Or what I like to call Bring Your Alt to the Blues Club Day.
I ended the first night thinking, OK, maybe Riv is on to something. A little slider bump here, a drop there, and wow, what a difference. What I learned is there is one constant. Asshats. Sorry, guys, but you know you exist.
With cautious optimism I headed off to see what another night would bring. Started off with an invitation to dance from one of my new friends from the night before. Chatting, all good. Until, “Well, I have a date.” It turns out the girlfriend that had been conveniently left out of the conversation logged on.
I should have called it a night, but no. IMs IMs, small talk, silence …
I give profile stalking a go. Three days old and dressed in Armidi. A week old with “I’m not as new as I look” as an opening line. A month old, forgetfully replying, “Oh, I’ve been coming here for years.”
Then I hear from that guy … you know, the one in the standard-issue washed out freebie male skin stretched over a Hulk Hogan shape, that awful freebie shaggy dark hair, and not a prim to be seen on his clothes. Dude, a hint: perhaps letting me know you can ditch the chick you’re with in 15 is not the best line? Just sayin.
Turns out the bigger my boobs, the bigger boobs I seem to encounter.