18: The Death of Honesty 

I know I told you that I was going to do the second-half of the travel blog… but, I lied.  I’ve already written that blog, and I thought, since I’m not very busy this week, that I would do a “real time” blog and save the RyanAir story for another time.

Alright, so let me preface this post by giving you a little history – first of all, my girlfriend is an awesome person!  Her name is Pam and she’s a veterinarian who works at a clinic near my house, which is actually how we met; she was working on one of my dogs who bit his tail off a while back (it’s a long story, I’ll tell it another time), and we started talking, hit it off and decided to start dating.  We’ve been together for about five years now, and during the course of our relationship we’ve never been short on brutal honesty.  I think the reason for this honesty is not so much about “trust” as it is about “lack of filtration between brain and mouth” – we usually just say what is on our minds with absolutely no forethought.  Neither of us can really be accused of being self-conscious, so we usually don’t care what each other say as long as words don’t turn into actions… and they never have.

It’s worked out pretty good for us thus far – she tells me when I’m being a douche (which is quite often), and I tell her when she’s being a snotty bitch (decidedly less often).  And then we reassess ourselves and move on.  Works like a charm!

Occasionally, though, we take it a step too far and offer a little too much information on our thoughts to each other… and, I did just that a short while ago.

You see, one thing the veterinary field does not have, is a lack of smoking hot, twenty-something women – and the staff at her clinic is Exhibit A!  Every last one of the docs there looks as though they might have paid for their schooling via soft-core porn.  I’d give most of them about an 8 on ye ole 10-point system… my girlfriend, however is on the lower end of that Bell Curve.  This is not to say that she’s not attractive, she’s highly attractive in my opinion; it’s just that when compared to the women she works with, her shimmer dulls a bit.  One girl – we’ll call her “Wendy” (names have been removed to protect the guilty) – is particularly noteworthy!

She’s tall-ish, slender (but not overly slender), has curves in all the right places, and always has this “quiet-but-confident” attitude about her.  She doesn’t say much, but you can tell that she probably loses her inhibitions when she drops the lab coat.  And to top it all off, she’s always smiling, which makes her hard to miss when you walk in there.

Now, I have no misconceptions about my own looks… I will never be confused for George Clooney or Leo Di Caprio, and I’m fully aware of this!  So, I know for a fact that even if I was single, these women would still be out of my league.  Hell… as long as we’re using baseball clichés:  I’m in Little League and they’re warming up for the MLB All-Star Game!  But, let’s be honest, what Little Leaguer doesn’t have dreams of violating playing with the All-Pros?  Wait… did I… I don’t think I phrased that correctly.


One day, my girlfriend was telling me a work-related story about Wendy…  I was only half-listening, so I can’t remember what the story was about, but I know that it had absolutely nothing to do with Wendy’s sex appeal.  When she finished her story, I knew from the dead air that I was expected to come up with some witty commentary on the subject now…

So, my dumb ass decides that now would be a great time to tell Pam that I’ve always thought Wendy was sexy as fuck!

As you can imagine, this didn’t go over very well!  The Conversation went a little something like this:

Me: Yeah, you know… I’ve always thought Wendy was a pretty attractive girl.

Pam: Huh?  What does that have to do with spaying a cat?  And why’d you feel the need to tell me that?

Me: I don’t know… it’s just… we were talking about her, and it just sorta popped into my head.  I mean, I’m not saying that I’d ever choose her over you… I’m just saying that I wouldn’t kick her out of bed, you know?  And while we’re on the topic – how the fuck did she end up married to such a douche bag?  He’s unemployed, and all he does is sit at home and spend the money SHE makes… and it’s not even like he’s anything to write home about in the looks department.

Pam: Yeah, he is a douche bag… but, I still fail to see what this has to do with spaying a cat.

Me: I don’t know… forget it.

And this was where I realized that I had said too much, and an “I fucked up” gift was in order.

She wasn’t really angry at me, per say, she was just sort of “perturbed” at my audacity.  She’s always known subconsciously that the girls she works with are on the higher-end of the female sexuality spectrum; but I guess since she only deals with them in a professional respect, she is able to “tune out” their sexuality and focus on their work-related abilities.  I, as a Y-Chromosome bearing male, am not… and thank GAWD for that!  I don’t think I’d be able to live in this world if I wasn’t able to gawk at boobies.

“AMAZING!” OBSERVATION OF THE DAY: So, I was watching “Criminal Minds” today and they show a scene where the two detectives are standing over a dead guy.  They start noticing defensive wounds on his arms, and the one detective (who is surely a descendant of Sherlock Holmes) says, “I think at some point things got out of control for this guy and he wanted out”……..  NO FUKIN’ WAY!  How can you be sure??  I mean, it’s not like he’s sitting dead in front of you with bite marks on his hands, or anything!

Now, THAT is some A+ writing folks!  The crack staff at Fox deserve a Pulitzer for this fine piece of work!  Way to go, Hemmingway!

~Roy “weekendkeyboardwarrior”