Carol

I'm taking my truck in for the fourth windshield replacement.  I don't know what it is about these Honda Ridgelines.  Of all the trucks I've ever been involved with, this truck is over all, superior to most.  Granted I can't haul huge loads and the box is smaller than most, but if you're looking for the most bang for you buck, you can't go wrong with the Honda Ridgeline, and because of some of it's limitations, friends and family are going to be less likely to request help when moving.  That's a huge plus, in my books.  It's a unibody design, has all the get-up-and-go that a sports car half it's size possesses and the amenities inside are a dream.  There's a huge trunk in the bed of the box, which come complete with drain holes, so you can fill it with ice and keep your beverages cool while at the beach or tailgating.  The truck, like I said, is an absolute delight.  Superior to most on the road, except for that blasted windshield.  There has to be a flaw in the design, because how can I go through so many windshields in the seven years that I've owned it.

A single stone chip, cascades into a full blown crack, from stem to stern.  In this most recent case, I picked up a stone chip nearly two weeks ago, and the crack erupted nearly right away, spreading from near the passenger side edge, clear across the bottom of the windshield, then upwards, dissecting my line of sight, straight into the driver's side pillar.  I've driven the truck like this for just over a week, so I'm taking it in Thursday morning to have the windshield replaced.

I'm told that the process will take about four hours to complete.  They offered me a ride home, but I'm opting instead to meet a friend for breakfast and maybe shoot about town, time permitting.  She calls me her shopping buddy and if it's an excuse to get out of the house for a few hours, she can call me whatever she wants.

I contacted her and she agreed to meet up.  "It's a date." I replied, quick to add, "Not a real date."  She's one to take things in a literal sense, so I need to be on my toes to combat her first instincts.  She's a looker, I'll giver her that credit, but I'm not so lucky that I get to spend time with attractive females.  Especially, any that would find me appealing.

She "L.o.L'd" and commented that she'd help me with a dating profile one day.  I kiboshed that idea right away.  I've tried those sites in the past and have had nothing but scathing bad luck with them.  The worst of which is the true inspiration for this blog entry.  CAROL.

I don't remember a lot about Carol, except all the negativity.  I'm sure in time, she would've come to be a pleasant person and less psychotic, but that's not a gamble I'd wish to take with anyone.  I've battled psychotic in the past (Terri), and that's a twisted road I don't wish to trek again for a very long time, if ever.

The profiles on these dating sites need to be honest and forthright.  Some embellishment is understandable.  I told the truth about myself, but used a picture of the ECW wrestler, Tommy Dreamer, because someone once told me I looked a little like him.  Of course, someone else told me I looked a little like Julian from The Trailer Park Boys, so their credibility is up in the air.  Carol, on the other hand took great artistic license in her description of herself.

First of all, she said she was athletic.  She worked out daily and was physically fit, although she was a bigger sized girl.  As I'm no prize winning pig, either, I can look past such trifling.  Next she described that she was a health nut.  She never mentioned being a vegan, so we were two-for-two.  She was a nurse, which means a meaningful employment.  That's a good sign.

We exchanged telephone numbers and chatted for about a week or so before agreeing to meet for breakfast.  I came to her apartment door in an old masonry building near downtown, and the person I had pictured in my head for a number of weeks, was not the person who stood across the threshold from me.  Her polar opposite, in fact.

She was athletic much in the same way a sumo wrestler would be considered an athlete.  She did workout daily, as had claimed, but it was only to walk to the bus stop at the end of the block, where she rode the remaining five or six blocks to the hospital where she was employed.  She had a treadmill in her livingroom that held multiple plastic-wrapped cases of two-liter bottles of Diet Pepsi, which was the only contributor to the healthy diet that I saw any evidence of.  I'm sure the most liberal of dietitians would still disagree that potato chips and pretzels are not a part of a healthy diet.

She lived alone in the one bedroom apartment, but there had to be at least three half filled ashtrays lining the route from the front door to the living room.  The apartment was disheveled with clothing sprawled and strewn everywhere.  "I'm glad she cleaned up for company." I quietly joked to myself.

She was a huge mess.  A joy to speak with on the phone, but now in person, she seemed like a totally different person.  She was wearing nothing but tight yoga-style pants and a sports bra, as it that was a real article of clothing to be going out for breakfast in, but like I said, I'm not prize winner either, so giving her the benefit of the doubt, off to breakfast we went.

She sat across from me, devouring her breakfast like a hyena tearing into the carcass of a wildebeest.  It was not a pretty sight.  There was, literally, food flying about the table.  If I'd had reached over, I'm sure I would have lost a finger or two.  I'm not sure if she was grunting at all, but for the sake of the story, let's agree that she was.  I'll say this much for Carol, she was not healthy by any means of the definition, but she sure as f**k had a healthy appetite.  I can't recall what exactly it was that she'd ordered, other than it cost a small fortune and it put her in a right randy mood.

No sooner had we returned to her tiny little apartment, but she was ready to go, if you know what I mean.  I, on the other hand, was not.  I was tempted only in the fact that it'd been a long time between physical interactions, but I was not ready to venture down that road.  I told her straight out, "I do not have protection," in hopes that this would dissuade her from any advancements.  I figured being a health professional that would be enough.  "No probs!" she said with glee, "I'm on the pill."  I can't imagine why she'd bother being on birth control.  Watching her eat, alone, would suffice as birth control.

She was determined, though, to get a piece of Jeff, going so far as to block the path to the door, but I was determined too.  I insisted that she allow me to go to the nearby 7-11 to purchase condoms.  This proved distraction enough to allow me to flee.  Thankfully, she never knew where I lived and despite some hateful phone messages, she finally abated her assault when I lied to her, telling her it was her smoking that was the deal breaker.

I have not intention of pursuing the affections of another via the dating site avenue.  I'd much rather hang out with friends and meet some lovely single woman that way.  Unfortunately, all my friends have either gal pals who are in relationships or are borderline psychotic.  No thanks!  I've sailed that ship and I bailed out in time to avoid a total meltdown of the nuclear reactor.