Tag Archives: Online Dating

The Rosary. A Story of Lust and Celibacy, Part Due. (In Italian two is “due”. Not due, like “your bill is due”. Due, like a Candadian asking if you’re drinking a Mountain Dew. “Dew, Eh?” Due, two, Italian, learning to speak it.)

Authors Note: In an attempt to display some “range” with my writing, I’ve decided to not swear in this post.  See if you can tell where I would have used vulgarity. With that I give you:

Part Two: 

The second week of February of this year I celebrated 13 years of being clean of booze and blow.

The second week of February of this year  I celebrated 10 years of being cigarette free.

As of today, it’s officially been 3 months,  OR 12 weeks, OR 84, actually 87 days since my last online date.


I quit the drinking and blow because, after a while, you get a little tired and annoyed with pissing the bed on a regular basis. And those aren’t cheap “habits”. Couple that with continuously buying plastic sheets from Walmart, even at their low, low price of $18.97; it adds up quick.

I quit smoking because the cigarettes were causing my forefinger fingernail on my right hand to become soft and yellown or brellow (You guessed it, brown and yellow officially did it, they hooked up and the child was the aforementioned forefinger fingernail).  I’ve always enjoyed the fact I’ve possessed naturally calm cuticles. So, to ruin it with a soft, yellown or brellow fingernail would have been putting a Picasso in a frame from Walmart at the low, low, price of $37.87.

And I quit online dating because well…

The Last Surviving Site…

You ever see an ad for a site, any site, and you click on, they ask you to enter your email and the next thing you know:

“Sorry, this email already exists”.

What? When? How?

Then you remember on a Friday night, you thought the prospect of sugar-free, dairy free, gluten free, taste free, high protein, sour gummy candy was, the greatest thing since Mr. Skin.com. Then you came to your senses and realized $9.95 for 6oz. and $4.95 shipping was a little ridiculous for something that would last two handfuls worth of time.

Well, lets just say, the email thing would happen on the following:


Plenty of Fish.com

Ok Cupid.com



Coffee Meets Bagel (saw this one on Shark Tank)

Hot or Not.com



And the piece de resistance, wait for it…

Catholic Match.com.

(No, no Farmers Only and yes, I did check out Christian Mingle until my mouth tasted like burning.) 

However, when I got back from “Date with Destiny”, (Foreshadowing) I was dating someone. Which meant my profiles were either hidden or deleted.  You actually can wash away your existence on these sites…So they say…Unfortunately, when I got back from said event, the dating someone was something…

You know, I may delve deeper into the “why” I broke things off with her someday, just not today…

Yet, there was a lone survivor…One forgotten about… Or was it?……..

Meetmindful kept popping up on my Facebook page news feed.  Meetmindful presented itself as a dating site with a “conscience”.

Aww, those poor developers had no idea what this world consists of. It was only a matter of time before a spoiled blueberry deep within the pint turned it into one fuzzy glob of penicillin. (I’m allergic to penicillin…which sucks because every time I have to list an allergy, I struggle with penicillin. Not the allergy itself, but the spelling.  The only reason I have it spelled correctly here is, you guessed it, red underscores. Thanks, Bill Gates!)

And who is that furry blueberry of death you ask? (You didn’t ask)

Spac Profile Pic

…Let’s go find some “Irie Sisters.” (hippie speak)

I’m not going to go into some long, historical diatribe about “Hippie Keith”, instead, well…

Hippie Keith

Look at those dawg gone eyebrows!

Point being, in the deep recesses of my mind I possess the vernacular needed to walk down  “Shakedown Street” and score some heady nugs.

It’s right next to those 5 years of French.  Je suis un ananas! Ananas

Well, shortly after returning from Tony Robbins (I hate “I told you so people”, and to read about My Date With Destiny…https://athletichippie.blog/2017/12/12/my-date-not-online-with-destiny-not-a-stripper/)

I get messaged by an exquisitely beautiful young lady, who, wait for it, LIVES NEAR ME!  (It’s insane how many people you meet on these sites that don’t live ANYWHERE near you! Insane I tell you!)

And we hit it off…Why? Because she mentions Tony Robbins in her profile.  In many cases, especially in moments of desperation- let’s face it, when you’re on a dating site, you’re pretty dawg gone desperate-you grasp at any straw available. (Did I use the dash  appropriately? I have no dawg gone clue.)

But, when you return from a week of, well, read the blog, and the first girl you meet, unintentionally by the way, just so happens to mention a man you spent more time with than, well, your father…Thoughts of serendipity start swimming like salmon to Capistrano through your hippie speaking/French speaking/self-help motivated mind.

This is where I may creep all of you out a bit (or a bit more)…

So, to communicate with people on MeetMindful (I should mention the questions they  ask and then post your answers on your profile consists of things like: “What gets you present? What are you passionate about? What imperfections are you embracing?… Ya, you get the point…) you are given a few day window to go on a mass assault on all the hopeful, innocent hearts within a 50-mile radius of 12803. When those days expire, way too fast I might add, you have to pay to read and send emails. Here is where it gets creepy (as if), I refuse to pay. I mean, the monthly cost is the equivalent of two sets of plastic sheets at Walmart!

HOWEVER, they (profiles) provide enough information to be, well, a dawg gone stalker!  All you need is a name (provided), their city (provided), and a picture or two; you can pretty easily find them on Facebook. Just as long as you study their pics well enough to either find it’s match or a similar one. (If I studied this hard in high school I’d be a dawg gone Astrophysicist).

When you do, and I always do,  you send an Instant Message like,

“Hey, so this is Keith, from… Ya, is this cool or is this beyond creepy?”

It usually works… it always works… they get it.  However, none of the relationships (foreshadowing) work, so, there’s that.  But how dawg gone creepy, right?


Instant messages turned into “friend requests”, friend requests turned into texts, texts turned into phone calls, which turned into texts the moment our phone calls were over, which turned into staring at your phone hoping it would ring, which turned into picking up your phone making sure it was working, which turned into restarting your phone because it needed a restart anyway and SURELY she’s texted me, which turned into me sending the “Hey” text with the blushing smile face emoti, which turned into…


Then she does letting you know she was busy, sorry and is thinking about you…Because, you know, we haven’t met yet so the fantasy of “happy ever after” is being played like a GIF in both of our minds.

She says things you’ve been waiting to hear come from a sweet sounding voice, and you say things which floor her because you’ve been on so many dawg gone dates that you’ve gotten pretty dawg gone good at this. But, they’re true.  They’re how you truly feel and think.  So, what do you do?

“You should really read my blog.”

Good idea, right?

Here is my thought process when inviting a potential partner to read about a few of her, well, predecessors…

  1. You more than likely will read something if we hit it off, might as well be now.
  2. You more than likely will Google my name, and you may stumble across, well…This:

fat woman with tattoos

3. You more than likely will suck, so don’t suck so bad that I end up writing                                about you. You’ve been warned. And lastly,

4. I’m an over-flattering schmuck and all those compliments (You’re                                               breathtaking, you’re exquisite, you’re gorgeous…) Yeah, I use those A LOT,                               by all means, don’t feel special and/or unique. But I’m also a writer that desperately needs validation!

Well, I’ll let you figure you out (No, I won’t) which one of these “set her off”. (#4)

Needless to say, I got this text:

“So, I did some reading last night and I don’t know how I feel about you, lol”

LOL? LOL? What in the name of dawg gone heck are you dawg gone LOLing about you stupid dawg gone dawg goner?!? (I’m currently suffering from vulgarity withdrawal)

Needless to say, I called her. Pretty sure I cried, I’m fairly certain I cried, ya, I cried.  I’m good like that.  In between tears I rattled off the usual suspects:

“You’re different!”

“You’re so special!”

“I’ve never connected like this!”

“What did you think of the writing?”

Authors note: Okay, lets get something clear, I’m painting myself into this corner of  being this God-Awful soul.  I’m not. I’m just, well, honest.  So, you know, deal with it and get off your sanctimonious, pretentious cloud and realize this: It’s a scary, dark world, dating.  And sometimes, well folks, sometimes,  a man does what a man has to do to survive in this cruel, superficial world…  

Needless to say, date on!

Date Night!

I really hate paying for sushi. Especially for online dates. Why? I’ve got a great hook-up, and from time to time, I’m notorious for bringng the “uninspired” dates (skeptical at best) to said hook-up. However, she found this place in Malta, and we decided to go there. And yes, I bought flowers.  (I did that crap early on, and I learned a valuable lesson; don’t do that. However, the whole blog thing threw me off, so, here I am, flowers in tow.)

She pulled up next to me in the parking lot and, DAMN! Total smoke show.  Beautiful from head to toe to ass.  And what an ass!

I gave her the flowers, and she kissed me! This was going to be the perfect night. The LAST first date, right?

The sushi sucked. It was globs of rice, fake crab, and a ton of that orange…stuff which looks like the dawg gone “secret sauce” they put on Big Mac’s.

But, damn…she was fine, and the way she looked at me…

Oh and the ambiance, it was slightly above those Chinese “restaurants” with one table, two chairs, flypaper strips in between Chinese lanterns, and for some reason a ton of maps of the city.

So, you know, romanticism was at it’s apex.  Then this happened…


“Anything else?” The young lady asks while putting down our check.  What if I said yes? What if I wanted some fried, green tea ice cream?  Maybe tonight of all nights I craved something that could simultaneously speed up and slow down my metabolism. (I didn’t, I just wanted to get dinner over with for some sushi breath sexy time.)

“No, thank you.” I innocently answered while we still had two mountains of, well it looks like the sushi chef was drunk, got home and made this for himself.

Munchies 420

At 8:50ish, another, different waitress comes over and starts to take our plates, FULL OF FOOD, away!

“Umm, we’re not done.” My beauty responds while forking in a massive glob of sushi.


Now, allow me to recreate the scene for you.

date night

I’m on the right, she’s on the left. The waitress comes from behind me to the table.  So, as she walked away, and I heard “pfft”, I wouldn’t have been crazy to think she, well, tooted… I mean seriously, what the hell is “pfft’?

She didn’t fart…

“Did you hear that?” My wide-eyed damsel asked with escalating insanity.

“Yeah…”I responded while trying to not come across as a coward. I mean…Who “pfft’s”?

“Um, excuse me, but we are going to finish OUR food, which WE (Keith) paid for!” She fired with a harsh, instigating tone and forks another mouthful of…I don’t think it’s sushi anymore.

“We’re closing!” The “pffter” slashed back.

“When?” My lady parry’s.

“9:30!”… “Pffter” is pissed! However…

“And what time is it now?” It was 8:5something, but it sure as sugar wasn’t even 9.

A second of silence (it was a glorious second too).

“Sorry, what time?  Excuse me, what time is it now? Ya, I thought so!” 1984 Mike Tyson had nothing on her…And ya, she’s ferocious, however, the tone in her voice not only changed, it developed an accent.  (foreshadowing, and no, it wasn’t high pitched like the aforementioned 1984 boxer.) 

You know what question I hate being asked by anyone I meet online? (Insert 93 jokes here.) 

“How long have you been online dating?”

The truth, I’ve been on and off for over 10 years…10 YEARS!  Again, off and on…There was this 5 year window where I didn’t have any online dating activity.  You know, because I was, well, married.  Little did I know that I was the only one in that relationship who took a break from the world wide interweb!

Have I told you about my student film “Good Grief”?


Anyway, I say that to say this, I’ve been on a dawg gone ton of dates. And this, a legitimate cat fight at a Sushi restaurant…Didn’t see that coming.

My response?

“Come on, lets go.”

Sexy time, sexy time, sexy time…Seriously, my heart was thumping like a pair of sneakers in the dryer. This was the best foreplay ever! (not really, but still pretty awesome) Very one sided, but still something so very erotic about it.  (The soft core porn writer in me was envisioning them somehow crossing paths later on and then…well…)

“Ya, lets…”  She acquiesced while firing daggers with her eyes towards the Waitress from Hell!

We walked out hand in hand to my car…I left a small tip…But I did tip.

My Car

I lease a 2016 Honda Accord Coupe.  Nice, sleek, sporty, and from time to time it can be like a fat kid in skinny jeans, a little tight.  Tonight was one of those nights.  For you see, we were going to let her car warm up while we “talked” and then made our way to a bar to “chat”.

We didn’t make it there it to the bar.

We spent the rest of the night, well, seeing how much two people could maneuver in a 2016 Honda Accord Coupe. Yet, somewhere in the middle of all of this, in the middle of her telling me how she thinks I’m “the one” and the guy she’s been waiting and “praying for”.

“I’ve got to tell you, I’m dating someone… And…Ya,  I have another date tomorrow.”

So, let me get this dawg gone straight, only 5 dawg gone hours ago, I was in dawg gone “tears” because you read my dawg gone blog and thought I was a dawg gone player. But NOW, you’re telling me that you not only have a dawg gone boyfriend, but you’re “technically” cheating on him and have plans on doing it again tomorrow, AFTER you dawg gone told me I was the dawg gone one you’ve been “praying for”?

And do you think I mentioned this?

Her response:

“I’m living my life, how I want to live my life, and I’m sorry, no, no I’m not sorry, I’m going to be me and this, this is me.”

Yeah, I had no dawg gone clue what that meant.  All I did know was that tone with the accent was back.  And it scared the ever-living poo out of me.

I’m done! I’m done! I’m so dawg gone done!

But not until we fooled around for another solid couple hours (it was brutally cold that night. Remember that stretch where it was like -17 every damn night? Well, it was in the middle of that.  We turned my car on and off like 23 times.  It was a perfect metaphor for the inhabitants of said car on this evening.).

Anyway, we parted ways.  Two days later we decided it wasn’t going to work.

And I also decided my online dating movie was…well, “Fin”.

Then, well, I got this text from someone I hadn’t heard from in some time, and it read:

“Hey Keith, Happy New Year!”


Authors Note: Totally have my MeetMindful page still up. Because, well…


Spac Profile Pic 



The Rosary: A Story of Lust and Celibacy… Part One

Analytics are a fickle little bitch.  I work within a world that is rapidly being inundated with them, all the while having none of substance to provide.  However, when you have a WordPress account, (my unfortunate blog platform of choice; they’ve gotten better though.) you have access to a portal which displays all this exciting (not at all) data.  For example: If you read this blog through Facebook, I would know it. Just a number, no name.  I bore you with all of that to bore you with this; for the past couple months, someone keeps searching my home page.  On an almost daily basis,  someone is going to my “library” and seeing if I’ve uploaded anything…

Yes, this is the one about you. (more of a composite character…For those that don’t know what a composite character is, or choose not to simply Google the fucking term; it’s two or more that are made into one. Think Donald Sutherland in JFK.  Actually, this is really about one, while a bit about another, while mentioning a couple, so like 5 characters, including me…I think…There is nothing composite about this, not at all…) 

Oh and if you’re just being introduced to me and my writing “style”; I swear, like, a lot.  And I misuse parenthesis,

(Like, all the fucking time.)

“Who’s walking down Broadway?”

You can set your watch to it.  Okay, I don’t have a watch. Actually, I do have a watch, it’s not my watch per se, but…Real quick. (This won’t be quick)…

9 years ago, my father got my brother and I matching Citizen Eco watches for Christmas.  This was shocking because they were pretty damn nice! Totally unlike my father.  However, very much like my father, they had something to do with the NY Giants (Eli Manning endorses. Yes, this is my fathers mind). And very much like my father, he got me something I will never use. There was this time when I was 15, and I was a “husky” 15-year-old

Fat Keith

And he got me a tennis racket for my birthday…Cats and kittens, I literally looked at him and said,
“What the hell am I supposed to do with this?”

Fast forward to said Christmas morning, and I never ever, ever, ever, ever wore a watch. Actually, now that I think, that’s not true. I had a gold Movado.  I got it for $20 in Tijuana.  It fell apart a week later.  I currently wear a Hamsa around my wrist.


(Yes, the struggle between the cast of characters who comprise my personal sitcom is real.  Currently, there is a battle between Nightman Keith and Dayman Keith. Nightman Keith continues to go to the fridge in the middle of the night and suck down a bottle of maple syrup like it’s his “purpose” to totally fuck with Daytime, healthy Keith.) Where the hell was I?  Oh yeah, the watch dad got me was stolen from my car in the middle of a beverage center parking lot because I just so happened to leave my car door unlocked with my brand new watch in its case (getting a link removed) in my car…
Years later, I took my brothers because that’s what brothers do (I have no goddamn clue what brothers do), which has since been replaced by the aforementioned Hamsa (Namaste).

BUT, if I did wear that watch…

You can pretty much set your watch to it.

“So, who’s walking down Broadway this weekend?”

This is the line I hear every Friday morning from a colleague/friend. This harmless interrogation is his way of asking who is going to be my next victim, I mean blog antagonist or protagonist and maybe I’m the antagonist (that’s going to fester), I mean life I’m about to traumatize…My next goddamn online date.

Funny thing, he was actually the DJ at my wedding. (Not really that funny.)

Funny thing, I NEVER take girls “down Broadway. ”

Broadway is the beautiful, picturesque strip that runs through downtown Saratoga Springs where there is never any parking.  Where food delivery trucks just stop in the middle of the road and throw their flashers on causing a half mile traffic jam. Where god fucking forbid during the months of July and August (track season) you dare drive through this “quaint little city framed by the Adirondacks.” (I don’t know why I used quotes there. I really don’t.)

During track season, if you don’t accidentally clip with your car some drunken debutante in a hat so goddamn gargantuan that you don’t necessarily wish ill upon, just an event which will traumatize her so much she will forever associate THIS moment with THAT hat. And clutching her hand while carrying a PBR (so hip) is this douched in Creed Aventus (yes I just Googled expensive mens cologne)  and a cigar hanging from his mouth wishing it was his private school bunkmate Bradleys penis, acting as if his last name is Rockafeller (could be)  dressed in a checkered shirt and salmon shorts by POLO Ralph Lauren (Jesus Christ, I’m a description of an entree and review of “Hip to Be Square” away from being mistaken for Marcus Halberstram) prick …Yeah, if you don’t hit them with your car… You win the day.

By the way, 19 horses died there last summer.

Other than that Saratoga Springs is amazing!

Karin, Karin was the last girl I took “down Broadway”. We had a great conversation about food and I’m pretty sure I watched a male duck (a drake) try to fuck his lady of choice, a duck. Fun fact, a female duck is called…a duck. I wish I could find a GIF of Drake (the rapper, is he a rapper?) fucking a duck…Instead well, this is what you happens when you Google search a “drake fucking a duck”…I’m sorry (not one bit)

I would have broken her heart…Karin, not the duck…

Actually, I had coffee with Arielle on Broadway where we watched a homeless man get thrown out for swearing at a group of dreadlocked Skidmore students. Arielle and I would talk about…

I miss her every day and I’m pretty sure I broke her heart.

Don’t you wish there was a way you could hold onto people, the good people you come across and simply say, “the timing is just not right”?  Instead, well…

“I’ve gone celibate”, was my latest and lamest retort this past Friday when the spotlight was flashed in my eyes and the typical Friday, Broadway question was posed.

“What? Is that what you’ve given up for Lent?” He guffawed.  (I’m so fucking excited I found a way to use that word!!!)

And no I didn’t. Not guffaw, I didn’t give up sex for Lent.

But I sure as shit did now!

“Yes, yes I did! Now get me a goddamn steak!”

This is my story of voluntary celibacy…(As opposed to my late teens when, well…1998 Keith would strangle 2018 Keith…)

Oh and a story about how I came home to this…(hence the fucking title)


It started when I told her to read my blog and a “pfft”…



I’M A GODDAMN SUPERHERO! or just some douche trying to impress a cute girl: The story of a girl and her lost dog.

Quick story.  And when I say quick, you know for fact this is going to be anything but. It’s going to be long-winded, it’s going to be melodramatic, and it’s going to be 10 minutes longer than necessary.

No worries thought,  because nothing has changed since you last checked your Instagram except:

You’re “friend” is drinking a glass of beer.

You’re “friend” is drinking a glass of wine.

I’m a recovering alcoholic and I hate these “friends”.

You’re “friend” really hates Donald Trump so they share a meme calling him a misogynistic, xenophobic, putz.

You’re “friend” really loves President Trump and they share a meme calling the other “friend” a “Whiny Liberal Pussy”.

And there are a bunch of pics of someones fucking kids, dogs, cats, and some quotes about being positive or some shit.

Needless to say, you’ve got a minute or two for a cool little tale.

Anyway, not so quick story from about 12 hours ago.

Many of you who I have the pleasure of being Facebook friends know  I’ve been running again…

You want to know why I post my runs on Facebook? Not for some shit like “if I share X amount of posts, I receive a  coupon”.  Even though I do get 40% off Under Armour every once in a while.

I do it because it pisses a friend of mine off.  I know for a fact there is one person who legitimately gets all hot and bothered every time he sees it.   He even confirmed it via a text one night.

And I so get off on that!

I may go for a run tonight just because…

I’m such a spiteful, cheeky cunt.

Anyway, it’s more of a “spirited jog” really. I sustained injuries to my Iliotibial Band and my Iliopsoas last year and I’m still “in recovery”.  Essentially, the side of my leg and a muscle whose origins are just alongside my belly button are absurdly tight.

And let me tell you this, the latter, well, yeah, there is no greater hell than having a massage, from an attractive woman, who is alleviating this massive pain, all while having to fart. And folks, where did I say this muscle originates? Oh and friends, for some reason on this day,  the air coming out of my ass was worthy of Auschwitz.  Yeah, I said it. And I’m also owning the fact it was that goddamn bad.

Anyway, I can only jog. While jogging through the village of South Glens Falls, NY last night, I see a young lady and her dog. Instant thought, look graceful. Instant reality, I’m as graceful as, well…


Let me say this about the “flightless bird”, sometimes your hands go a little numb and you need to get blood pumping into them again.

Needless to say, here comes the 5’6 flightless fucking bird.  She heels the dog, which he (it’s a he) does perfectly. The young lady looks up and smiles proudly, as she should.  Cute dog, cute girl, I’m a fan of both, I reciprocate the smile. And I nailed it.

You know when you just crush a smile? Well, I sure as shit just did and you know what?

Anyway, fast forward 2.11 miles and 19 minutes and 47 seconds later. (I’m so goddamn slow and it…whatever) But I have permagrin like  Hippie Keith one hour into a Phish show and a piece of paper on his tongue.  My grin is not satisfaction due to my “end of the day jaunt”.  My grin is because I’m about to post something that will cause someone to curse my name.

Oh it’s such a glorious feeling, I highly recommend it.

Then, I see a car pull up along side of me. It’s a lady with her arm out waving me down.  I say a quick “Our Father” it’s not any of the 13 girls I’ve blogged about and lean in to see since my eyesight has gone to shit.

It’s her. The girl from before.

And yes, I’m like:


Then it dawned on me…Oh no!

I literally said “Oh no!”

Because the “Cute girl with the cute dog”, is now just the “Cute girl”.

“Hey, remember me?” she shyly inquired.

“Remember, I’ve been thinking about you for a solid 2.11 miles”…Ya, I didn’t say that. Why?

“Where is he?”  I quickly retorted.

“I don’t know!” She replied with horror behind her eyes and terror trembling in her voice.

Now, this is all happening right after running…okay, jogging, the excitement of infuriating a friend, and spiking a smile like it just won a Super Bowl. Now,a cute girl and her cute dog are in need.  I say that to say this:

Did I respond this way because she was cute?

You bet that sweet ass of yours I did!


“What’s his or her name?”

“It’s Ozzy.”

“Great name.”


“We got this, meet me down the hill at the path.”

“Oh no, you don’t have to do this.”  She’s scared and I’m a sweaty guy in a bright blue North Face fleece. I’d say no to me too.

So, what did I do? Only delivered the single greatest line of my life!

“Yes, I do.”

If Nicholas Sparks is reading this, his skinny jeans just got tighter.

Yeah, I gave her hope. And that was a pretty badass moment. Which I discovered was about to be trumped (ugh) in about 43 seconds.

She went to turn her car around and I started to jog down the hill.  Remember how I just said 43 seconds? (Of course you do, it’s literally words ago.) Well, it was more like 17. Odd numbers are just funnier. Don’t know why.

I heard a ruffling in the woods to my left.  Said a quick “Glory Be” that it wasn’t a rabid cat, looked over, and there he was.

“Ozzy”, I somehow exhaled out of my “holy shit moment lungs”.

He comes right over. No shit, walks out of the woods right up to me. Stops, I give a quick “hey fella”. Pick up the leash, look up, see her in the car, yell, “hey!” and hold the leash above my head like I found fire.

Now, I couldn’t see shit, but you bet your sweet ass I could see her smile from a solid 25 yards away.

And, well, I can just describe the next moment as…well…


Nicholas Sparks just grabbed some tissues and lotion.

Seriously, I felt this urge to go chop wood and grow a mustache.

Now, in hindsight, I totally botched my opportunity to walk up and say.

“I believe this is your dog miss.”

Instead, it was more like,

“Holy shit! That was so cool!”.

And then my glasses-less face came to discover that this perfect, serendipitous moment just happened with a girl…

Goddamn it…a girl that IF she was 18, it was because her birthday was yesterday.

The most superhero moment fucking ever, and well, of course, right?

She was overjoyed, relieved, and on the cusp of tears.

I shook her hand introducing myself, because well, it’s nice to know peoples names, and headed home.

When I got home, I pondered for a brief second what just happened.

Now, I don’t know if you can tell, but I believe in God.  At that moment, I reflected what just transpired, looked up, smiled and said,

“Thanks, man.  That was pretty goddamn cool”.

Then you realize you just had a front row seat to:

Seeing someone proud.

Seeing someone frightened to death.

Seeing someone inspired with hope.

Seeing someone euphoric.

Meanwhile, she brought this douche who gets off on letting his friends know he’s running… jogging…

She brought him grace.

And ya, I’m thinking it too…

I wonder if she has any older, psycho sisters?

Spac Profile Pic