Wanted: A Bow With a Scope

Wanted: A Bow With a Scope

So this past Wednesday was Valentines Day. Or as I call it, National Singles Awareness Day. Now I’ve taken some fair and some unfair shots at the holiday in the past and I think I’ve about exhausted most of the standard topics of “It’s such a Hallmark holiday’” “It sucks for people in relationships even more,” and “Exactly where is the line between admiration and stalking?” And so I am here to talk about something else. Something off the beaten path. I’m actually going to try to make a case IN FAVOR of Valentines Day, even though the line between admiration and stalking is always a good fallback.

So last year at this time, I was in a… well, some sort of a relationship. I didn’t know exactly what it was then and I still don’t now, but that’s a story for another day in a much more private setting (like a therapist’s office). So this year proved to be a much worse Valentine’s Day since I didn’t have even what I could quantify as an awkward relationship. I had none. Nothing. Squat. Bubka (sp?). But what I have this year that I have in common with last year is hope. Almighty, brilliant and suicide-postponing hope. And this hope manifested itself in the form of a cute redhead in my class who has absolutely no idea how old I am and will NOT until we get to know each other to the point that she’s pot committed. In the relationship that we’re already in inside my very unhealthy mind, this will occur in about 2 weeks. And I vowed to myself that I wasn’t going to hurt this girl ever. Which can be seen in the restraint I showed last week when the other girl in my class (I need to take more classes) eye-raped me in the bar and instead of taking her home, I simply stood there awkwardly and repeated the mantra in head “She’s scaring me… She’s scaring me… She might kill me…” until I convinced myself not to do anything. If you know me well enough, you realize that this pattern of behavior can also be attributed not only to my desire to be a nice guy, but also my ineptitude as a real man. But we’re moving on.

So anyway, this redhead and I have been exchanging extremely obvious looks since day one of class. And I just could not muster up the sac to do or say anything. Every time I tried, I was cursed with another mantra. “She’s only 19... She’s just a child… You’re too old for her... You’ll pull a muscle...” But I finally forced myself into the awkward tension much like those cartoon elephants force themselves into glasses of water at the carnival and I asked her to dinner. It was a smooth line too. “So I have a proposition for you. How about you come and watch me play volleyball and I’ll take you to dinner? OR how about I just take you to dinner?” It was even field-tested on my only other redheaded children’s librarian so I figured it had to work. However, the line wasn’t quite delivered like that. I don’t have transcripts of the tape, but I think it came out much more like “So I have a proposition for you [long awkward pause]… Hey, did you fucking see Lost last night?” OK, it wasn’t that bad, but it didn’t go quite like the way I rehearsed it. Either way, I was doing back flips over the fact that I asked her out. And yes, I wrote that correctly. I was doing back flips merely because I asked her out. That was an accomplishment enough for me. The fact that she said yes just added a reverse handspring into my routine. And I did pull that muscle. Damn mantra.

So I now have a date with a 19-year-old gorgeous redhead from my class who will inevitably read this someday (Hi Sara). And she is the most beautiful, kind, intriguing, intelligent and absolutely beautiful woman there ever could be who could really give me a back massage about now. Unfortunately for this piece, all this happened on the day directly after Valentines Day. Mother Nature thwarted my plans for the actual Valentines Day. Damn her, that thwarter of plans. Thankfully Father Time is on my side. Until I have to tell her how old I am in two weeks. Then I’m going to pretend I don’t even know the man.

Quote of the Day 2/16/07

Two weeks ago…

Ben: “Hey Dustin, in the off chance that you have somebody to buy flowers for this holiday, can you buy them from me? My fraternity is doing this fund-raising [blah, blah, blah].”

Me: “Well, I’m not seeing anybody now. Haven’t in about 9 months. But it is 2 weeks away and smaller miracles have been known to occur. But right now, the forecast doesn’t look too good.”

Ben: “Yeah, I know. That’s why I said ‘in the off-chance.’”

Hey Ben. I’ll take two flowers now. One for Sara and one to shove up your ass. And in the “off-chance” it doesn’t hurt enough, let’s leave the thorns on it.

“You’re not too old for her… You’re not too old for her…”

Dutty.

Still Standing Right Here…

Application To Be Dustin's Valentine

Application To Be Dustin's Valentine

Disclaimer: First of all, realize you are applying to be Dustin Fisher's valentine. Not his steady girlfriend, one night stand, jogging buddy or euchre partner. Secondly, as has been the recent pattern in his dating life, you may only apply if you have a steady boyfriend or are otherwise unattainable (lives 8 hours away, doesn't like men, exists only in his head, etc.). There is an exception noted on line #5. All others, please fill out the form as honestly as you feel he'd want you to.

1. Name _____________________________________

2. Gender (circle one) M / F
(Note: if you did not circle the "F", you're application will be forwarded to Russell Johnson of Columbia, MD)

3. Local address ________________________________________
(please include directions and leave the door open)

4. Phone number _________________________________________
(keep in mind, he knows that rejection hotline number in all area codes)

5. How often do you see a therapist (PTs do not count) on an average week?
A. 4 or more
B. 2 or 3
C. Once
D. None, but I should
(If none of the above apply to you AND you are currently single, your application will be forwarded to Bill Wilcox)

6. How do you know Dustin?
A. I work with him.
B. Through a friend
C. Through facebook
D. I don't know Dustin but a friend forwarded this to me and I'm desperate enough to try anything.

7. What is your ideal Valentines Day date?
A. A train ride up to New York to see Rent, skating in Central Park, dinner at the Four Seasons and a full body massage by the fire in a 5 star hotel.
B. Dinner at the Olive Garden, a couple drinks at a local martini bar, and out to a drive-in movie for a viewing of Hope Floats while snuggling with each other.
C. McDonalds for a few burgers and back to my place to watch reruns of King of the Hill with a box of wine.
D. Smack Ramen and Natty Light while checking out internet porn together.

8. What are you looking to get out of this Valentine's Date Application?
A. To spend an evening with a guy who I don't mind too much.
B. I want to get married soon because my eggs are rotting.
C. Honestly anything, I haven't been allowed out in 5 years.
D. I figure if I go out with Dustin, I have a better chance of hooking up with Bill.

9. What did you do last Valentines Day?
A. Had a romantic evening with my boyfriend/fiancee/husband.
B. Went out with the girls to protest the Hallmark holiday.
C. Hooked up with some guy I don't know because I'm very insecure.
D. Fell asleep on the couch watching Duck Tales.

10. Lastly, the thought of kissing Dustin makes you...
A. Tingle inside
B. Throw up
C. Need to pee
D. Pity others who have

Thank you for your interest in this position. All applications are due to Dustin Fisher by 11pm tonight. Work mandates that he stays until 11:30pm, so your date will begin around midnight. So if you turn into a gremlin if you eat past midnight, I'm sorry you wasted your time. Late or incomplete applications will be accepted as late as pretty much whenever you get it to him. All verbal contracts are binding, regardless of the actual words spoken. Dustin Fisher, Miami University, and hookaplayaup.com are not responsible for any bodily injury that may result of being Dusitn's Valentine. Normal restrictions apply. See store for details.

And Then There Were Three

And Then There Were Three

So there are a lot of people getting engaged right now. I don’t think I’m going to get any vacations this year, just a ride around a massive wedding carousel. Among the 6 that I already have on my plate are my sister and my best friend Joe from high school. Now, I’m pickled as punch about my sis and J-Me, but I need to talk about Joe’s impending doom for a sec, because it may affect more than just he and Becky.

See, the Four Horsemen (Kev, Mike, Joe and I) all kinda predicted the order in which we’d all get married after high school. And there was a very clear sequence in which this was supposed to happen. Kevin, Mike, me and then Joe. Kevin got married and that’s all I’ll say. The rest of us are still in the wading pool trying to figure out how to get to the deep end. Apparently Joe found a map. Or was given a map. Or got horse collared and drug to the deep end. I’m still not sure how it all went down. Anyway, this sacred event isn’t happening until next September thankfully. This means that Mike has to hurry up and get his ass through the intersection so I can squeeze my bumper over the crosswalk before the damn light changes. At least he’s got the head start of a girlfriend. I don’t know that I’ve been on what could be considered a date since maybe March. I don’t think people date in this town (please refer to my Brick Street rant if you want further clarification, that’s not what I’m here to talk about right now). So I’ve got some work to do. Look out world! I have a five dollar bet I made 27 years ago to force to come true…

Quote of the Day 2/13/06

“Do you want me to invite you to my wedding or do you just want to crash it?”
- The Future Mr. Becky Titlow

I kinda want to crash it to be honest. But I still want to have food and a place to sit. So I just won’t send my invitation back in. See Ferg, you’re not the only one.

Crashing and burning,

Big Fish.

Still Standing Right Here...

Excuse Me, My Boobs Are Down Here

Excuse Me, My Boobs Are Down Here

 

            So it has always pissed me off when girls get upset that guys look at their boobs. And for many reasons. First of all, of course it pisses me off when the classy ladies with the low-cut, bra-looking tops on ask you to stop staring at their boobs. I thought that was what you were going for. If I walked around with assless chaps on, you’d better believe I expect you to look at my ass. But here’s the thing. They do want guys to look at their boobs. Only, they want to be selective about who gets that privilege. Like they should be able to go up to guys and put a little hat on them and everybody with a hat on would be able to look at their boobs. Sorry, ladies. It doesn’t work that way. If you want one of us to look, we all get to look. That’s why there aren’t just good-looking guys at bars. We’re all out there among each other trying to do the same damn thing you’re doing. But you’re out there trying to compete with the other jackals for the gazelle, I understand, I really do. Just realize that we gazelles are also eyeing up the jackals trying to pick which one we want to devour us (and it’s about now, I realize I should have found a better analogy) and all of us gazelles are trying to figure out which jackal’s got the biggest… teeth (metaphor successfully saved). Anyway, point is that if you’re wearing clothes that show off your boobs, be prepared to have not only the cute guys that you want to stare at them stare at them, but all of us. You don’t get to pick. Do that for me and I promise I won’t ever wear assless chaps.

            Now I told you that story so I could tell you this one. There’s a brand new reason that I get pissed when girls get offended when we look at their boobs. And it lies in the phrase “Hello jerk off, my eyes are up here.” See, it’s pretty standard procedure to compliment a girl on how pretty her eyes are. But if you try to tell her what a nice rack she has, you’ve crossed some boundary. But really the eyes are just another body part, no more or less superficial than boobs. Why all of a sudden are we allowed to be selectively superficial? Is it because they say that the eyes are a window to the soul? Because if that’s the case, they also say that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. And if we’re using that adage as a benchmark, I need to start doing some crunches. I also don’t know that looking at a man’s stomach is any less intrusive than complimenting a girl on her boobs. So I guess in conclusion, my point is that I don’t think that the eyes are any less superficial than a girl’s boobs. And so if I see a girl with nice boobs, I will probably compliment her on them. Though I’ve always personally been more of an “ass man.” So I’m going to start complimenting women on their asses. Like “girl, you have an ass that just won’t quit.” This is another phrase from which I have no idea where it came (that sentence took me 15 minutes to write and I still don’t like it). An ass that won’t quit? Won’t quit what? Was it ever employed? Does it have a resume I could check out? And if so, you can spare me the list of references.

 

            I was out at Balcony Friday night and ran into this girl, who I will not disclose the identity of in the off chance she ever reads this (he doesn’t remember her name). Anyway, she was obviously drunk and way too excited to see me. I’m not all that elusive, trust me. So she was on her way out and when I saw her, this look of surprise took over her entire soul and she came up to me, stood in front of me and stared at me. It got way awkward pretty damn quick. She then said we should be best friends. I’ve talked to this girl twice before this encounter. By now, I was just trying to figure out how to get out of this situation.What was the right answer? So I agreed. And told her I needed a ride to the airport. She then stared at me again. The music stopped. Poeple stopped playing pool and stared right at us. A tall man sneezed. How long was this going to last. “What are you doing?” “I’m trying to see if you’re lying to me.” Crickets stopped chirping. Wind stopped blowing. Should I leave? Should I kiss her? Should I fake a cramp? Her friend came up and grabbed her “Come on, _______!” Oh thank God. I turned around to talk to the girl I had been playing pool with before this encounter. She had indeed left. In fact, she managed to have already gotten a tattoo that says “Dustins are ass holes” on her neck in whatever time had elapsed. I hope she doesn’t meet anymore Dustins. So anyway, I went back to Seth to regroup…

 

 

Quote of the Day 2/12/07

 

Seth:     “What the hell was that?”

Me:      “I have no fucking idea. She asked me to be her best friend and then stared at me to see if I was lying.”

Seth:     “I thought she was going to kiss you.”

Me:      “Me too. Shit, I probably could have taken her home.”

Seth:     “You probably wouldn’t have even needed to go that far.”

 

But I didn’t! Because I’m a gentleman. And her friend was much hotter.

 

 

                                    Meet the new me,

                                    D Rec.

 

 

Still Standing Right Here…

 

The Dichotomy of Dustin

The Dichotomy of Dustin

Hey gang. Well, I bet you’re all wondering what the reason is for this most recent month-long retreat. Well, it’s because I enrolled myself in a creative writing class. Sounds counter-intuitive, don’t it? Well, I started out writing much the same way that I used to. You know the type: bitter, holier-than-thou and complainatory. Well, I’ve been handcuffing myself in recent QOTD history because I’ve been afraid of being judged for the shit I write. And in this case, “being judged” can easily be translated into “won’t get laid.” Well I’ve decided to let go of these inhibitions. It’s time that you all realize that this shit I write isn’t necessarily me. It’s this voice I’ve created. It largely resembles a character that I used to be mixed with one that I thought I was with a dash of one I’d like to become someday with a little chemical assistance. It’s part arrogant frat boy, part snobby intellectual, part pathetic and withdrawn introvert and part amphibious death cricket. It’s like the platypus of journalism. And since I started this class, it’s underwent a lot of changes. We actually sat down in class and dissected the entire “I hate fuckin Brick Street…” diatribe for 20 minutes. I learned some interesting things about my writing. That’s where I finally realized that I had these two voices in my pieces competing. Like the whole piece was written from the perspective of a guy who thought that Brick Street was for such losers, completely beneath him. But he wouldn’t mind taking home one of the chicks himself (no comment).

And there we have come up with the Dichotomy of Dustin. The jock of the dorks, the dork of the jocks. He loves to play full contact football, he loves to get drunk and shoot pool, and he loves to play Settlers of Catan until sunrise. He loathes the guys that go to bars to pick up women and he wants to be the guys that pick up women at bars. He is trying desperately to grow up and trying desperately not to grow up at the same time. He is a walking contradiction, but at least he’s walking (this material may be outdated by the time you read it).

So anyway, I’ve decided to let it all go. I’m exploring this character of mine. And I don’t know where it’s going to go from here. If he gets to be too much for you, well then all apologies. Maybe you should go back to your Northern Exposure marathon on Lifetime. But I will give the greater majority what I believe they’d rather have, which is what a democracy would do. I believe it’s also what a communist or totalitarian party would do, but I think I’m getting in over my head a little now. I don’t know how a three-man junta would do. Anyway, back to work. And just in time for my favorite holiday. J

So here I was asking the Wach-Man about why he thinks I haven’t been writing for the last month or so…

Quote of the Day 2/10/07

“Because you’ve been happy?”

-Wach-Man

Sadly, he is one of many many people who recognize that I’m much funnier when I’m unhappy. And so I will choose unhappiness for my adoring masses, those rotten fuckers.

Back on track,

Darkman Dustin.

Still Standing Right Here…