What's in a name?
I have said REPEATEDLY that you should never date a guy named Tom. I say this based on my vast experience with dating guys named Tom. They are crazy. Plain and simple.
My first Tom was 6 years ago. He was so cute ... hot body with the crab ladder going on. Very European looking. Oh my goodness. Met him at a bar, went home with him that night, made out like crazy ... I was nuts about him. Till the I learned what a raving nutcase he was. He lived off his mother -- didn't work. Was a complete alcoholic. Took me to Seattle on a weekend trip that can best be described as hair raising. Insisted on driving my car -- the idiot can't drive. 55mph, 65, 75, 68, 82, 57 ... and so it went. Speeding up and slowing down. We arrive (and nearly broadsided another car)and settle into a hotel ... and let me say, at this point I'm so irritated I'm thinking ... I better get laid ... and how. So we do all the night time preparations, get into bed ... and then nothing. NOTHING. The little bastard just goes to sleep.
So when I wake up Saturday morning, I'm not in the most charming of moods. Haven't had sex, don't have any coffee ... its not pretty. We go to gas staion to get gas and get me some coffee. He pulls the car (MY car) so close to the pump that I can't get out. When I say, I can't get out ... he actually suggests that I climb over the console and get out the driver side. Are you getting the picture yet of what and asshole we are dealing with? Can you further imagine my response to said suggestion?
We met his cousin for coffee. Surprisingly, he's normal. Nice guy. We then went out to Bainbridge Island to meet his dad. Again, normal. I attribute this to the fact that neither of them was named Tom. I enjoyed visiting with both of them ... except Tom was there too. He was an ass all day, and the only thing that kept me going was his hints about how hot the sex was going to be when we got down to it. I suffer a trip to McDonalds (what a big spender) where he spilled coffee in my lap, the ferry ride back to Seattle, suffer the evening at the Space Needle ... man, the things I'll do to get laid.
But alas ... he gets into bed that night, turns out the light, and rolls over. No sex again.
I'm pretty much manic by morning ... what the HELL am I doing here? I can't wait to get back to Eugene. But not before the little bastard drives over a bump too fast and I get a second degree burn on my leg from my McDonald's coffee (I can almost understand that lawsuit after suffering the burn myself).
The saga didn't end there ... I ditched him for two weeks but then he coaught my scent again when his dad mailed him his address book (he'd forgotten it up there). I'd calmed down by then and pretty much accepted I needed to get laid elsewhere, namely by his best friend Dave. That was my revenge for the Seattle weekend ...
But I digress. During the weeks that followed, I witnessed the fall of Tom. Apparently he thought he was going to be invited along with his mother and her fiancee on a trip to Europe (now wouldn't you just love to have Tom along with you?). She was having a big talk with him the Friday she was set to go ... he was sure it was going to be a surprise. Which it was ... only not the pleasant sort. She was announcing that the purse strings were now tied ... on the same day the apartment complex gave him a 72 hour eviction notice. Tom didn't take it well. He made a last ditch effort to follow his mother to Seattle to hit her up for money before she left the country. I was invited to go, but I swore after the first trip I'd rather be attacked by wild dogs than do that again. Smart choice, too, because they ran out of gas on the freeway outside Seattle.
That was the first Tom ... stay tuned for the second. We have a destination in mind.
