Thongmasters, brakechecks, and miracles of biblical proportions.

So I have a first (and last) date with this guy who i'm gonna call "The Thongmaster."

We met at Oasis.
He & I had talked for about three weeks before actually going on a date, and we got along like it was our job. I'm talking 5, 6 hour long conversations. I was into him. I spent all day getting ready for this date.

Date time comes. He picks me up around 6, and the plan is to head to dinner at Surin. Ok, so he isn't exactly as cute as I remember.. but.. he'll do.

In the car, i'm so nervous. I start making really awkward, rambling conversation. When this fails, I go to plan B.... and I decide to let him hear a mildly racist, possibly offensive ringtone that I had gotten that day from a mildy racist, always offensive friend. (I know how to keep it classy!)

To understand it, you need to see it. He heard the audio of what you are about to watch.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gSVZ3-LRaWU

ps. You have to listen to the audio, or you won't understand the rest of the blog.

We had a good laugh about it. We talked about speech impediments. He made me play it for him three times.
Once we got to the restaurant, I was still feeling those first date jitters and said to myself, "Self, it's time to silence these jitters FOR GOOD. Down the hatch!" I popped a xanax and I started to drink. A LOT of wine. He drank two glasses. We had three bottles. That put me at about... oh, I dont know.. drunk.

Needless to say, I was shithoused and it wasnt even 8 p.m. But, the date was actually going well (I thought). We were laughing (in hindsight, I was laughing.. a lot.. loudly) and making good conversation. He noticed the bracelet I was wearing. Its just a plain old orange and brown wooded bracelet that I love more than a human baby. No big deal.
I had told him earlier in the week that said bracelet was broken.

Thongmaster: "Ahhh, you got your bracelet fixed!"

Me: "Yeah! My grandmother restrung it for me!"

TM: "Oh, so you're telling me she "wiggle-rigged" it."

At this, I laugh. What a clever, snarky date I have. I get it. He's going with the ringtone... he's substituting wiggle for.... something else.. hardee har har.
Ok, all I wanted to do here, was simply--repeat what he said. But apparently, large amounts of wine and and a prescription anti anxiety pill do NOTHING to stop mouth diarrhea. NOTHING. my attempt at "repeating" went something like this:

Me: "Yeah, she NIGGER WIGGLED it!"

I don't know about you, but when I drink, my internal default volume goes up. A lot. I often get asked, "Why are you screaming?" even when I did not, in fact, think I was screaming. So I had just screamed Niggerwiggle in a restaurant. A crowded restaurant. With our black waiter. And the nice black patrons sitting beside me (on the bench seat, mind you).
Every head in the place jerks our way. Its like the moment in the movie where the loser/bad boy/people who were banned from the prom walk into the party and the record scratches to a stop.

Thongmaster is horrified. He is from up north. What I had just done (and what i'll later find out) is the DEALBREAKER.
I don't get embarrassed. I just don't have it in me. But I WAS HUMILIATED. So what else to do? I start laughing uncontrollably. I can't stop. I'm crying tears and convulsing. I have my head down on the table.

Thongmaster: "We gotta go. Now."

I don't say anything. I watch him slam some cash down on the table and I grab my purse. He is pulling me by my arm like i'm a disobedient child. I let him.

We move on to part II of the evening. I am in the passenger seat drunk dialing friends (at 8 pm) and saying, "GUESS WHAT JUST FUCKING HAPPENED TO ME? I JUST SAID NIGGER IN FRONT OF A ROOM FULL OF PEOPLE!"
I call my dad to tell him. He is impressed. (Pleasant Grove, google it.)

Thongmaster is not amused. Nonetheless, he is not driving in the direction of my house, but towards Workplay. A friend who worked there had put us on the list. I see my cousin there and am introduced as her, "Big titted, black haired cousin." Funnily enough, the cousin that is introducing me is also big titted, and black haired. But, I digress.

I can see that Thongmaster is experiencing mild culture shock.

We stay for the show, and yes, more wine. Everytime Thongmaster takes a drink, I challenge him to "race me." He looks at me like i'm crazy, but I eventually wear him down.

He finally starts to get on my level. Cabernet Sauvignon is not really made to be chugged, but we chugged like champions. Well, we "raced." Haha. I talk him into going to Martys.

We sit at the end of the bar. I end up sitting next to a guy with a wheelchair with more controls on in than the Star Trek Enterprise. I want to touch one of those buttons so bad. Everytime Thongmaster gets up to go to the bathroom, the crip hits on me relentlessly. I try to be nice at first, I really do. I fail.

Crip: You know, not all of me is paralyzed.

Me: DUDE. No. Are you trying to tell me your dick still works?

Crip: No, but my tongue does!

He sticks out his tongue, through the v of this middle and pointer finger, and wiggles it from side to side. I throw up in my mouth a little bit.











Everytime Thongmaster comes back, the cripple completely ignores me. I wonder if i'm imagining it. After about 30 minutes, wine and whiskey have made me forget about the man in the wheelchair. That is, until the motherfucker stands up and starts walking towards the bathroom. My mouth diarrhea starts flaring up again. I jump out of my seat.

"WHAT THE FUCK! EITHER THAT GUY IS A FUCKING LYING SACK OF UNPARALYZED SHIT, OR JESUS JUST PERFORMED A MIRACLE.. in martys!"

Thongmaster pulls me back down into my seat. "Shhhhh." He is petting my hair like i'm a hyperactive kid in church. He's HAMMERED. His hands are wandering (not smoothly) from my hair to my boobs. In public. I know what is on his mind, but I had other things to think about first.

I look over at the empty chair. Why is this guy not doing fucking cartwheels? I have convinced myself no one could be as pathetic as to lie about being in a wheelchair, so i'm pretty sure i've witnesssed a miracle. And the crip is playing it totally cool! Like, "Hey, cool, I can walk. I'm gonna go take a leak." (or a shit, judging on how long he'd been gone. But then again, maybe he was getting used to the walking feeling? Nevertheless, he was kind of, UNexcited about walking.)

I can resist the urge no longer and I start pushing buttons on his starship control pad.





The wheelchair starts bouncing up and down like a fucking mexican's car in Compton. This mother fucker had hydraulics on it or something. It falls over.

The thongmaster and I hightail it out of there. He heads towards his house. Immediately, I'm thinking, YES! I'm about to get.it.on! I look over at him. One of his eyes has gone kind of lazy. And I was okay with it.

Unfortunately, the sexin' was uneventful. It wasn't bad... but it sure as hell wasn't good. I think I fell asleep a couple of times. I just know that I woke up naked and one part of my hair extensions had come out. And I had on one sock. Which is odd, because I didnt have socks on that night. I got up and puked (loudly) in his bathroom.

Thongmaster: Hey hey... wakey wakey!
Me: Gotta get to my house... have to work in 45 minutes..

My mouth tastes like someone rolled some shit logs around in the sand, then dumped them directly onto my tongue.

Thongmaster does not look as good as he did last night. As we're getting dressed, I can't find my phone. He offers to look in the bed for me. I'm standing there at the end of the bed, while he is shaking the sheets out. I'm hit in the face by something he slingshotted in my direction. Some black thongs.

Thongmaster: Hey, you forgot something!

I stick some fingers in my waistband. Hmmm. I have on MY panties. Thongmaster had just shot some panties that did not belong to me, IN MY FACE.

Me: Yeah. Those aren't mine.

He starts trying to make up some excuses (that I actually cared nothing about). I had a hangover that was worse than the childbirth experience. We ride in silence to my house.

On the way home, he brake checks me. Hard. My head hits the dash. He laughs uncontrollably. I start laughing too, because there was nothing else left to do. I let a silent fart before I get out of his car.

Thongmaster: Alright, talk to you later!

He's still chuckling about the brakecheck and my subsequent head injury.
Me: SBD, motherfucker!

He doesnt get my silent but deadly reference at first, but I know that he did, after about 10 seconds because he sent me a text message saying, "ok, I deserved that."