|Blogs > guy_number12345 > File 69|
I'm free! Now what?
I'm free! Now what?
Yes, finally! Freedom!
Free from a five year relationship with a woman who went from charming, kind lover to human sponge.
Well, almost free. She still calls me from time to time; first to ask me to pay her storage bill for a month, next to ask if I still wanted any of the clothes I left behind when I moved out of our old place, next to ask if we were REALLY over...
I'm getting caller ID hooked up next month.
So anyway, Hank, a friend of mine, asked me yesterday when I was going to start looking for a new relationship.
"Meh," I said. "I'm good."
"Sure," said he, grinning like the cat that ate the canary. "That's why you told me last week that you were going to talk to that cute redhead who works at the bookstore, right?"
"So what happened with that?"
"She's got a boyfriend."
"Lucky in love, aren't we?" he laughed.
"Yeah, about as lucky as the guy who's dating a chick who lives in Germany; a woman who you see once every, what? Six months?" I asked, flashing my own sharklike grin.
"Well, at least I get laid once every six months, my friend. When's the last time you had any?"
As my grin dissolved, I counted the months since the last time I had felt like sleeping with the garden slug that had been my former lover.
"A year and a half," I concluded.
"Hah!," he snorted gleefully. "Who's the man now."
"The one of us that has a bank account, doesn't live with his parents and has money to buy DVD's without having to sponge off his friends."
"It's just until we both finish college and she gets a job here in the states," he said, frowning.
Happy that I'd at last wiped the smug little smile off his face, I got up to go.
"I'm taking off. Catch you later."
When I got home, I called up my other friend whom is better at giving advice.
"Hey you," she answered when she picked up the phone.
"Hey, Violet," I said, glad to hear a friendly voice. She's one of those people who's always happy, even when she's depressed, and somehow always manages to cheer me up when I'm down.
"What's up?" she asked.
"Well, besides Hank deciding that today's dickhead day and I'm his personal asshole, not much," I said, enjoying hearing her laugh on the other end.
"Well, that's a lie, really," I continued. "I need your advice."
"That's what I'm here for," she chirped happily.
I had to smile because she is always there for me. If she wasn't married, I would have liked to have had started something with her. It still crosses my mind occasionally because her marriage is, unlike her, less than happy. Her husband is a bad drunk, her daughter a whining five year old stuck in a twenty year old body, and her daughters' live in boyfriend, like my ex, would probably melt if someone accidentally spilled salt on him.
She listened quietly as I told her about what Hank and I had talked about.
"Well, hon', you have been a little down in the dumps for a while now. A good lay would do you a world of good," she said when I had finished.
"Yeah but, Violet, I'm thirty years old, I don't do the club scene, my only friends are you and Hank..."
"So put an ad in the personals," she suggested.
I shook my head.
"No, I can't do that either. With my luck, I'd end up finding Lizzie Bordens' great, great, great granddaughter."
"Well, whatever you decide, snooks. Listen, Mike's going to be home in a bit, so I've got to get dinner going. I wish you luck, whatever you do."
"Thanks, Vee," I said, and hung up the phone.
After I ate dinner, I logged onto the net. What could it hurt to put up a personal ad, I decided. Better than spending the rest of my life downloading Internet porn and whacking off to my rather sordid imagination.
I did a web search and found a couple of matchmaking sites that sounded promising. After putting up my profile, I browsed around the singles a bit, just kind of trolling for anyone that seemed to match my personality.