Have any of you ever had a close friend profess his undying romantic love for you? If you have, then you know that there's no going back from that. It's really fucking awkward.---
You know what makes it even more awkward? When you vomit in your mouth a little bit at the thought of anything sexual with said friend and try to cover up your blatant gag reflex with fake sobs and a not-even-remotely-true story about an ex-boyfriend who killed himself. Believe me, I've been there.
As it turns out, making up any sort of serious life event will not work with a close friend who is secretly in love with you and has been religiously tracking your dating life. Your friend will call you out. Shit will get even more awkward.
Enter my solution: the most uncomfortable hand job imaginable.
I'm generally of the "hand job, bland job, I don't understand job" mentality, so I have no idea why I thought a handy J would be appropriate. I realized about 30 seconds in that I would rather be sentenced to death by cum shots to the face then continue touching my friend's penis.
But it was too late to abort, and I didn't have any hangers anyway. So I made the only logical decision I could think of: Like Snow White's 8 tiny friends, I decided to whistle while I whacked, and I slammed his salmon to the dreidel song. Needless to say, our friendship has never recovered from the HJ incident of 2010 (yes, you read the year correctly).
At this point, you might be wondering why I'm sharing this. Well, readers, let's face it—it's a little bit funny, no? But HJ 2010 also exemplifies the shitshow that has been my dating life since I moved here, and I don't want this to happen again. So readers, I need your help.
My most significant relationship in Santa Fe was a 3-month-long game of cat and mouse with a 32-year-old man-baby. When he ended things via email (yes, really), he said, "I don't want to get into relationships at the moment cos I don't like all of this stuff."
My immediate reaction would have put me straight on the crazy train. But I withheld, because the zombie apocalypse would ultimately be more fun than "all of this stuff."
Also, on my recent vacation, I went for a late-night booze cruise on a stolen boat with a mildly intriguing (definitely distracting) shady creepster. My most normal date following these two winners was with a 42-year-old serial killer interested filming his chub on Chatroulette and shaking babies.
So, for the love of the lustful lovemaking gods, please help me find the normal men in Santa Fe. If you’re out there, normal men, put down your video game and please stand up. Where can I find you in your natural habitat? Should I be spending more time at the Matador?
