what happens when a sufficiently drunk horn-dog like myself starts to get dirty thoughts. You guessed it. Boner.
But it gets better. As I’m finishing my business, apparently in my narrowed mind-set, I forget to shake off those last few drops off my pecker. Those drops have got to go somewhere and it just so happens they decided their new home would be the crotch area of my jeans.
So not only do I now have a boner for the first meeting of my new girlfriend’s mom, but it also looks like I pissed myself. So what do I do? Do I try to dry my pants off with the hand dryer? Start thinking of dead puppies or old women?
Nope. I shrug it off as I look at myself in the mirror, proud of the pronouncement of my erection through my pants and scoff at how the spot on my pants sort of looks like Mickey Mouse and turn towards the door. Why I thought it would be funny to have Mickey (a male cartoon character) Mouse’s face on my crotch is beyond me, but I did. Have I mentioned I was drunk?
So yes, I met my new girlfriend’s mom with a raging hard-on and a piss stain on my pants. As if being falling-over-drunk wouldn’t have left a lasting impression.