Thanks to all the fun-loving dates I went out with
this semester! The goal to take lovely girls out
every week for one semester was achieved. But, I
figured I'd continue the trend until it ended, just to
see if I could get to "Date of the Week" XXXIX or, if
it lasted until I was 105 (you never know), "Date of
the Week" CMCCCXXXIXQVCHBOWWF.
It wasn't gonna be easy, though. Because, in
Grand Rapids, Michigan, I don't know of any females
who can really tolerate me. There's a good reason for
this. Between the ages of fourteen and seventeen, my
high school years, I never acted like I was older than
three or four. I was a goof-off (details next
message), and I'm willing to bet I spent more time
talking to Mr. Folkertsma, the principal, than the
entire 700 girls at my school combined.
Another obstacle facing me has been the weather.
My first three days in cold Michigan, I didn't leave
the house once, and I was only out of my slippers and
robe for an hour or two. I wouldn't even leave the
house for ICE CREAM! You can imagine how horrible it
was. I wasn't meeting any girls, unless you count my
So, I flipped through my high school yearbook,
looking for a girl. I noticed some people had signed
my book and written that someone named Maria
supposedly liked me. Ofcourse, they'd all been
joking, but I wondered what happened to her?
Maria had light hair, a thin waist with sharp
curves, and I remembered now this tight, white sweater
she used to wear that had two inches of static fuzz
coating it (I think it was made from rabbit hair). It
used to drive me craaazy to see her in that. Rabbit
fur had evolved to sit just a certain way, and, in
conforming to Maria's wide curves, I dare say it was
exceeding those biological limits. I don't know if
the two-inch fuzz was the fur's natural properties or
just the excited, electric reaction from touching so
much Maria at once. Every time she wore that, I just
wanted to grab her and rub my head against it until my
hair stood up, among other things.
Where was I!?
... yeah, so I looked up Maria in the phone book,
prepared to ask her out and beg her to wear that
A guy's voice answered. "Maria doesn't live here
anymore. Can I give her a message?"
"Can I have her number?" I said - did I mention
how great that sweater was!?
"No. But I can give her a message."
"It's just, I don't think she'll know who I am.
I went to high school with her, and ..."
"Is this Justin? Justin Breen? Hey, it's Rob.
Remember, I dated her in high school?"
I think he was trying to remind me of a
friendship he and I used to have, but I didn't pick up
on that at the time. Instead, I said, "Well, you
don't still date her, do you?"
"No," he said, obviously appalled at my piggish
insensitivity. I was lucky he wasn't still dating her
or even married, as Grand Rapids couples tend to do
while young. Rob probably would've tracked me to my
house, stuffed me entirely within Maria's sweater, and
tossed me in the Grand River. And I would've deserved
"I'll tell her to call you," he said. Yeah,
right. He might-as-well have said, "I'll tell Maria,
my ex-girlfriend, to call Tom Cruise and run naked to
his house. That'd be great!" Neither was going to
I hadn't handled that very well. In fact, I'm
not even sure why I mentioned it. It's just, in case
you haven't noticed, I really, reeeeeeally liked that
"Date of the Week!"
Well, I did get a date, and, as I always seem to
do with the most personal moments in my life for some
reason, I'll tell you about it, using the same
vividness of detail I used to describe Maria's shirt.
"Date of the Week" XV was cushy and embrasive to
the touch and as sweet as a river of honey, with an
intoxicating fragrance I'd have killed a nun to put my
lips on and a trim figure sculpted as if by God's
hands himself. My eyes sweated and mouth watered just
to look, and my hands trembled like a boy needing
Ridalyn as I controlled myself from just reaching out
and grabbing. Seconds later, I could control my
burning passion no longer and attacked, fingers and
mouth groping ravenously.
Whoa-hoa! I had to remember that I'd brought a
GIRL on this date. MODERN ODDYSEUS' DATING ADVICE #
15 - Never pay more attention to your food than to
your date. It's just ... it was tough not to think
about or describe the breadsticks and pizza. After
all, I'd taken my date to Bono's Pizza - the FINEST
ESTABLISHMENT in the known world! Mmmm ... Bono's.
"To life-long friends," toasted my wide-grinning
date, Sarah, as we drank some Rosa wine before I
returned my attention to the pizza.
Actually, the conversation was almost as
excellent as the food. I've been friends with Sarah
longer than any other girl, since 2nd grade when I
became best friends with her brother, Chris. (The
next-closest would be about a two-year friendship,
because I seriously had no female friends until
college) Sarah had shoulder-length blond hair, a good
body for a best friend's sister, I must admit, and a
Joker-like smile so huge she has to shut her eyes.
(Chris's wife likes to say Sarah and Chris always seem
to be in competition for who can have the biggest
smile) I LOVE big smiles! I can still remember how
adorable that smile looked when Sarah was just a happy
little blond stupid tooth-missing kid. (She could
tell some stories about what I looked like as a stupid
kid, but I won't get into that just now)
Sarah told me about her boyfriend at college,
One time, Sarah said she'd thrown his hat across
his room. "Oh you want to me immature?" he said.
Sarah had class in five minutes, so she left.
But along came Clay. He walked with her on the
path in the middle of school, screaming in her face
the whole time to embarrass her. "So, little Sarah
wants to be immature, huh? Well, how do you like
this? I'll show you immature!" He followed her all
the way to class, sat down beside her, leaned over in
her face, and just stared, silent and straight-faced.
The teacher asked who he was, and Sarah said she
didn't know. After class started and everyone was
looking at Sarah, he got up, still quiet, and left,
leaving Sarah with something to think about regarding
just who could be the most immature.
(Flashback: to two days prior to the date, where
I actually was able to meet Clay. I'll leave you with
a story from that night.
We'd been playing cards at Chris's house, when
Chris's dad explained a game and said, "The chances of
getting doubles are one in a million." It was a big
overstatement, but he was drunk.
The next time we played the game, doubles came
up, and it didn't slip Clay's attention. "Did you
just see that?" he said dramatically, with sarcasm.
"One in a million. I ... I can't believe it.
Everybody, look! That happens one in a million
Five minutes later, Clay watched the same thing
happen again. "Oh ... oh my god! We'll all be cold
and dead before that happens again. Two times in one
night!? That's unbelievable!"
We played some other games but came back to that
one. Chris's dad dealt, and he turned up two queens.
Clay continued to mock. "I can't believe what's
happening here. You'll be two-hundred and ninety
years old before you ever see that again!"
The next two cards turned were sevens.
Double-doubles! Clay nearly fell over in his chair.
"The odds of that happening are the same as your
chances of getting hit by a train with 52 cents in
(I like that kid.)
Once again, I'm in gratitude for another
enjoyable date. So, I must say, to Bono's Pizza ... I
mean Sarah. Sarah! ... thanks.
- Modern Oddyseus