Although I am a long time writer, I am also a first time blogger, so try to go easy on me.
At first, I was on the fence about a blog. My previous idea of a stereotypical "blogger" was a pale-faced, pathetic individual with absolutely no real friends to talk to, desperately seeking attention and turning to an online interface to spill out their depressing ramblings which they mislabeled as poetry.
I guess it's time for me to join the modern era.
I'm still not quite sure what I plan to write in this. I'm actually not even sure anyone will take the time to read it, but I guess it's worth a shot. I have a fairly interesting life story, and instead of taking the time to actually write a novel (who actually reads books now anyway?) I decided a blog was a healthy alternative for my ramblings.
I guess it's time to start then.
I decided a good starting point was to detail a few of my interesting dating experiences. I know what you're thinking: this is going to be depressing.
Think again.
Let us begin with my very first date at the ripe age of 12: a poor, very overweight African American boy named Jonathon. When the light caught his cartoonishly thick glasses just right, he was almost attractive.
Or not.
Upon pulling into the movie theater with my mother (I was 12 of course I couldn't drive), I immediately jumped out of the car as to avoid the inevitable question of "Good God is that him??". Needless to say, it didn't work. Her face said enough, and I couldn't get out of the car fast enough.
So there he was. All 220 glorious pounds dripping with sweat and holding a Pringles can. Before we even went inside, he argued with the usher on his right to having his own food in the theater. Surprisingly, he succeeded and brought his snack inside with him, only to then purchase an additional giant tub of popcorn, candy and soda. None of which, of course, would be shared.
In case you can't tell from my photo, I am an extremely pale individual, and my personality kind of reflects that. This is probably the reason why his incessant shouting and smacking during the ENTIRE movie started to get to me. Poor thing thought he was showing me a lovely time, and I was mortified. Without knowing what to do, and becoming ever more observant of the angry eyes on us, I said the first thing that came into mind:
"I need to leave, I have diarrhea"
That's the best line I had. I ran out of that theater, called my mother, and was greeted with the epitome of "I told you so" faces.
Poor boy.
At any rate, this is a tame example of what happens if at ANY point I decide "I think it's time to do something normal for my age". Total crash, burn and hilarity.
Until next time, I hope you enjoy, and wish me luck.
