Monday, June 2, 2014

You're Name Wouldn't Happen to be Dick,Would it?

Here I am. Sitting at a table for two in downtown Vancouver listening to a conversation that is one-sided from a music aficionado acquaintance that I met through a mutual friend. And all I can think about is: "how to get the hell out of here as soon as possible". And why is that? Well, this sudden flight response is my usual train of thought when having to listening to a man talk about how sexual he is. This one wants to tell me he has to have at least 5 orgasms a week and that he still has a super high sex-drive.  And what were we talking about that was the segue into this delicate subject?: Pizza. Yes, Pizza.  Apparently mentioning how much you like Pizza will have this guy telling you all about his Penis. Maybe because they both start with the letter "P". Hmmm.  I am not sure how my complimenting the balsamic reduction drizzled onto a slice has translated into such personal (and believe me), unwanted spew, about him doing the humpty-dance has me baffled.

So I get very quite. I mean, we are both here to attend a music event. And obviously maybe he is so overwhelmed with the thought that we are sharing a table or he is bat-shit crazy and wants to see if I would be interested in bumping uglies with him. I don't know. So, as he gives me the gory details of why he needs so much sex, he sprinkles the stories with comments about how all women being secretly bisexual and he has been privy to watching them getting it on.  I throw up a little in my mouth, I'm speechless still. I feel really uncomfortable and find myself getting annoyed as to why he thinks I need to hear this. For God sakes man!, I just met you.  So I wait and then I notice it. There's another woman sitting diagonally from me and she looks disgusted. I would suppose that it was because he is a fairly loud person that everyone in the restaurant could hear what he was saying.

Finally, I waive my hand sharply in front of his voice and command him to stop, cutting him off mid-sentence from another horrid detail of his many marriages and his swinger lifestyle. I just tell him I am not interested, at all, in any way, to hear about this part of his life and that I did not come here to be privy to his striking desire to enchant me with his "me so horny all the time" talk.  I think he was mad after that. Oh well.

The rest of the evening (all next half hour of it), turned worse when he paraded down a city street with an imitation of what he said was the worst music he had ever heard in his life, air-guitaring like a someone who couldn't tell a fret from a fart and screeching something inaudible, which I assume he felt was an honest display of their songs.

I am not certain what compels a man to tell me all about his libido but I can tell you that it is actually rather a despicable trait. All that happens is that I have now come to the conclusion that you are creepy and desperate to confide so openly how much you need it. Maybe you thought you would get lucky. Uhm nope.

He has UN-friended me today. Sigh. That's life. Ain't it a Peach? (better not use that word, it also starts with a "P".



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