Last night was one of those nights where you come to the next morning and just think, "Oh My God" and then find your camera smashed, again.  Missing credit card, hazy recollections of drunk texting, and the impossibility of your car starting until dusk.  So, here I sit with time on my hands and a great story of the latest thing to go awry in my lovelife.  I'm back, bitches.

A couple of weeks ago I started seeing this girl. She was a friend of a friend I met at the bar, and good looking though not my typical type (Blonde). We talked a lot the first night and found that we had a lot in common, so I got her number and we went out to dinner a few times. I could tell right off the bat that "we" had a very slim chance of working out because she doesn't share my affinity for racist jokes, nor being mistaken for a Mexican. She got even by providing me with the most awkward night in recent memory, starting with a trip to the gay club.

I can't really remember how she talked me into it, just that she kept telling me I "needed to be more open to new things," which I guess I figured was a card that could come in handy in the bedroom later down the road. She wanted to go because it was one of the only places in town with house music. Have I ever told you how much I love dancing to house music? No? There's a reason why. But, I certainly make an exception when my alternative is a barfull of guys who want to take their cocks spelunking at the base of my ass crevasse. Awkward, right?  Wait for it. 

This girl is very PC and proper, good posture and table manners.  One of the first things I noticed (besides that she smacks her lips when she eats) was that she never uses contractions.  Instead of saying "I'm" she would say, "I am."  No contractions any time, in normal conversation.  So after our wonderful night at the gay club I got her to come back to my place.  

We started watching a movie and making out, and this girl was really into it.  Like REALLY into it.  "Oh PERRY," she said into my ear, pulling at my clothes passionately.  Now, usually that kind of shit only happens when you're having sex, but I guess she learned how to make out from watching Cinemax or something.  A couple of minutes later she did it again.

"Oh Perry."

At this point I thought, 1) I'm going to fuck her, and 2) If she likes dirty talk?  I'll give her dirty talk.  And that, my friends, is when things got awkward.

I started kissing her neck over towards her ear and leaned in whispering that "I wanted to fuck her so hard" or something else absurd.  Next, it was almost like you could hear tires screeching as she froze, sat up, and said, "Oh, well we're NOT doing THAT."  This moment was even more awkward than at the club when a guy came up and asked if I was gay or straight and I answered, "Why?"  I don't mind girls not having sex with me (trust me, they've been doing it for years) but the fact that she got me to talk dirty and then totally Shanghai'd me pissed me off.  She topped it off with the question, still in our awkward pause, of, "How fast do you usually move with girls?"

Obviously, I quickly changed the subject.  The truth of the matter is, ladies, that guys will always move exactly as fast as you let them, or as slow as you make them.  So I tried taking off her shirt.  Not surprisingly, she would have none of that either, and told me to put my wandering hands away. 

I decided to go to sleep, and she snuggled me like I was her stuffed animal or something, chasing me around the bed as I'd try to squirm away.  The next morning I woke up, opened my eyes, and found her velcro'ed to my side looking at me smiling.  That was the exact moment I knew I wanted nothing more to do with her, and checked her hands for sharp objects.  Minutes later I had to literally push her out the door while she kept trying to stick her tongue down my throat. 

And so, the dating saga continues.