The Power of Prayer and a Truck on a Lift Kit

Now don’t get me wrong. I like a “man’s man” kind of man but I do usually keep a safe distance unless I lack the proper tools or muscle power to work on my own car. The other night I decided to go beyond my comfort zone, date a mechanic – my mechanic; and explore the aspects of dating someone worth calling the “King of Kong’s – A Man’s Man”.

It was a beautiful late summer evening. The sky glowed from the sleepy amber sun and the air was crisp as a freshly picked apple. My date promptly arrived with a large bouquet of dahlias. Yes dahlias. A variety of dahlias that Vivienne Westwood on acid would have appreciated. Mismatched and uncertain. I thus moved forward with splitting the bouquet into much more tolerable arrangements. Some would call it obsessive, others might call it “in good taste”. [speaking in quotations is another form of obsessive behavior.] (speaking parenthetically is also another form).

While I rearranged the flower arrangement he commented on my kitchen window and how it would be so easy to climb up and slip a butter knife under the lock to get into my home while I was sleeping. I thought about what he said. I questioned whether his M.O. was to make me more aware of my safety or to scare the daylights out of me. I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. Afterall, why would I go on a date with a psycho?

As we enthusiastically drank sangria on my front porch, I looked to my driveway to see a rather large white Dodge Ram Pick-up presented on a lift kit. This is what’s called “red flag numero uno”. The first sign, the technicolor bouquet, was simply an orange alert. Red flag numero uno, the said truck, continued to surprise me with it’s die cut chrome flame grill. Oh yes. It was, ladies and gentlemen, the Kid Rock of trucks in all it’s glory of die cut flamedness. All it was missing was a hood ornament of some bar chick getting balled from behind.

We finished our drinks while discussing the skills and craft works of Bobby Flay, McFlay…whatever he’s called…My date loves the confused Irish Southwesterner Food Networking McChef. Appalling but anyway, It was time to set out for dinner. I was dying to get into that sweet ride of his anyway. I directed him to this lovely Vietnamese hideout in the International District. God knows that an ex-marine with giant bad tattoos must long for inappropriate flashbacks of a war before his time. He must want to have Vietnamese food. Right? I know that it’s wrong for me to say that out loud but it fits the bill for the evening because god only knows. Right?
oh god….

We ordered our food. He filled in the waiting time with talks of things I’ve been blocking out until now. I vaguely remember visions of being barefoot and pregnant while handing him a Tsingtao on our front porch made of cinder blocks. Uh, huh. Yup. He was speaking in tongues and talking about our future plans.
This is what I call “red flag numero dos”.

Our waitress brings us our bountiful food. It’s beautiful and fresh and ready to be in my gullet so I can avoid any conversation whatsoever. I lifted the fresh summer roll to my eager mouth and looked across the table to see bowed before my eyes a high and tight shaven head praying to our lord jesus christ.

Oh.My.Hell.Hole.

When he finished his blessed blessings for the bountiful blessed Vietnamese food, he said, looking directly at me, “OK” as if to say it’s okay to eat now that the lord hath given us permission.

I lowered the said summer roll, quizzically tilted my head and unknowingly put on a fart face and asked “Were you just praying?” He replied “Yes. I’m a good Catholic boy”.

This is what is called “red flag numero tres”.

By then I had deduced the date was over and I never want to:

be barefoot and pregant handing an Asian beer to a huge fan of Kid Rock everyday for the rest of my life.

jack off a pitbull just ‘cos it’d be funny.

eat at the Cheesecake Factory because it’s my birthday.

I learned the power of prayer. It’s powers beseeched me into a fart faced cynical woman and thrust me even further into bourgeois modernhood (comparitively speaking). What is still yet to be discovered is the power of a truck’s lift kit. I guess when earth is ruled by apes I will know. Catholic apes that is.

May the real King Kong rest in peace. RESPECT.

by Ghost Dater v1.2

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