I’m in Boston. There, I admit it. Some of you have guessed, and over time, I have grown bored of hiding that fact. With that said, it hasn’t ever been a huge part of my blog, nor will it become so. I am fessing up however, because I was on my friend Bella’s radio show this evening and also met up with a new friend, who I met through my blog. Southie Single, as she is known, is awesome. Witty, attractive, intelligent, a great catch in a city full of douche bags. So, she and I decided to meet for a drink and commiserate over our dating woes.
Certain neighborhoods of our city are known for their residents interesting take on class and tradition. Southie Single and I sat at the bar of one such bistro, a place I adore, a brunch worth devouring, and cocktails so well-balanced that they feel as if they were without a creation, but that they just always were. So, here we are, sitting at this tiny bar in this tiny bistro in a quiet neighborhood of affluent bitchiness when a nice young gentleman approached and asked if he could sit in the empty seat between ourselves and an older woman to our right. All started politely. Us bloggers drank our cocktails and ate our salad and flourless chocolate cake while I eavesdropped on the conversations around us. The bartender made a comment about a dog and the solo gentleman commented that he didn’t have one, to which I chimed in that every man needs a dog. He said that his place was too small and felt that dogs didn’t belong in an apartment, to which my response was that there are so many dogs that live in kennels at the shelter, a small city apartment would be a far better alternative. Then the older woman started rambling on about how dogs do not belong in the city and how her neighbors have dogs whom she would like to poison. POISON?!! She spoke with a contrived english accent, the type that seems to be crafted for the sole purpose of exaggerating her elitism.
Southie Single and I chuckled at the absurdity of the woman. Her beliefs in a true divided class made me delight in the idea of her departure from this planet. I know that is perhaps cruel, and I joke about it in a way in which I would never truly mean. I wish not for her death, truly, but perhaps for her to be maimed and lose her voice so she can no longer leave her home and spout her poisonous barbs. At some point she got up to speak with some older men to the other side of Southie Single and I, perhaps in a hope that they followed her beliefs. We chatted up our solo diner and laughed in unison and solidarity over the nonsense that had occurred. We then said goodnight to him and I offered to walk Southie Single over to a department store for the winter hat she sorely needed since snow is predicted tomorrow.
After a few minutes in the store I was able to convince her to join me on Bella’s radio show, as the station was around the corner. The topic was bloggers and dating sites and while Southie Single originally felt she wouldn’t say much, eventually she opened up. The hilarity that occurred however was in she and I realizing that I had met and ALMOST gone out with her worst date in history. A man who felt porn was an instruction manual for dating and while he had a beautiful voice and was a great replicator of others music, he was, an utter self-centered incredible douche bag. Not at all deserving in any woman baring herself for him, as he was unfairly critical and had beyond what are appropriate levels of self-confidence. He considered himself a teacher, when he had so much more to learn. All I needed to do was write down one name as she was talking about him and she started to laugh hysterically as we realized that in fact we were thinking of the same man.
Moments like that make me thankful for Type Geek. He may be a lot of things, including 15oo miles away in the snowy mountains of Wyoming with the boys on a big wilderness trip, but he isn’t an utter douchebag. He is, however, an adorably scrumptious package of tush…and I haven’t gotten laid in a while due to logistics with our schedules. That MUST happen within hours of his return or I am afraid that my clit, the bitch that she is, will atrophy and fall off. I don’t think my insurance covers that.