JD. That is my alias for the guy I went out with on Saturday. And what an interesting outing it was.
As promised, I told JD up front that my interest towards him does not extend beyond the platonic, but not before asking him what his intentions with me were. He mumbled something about only wanting a friendship. Right. I’ve seen less bullshit on the streets of Pamplona after some idiots ran through it wearing red.
But I played along. At least I was being honest.
JD brought along a cousin of his – Jason, proving that there are more Jasons in the English speaking world than there are sweaty men in Paris (now there are *two* meanings to that one).
We hung out for a while, walked around the mall, talked shit, the usual. When we bought our tickets and realised that we had an hour and a half to kill before the movie, we decided to take a five minute drive to JD’s aunt.
JD’s aunt probably had the roundest, largest, most voluptuous breasts on her street back when disco was considered music, but now that she was in the vicinity of her fifties, somewhere just over the hill, she has the kind of breasts that are constantly staring at the floor. In a few more years, gravity will wave its wand and one will not be able to tell where here tits end and her tummy begins. Perhaps gravity’s effects would not be so obvious if she wore some sort of harness, but no bra was in sight.
I found myself singing in my head:
“Do your boobs hang low?
Do they waggle to and fro?
Can you tie them in a knot?
Can you tie them in a bow?
Can you throw them over your shoulder?
Like a regimental soldier?
Doodley-doodley-dooodley-doodley
Do your boobs hang low?” – the Booby song
Apart from having two wet sacks of flour attached to her chest, I realised that JD’s aunt is extremely religious. In fact, after later meeting half of JD’s family, I’ve realised that his entire family is religious. Extremely religious. Uber-religious.
I should have known that I would document this later on, because then I would have counted the number of times I heard his Aunt say this:
“You have to pray.”
Perhaps it was in the vicinity of 50.
I would have also checked how many instances Jason would say, sometimes prompted, sometimes of his own volition:
“Well I prayed about it…”
Rough estimates put this count at 75.
For this reason, although the conversation was mainly about Jason’s future career as a military man, and his current girlfriend (whom everyone spoke about as if marriage was imminent but who has actually only known Jason for 4 months) I can still relay 85% of the conversation for you guys:
JD’s Aunt: “You have to pray.”
Jason: “Well, I prayed about it…”
JD’s Aunt: “You need to pray. Never stop praying.”
Jason: “Well, I prayed about it…”
I can go on forever and ever, amen, like they did. But I do not believe you guys can keep a smile plastered on your face like I did.
After that religious journey, we saw Sin City at cinema. Give me a moment here. It is only as I typed this that I noticed the irony.
Sin City tried its darnedest to be the weirdest action movie of all time. It succeeded remarkably.
Anyways, JD and I have hung out a lot since Saturday. A lot. He has met my mother. I met his, including half of his extended family. We’ve spoken on the phone, online, we’ve studied together. At the same time however, I can still say that I am not interested in him in “that way”. Why the constant contact though? Simple. Misery loves company; his girlfriend broke up with him just over a month ago and we exchange sob stories. It’s kinda sweet in a way.
But I still do not want anything more than I already have. Not that my mother would not mind my taking a bit more. Comments from her about JD have led me to believe that she would not mind him as a potential son-in-law.
I graciously choose to restrain from commenting about that.
It would be nice if she said the same things about Dutch. Dutch is my alias for another guy from my night school – the one with the HoTT body. There is nothing particularly Dutch about him though, unless you count his name. I like his name. That’s right people, I have finally gotten a name.
I got a bit more than that out of him, too. Apparently Dutch went to the same secondary school as Flez. When I heard this little tidbit, I broke out into song:
“It’s a small world after all.”
Dutch: “Boyfriend?”
Me: *shaking my head* “Ex.”
I asked Dutch what he thought of Flez, and Dutch shrugged and said that Flez was Flez.
Dutch: “He was kind of a nerd, though.”
Me: *smiling* “Well, nerds must hang together. But you’re a bit of a nerd too, you know.”
Dutch: “What? Me? A nerd?”
Me: “Yeah. But a good-looking nerd… who works out. You could pose for the nerd calendar. I can see you in a lab coat and speedos. You would be Mr. July.”
Dutch ran out of the classroom and started to laugh hysterically in the hallway. Ah. Good times.
I find myself attracted to Dutch though. He is the kind of guy I would normally stare at but never approach, not for the lack of balls (figuratively speaking, of course), but because there would be a score of other chix hunting down his balls and I was never in the habit of competing for my men.
I still try to speak to Danny, though I have noticed that beyond a few stolen glances, he never approaches me or is the first to say hello. I was wondering if that was due to shyness or if he was closing his eyes, counting to ten, and then looking back to make sure that I was gone.
Then I decided that it was because he does not yet know my name. After all the interrogations I have not even disclosed my name!
TO DO LIST
1. End world poverty.
2. Find a cure for AIDS
TO DO LIST (revised)
1. Tell Danny my name.
2. Wait for the new pope to die.