So, this past Sunday I woke up feeling like the 40-year-old virgin, complete with a full bladder and a woody to match. No surprise there, since I’ve been single for a couple of months now. Well, more like 3 or 4 months. But that’s beside the point.
I woke up surprisingly clear-headed, despite the libations from the night before. I was in Pennsylvania Saturday night & most of Sunday becoz it was the aforementioned Dishwasher’s birthday. We’d been to a bona fide Latino club Saturday night and I’ll tell you what, that spot was off the chain. As in we were the only blacks there & everyone spoke Spanish except the bartenders, of course. I was frontin’ like I was fluent in Spanish coz everyone in there wanted to talk, but it was easy to do so coz everyone in there was bent, as cheap as the alcohol was, so all I said was si to whatever they said and it was all good. What really drove us there was the mamis, naturally. Say what you will, but Latino girls are super sexy. They could be cussing me out, and half the time they are, but it’d still sound sexy.
Got up Sunday and later went to church. [Yes, church, I said. Don’t let my freestyle antics fool you; The Man Upstairs always comes first.] It was my first time there, tho this was my boy Danc’s regular church. They were having a special speaker with a special message that day and I’ll tell you what, I’ll never be the same after that – it was that powerful.
Came back to The Big VA Sunday night and 7am Monday found me stuck in the familiar & annoying DC traffic. Sick of the slow creep on i95, I resigned to the back-roads where traffic was moving, at least. Glancing at the rearview, I noticed a pretty young thing giggling at the sticker on my trunk. I was powerless to resist and decided to show off my kidogo-semi-pro driving skills to the PYT. Approaching a near-90-degree-angle left curve, I downshifted to 2nd and hit the curve doing 60MPH on 3rd gear. Heart racing, I then employed a newly-learned trick, the Scandinavian Flick, and hit the curve drifting sideways, Kumho tires squealing in protest, and for once perfectly executed it.
The PYT pulled up right next to me at the next light, rolled down her window and gestured for me to do the same. I did, and stared into the blue-est eyes I’d ever seen.
“Nice driving back there, cowboy,” she said. [Cowboy?]
“Th... thanks,” I managed to respond.
“See you around,” she said with a lopsided smile. And just like that, she was gone! I tried to but couldn’t catch up - she was driving a tricked-out electric-blue RX7!!
*Sigh* Now that’s a woman after my own heart right there. Needless to say, I’ve been using that same route all week long. I haven’t seen her again tho – damn!
Why can’t I ever find a girl that’s comfortable with me driving fast? It’s not like I’d jeopardize her safety; I’m way better when I’m driving with someone else than by myself anyway. Only one girl never once said anything about my driving, and I appreciate that. Shoot, she’s dozed off once late at night while I was hitting triple digits, switching lanes & sh*t. That’s wsup!
One thing I know tho is that this waking-up-with-a-woody thing is getting real old. Gotta do something about that, and soon.