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Sunday, November 27, 2011

When it rains it pourters

I hadn't been on a date in almost a year and suddenly I had three lined up.  With three different guys.  Who all happened to be named Porter.  I had to give them identifiers in my phone so I could tell them apart.  It was partly fun and partly a pain in the ass.  Sometimes I couldn't remember which one I had talked to about certain things.  I felt a little bit like Phoebe when she was dating two guys and said it wasn't like playing the field it was like working in the field.

     Porter number one was called "Porter (tasting room)" because I met him in the tasting room at work.  (Not sure if I'm allowed to go out with a guy I meet while working, but oh well.  Too late to find out now.)  He had hypnotic eyes and a gorgeous smile and was very nice to me, but he was barely taller than me and a lot skinnier than me.  I gave him a chance anyway, considering he was the most normal guy I had encountered in a long time.
      He made me wait till the third date to have sex.  I like to call that strike one.  I used to think that it was a good idea to make the guy wait if you actually like him and want to see him again.  Now, having been on the other side of it, I see that it's a very stupid idea.  All it did was make me want those first two dates to happen real quick so I could get to the sex date.  It didn't make me like or respect him more, it just made me want the sex more.  So, either I've seen things from a guy's perspective or I'm an impatient slut.  Maybe a little bit of both, but that's neither here nor there.
     We finally did the deed and during one session, when I was on top of him, he looked at me and said, "Your face looks...weird."  Uhhhhhh.  I was actually speechless for a second.  When I found words, I said, "I can't believe you just said that!  Why would you say that to me?"  He tried to backtrack, "No, that's not what I meant!  You just, you look like you're in pain."  Not helping!  Basically he told me my sex face sucks.  Wonderful.  Needless to say, I called that strike two.
     I decided to forgive him.  We all say stupid shit sometimes, right?  Well, we did the deed another time and I started feeling sick after.  (I had some pretty bad gas from dinner.  I'm very sexy, don't be jealous.)  I told him I wasn't feeling well and I was going to go home.  He said he didn't want me to leave, what if I had to throw up on the way home or something.  I said I didn't want him to hear me being sick, so he turned on the light and the ceiling fan in the bathroom and said, "Just don't be loud."  Thanks, dick.  I said, "Um, that's not the kind of sick I'm going to be."  And he said something along the lines of light a match.  I don't really remember because the anger in my head was louder than his suddenly irritating voice.  I call that one big fat strike three.

     Porter number two was called "Porter (Table for Six)" because I met him at a Table for Six* dinner.  He had a good sense of humor and generally didn't seem like a weirdo.  We went to dinner and were able to carry on a conversation easily, which was nice, but it was perfectly ordinary.  And I want extraordinary.  Plus, I learned that he doesn't mind people being gay but he doesn't "condone it".  I said, "It's not something you condone, it's just something that is."  He didn't seem to grasp that concept and that was basically strike one and two for me.**  After the date he texted me: I have to say, your really hot.  I hope to see you again when you get back in town.  SMILE.  This text was strike three for the following reasons: 
     1) He didn't tell me he had a good time or he enjoyed my company, he told me I was hot.  Good to know you're all about looks, beefcake.
     2) He used the wrong "your".  Don't even get me started on that.
     3) I don't know if he was commanding me to smile with the use of all caps or if he does that instead of using an emoticon, but it bugged me.  Which means I didn't like him.  I would've justified the shit out of all those things if I liked him in the slightest.

     Porter number three was called "Porter (airplane)" because I met him through a girl I met on an airplane.  (It pays to talk to your neighbor.)  We texted back and forth for a couple weeks before we finally got together for dinner.  And then drinks.  And then sex.  Isn't that how it's supposed to go? 
     This guy was a former football player, he was tall and big.  With a below average weiner.  And below average use of said weiner.  Don't get me wrong, I have had my share of below average weiners and it hasn't always equaled bad sex.  Unfortunately, this time, it did.  It was too bad, he was really funny and I probably would've texted him and said something like, "So, we put out on the first date, we're equally slutty, shall we just move past it and go on a second date?"  But I couldn't get past the bad sex (strike one, two and three).  He didn't make a strong attempt to go out with me again, either, so it was probably bad for him, too.  No, that couldn't have been it.  I'm fabulous.

A few weeks after it was over with all of them, I got a text from Porter number one and Porter number three in the same day.  I was like, my goodness, when it rains it pours!  Or, in this case, pourters.  Damn, I'm funny.  At least I crack myself up.



*I like to call them Table for Sucks.  This is not based on the date I discussed above, but on the way they run their company and the way they falsely sell their service.  I would NOT recommend that anyone join.

**I don't require that everyone agree with me on gay rights (which should really just be called rights), but I get to choose who I date.  And I choose to date someone who believes in human, civil, and equal rights.

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