Saturday Cont, Getting Caught, Finances, 40ish

Everything that happened after 8:30 on Saturday morning is a little blurry. I’m not sure if I went to bed or not, but around 11:00 or noon I ended up at the bar. G was either there already or came up shortly after (like I said, details are fuzzy) and we watched some random baseball game. The bartender was going next door and getting us pitchers (the main bar doesn’t have a tapper), and I’m not sure how many but we had a few. Now it gets really fuzzy. I guess I asked the manager if she wanted to go home and have sex with me (mind you she’s married, not like that ever stopped me before, but she’s 400 lbs, not like that…), left a two dollar tip (tight ass) and then took it back (even tighter ass), didn’t pay the tab, bounced off two walls, made it out the door, somehow walked down the street one block, and proceeded to pee my shorts as I couldn’t get the key in the front door (ever see a grown man pee his pants standing outside his house at 4:00 in the afternoon?). I tell the roommate not to look since I’m coming out of the bathroom without pants and underwear on, of course she looks. And then I passed out for four hours only to be woken up by the roommate (she said something about ruining my sleep schedule?) dragging my ass back out to the bar (two pitchers and I was drunk for the second time that day). Funny thing is I don’t remember taking a shower after peeing my pants. Euw, I should probably wash my sheets tonight.

Sunday was pretty tame, mowed the lawn, moved boxes around, cleaned out the sink, made steaks, and played dice games at the bar for three hours. The guys were giving me shit, telling me the manager’s husband was going to be in soon to shoot me or something. But, unfortunately, no such luck.

Monday morning the roommate caught me beating off in the bathroom. And I was 30 seconds from closing the deal. Sucks. 29 years or spanking the monkey and never got caught, have a roommate for a week and it’s the first thing she sees on Monday morning.

Financial advisor called today, informed me that in the last three years I’ve made 4% a year over the S&P 500, came out to be like 14% average per year. Cool, thanks man, I really do appreciate it, but when are you going to get me those fucking lottery numbers!? I’m ready to retire now, fly to Cancun and resurface sometime next spring. Roommate’s going to have to learn how to use a lawn mower. If anyone wants the awesome financial advisor’s number just give me a holler, he’ll gladly take your business, big or small.

While he was on the phone we talked about other things too. He said after reading this crap he thinks of me in a different way, I guess he was actually thinking of me to be the god father to his kid, but after reading this he’s shying away from it (come on, ask Jon how many birthday and Christmas presents I sent his son, seriously, I would send birthday presents if I knew what his birthday was. Doesn’t exactly explain Christmas, though). He also thought it was funny I haven’t told the parents about smoking (since New Years of some year a long time ago) or about the new roommate. I figure if anyone says anything I’ll reply that I’m smuggling Asians into the country and I get $10,000 a head for them ($12,000 for this one as she has a monster sized head). He said I have to go shopping and buy a nice “outfit” (I know he’s married and having a kid, but what straight guy says “outfit”?), hang out on Milwaukee St. (although not alone, I was thinking of taking my “I want to see her bald beaver” friend but FA said no), and hook up with a normal, decent, slim girl, with an emphasis on slim. We first said she can’t weigh more than he weighs (170 lb, 77 kg for the Canadian readers), but a five foot 170 lb woman isn’t really slim, actually far from it. His next idea was a pounds per inch of height calculation (which is still off as I’m guessing a man’s body structure would weigh more than a woman’s). So he took 170 lbs and divided it by 72 inches (he thinks he’s 6’ tall but he’s more like 5’10”) coming up with 2.36 lbs per inch. That would put a 5’1” woman at 144 lbs. So, even though he can earn me money in the stock market, he wants to set me up with a 5’1” pudgy girl. I think we need to rethink these calculations.

Today at the gym, man, it’s getting harder and harder to work out. The college students started school on Monday and the women are out in full force with their skin tight tops and ass cheek revealing shorts. Not that I’m complaining, but when your shorts come down an inch past your ass and you’re bending over and spreading your legs, there’s definitely going to be stuff showing and you better believe I’ll be looking.

Talked with the 40ish hot woman extensively today (I’m finally starting to feel a little less nervous around her). Today it was more than the usual giving each other shit and random questions, our conversation actually interrupted our workouts (fine by me). Where’d you go to school, where do you work, stretching techniques. Come to find out she has a daughter who’s a sophomore at the college. So how old is this woman? Doesn’t exactly look 40 but her daughter must be 17 or 18 (maybe 19?). I found her trying to catch my eye a couple of times to ask me something, hmmm. And then as she was leaving she told me to have a good rest of the week, letting me know that she wouldn’t be in the gym any more this week. Why would she feel the need to fill me in on this? By the way, I only know her name from other people at the gym, pretty sure she doesn’t know mine. Next time I see her I’ll start with “Hi, I only know you as the hot woman in black (always wears black and I don’t think I should mention the ‘40ish’ thing), my name’s B.” And then there will be this awkward silence and we will go on with our workouts. Great one B, real smooth operator.