In keeping with the theme of a fast-forward relationship, I brought the new beau home to meet the folks last night. At his repeated request, mind you. I’m not going How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days here. Although now that I mention it, our love fern is starting to look a tad under the weather...
But, aside from all botanical woes...the meeting with the folks went surprisingly well. I am SO guarded that I have never actually let a guy meet the fam before, so this was a big step for me. But since the relationship is moving at such a galactic speed, I felt I had to bring him home to the folks so they’d know who I was divorcing three weeks from now. I have never let a guy meet my parents for three main reasons. One being that I was dating someone so... shall we say exotic in both appearence and mannerisms, that it was a mystery even to me while I was even associating with the guy. The other being that I was dating a guy so über cool that I didn’t want him to come around my bizarre family in fear that they might frighten him off before I had a chance to frighten him off myself. The third being that, and this is going to sound a touch messed up, I like to be able to get rid of people. Not in a shallow grave sense (necessarily), but I like to be able to just break up with a guy and never have to hear his silly little name mentioned in my presence ever again. Sounds reasonable enough, right?
But, when I became a man I put away chi.... hmm, wait a minute. Lets just say that I’m learning to outgrow my childish inhibitions.
So, back to my original story... the meeting with the parents did in fact go surprisingly well. I had pictured the scenario in my head, with my mother making weird statements such as pinching my love handles and congratulating him on being gracious enough to lower himself to dating such a beast. My dad growling and spitting in his face and not speaking to me for the next several weeks... it had all run through my head.
But instead... my mom stared at him wide eyed and smiling like I’d just dragged home an extra terrestrial. My dad then got up and smiled and shook his hand and said it was nice to meet him.
After I regained my consciousness and picked myself up off the floor, I hurried him out of there before one of us would say something to invite an actual conversation, which would surely spell doom and destruction for all those present.
In other news, I am being hunted by the bankers of Iceland. I think I must make at least ten times more than I think I do, because they sure do want to keep me around. Because of this, I now carry two gold cards with me, free of charge, with a 13 thousand dollar credit limit. God. Help. Us. Everyone.
With my mind on my money and my money on my mind,
Peace out, Gs.
Having been banished to the outer darkness of my own corner office in the middle of a lava rock field, I now find myself with time to update this website at long last. Oy vey how I know you have waited, my precious ones.
Now, where to begin…
Most noticeably, my love life has picked up considerably since I decided it was time to get deholified again. Life’s too short to be sweet, I’ve determined. From here on in, my life will be nothing but wanton debauchery all the way! Allez-allez!
After my initial brief brush with alcohol at the start of the month, I decided that it was high time I reintroduced myself to the local bar scene as the drunken babbling idiot it once knew me as. So the following Friday me and Sylvia got booted, suited and G-ed up from the feet up and headed out on the town. Despite some minor stabbings and such, the night turned out pretty good although in some unidentifiable drunken frenzy I gave out my phone number to some hapless turd that I was hoping would never have the courage to actually call once he’d sobered up.
As we know, when I hope for something, one can pretty safely bet money on the exact opposite happening. This was proven true once again when old boy didn’t waste a moment’s time in contacting me as soon as he woke up on Saturday “morning”. Still groggy from the night’s endeavors and perhaps feeling charitable, I agreed to have dinner with the mysterious caller, not really recalling the horror that had stood before me the night before.
I was met at the restaurant by what can only be described as… a geek. And that doesn’t even begin to describe it. National icon and folk hero Leoncie was sitting at the next table with her husband who was wearing a cowboy hat backwards, and this guy was making them look cool. But being the trouper that I am, I managed to breeze through dinner, maintaining casual conversation and smothering all and any attempts at inviting me to a movie before he could fully get them out. Also managing to mostly ignore the fact that he was shaking, rather noticeably, causing him to splash water all over the table whenever he picked up his glass. Ahem, well, chalk it up to experience I guess.
The next night, I was asked out to dinner to the very same restaurant by another guy. This guy was considerably better looking but the date was pretty much a bust as we had absolutely nothing to say to each other. Somewhat comically, I was told at the end of the night that because the guy was not looking to get attached, he didn’t want anything of substance but being of the gender he is, he was interested in pursuing a sexual relationship with me. Whatever happened to the good old days where guys would bullshit you senseless to get into your pants, huh? Whatever happened to that? What in the devil is this world coming to??
The following week I went and saw an Alice Cooper show in Reykjavik with some people from work, bringing along a guy I didn’t really know but had been talking to a little bit for awhile. I talked to him briefly while I was getting ready and told him where I was going, and since he was dying to go I invited him along with us. The show turned out to be awesome. I am just lame enough to be thrilled to have ye ole metal whore, Alice Cooper standing three feet in front of me and was totally star struck. Alice looked like he’d been dead for, oh, about 4 years or so but he’s got the kind of look where the older and uglier he gets, the cooler he looks.
Me and my “date” however pretty much hit it off and have been seeing each other since the show. A long and dreary dryspell hath ended finally. Who can resist the romantic spells of Alice Cooper bringing two souls together? T’was a match made in theatrical hell where a ballerina portrayed Paris Hilton and Alice Cooper was decapitated by two monsters. What could POSSIBLY go wrong? Stay tuned.
School’s out completely.
(2) comments
The weary traveller returns...
Ah, sweet alcohol how I must have subconsciously missed you. Being on the fast track to hell definitely has it's redeeming qualities. To my amazement, I didn't hear Satan cackling away in the distance either as I sipped on my firewater.
Yes, you got it guys and dolls, I am currently nursing a broken tailbone after my monumental fall off the wagon. Let me relay the tale...
I went away for this marvellous Merchant's Holiday weekend with Sylvia and her sprog. The weekend got off to a magical start as the baby only cried for five hours out of the six hour drive. We were going to join her family in their house "just outside Akureyri", and in Akureyri incidentally there was a big festival going on. So all in all, with her family standing by to watch the baby, we could have a pretty good time.
As it turns out, the only family present were mostly her grandfather and his siblings and we were actually a half hour's drive from the festival. We did drive into town and spend the afternoon there, but as there was no one to leave the baby with at night while we could go have fun we were stuck in baby jail. Which is fine for her, but I have nobly kept my legs closed as we know and have done nothing to deserve the sentence.
On Saturday night the cluster of summerhouses in the area had a barbeque, and fairly early on in the evening Sylvia starts to tell me how we need to get back to the house soon because the baby needed to go to bed.
And thus ended two years of sobriety.
The idea of being forced to turn in at a baby's bedtime was more than I could handle. So I went and bought some beer and got drunk with some old men there, which was the highlight of my trip. And actually there is a lot to be said for having a "few" beers and getting a "little" legless in the country with people with whom you would normally never hang out with and singing old Beatles songs. And I don't even mean that sarcastically, it was fun.
And more importantly, it was justified. Jesus himself would have dropped acid to alleviate the boredom I was going through that night, I'm fairly certain of it.
So a rather boring and uneventful weekend managed to spurr two life changing epiphanies which all in all isn't an entirely disappointing result.
One was that rules were meant to be broken, and even God himself would do a keg stand if pushed too far.
The second was that, barring insanity, I am not having children till I am at least 53 years old.
(4) comments
