My other car is an Innuendo

The special little stoner friend I made in Dupont Circle a few weeks ago called me at work today. At the time, giving him my business card seemed like an easy way to get him to leave me alone without giving him my phone number. Wrong. I also hoped that he was bombed out of his mind and would lose a tiny piece of paper before he realized that “phone” wasn’t that funny of a word after all. Wrong again. He invited me to a concert tomorrow at a bar that I actually like. Okay, that’s not so strange. He also mentioned that there would be a poetry reading before it. A little too metro for my tastes and marginally odd considering the audience this particular bar generally attracts (i.e. people like me), but not totally off the beaten path. Then his drug induced haze yielded this gem:

“We’re getting together to make candles before the show, if you want to come.”

Is there something about candles that I don’t know, or is this the next modern hippie kid craze like knitting was a few years ago?

Aside from this week’s “News of the Weird” special, I also had a date the other night. With a rocket scientist. And I’m not even being sarcastic. Drastically different than I expected, The Scientist is actually funny, smart, sarcastic, and a complete perv—all my favorite attributes. Not surprisingly, I got completed wasted while we were out, and proceeded to persuade him to take me home. Okay, there wasn’t a lot of persuasion. Overall, he made a good first impression on me, and I plan to work him into the rotation. However, there was this little moment while we were discussing why America should at least identify with Bill Clinton:

Me: “C’mon, everyone loves a hummer.”
The Scientist: “Oh, I drive a Prius.”
*awkward pause*

Maybe my humor is a little beyond him. Never fear though, he more than made up for it later in the evening.

When I think about you...

As predicted, Boy Blue has triumphantly emerged and reclaimed his position in the pipeline. He came armed with a bottle of wine and a plethora of much appreciated compliments. More importantly, he came about half as much as I did. Boy Blue never ceases to impress me. Though he may be young and fundamentally innocent, he remains everything a good lover should be: skilled and eager, desperately attractive, distant enough to have the appeal of a stranger, close enough to seem like a friend. And he never, ever says the wrong thing.

I also slept with my fifth (and final?) Mike this past weekend. I wish I could say the sex was amazing; or even better that it was terrible. Unfortunately I can't say either way. Some boys are meant to keep. Some boys are meant to be used. Some are meant to use you. Some are meant to forget. Some are simply meant to be missed.