Tuesday, October 16, 2007

Dating, mating and Whiskey part 2: Small is such a dirty word...

When I was 20 I had my first (and only) blind date ever.

It was an odd sort of date, the kind most (smart) people would have avoided like the plague, but being that I am immune to most diseases (also known as borderline retarded) I mightily forged on.


The year was 1992-ish. I was deep into my love of Skinny Puppy, The Young Gods, Coil and coincidentally, This Mortal Coil.
Yes, I know, you don't have to say it. I wore a lot of black and my hair was short and edgy. I wore tights with jean shorts and boots. I thought matte lipstick was cool.
I am aware of how completely dated this is. Get over it already.

I have discussed the circumstances of this date before, but to those of you new to my trail of tears, it went something like this:

I was at First Avenue (which you may or may not remember from the smash hit movie "Purple Rain") with my convenient "of the moment" bestest girlfriend, Kristi (I haven't bothered to change her name because the bitch stole my clothes. Eat it, Kristi, wherever the fuck you are now you southern redneck cashmere-cardigan stealer.)
We were dancing, in between taking turns to the ladies room with the flask of vodka. We were young and poor- go figure.

All night we were dancing by this group of three guys, one was tall, skinny and cute in a heroin-junkie sort of way, one was reeeeaaaalllly sadly Renaissance-y, and the other we didn't get a good look at, but he was tall, dark and vaguely cute, in a "I dye my hair myself and buy jeans I can't afford" sort of way. We flirted, we danced, we slurped from the flask. All was good.

1:30 came around (bar close at the time- LAME!), and we were winding down the booty-shakin. The lights came up, and the bouncers started looking for reasons to have something to talk about in that week's anger management group discussion.
We started making our way out, when all of a sudden this very tall, dark and apparently very quick stranger pushed something into my palm and swooshed away (my memory has him wearing a cape, but I may be mistaken) before I could even get a good look at him. Whatever it was I thought it would be best to stuff it in my bra, for safe keeping. Good thing it wasn't a stink bomb. Or razors.

Later that evening/morning I was getting ready for my 3.5 hours of sleep before I had to go to one of my two gross retail jobs (Hello! Can I help you? Can I listen to you talk about how your bunions make it hard to buy shoes? Can I help you find that perfect hunting-themed sweater for Father's Day? Can I? Can I????). I pulled off my bra and whoops! What's that? Oh yeah, what the hell did that guy give me? Can you catch the Herpes from a note stuffed in your tit sling? God,I hope not.
I picked it up, and there was a matchbook. A matchbook. I almost threw it away, but I decided to look inside, as I was unfamiliar with 70's Cruise ship mating customs but knew enough to take a peek.

Inside was a little note:
"Just moved back to town. No phone yet (pre-cell phone, if you can remember all the way back to the 1800's) but would like to meet. Coffee? Drop me a note.
My info: Gustav VonSmalls, 1234 Uptown place, Uptown Mpls, 50001.

I so desperately wanted to run there and do the "I'm reckless and want my life to be like a made-for-t.v. movie thing" that second, but I was drunk, and my boyfriend sleeping in the other room may have, maybe might have noticed. Oops. How unladylike of me.

So I waited three discretionary days, then I dropped him a note.
Then he sent one back. With a phone number.
Shit.

Long, bad breakup story later (wait for installment #3, my impatient little peepers), me and Gustav were fused at the nether regions. Or, as I like to call it- newly dating.

But there was an issue. A big/small issue.

An issue I was aware of, but honestly didn't really give a shit about until the subject was broached on that fateful day.

"Are you sure it isn't a problem?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know- how small it is."

"Oh, I didn't even notice." (this is a blatant lie)

"Really? Don't you think it's too small?"

"No! It's fine! Really!" (Um, yes, but I'm willing to overlook it for that thing you do with...you know.)

"Are you sure? My last girlfriend had a problem with it." (I remember this conversation exactly as this is the FIRST time I will hear the phrase "my last girlfriend" where it won't make me want to vomit)

"Totally sure. Everything is great." (Not a total lie yet, but it will be.)

(he smiles) "That's good. That makes me happy."

(I smile) "Great!" (not the least bit forced)


Cut to 9 months later (no, not THAT sort of nine months you freaks. Do you honestly think I'm qualified to give birth? Hello?). I think things are great- me and Gustav are an "item", I know all of his friends really well, I hang out at their apartment all the time, I cook for them, I loaned them furniture, and I don't even mind that really slutty girl that seems to be "working" her way through the group- I know my Gustav is just being nice to a wayward soul...right?

I had my suspicions. I wasn't that dumb, or stupid, or not smart.
I knew a slutty girl when I was/saw one, dammit. And I had every right to ask the questions I did.

"That Alison girl-(again, why change the name when they were a total whore?) is there anything going on there with you two?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you seem to be spending a lot of time with her and not me. She just seems sneaky and diseased to me, if you want to know the truth. Are you two involved?"

"She's a nice person and we're friends- that's all!"

"O.k. fine. Whatever."


So I did what any rational, sane girl would do. I drove by his place approximately 45 times that night he was "hanging out" with his "friend" Alison. I may or may not have parked my car and tried to peek in the windows. I may or may not have seen absolutely nothing. Zip. No one may or may not have been at home.

The next day I decided to prove what a good girlfriend I was and bring my boy some coffee and a muffin (raspberry caramel, not the dirty kind you evil monkeys).
I pushed the buzzer for the apartment.
His roommate, C, answered.

"Hey, is Gustav home? It's Whiskey."

"Hey Whiskey, I don't know if he's home or not, you can come in and check." (seriously. The apartment was ginormous and really spread out. They sometimes didn't see each other for weeks.)

"Great!"

I was buzzed in, went into the apartment, then proceeded to Gustav's bedroom- way in the back.

When I opened the door, there it was: Gustav enjoying what (I assume) was a post-coital cigarette NAKED with the slut, Alison. (Mind you, I enjoyed a lengthy bout of promiscuity in my early 20's that was nearly legendary. If I say slut, I mean it.)

"WHAT THE FUCK???????"

"Um, Whiskey!" (This was muffled as I had slammed the door and was stomping down the hall- shaking and plotting two separate, but grisly, deaths.)

Yeah. He cheated on me. Asshole.

I wouldn't have been nearly as pissed, but I had asked him point blank the day before if something was going on. THE FREAKING DAY BEFORE.

He was weak.

I guess a two-inch penis, third nipple, and really really odd lump on your back might do that to a guy. (no, sadly I am not exaggerating or fabricating here. Honest. Girl Scout's honor. I wouldn't lie about something so...so.)

Don't EVER tell me I wasn't a good girlfriend- that's all I'm sayin'...






Dear Gustav:
Hope you found a really understanding woman.
Really.
I do.
You need it.

Love,
WM

23 comments:

EmBee said...

Fast forward to Gustav's life... Gustav never married due to his fear of commitment... He has a low paying sales job that keeps him on the road. He drinks a LOT as a way to forget about his empty life and bad comb-over... And last night he picked up a sleazy woman at the motel Denny's who turned out to be a tranny... And now the only thought on his mind is, the tranny's shlong was at least 5 inches longer than his own.

3carnations said...

Well, I'm just glad that he and his roommate didn't have the sense to work out some sort of guy code thing where the roommate wouldn't SEND YOU IN THE ROOM TO CATCH THEM. Sorry you went through that, but all things for a reason, eh?

Butrfly Garden said...

I dated a little peckered guy too. Mine was also an alcoholic "actor" (I prefer the word "extra"). He also cheated on me.

I think probably 70% of cheaters do what they do out of insecurity. Be it insecurity of your relationship or your tiny penis. (The other 30% just doesn't care, I guess, idk what their MO is.)

But seriously, I can so handle being dumped. But cheated on? With a slut???? That's just a whole world of disrespect and insults and for THAT he deserved to get his ass kicked - they all do.

HONEST TO GOD, my word verification starts with OPP. HAHAHA.

McGone said...

At least you don't hold a grudge.

Don't you wish people's name's really did reflect who they were, like this fake name you gave Gustav VonSmalls? That way you know what you are getting into. He reminds me of my ex-girlfriend Rebecca de Sleepswithmybestfriend.

-R- said...

Good times!

I hope you took the muffins back home with you.

beret said...

I was 20 in 1992-ish and your life sounds so much like mine was. Down to the tights under jean shorts and matte lipstick. I wish you'd post his real name because he sounds eerily similar to someone I dated back then.

Whiskeymarie said...

MMM- Sadly, he is in the same field as me, and I actually ran into him when I was doing a "trial run" at a potential job. Needless to say, the job didn't work out.

3carn- I don't think his roommates knew what was going on as Alison was "technically" dating one of Gustav's closest friends.

butrfly- I think you hit the nail on the head there, my dear.
Oh. Did that sound dirty? Sorry.

McGone- I take my grudges, wrap them up in pretty paper, tie a nice bow on them and stuff them deep in my pockets for future use.

r- No, sadly I threw them at him. They were Sebastian Joe's muffins too- my favorite.

beret- Do the initials M.W. mean anything to you?

slinger said...

Wow, that sucks that you didn't get to enjoy the muffins. And yeah, being cheated on sucks too, especially when you witness it firsthand!

T said...

What a doofus. Great narrative. Sounds like he needed to show it to everyone to soothe his size insecurities.

Lollie said...

poor Wee Willie Winky...his feeling of inadequacy must have sent him over the edge... To whoredom.

I'm going to guess that he has continued to live there. Him. And his tiny penis.

Domestically Disabled Girl said...

hmmm...i had a short-dick man as well. i divorced him. go figure.

Stacey said...

Forget small pricked Gustav and lets talk about Skinny Puppy. (and of course it sucked that he cheated but he had a small dick anyway so he wouldn't have been satifsying for very long- besides he wasn't good enough for you WM)

Ahem Skinny Puppy. Have seen them play live,LOVE them, LOVE them, LOVE them. Can't believe someone else actually mentioned them years later...

Ghost Dansing said...

i liked the picture and the selection of industrial and dream pop music. when i was researching industrial i found this.

and i found another this mortal coil.... sorry about your boy friend

Suze said...

Damn, I think the small ones should have to wear a sign. Or get a small tattoo somewhere to warn a girl. I'm going to write my congressman to see if we can make this happen.

metalia said...

That? Is INSANE. I feel, however, that you (being gorgeous, talented, and in a great relationship) got the last laugh.Suck it, Gustave!

Fran said...

What a great fucking story. Wow. Brilliant.

Sorry it was true, but you make art out of it.

I was roaring with laughter while feeling your pain. That's good writing.

Thanks WM.

Katrin said...

O shit! What a terrible story, but right now, all that is stuck in my head are those muffins... Mmmm!

Anonymous said...

Wow. I have a tiny penis. I didn't even realize dating was an option. When ever a girl starts trying to get close to me, I push her away out of fear of total humiliation. How truly sad is my life? But it makes me even sadder that the instance someone like me wrongs someone, my entire existence would become invalidated. I never would have cheated on you, but trust me, you can't even imagine the pain it causes us on a daily basis. It's hell. Not just because of the humiliation, but because we are like the whipping boys of society. We know deep down inside that no one will ever love us, and every where we go, we're only two seconds away from a small penis joke. I wonder what society wants from me. You make fun of a fat guy, you're telling him to get healthy. But how can I see a slight against someone like me as being anything less than...I don't know. What should I do, just kill myself? Is that what all these jokes are ultimately asking me to do?

Anyway, that's what its like. Whatever pain he caused you happened, because for one tiny moment, he forgot his place in the scheme of things.

Whiskeymarie said...

Anon-
Sorry. Sometimes in my glib snarkiness I forget that people may not see the story behind the jokes.

I loved this guy so very very much, small package and all. Believe it or not, there really are women out there that don't base the whole sexual package/whole intimacy package on "size". I was hoping to move in together and was even beginning to think "long term" (marriage) with he and I. If he would have asked and gotten his shit together back then, I'd probably be Mrs. Gustav right now. The size of his penis was never an issue whatsoever for me while we were together.
He jerked me around, lied to me and basically was selfish and insecure, despite my repeated assurances that I WANTED to be with him and no one else. He turned out to be kind of a user and utterly dependent yet completely cold at the same time.
I gave him every chance in the book and he still couldn't get it together.
Now, over 13 years after the fact, I guess it's easy to take pot shots, which is rude and totally insensitive of me. Sometimes my "take no prisoners" attitude and skewed sense of humor trumps my basic human decency.

And for that, I am truly sorry.

I guess we all forget our place in the grand scheme of things sometimes. Thank you for giving me a little perspective.

Whiskeymarie said...

Also, I neglected to tell the rest of the story where I eventually took Gustav back after the cheating, and we stayed together another 8-10 months after that lovely incident.
I was whipped, small penis and all.

So there you go.

Anonymous said...

Oh, I'm sorry. I was being all dark and depressed. Your story was funny. And your a kind person, and that showed through in the story. Whenever something of value is communicated, there's always that one person who gets offended, and I am totally not that person. I just wanted to vent my self pity a little. Gustav was horrible for what he did to you. I guess some people who have my condition kind of, really are little pricks. I swear, women are so much kinder than men, even when they have no reason to be.

Anonymous said...

Dang it, that last message still sounded all sad. Ummmm....Smiles?

Whiskeymarie said...

anon- Glad we cleared that up.
;)