I’m brutal and impatient.
I don’t know how I manage to keep my license.
I’m way to quick to toot my horn and push my way to where I wanna go.
I’m a menace.
I should be illegal.
On rare occasions, I suppress my brutal urges.
When I’m first dating a girl, I’m nice.
But sometimes I can change during the course of one date.
Case in point — 2002.
We met at Stu and Lew’s Christmas party.
She was an executive.
I love powerful women.
We had our first date at the Magic Carpet on Pico Blvd.
She wasn’t as concerned about my past writing on —- but that I was too religious for her.
I was Orthodox and she was Conservative.
Lunch went well enough for us to go out again.
We went to a movie in Santa Monica.
On the drive there, I was very careful.
Then I got us into an argument on abortion.
She thought it should be legal and guilt-free. I was more gloomy.
We watched the movie.
I drove back brutally.
"I can see you’re no longer trying to impress me," she noted as I raced through a yellow light and smacked into a few bumps.
Damn, women are so intuitive.
How do they pick up on these things? How can they tell I no longer care so much?
If I can ever learn to fake caring, I’ll be the complete loving package.
