Just when I think I own the rights to the life ridiculous Swason comes along and one ups me.
This past Valentine's Day after receiving a 10 minute heads up from my long term booty call I was frantically shoveling three days worth of dirty laundry into my closets, hiding the boxes of take out Chinese leftovers and attempting to rid my body of all offending hair that had accumulated since returning from Florida in mid – January. While double fisting my Barbasol and Lady Gillette, “The Flight of the Bubble Bees” screamed through my cranium. However while I was the lead player in my very own version of Beat The Clock 
(booty edition) little did I know Swason was just a few miles away spending a way too sober evening at a fondue party going toe to toe with a drunken douchebag. Swason, the ever emphatic competitor, had been reduced to a frustrated party goer when she was forced into participating in what may have been the lamest party gaming experience ever. Meanwhile back in my apartment with the clock ticking down and still half covered in shaving cream I quickly realized that I would have to opt for dim lighting and creative slight of hand to redirect attention from my hot-messness. Now back to Swason – after a few apathetic rounds of the party game, “Challenge”, Swason’s nemesis announced, “It’s time for a push up contest!!!” What the what? What kind of grown man says this? But the odd thing is, nobody stopped him or even suggested that the living room of a one bedroom Astoria apartment during a fondue party may not be the best venue for such a competition. Over in Woodside with my head full of shampoo and ¼ of my left leg still fuzzy my phone rang….really? I didn’t even try to grab it, no time… NO TIME!! But it kept ringing…ughhhh so I slopped my way out of the bathroom and across the living room praying that I wouldn’t short out my phone as I pressed the speaker button and yelled “YES!?”. Faintly my Booty Call’s voice traveled up from my blackberry, “Hey I’m here”, I feigned enthusiasm, “Ok great, come on up”, he responded, “Ummm I can’t, I’m in the taxi and I Umm…I don’t have my wallet”. WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE? Swason’s got a guy challenging a group of melted cheese laden drunkards to a pushup contest and I got my Booty Call phoning me from the street begging me to bail him out of a $26 cab ride. Now as if this could not get any better (better may not be the correct word choice) as Swason’s iron man prepped for his first set he announced, “Ok are we gonna do this thing, or what?! Cause if we are gonna do this, let’s do it the RIGHT WAY!!!” and as he finished his battle cry he kicked off his shoes and removed his PANTS. Yes, now Swason was attending a fondue party in Queens with a man competing against an imaginary foe in a pushup contest while only wearing boxer briefs.
Flash-forward to 1am, I was biding adieu to my paramour and 17 more dollars so he could get his
sorry broke ass home (did I just pay for a male prostitute?) while Swason was held hostage in her hosts’ kitchen because the duchebag had positioned himself directly between Swason and the apartment door while engaged in a full on knock down screaming match with the hostess. But Swason, forever pragmatic, helpful, and a preeminent avoider of conflict turned her focus on a sink full of dirty dishes and for the next hour washed every last dish.
And that is how 2 single thirty somethings spent St. Valentine's Day 2010 under the bright lights of the big city.
The two dates last week were less than perfect. Number 1 was a ‘handsy’ narcoleptic and number 2 was a fidgety 41 year old Vet Tech who thought it was perfectly fine to sit at the table downing his pint while I excused myself to buy my OWN drink.
Me: “Ummmm I guess I will just go to the bar and get a drink?”
#2: “Yeah sure” points towards the bar
After filling my Monday and Tuesday nights with these exhausting interactions I was ready for a respite from the daily grind of hunting and pecking through cyberspace for a suitable beau. For the remainder of the week I focused on other more pressing things, like installing my air conditioners ON MY OWN and drinking copious amounts of cheap wine on Swason’s roof top. That roof top thing is becoming a habit but I don’t think Swason minds, I mean I did splurge for the $13 bottle of Screw Kappa Napa.
My week was also plagued by immense personal upheaval that unfortunately readers I cannot share with you. However please know that things are on the mend and my outlook is that it can only get better from here. Either that or I'll start heavily self medicating.
This week has kicked last week’s ass! It has been fantastic and it’s only getting better. I started off with a super fantastic dinner at Cookshop with my ol’ High School buddy Weezer (shout out to Face Book for the re-friending hook up) where we dined on succulent seafood topped off by the most decadent of deserts, The Cookshop 
Candy Bar – wholly cow - frozen chocolate cake with like a peanut butter ganache, dipped in dark chocolate, sprinkled with sea salt and stuck on sticks – yeah that was good. From there we sped off to Madison Square Garden where we bopped the night away to Depeche Mode. These 50- somethings were kicking it HARD – damn they sounded terrific. So good in fact that Weezer and I both vowed to actually learn their names instead of referring to them as lead singer, blondie, and that other guy. The next night I continued my week of joy by meeting up with one of my old Pink Ladies from Hunter and trying out the NEW beer garden in Astoria. Great night once again, full of Sangria (yes at the Beer Garden) 
wurst (infused with cheese), lots of laughs and a some venting over the state of the Department of Education and the entire metro area school system – nice to have somebody who understands (i.e. agrees with me). To continue on my track of good humor, this evening my officemates, Bookie 2 (in the future I will refer to her as just Bookie) and T-bone and I are popping down to NoHo to take in some theater, Puppetry of the Penis. For those who are uneducated in such artistic ventures – Puppetry of the Penis requires its troupe of naked Ausie to manipulate their flaccid members into interesting shapes; I hear the “Mickey Mouse” is a crowd pleaser. Ohh I wonder if there will be audience participation?
Now back to the online dating update – I’m back in. I’m searching and responding, poking and winking, and yet…..this is what I get:
i'm looking for someone that can relate to the late 80's and early 90's, girls you gotta love the hi hair and spandex, please be fun, gotta like tattoo's. in free time love to go art museums, tattos conventions, hunting and fishing when ever I get a shot, and hanging down at killy rock. got any guestion just ask, dont be shy. so lets have some fun....
(booty edition) little did I know Swason was just a few miles away spending a way too sober evening at a fondue party going toe to toe with a drunken douchebag. Swason, the ever emphatic competitor, had been reduced to a frustrated party goer when she was forced into participating in what may have been the lamest party gaming experience ever. Meanwhile back in my apartment with the clock ticking down and still half covered in shaving cream I quickly realized that I would have to opt for dim lighting and creative slight of hand to redirect attention from my hot-messness. Now back to Swason – after a few apathetic rounds of the party game, “Challenge”, Swason’s nemesis announced, “It’s time for a push up contest!!!” What the what? What kind of grown man says this? But the odd thing is, nobody stopped him or even suggested that the living room of a one bedroom Astoria apartment during a fondue party may not be the best venue for such a competition. Over in Woodside with my head full of shampoo and ¼ of my left leg still fuzzy my phone rang….really? I didn’t even try to grab it, no time… NO TIME!! But it kept ringing…ughhhh so I slopped my way out of the bathroom and across the living room praying that I wouldn’t short out my phone as I pressed the speaker button and yelled “YES!?”. Faintly my Booty Call’s voice traveled up from my blackberry, “Hey I’m here”, I feigned enthusiasm, “Ok great, come on up”, he responded, “Ummm I can’t, I’m in the taxi and I Umm…I don’t have my wallet”. WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE? Swason’s got a guy challenging a group of melted cheese laden drunkards to a pushup contest and I got my Booty Call phoning me from the street begging me to bail him out of a $26 cab ride. Now as if this could not get any better (better may not be the correct word choice) as Swason’s iron man prepped for his first set he announced, “Ok are we gonna do this thing, or what?! Cause if we are gonna do this, let’s do it the RIGHT WAY!!!” and as he finished his battle cry he kicked off his shoes and removed his PANTS. Yes, now Swason was attending a fondue party in Queens with a man competing against an imaginary foe in a pushup contest while only wearing boxer briefs.
sorry broke ass home (did I just pay for a male prostitute?) while Swason was held hostage in her hosts’ kitchen because the duchebag had positioned himself directly between Swason and the apartment door while engaged in a full on knock down screaming match with the hostess. But Swason, forever pragmatic, helpful, and a preeminent avoider of conflict turned her focus on a sink full of dirty dishes and for the next hour washed every last dish.
