Back to Joyce

So I reckon y’all may be wondering about Joyce, since a couple months have gone by since I first met her. I guess y’all may also be wondering about Monica. No, we didn’t break up after she was a total bitch to me on Valentine’s Day. I’m still seeing her. Usually around once a week. A hot girlfriend is a good thing to have once a week. I buy her dinner, we go back to her place and turn on Netflix, and…I reckon you know what else happens.

I’ve got more Monica stories, but I was writing about Joyce before the Corey Seager Crisis interrupted me. (I’ve got my priorities in order: baseball, bros, beer, banging. Please contact me if you can think of a better word for chicks that begins with a B.)

In case you missed the first entries, I met Joyce in February. She made a really awkward attempt at picking me up at the store, I kinda liked that and went along with it, and we went out to dinner. Oh yeah: she recently made two million bucks off bitcoin.

And she has a new Tesla. Which is fun as hell to drive. I mean, driving a Lamborghini or a race car must be awesome, but the Tesla handles amazingly, opens up to almost 90 on the freeway like no other car I’ve driven, and all the electronics inside are so dang cool. A Tesla has way more cool buttons to push than you’d find in a Lambo. Okay, it’s also nice when the parking valet looks impressed with the car you pull up in. They don’t exactly make faces when I pull up in what Keaton calls my shitbox, but they don’t exactly say “man, that’s a cool ride!” to me either.

Yes, that means Joyce lets me drive her Tesla. Whenever we’re out together, I get to drive her car. I think it was the third time we were having dinner: we’d again come in separate cars, and I reckon she’d noticed how I may have been salivating when I saw hers. So she said I could drive it around the block a couple times while the valet held on to my Prius. I think that was so she could see whether or not I could be trusted driving her brand new car.

I’m trustworthy: Dad taught me to be a very good driver. I don’t do anything flashy or change lanes every five seconds or go 60 in a residential zone, but I know how to handle a vehicle. I also come to a full stop at every stop sign. When Dad was teaching me to drive, he told me he’d kick my ass if I made a rolling stop. I knew he meant it. Result? In all the years I’ve been driving, I’ve never gotten a ticket.

So if Joyce is letting me drive her car, y’all should be able to figure out that I’ve been seeing her pretty regularly since that first dinner where she let me order a beer instead of making me drink a bottle of stupidass wine. Not regularly like the once a week I see Monica. Let’s say a couple times a month.

Monica knows and doesn’t know, and I’m not sure I care which. Nobody ever said we had an exclusive contract. She does introduce me as “my boyfriend”, especially to her friends who have ugly boyfriends (who are usually rich lol) or who have no boyfriends at all. Like her veganass sister.

And, I’ll admit, I refer to Monica as “my girlfriend.”

Just not when Joyce is around.

 

 

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