All the guys want to be me
All the Ladies want to be with me
They call me SuperBall
OK, perhaps that’s not quite true, but I’m moving closer to a sort of truth. Have you ever felt a secret grief or a hidden passion that you swear no one else has ever felt before? Your chances aren’t good. There’s someone before who has felt the same way or has dealt with it better than you could have. Don’t panic – you’re doing the best that you can, right?
I wish that I could give you an immediately uplifting story. I wish that I could skip the part about drinking fifths of vodka in a night, forgetting to make myself dinner, and joining free online dating services.
An epiphany is like an orgasm; you can’t just stamp your foot and demand that it come for you. I don’t have time; we’re all running low on time. I don’t have time to give in to fear. I don’t have time to argue. I don’t have the time.
Here’s a nice bit of story: it hasn’t even been 2 weeks since I’ve been half-neutered, but I managed to get a girl’s number at a movie theater. This was the first time that I managed to actually ask for someone’s number and receive it. Here’s how it happened.
I went to see Tron: Legacy, but I walked the few miles to the movie theater to get some exercise. The only bad part about that was I got there 10 minutes late, and they weren’t showing the movie since I was the only person seeing it. The good part was I got to talk to the cute girl who sold me the ticket, and she suggested that I kill time at a bar until the later showing.
I was the only person in the bar for the first hour, but people (all older gentlemen) trickled in for the sports games. Finally, two girls came in and they started talking specifics about football. I know next to nothing about football, so I finally screwed up the nerve to ask them what it all meant. I said that I was trying to write a detective story where football players all around the country are getting injured (this happens anyway), but then one of them is murdered. The PI on the case discovers that some of these other injuries were intentional and linked to a high stakes fantasy football league. I asked the girls for their numbers in case I had any more football questions, and they laughed at me. I don’t think it helped that I was very drunk at that point. It was time to go see Tron anyway, and now I have a detective story to write.
Back at the theater, the same girl who sold me the ticket kept making fun of me for being drunk. She said that I should get her patented hot dogs, so I did. She brought the hot dogs in to me while Tron was playing (the movie theater was empty except for another couple). In the dark, the hot dogs looked misshapen, but I figured they were just movie theater hot dogs. It turns out they were covered in peppers. Past that initial shock, they were actually quite good.
I couldn’t really follow Tron due to my drunkenness and not being able to stop thinking about the hot dog girl. As soon as the credits came on the screen, I vaulted out of my seat and complained about my movie experience to her. I said that the hot dogs were excellent, but the actual movie had too many special effects and plot twists. The only way I could feel good about that night is if she’d let me take her to dinner next week. The only problem is I was being stupid and trying to impress her; I said I’d memorize the number instead of copying it down… I forgot part of the number; I know 8 of the digits for sure, but the other 2 could be a 3 or a 5. I guess you could say that I got four possible numbers that night.
Her name is Becca, and she has very dark, mischievous eyes. She’s 20, and she’s turning 21 in about a month. It’s too bad that I’ll be dealing with the surgery then. Hopefully, there will be a dinner or two before then.
Hopeful? Yeah, I suppose I can find the time to be hopeful.
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