In my quest for everlasting love, I had resorted once again, to trolling the internet. Online dating, to be specific.
I began talking to someone who we’ll call “Kelli”. Not her real name, of course. Her real name is spelled with a “y” at the end. But I digress.
Kelli and I began chatting and after a couple of weeks decided we should meet. Included in all this talking we have done was some pretty graphic descriptions of how our meeting might go.
I believe the media has termed such conversations as “sexting”.
So we made plans. I left work and texted her about where, exactly she lived. Her response sent chills down my spine -- Mooresville, North Carolina. I don’t like driving the 3 minutes down the street to get my debit card back from the bar every Sunday afternoon, let alone 45 minutes into the country where Jethro Billy Rae lives with his mullet, mustache and walkman.
Now I’m an open minded guy. I freaking love the South and living in North Carolina. But I cannot for the life of me imagine why people would choose to live so far away from civilization. Where your closest neighbor is three miles away.
And that neighbor is a cow.
Literally, not figuratively.
Regardless, it had been a while since I had gotten lucky, so I gently told the 1997 Mitshibutshi Galant that we would be testing her limits (38.5 mph). That we would be seeing what she was made of (crap Japanese parts). And that I had confidence that she could do it (although I had less confidence that we would ever find the source of that strange smell that permeates the interior of said car).
So we (the car and I) set off on this journey to get laid. Engine violently shaking as I pushed the Galant to her limit. Dark clouds formed on the horizon. Or they would have if it hadn’t already been dark out. Drivers honking furiously as they passed my car. An amish guy in a horse driven wagon gave me the finger as he sped past.
But after a long, perilous drive I had finally arrived in Race City, USA.
That last line is not a joke. They really call their town Race City, USA. Home of NASCAR.
That’s when you really know you’re in the deep south, boy.
I continued to follow the GPS on my phone, fearing that I would lose phone service any moment as I crossed into areas that had not yet been mapped by satellites. I turned from one dark, abandoned street to another in an endless maze of suburbia.
At long last, I saw a flickering light in the distance. Feeling that God had finally come to put this experience out of my misery, I pushed the Galant towards the shining beacon.
As I got closer, I could see that the light was not, as I had thought, a gateway to the afterlife, but rather a mosquito light zapping away like crazy. I had arrived at Kelli’s.
Once inside, I noticed that Kelli was already half in the tank. She murmured something about having already had a glass of wine to calm her nerves. But she failed to hide the empty bottles that littered her kitchen counter. She also said she hadn’t slept in 30 something hours.
My usual modus operandi is that I ply girls with enough alcohol to make some bad decisions (me). But Kelli had already done my job for me. Maybe that’s what threw me off that night.
We sat down and we started with the usual small talk. And we continued to talk. And talk. For hours. She was mostly unconscious as I rambled about baseball, fantasy football, Star Trek Online and blogging. And anything else that bores 99.9% of the population.
“Hey!” I slapped her face to keep her from passing out. “Don’t you agree? Kirk is absolutely the better Captain as referenced in ‘Balance of Terror.’ You’re such a good listener.” I said as she slept with her eyes open.
It was 3 or 4 am before I remembered why I was in this forsaken town. I made my move, which startled Kelli into waking up. We kissed passionately, like animals.
You know, if animals could kiss.
My fingers slowly moved down to unfasten --
“I have a rule …” Kelli spoke for the first time in hours.
“Oh God, no.” My head fell towards my chest.
Jeezy does not like rules.
“Yeah. I’m sorry.” She wasn’t going to put out because this was our first “date”.
And that was the end of the festivities. Because we had been drinking and I lived far away “as the crow flies”, it was pre arranged that I would be sleeping there that night.
I tried telling her that I can only sleep naked with the window open, but she wasn’t buying what I was selling.
Stupid, stupid rules.
In the end, though it was for the best. Kelli didn’t put out and we kept going out because I figured I had already put my time and energy into it -- that she was bound to do so next time. And before you know it we were in love, and now we’re planning my move to Mooresville in the next two months. I’ll have to grow a mullet and a mustache, as well as trade in my mp3 player for a walkman, but she’s worth it.