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 mom.
     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 sweater.
     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 it.
     "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 happen.
     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 sweater.

"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, named Clay.
     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 times."
     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 your pocket!"
     (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