Chow-Soo

I had a Chinese algebra teacher when I was in middle school.

He was pretty decent at the English language with only a slight accent to his words.

But there was one word he’d always fuck up: my buddy’s name, Charles.

Mr. Lee would call him “Chow-Soo” instead of Charles. What?

“CHOW-SOO! Where your homewohk?”

“CHOW-SOO! Go to boahd and sowve [solve] probrem.”

It got to the point where Charles asked to be called “Chaz.” And then he became a skater punk kid. I mean, how could he not with a nickname like that?

I guess that’s not as bad as that one time some Korean lady was looking for peanut butter but kept calling it “penis butter.”

Hanoori Town Date

He had short ribs; I had bibimbap. Then we went to H Mart so he could get yogurt (he eats a quart of that stuff for breakfast… with this crazy breakfast sandwich that has four eggs, bacon, and sausage), apples, and some snacks. We ate green tea flavored ice cream mochi. The flour got everywhere so we looked like we were doing cocaine in his car. I wanted to rub some of it under my nose to complete the make believe scenario, but I didn’t want to make too much of a mess.

Nice guy. I still like him.

And he said he’d like to see me again on Friday.

Three dates in a week. I guess he likes me too. Holy shit, bruh.

Coffee Date Kisser

I had a coffee date on Monday. I saw him walk into the coffee shop and thought he looked like a bro. I turned my face toward the window and and thought about up and leaving. That’s a real dick move, Jess. Don’t do it. He texted.

 

He snuck up on me. That rarely happens. I may or may not have shouted, “OH SHIT!” when he came up from behind. Dead silence in the vicinity with everyone’s eyes on us. Aside from that hiccup, everything was pretty damned nice. Matter of fact, it was fucking damned near perfect.

We clicked. He wasn’t what I expected him to be. We talked for a good two hours until Alex and Rachel showed up… and then we invited him back to my apartment. That’s a huge test to pass. If a guy can handle Alex, Rachel, and me talking about our regular nonsense… well shit.

I stayed quiet for a good amount of the banter. I wanted to see how Mitch fared with my friend and brother. He did a lot better than I expected. It takes a certain kind of person to groove with our shenanigans, and he passed with flying colors. He seemed knowledgeable about a wide range of topics. He knows how to make tasers and railguns (he does research with electricity and the human brain) and told us all the hot models to look up on our phones (I think Rachel liked that part). Workouts, amino acids, rock climbing, organic chemistry, capacitors, cars. He could talk about anything. And I like that.

Rachel and Alex went home fairly early, but Derek asked if he could spend the night on my sofa, so he took their spots on the living room floor. I could tell Mitch and Derek were measuring each other up. I guess that’s fair. Derek’s a good friend and probably wanted to know what sort of person I was on a date with, and Mitch probably wondered why I let a buff Asian dude sleep in my house if there’s actually nothing going on between us.

And wouldn’t you know it, Derek got along pretty damned well with Mitch too. So well, in fact, that Derek decided he wouldn’t sleep in my house. I think he was trying to be a good wingman or something. What the fuck, Derek?! Why are you leaving me alone with a handsome rock climber dude on the sofa with me?! Derek packed his shit and left the two of us alone.

My mind ran away to all the naughty places. And I’m pretty sure his did too. He went into a little more depth about the research he does. Something about using MATLAB to map out the brain when certain pleasurable stimuli are physically applied to the body. He brushed his fingers along the bottom of my forearm as an example. Oh fuck. Goosebumps. Everywhere. And then he asked where my erogenous areas were. They’re my ears and neck, but I didn’t say that. I told him I’d tell if he did, and before he could open his mouth, I commenced to making origami flowers. I’ll be quite honest, I needed to distract myself from looking into those pretty green eyes.

Distraction didn’t work. He asked if he could kiss me. I was knocked back. No way. There is a god and he doesn’t hate me today. I did this dorky smile-hiccup thingy and nodded my head. Then I was really knocked back because he leaned forward a bit faster than I was expecting; my reflex reaction was to sit back. The arm of the sofa prevented me from moving very far away; he towered over me… and then he very gently kissed my lips. I kissed back, and then shit got a bit crazy.

I guess he took my firm kiss as a “go.” He laced his hands around my back and pulled me towards him. I let out a little gasp (I was into it, sue me), and then he started to run his mouth along my neck and ears. This dude is a mind reader. I lost my shit and went into full-on make-out mode. I pulled at his shirt and scratched his back (apparently he likes that shit) and I felt him get hard through his jeans. …still got it.

The rest was a bit of a blur, but I know I liked it. Mitch is a great kisser… and hickey-leaver. They were the topic of conversation all day.

Before he left to go home I got a bit self conscious of my behavior. I met the guy maybe seven hours before I found out how good of a kisser he is. But I said what I wanted to say anyway before he walked out the door:

I have a dinner date with him tomorrow.

Wedding Manners

My buddy Chris got engaged yesterday. He was really hungover from St. Patty’s day with his girl and he said, “If I can stand a hangover and all the bullshit she’s thrown my way for the last four years… I should marry her.” He proposed without a ring, at the kitchen table, while the two of them were drinking coffee and popping aspirin.

If that ain’t a love story, I don’t know what is.

He asked Zach and Sam to be his groomsmen (I think Chris is going to ask his brother to be his best man). And then the groom put some conditions on my being able to attend the wedding. I’m pretty sure the terms came from his wet blanket of a fiancee, but whatever.

Chris: Jess, if you wanna come to my wedding you have to graduate from an etiquette class.

Me: …fuck you. I’ll mourn the end of your bachelorhood with a drink with the barkeep. NAKED. BUTT FUCKING NAKED.

Zach: Sorry, man. If Jess is naked at a bar, I gotta be there. No wedding for me neither.

Camaraderie at its finest.

Besides, I’ve been to charm school. My bloodline may go back to the Celts and Mongol horde, but I know how to be a darling when it matters.