My last post was about giving guys nicknames. I'm sure after my last date, I should be given one-Carrot Puke. First, some back story.
I met this guy online right after my break up. We've texted back and forth for some time now. He's very offbeat, so the communication was never frequent or normal. So, for the first time, we decided to actually hang out.
I made it to his house after getting lost and threatening to myself to just go home. He didn't give me his exact address for fear that I didn't really look like my picture. Apparently, this happens on dating sites. People misrepresent themselves. He said he's had three nightmare dates-one bald, one 300lbs and one toothless. Eventually, I made it. His house was glorious- straight out of the 1970's. I mean, down to the appliances. It was great. I felt like I was transported back to my childhood. I don't know what the story is behind how he came to own this house. I never ask many questions. Can't get too attached.
With little money and boredom being a factor, we decided to drink vodka. Yeah, I know. I don't handle my alcohol that well. That became evident when I began puking. Carrots. I ate a bunch of carrots on the way up. But, he was very sweet and gave me a garbage can, blanket and cleaned me up. I took a after puke nap on his couch. I woke up at one point to his nineteen year old neighbor sitting on his other couch. "Hi", I declared all cheery. Mind you, there was no air conditioning. So, the air had to smell of barf. I recovered later, felt like crap the next day. I, oddly, had a great time. He did, too. He's different- very laid back and not concerned about the average things in life. So, it's a nice change for me. I spend all week working my ass off, being stressed. It's a nice respite. So, time with Viggo and getting out of the house are my only salvation. Spending time in a 70's house with a laid back guy was very nice. Even if it had no air conditioning, toilet paper and I puked.