Wednesday, February 11, 2009

The Wait Is the Hardest Part


If you haven’t tossed and turned over an upcoming event in your life, maybe its time to put down the minty-fresh KY lube and Jenna Jamison pocket pussy to try living real life for once. Sure real life may deal you a strike out when you bought the dozen fresh-cut white and red roses, secured that prime seat at the hottest sushi bar in the city, literally smelling the sex during the sunset cuddle overlooking the Mississippi, and went to JAREDS/KAYS/SHANE CO./CONTINENTIAL DIAMONDS IN ST. LOUIS PARK (cue vapid squeals from the women not receiving that special mass-produced heart shaped diamond pendant on sale for $3,999.00 that comes with a free three inch cuddle bear)!

Re-read the guides to a successful date by Redbook, Cosmo, GQ, Highlites, Sport Illustrated, and Maxim; those mass produced words led to a smooth conversation and devilish glances at each other over sashimi and California rolls. The sexual tension remained thick during the slow ride back towards the bed that needed to have its headboard padded for tonight’s sure to wake the neighbors roars of passion (or yours from getting that blowjob she’s hinted at for the past two months).

You open the car door; she glances over her shoulder as she glides upstairs and the excitement in your pants suddenly make your belt and Dockers a tad restricting. She goes into the bedroom and can hear clothes hitting the floor as you dive into the adjacent bathroom to splash some cold water on yourself. The lights are off and slowly you crawl under the covers with a smile as wide as that Enzyte penis enlargement guy.

But something’s wrong.

Lotion? From Victoria’s Secret.

Breath? Minty.

Boner? Raging.

You listen closely to the other human and she’s emitting snoring noises and glance that she’s wearing flannels and her long sleeve “leave-me-alone” shirt. The quick decision is made that purchasing the Playboy Channel for the balance of the night would cost less then a divorce lawyer after an ill-advised attempt to dry check her oil.

I’ve been trying to not get myself worked up about getting this pair of hearing aids. Hoping for technology to provide something that failed in the past. Last few nights have been “I’m-going-to-Vegas-this-weekend” type restlessness that has left a good sized hole in the sleep patterns.

The audiologist provided the sales talk with all the sweet-nothings about how my life would improve hearing the things I wanted to hear; the doctor’s office provided the buyer’s security and now its time to plunge into a potential debt (I say potential because it looks like my online poker money withdraws, plus help from several bloggers, and dab from Uncle Sam’s tax returns will cover the cost WHEEEEEEEEEEE!). But, part of me is scared of the cold shoulder. The work to get the balls to admit there’s a problem and the need to at least explore a resolution was not an easy one. To get blue balls at this point would be disappointing but followed quickly by relief that I took the chance.

Tomorrow I climb into bed again with anticipation, and by the end of the month hope that I’m able to drift off into a post-sex sleep coma from the satisfaction of receiving everything I’ve dreamed of hearing.

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