Why does dating always seem to result in an unending chain of train wrecks? How the heck is a girl supposed to find Mr. Right Now, let alone Mr. Right, with all these maniacal, 'gina jacket wearing screwballs? I look around and see even the mean and fugly girls from high school managed to find decent guys. There is something to be said about the saying, "All the good ones are taken." That something to be said is: it's TRUE. If you are fortunate enough to have NO IDEA what I'm talking about, then hightail your happy ass elsewhere. This blog is a tragedy, comedy and romance dedicated to the gals who know what I'm talking about.
I met Jesus* (pronounced Gees-Us) at work. There was something about his long curly hair, and big blue eyes....he looked just like the many paintings I saw as a child at church. I immediately fell in love. He had a different attitude than the other guys. He was quiet, dutiful and wasn't caught up in fashion or superficial things (although he could pick out a good bottle of red wine.) He worked with his hands, you know, carpentry and automotive stuff.
But Jesus also had a slight edge to his image. A subtle roughness about him, he was not a pretty boy, and took pride in looking like he just woke up from the bench at the park. Instead of buying a huge-ass, lifted, bright orange hummer to show how small his penis was, he felt it was far more intimidating to have some leaves in his hair. It showed the world that he wasn't afraid to get a little dirty or worried about other vagrants molesting him. It really was a defense mechanism, since he was so tiny and didn't stand a chance in a brawl.
I found this James Dean edginess to be quite sexy, actually. It made me feel like a damn rockstar's girlfriend. You know what I mean. All these hot super models dating eccentric rockers. Just like Carmen Electra and the many others before me, now that girl was me. Hot woman dating cave man rocker. I could hear the comments from the peanut gallery, "Why is she with HIM?" "She is way out of his league."
Fast forward to our first date. Pretty typical bar scene. Vineyards, candle light, expensive wine, organic cheeses from all over the world. Jesus wined and dined me, and I was totally in love. Bottle by bottle, the rest of the details became a little fuzzy.....
I woke up at my apartment in my tiny twin sized bed, to the sound of pitter-pattering, and felt something warm. I then felt wet. I saw Jesus' face, asleep in bed with me, and both of us covered in his urine. I screamed, "Jesus!!! Have you pissed yourself in my bed?!!!!????"
He awoke and realized what he had just done. I could imagine his embarrassment.
Until he said it was customary in his culture for men to "mark" their territory. I slept on the couch the rest of the night.
Jesus left and I burned that mattress and bedding that morning. I would not allow my bedding or mattress to be objectified and seen as a piece of Jesus' property.
And as for me, I continued to date Jesus for two more years. No further pissing incidents were endured.
