Rants and Articles.
The bladder dialogs
We’ll call her… Gabrielle. Gabrielle is smart, slender, tall-ish, and totally off her rocker. Just my type. (I met her through match.com — incidentally, I was the one who contacted her). We’re having a fairly nice date, when I ask her:
— “So, what do you do in your spare time?”
— “Lots of sports! I also practice professional weightlifting and capoeira”
Upon hearing this, I nearly spilled my beer all over her lovely “I *heart* ME” shirt.
Holy shit! I’m dating Batman!!”
I don’t know if it’s just me, but I find something incredibly arousing in dating a woman who could kill me seven different ways with her bare hands (and screw Darwin! He wasn’t going out with queen of the Amazons here!).
The night goes on, and I’m really getting the impression that this girl likes me. She’s sending all kinds of signals, and I’m picking up on them like I have the Arecibo telescope mounted on the top of my head (ok, on my penis).
After a few beers, I take her home (which is on the other side of the city). When we get there, she asks me:
— “Do you want to meet Sonya?”
Sonya is a humongous boxer bitch she shares her house with. They sleep together, too (talking about dogs in English is awkward).
Sonya jumped into my arms as soon as she opened the door. Somehow, dogs always trust me more than people. That may be due to the fact that dogs have a tendency to be stupider than most people.
So you know the story. I played with her, she slobbered on my arm, lied down on her back so I could scratch her belly… jumped excitedly, tried to hump my back (I think she has a bit of an identity problem), and generally was all over me. All the while I’m thinking about doing the same things to her owner (yes, the back humping too… No, don’t ask).
The scenario was playing great for me, except for one minor detail:
I am Sergio’s colossally inflamed Bladder…”
That’s right. I was about to shed a tear from strain. That’s usually the point when my internal organs raise their voice and let their opinions be heard.
BLADDER: I’m dying here! DYING, I TELL YOU!!!
No problem, right? I’m at her place, right? And so I asked her:
— “Say, could you let me come inside for a spell, to use your bathroom?”
All my years of experience with dysfunctional relationships and unhealthy spousal mistrust did not prepare me for her answer:
— “I don’t think I’m ready for you to get to know my place yet”
BRAIN: Huh?
BLADDER: LET ME AT HER!!! I KEEL YOU BITCH! I KEEL YOU DEAD!!! DEAD I SAY!!!
BRAIN: *takes a look at biceps on the woman, calculates distance between her and door, decides against that particular course of action*
And then she smiled apologetically and held me close. You know the way. One of those hugs where your whole body comes in contact with the other person’s, and you can feel her touch all over. Those who know me may have anticipated that this is where it all goes to hell…
PENIS: Heeeelllooo, everyone!
BRAIN: Oxygen! Oxyy…
PENIS: Wow! Did you look at those LEGS?
BLADDER: Nice of you to drop by to the party. Where the hell have you been? I’m DYING here!
PENIS: Wow! Did you look at those LEGS?
BLADDER: Will you consider my feelings for once, asshole??
ASSHOLE: Hey! Leave me out of this! I don’t plan to be involved in this at all.
PENIS: They’re like… LONG! and STRONG! Wow… legs…
BLADDER: Shut up! SHUT UP! The both of you! I swear to god, if I go down, I’m taking you both with me!!
PENIS: And the boobs! They’re not really big, but boy, they’re perky! Niiice boobs…
BLADDER: That does it! I’m going nuclear! REMEMBER KEH-SAHN!!!!
That’s when my brain kicked in for just enough time to decide on an alternate course of action.
— “So, thanksalot ihadagreattime illcallyoulaterokbye!”
I gave her a quick peck on the lips and hightailed it to my car with superhuman speed.
Having absolutely no idea where I was, I just drove down the first big street I found. Eventually I made it downtown, where my bladder informed me that unless I found the prospect of peeing through a catheter for the rest of my life particularly appealing, I should stop.
BRAIN: Do you know what happens to the guys they pick up peeing on the street? Do you? They end up spending the night in jail with a cellmate named Bubba! That’s what happens!
BLADDER: Command post ready for launch! Commencing in 5!… 4!…
I brought the car to a staggering halt in the middle of a dark street and ran for the nearest tree, where I got down to business.
BLADDER: O-OOOHHHHHH… YESS…
PENIS: This is *so* not what I was looking forward to tonight…
BLADDER: YEAH, BABY!! LIKE THAT!! GIVE IT TO MEEEEE!!!
PENIS: Hey! Is this going to end anytime soon? I’ve got serious contemplation to do, you know?
At that precise moment, a truck that looked suspiciously of the Federales turned the corner on the block i was standing.
BRAIN: Shit!
ASSHOLE: Noo, I’m pretty sure I would have noticed, boss. Everything’s a-ok down here!
BRAIN: Shut up, asshole! Everyone else — Abort! Abort! Emergency retreat!
BLADDER: OH. YESS! YES! YES!
PENIS: Zipper alert! Zipper alert! THE ZIPPER IS UP! I REPEAT, THE ZIPPER IS UP! Disengage!!
BLADDER: OH MY GOD YESS!!! YES! Like that, bitch!!
PENIS: …
PENIS: fuck
The truck went past me and I saw it was just some guy with his family.
To recap: At the end of the night, I ran the risk of rupturing my bladder, anal rape by a guy named Bubba, back rape by a dog named Sonya, and peed myself a little.
Will I go out with this woman again?
PENIS: Hell yeah! I mean, did you look at those LEGS?
— sergio on December 22, 2004 
Comments
Good for her! Who would want to date someone with such a poor excuse to invite himself in? 8^)
Also, don’t you keep old beer bottles or old cups and glasses in your car? You could have peed in those.
Good desicion, though thinking with your dick can sometimes lead to trouble.
And I agree; talking about dogs in English is akward. In Spanish you can just say Perro/Perra but in English it’s dog and bitch. What a strange language.
“Sonya is a humongous boxer bitch she shares her house with. They sleep together, too (talking about dogs in English is awkward).”
After the lead up about weightlifting and the batMAN comment, I was almost led into thinking that “Sonya” was her lesbian companion. I need to get my mind out of the gutter and you need to make it clear that Sonya is a dog and not just a bitch. :P Good story though, odd she didn’t want you using her bathroom. :-/
Ja ja ja great one sergio!!!
What if she reads your blog?
“So, you think my boobs aren’t that big, huh?”
What an akward situation that would be…
Dante: She actually knows about the site, but I don’t expect her to read this. In any case, I’d be more worried about her reading about my bladder calling her “bitch”. But hey, I was forced to unload on a tree downtown at 1AM. I think she’ll have to understand =)
If she does read this, I’d hope she takes it in good fun.
You have to introduce her to Sophia, and get them into a cat fight ;)
ridiculous… and drunk…
did she actually say and i quote:
“I don’t think I’m ready for you to get to know my place yet”?
i probably would have kicked her in the crotch and happily given her dog a golden shower. nobody fucks with a man and his number 1s and 2s. i thought everybody (both sexes) knew this.
the good news…
thinking with your “penis” actually delays the sense of urgency when the “bladder” starts talking. guys, you know what i’m takin bout. hollah.
if she is as good (legs and buttocks) as you indicate, then she is probably worth it. sounds like a possible match. i will cross the fingers.
“…but I find something incredibly arousing in dating a woman who could kill me seven different ways with her bare hands…”
That would rule out about about 1% of the female population. Over 9 years old.
I bet eeven Sofia could hold you down with her right hand tied to her left foot.
What’s the name of that Bond movie where the girl kills the guys with her thighs?
Now seriously, congratulations sergio. Let us know when you find out if wightlifters really have ALL of their lower body muscles really tight and under strong voluntray control.
I like the twist to “My Dear Dating Diary” this blog has taken. Loooooooove it, actually. I’m crossing my fingers so you go out with Batgirl again just to read Part 2 and then Part 3 and so on. Online dating services rock!
I’m with you on the “something incredibly arousing in dating a woman who could kill me seven different ways with her bare hands” thing I’m not sure why, but fighter chicks are painfully sexy!
She sounds like a keeper, dude. She fights like batman, /and/ she likes dogs! You’ll have to teach her to show a little more respect for your bladder, though. ;)
And in the defence of my native tongue, the only people I know who use the term “bitch” to refer to female dogs are breeders. Most pet owners just specify gender with a “boy-/girl-” prefix, or let the name speak for itseslf.
Congratulations on your great budding relationship, Sergio! I should hope that you have a lovely, wonderful time on your next date.
Uhm…let’s Googlebomb Overcaffeinated as Sergio I. Villarreal Pou. Y’know, just in case. Please?
There’s not much point, X-Wes. Just google “sergio” and you’ll see what I mean.
Dude, I wish I could write like you. I wish I could date Batgirl
what the fuck??
Go for it!
I tell you… It’s better to regret something you have done than somethin you haven’t done.
Cuz well, we all know you’ll regret it anyway… haha j/k.