Just because a girl is friendly with you (like if you approach the table where she’s selling melted plastic creations), doesn’t mean she’s wants to make out with you. I’m sorry you’ve been forced to be celibate for six of your eight years of marriage because of your wife’s injury, and I can see why you’d want to end this streak. But you have a specific need that talking to random girls at gallery openings is very unlikely to fulfill, especially since you’ve been off the casual dating market for a while. Portland is a friendly city; if you initiate conversation with someone, they’re more than likely going to talk to you. But you can’t jump from “hi” to “you look nice” to “I haven’t had sex in six years.” Also, kissing a girl’s hand when introduced isn’t charming…it’s archaic and creepy. Most 20-somethings aren’t in a place in life where they want to be a married man’s surrogate vagina.You should post or respond to a personal ad on craigslist or the in the Mercury. Surely there’s a woman in the Portland-metro area in the same situation, looking for someone to get it on with because her husband can’t.
During a scuffle over the hockey puck in gym class, one my classmates high sticked right into my chin. I clutched my face and screamed before I started crying. My teacher calmly told everyone to sit on attendance order and then walked me up to the nurse. She gave me a bag of ice while they called my mom. I thought I’d just gotten a fat lip, but then I looked in the mirror and saw the quarter of an inch dent right beneath my lower lip. When I went back to school with seven stitches in my face the next day, I reminded my friends that I was more like a real hockey player than they could ever dream of being.
Now, the west coast and Texas visitors are gone and my 2.5 week long fake vacation is over. Back to work! And I’m making up for not posting anything for almost a week with multiple entries in a day. Also, I’ve decided it’s time to start doing things like sewing dresses in a night again.
The day after I got my driver’s license, I got reached another formative moment of my teenage years: getting blatantly hit on my a sleezy older dude. I drove my dad’s GTI to the little locksmith shop in the parking lot of the Fred Meyer in Gresham to make copies of the car keys. As I was parking, a guy in a large pick up pulled around back, and excitedly waved at me, and looked like he was saying, “Hey! Hi!” from behind his wheel. I half-waved, and shot him a look of confusion. Then I saw him walk into the back of the locksmith shop and thought, “Oh great.”
When I walked around to the front door, he ran over to open it for me. I looked at him and asked if they were closing, and he said no, and walked next to me for the ten feet to the counter. He was at least ten years older than me. His shirt was wider than it was long, he had facial stubble, and used some kind of hair gel. I stood up at the counter, waiting for this guy’s buddy to get off the phone and make my keys. The guy tapped his hands on the counter and nodded his head, and said, “So uh, gettin’ keys made?”
From watching TV and movies and reading books, I had been expecting a way better pick up or attempt at conversation. I was so taken aback by his lack of creativity that I couldn’t think of anything to say except, “Yeah. Just got my license yesterday.”
“So you must be about 16 then?” he said.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Well, let me tell you. You look a whole lot older than 16.”
“GET OFF THE PHONE LOCKSMITH GUY,” I yelled in my head.
When he got off the phone, the locksmith guy asked what kind of cars I needed keys for. I said “Volkswagon and Toyota,” and the guy said, “Yeah, she’s got a Volkswagon,” as if he was my translator. As my keys were cut, locksmith guy asked his buddy if he was still dating some girl. And the guy said, “Nope, I’m not dating anyone. I’m completely single.”
The girl who was behind the counter shook her head and laughed and said, “You guys are stupid.” Then she looked at me, pointing to the guy and said, “He came walking in saying ‘major hottie just pulled up in back.'” I said nothing, and just ran away with my new keys.
Baby bird: What you say to a person when you want to try a bite of what they’re eating. I wasn’t hungry enough for a full piece of pizza, so I just looked at Bailey and said “Baby bird, baby bird” until she let me steal a bite.