I think I told y’all that they know me late-night at the IHOP on Arroyo Parkway. I stop there a lot after hanging out with Monica so I can get a strawberry sundae. (Having a girlfriend who’s always on a diet sucks when you like dessert with dinner.) The hostess/waitress, Alicia, knows me. She’s dang nice and a little like a Waffle House waitress from back home, only she’s got the wrong accent lol.
“Bad night with your girlfriend, guapo? You can sit anywhere.”
Keaton and I took a seat by the windows in front. It was getting on 3, so the 2 am crowd of drunk assholes was gone already…which was good. We’d had enough drunk assholes tonight with the little Mexican dude who came this close to a Keaton Penner Superman Punch.
I was starving. Like country fried steak and eggs and pancakes starving and room for ice cream afterwards. All I’d had all night was small portions of veganass crab cakes and tacos…and that had been like six hours earlier.
I’d gotten a lot of exercise since then.
“I’ll have what el guapo is having,” said Keaton. “And a pot of decaf.”
“And some tea, please.” Alicia knows me well enough to know that means iced.
“Ok bubba, start complaining about your bitchass girlfriend.”
The thing about bitching to Keaton is that first he tells you you’re being super gay, then he asks you a bunch of questions you don’t want to think about. I got them just as Alicia brought us our steak and eggs.
- why do you double date with Caroline when you know what happens?
- why do you let that bitch put food in your mouth?
- why do you let her veganass sister always force you to go to one of her bullshit restaurants?
- and…why is that bitch still your girlfriend?
After he asks you questions like that, Keaton expects answers.
I reckon the answers to #2 and #3 are that I’m being a bitch and I’ve handed my balls over to a chick. (Keaton got a rule from his dad: never give a chick your balls. He repeats it to me a lot.) At least I should have made Caroline and fakeass Ryan come to Pasadena. We got veganass restaurants here. Or we could go to a normal restaurant and the rest of us can eat while she gets salad with no dressing or some bullshit like that…
Ok. Y’all caught me. So did Keaton. I just answered #1 the same way: I’m being a bitch and Monica’s got my balls tied up like a package on Christmas day.
At least me being a bitch who gave his balls to his girlfriend isn’t the answer to #4. I know why Monica’s my girlfriend and I know what I’m getting out of it. Hot sex. And someone to watch Netflix with once a week. Even if I gotta buy her dinner, I know dudes whose girlfriends make a whole lot more demands and offer a whole lot less in return.
I know too that Monica needs the hot boyfriend more than I need the hot girlfriend. It might take a few days, but I can easily get another girlfriend to watch Netflix and have sex with. If I even need one. It’s not like I’m lacking opportunities to get laid.
Monica’s gonna have a lot more trouble replacing me…and that would be even if she didn’t give her boyfriends so much shit. Yeah, she’s a 9 or a 9½, but just because a chick is hot doesn’t mean she can find a boyfriend easily. She needs either someone rich or someone really good-looking, otherwise other dudes aren’t going to want her as much. Say you’re a chick who’s a 9. If dudes see you out with an ugly guy who doesn’t have a big gayass watch or a Porsche, you’re making yourself into a 7.
So until she can find a dude who’s as rich as I’m good-looking, she’s better off with me lol.
“Which means what, bubba?”
“That I should get my balls back.”
He toasted me with his coffee mug.
I eat real fast. I eat even faster when I’m hungry. I tore into the steak and eggs (the country fried steak at the IHOP is awesome…vegans don’t know what they’re missing lol), so it wasn’t until I was half finished with the pancakes that Keaton asked uncomfortable question #5:
“Why are you still wasting your time and money on that bitch when you’ve got a chick who’s fuckin crazy about you who gives you shit like iPhones, buys you dinner, hell, fuckin cooks you dinner, and knows exactly what your favorite beers are?”
“The angry sex with Monica was so hot…”
“Any hotter than when you hook up with Candy and she fucks your redneck brains out for free, bubba?”
That’s Candy the stripper from Valentine’s Day. We’ve been hooking up every couple weeks since then. Even Keaton doesn’t know some of the things me and Candy do when we’re together lol.
“And you still don’t know whether you fucked Joyce.”
“Whoa, man. Don’t talk about Joyce that way.”
“Yeah? Why not, bubba?”
Ok, that one I really didn’t have an answer to. It just slipped out. And leave it to Keaton to call me on it. So I concentrated on finishing my pancakes.
It wasn’t until I’d asked Alicia for my strawberry sundae that I gave Keaton an answer. And it was a lameass one. I told him Dad taught me right, and I didn’t reckon that I could have gone all the way without a jimmyhat.
I mean, I can’t be 100% sure without asking Joyce…and no Southern gentleman would ask a chick whether or not he fucked her because he was too drunk to remember.
Alicia brought my sundae. I think she gives me extra big scoops of ice cream.
“You mean you still got room?”
“I had one hell of a workout tonight. If you hadn’t been a bitch and taken on the little Mexican dude, you’d be hungry too.”
Two word answer.
Once I had my ice cream, I was seriously ready for bed, so we paid up and I said good night to Alicia. In the parking lot, Keaton asked me about church. I told him I was planning to go. Was I coming over to watch the game after church?
Absolutely.
Then I checked the time on the phone. 4:30. No wonder I was half asleep.
I saw that I had a text waiting for me. From Joyce:
Dinner tomorrow?
Absolutely.
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