Friday, October 12, 2012

Continuing...

Here is the date that was proposed…
(In the interest of science we continue on, pushing the boundaries of what we know and what we think we know about life, social interaction, and the elusive nature of entertainment. Date #3!!
Location: DALLAS. While the experiment of me traveling to the datees location started wonderfully, it ended in such a horrifying way that I have vowed to never again do such a thing… Unless I change my mind.
Activity: We will dress as homeless people, make signs, stand beside a busy intersection until we have made enough money for the rest of the night. Next we will return to my apartment where I will change into nice clothes and you will remain looking like a homeless individual. We will go to a nice restaurant (one where they will let you in looking like a homeless but where it will also draw a lot of attention), you will insist on having a hot female waitress, you will pretend to be my homeless sister, you will tell the story of how I spent thousands of dollars and countless man hours searching for you just so that you would know that someone still loved you to anyone that will listen.

Objective: See how many hot girls numbers you can get me. Goal is 10)

Again, her response is in icy black and my commentary is in warm red…
“Dearest Beastly (Handsome) David,

You cannot image how thrilled I am to be a part of such history
(Actually yes I can). Despite the many wonderful attempts men have made at my heart, no plane ride or romantic dinner a mist (what mist?  Ohh did you mean amidst) the Dallas skyline could ever compare to such a man that would rather dedicate his time to be apart (a part) of the homeless community, even if it is to be greedy and take the money they so dearly need (Science and I know no shame). I am a fantastic sales person and believe that we have the ability to make enough money to cover dinner, a new dress, a few minor accessories, and fairly large amount will cover my pay for the experiment (Now it feels like you are being the greedy one.  All I wanted was a few pennies to cover the cost of a simple, elegant meal and a nice scotch). However, I have a few suggestions.

First, under my homeless attire, I should be entitled
(very unattractive when a woman uses this word) to a saucy, red dress with diamonds. (I think you are a little confused about dresses and jewelry.  A dress is something you wear to cover your body and diamonds are something you use to decorate yourself, like a Christmas tree.  One is made of cloth and the other is stone.  So a saucy, red dress with diamonds isn’t a real thing.  This is a scientific blog so it is important that we only focus on what is real.) I believe the most effective way to raise money for this date is for you to be homeless and make loud noises like Chewbacca at the dog park downtown and frolic around like a mad man. I will then beg people for money to institutionalize you, my brother. You will then fall to your knees in the water fountain and scream that your soul has been cleansed while ripping off your clothes revealing your second date outfit. We will then walk to the next block as if nothing happened. (No)

We must eat at a restaurant that has a stage. On our date, I prefer to eat a Cesar salad with a medium steak, broccoli and cauliflower. My drink of choice is a kamakazi
(kamikaze) that by this point, I will desperately need. If I feel as if things have escalated, I would like shots of Crown Royal Black Label, Jameson, and Jack Daniel's Tennessee Whiskey - the only thing to calm a Tennessee girl down after such a fiasco. So please sir, make this happen.(You want me to try to get you drunk?  I’m not that kind of guy.)

Upon leaving the restaurant, I would like to do a little dance out of my homeless attire and take a bow on the stage I requested earlier. We will then mingle with all the guests and exchange numbers.
(Why would they want to mingle with a crazy lady who wore a nice dress under homeless attire?)

I do propose a different way in the distribution of phone numbers though, sweetheart.
(Ahh honey, ahh sweety, nooo)

Since all is fair in love and war.
(Please explain what “war crimes” are…) (Also Lawyered!!)  I propose that you retrieve ten phone numbers for me. (I’m not a dog.  I don’t “retrieve” things…ever) I prefer a variety of men with specific attributes that I have written down on my Betty Boop notepad. (I never pay attention to a man’s attribute) Please stick to this list and create a profile of each one. (I don’t “create profiles of men”) I believe I'm incapable of choosing a man from the oh-so-important Betty Boop list by myself, so I kindly ask that you take this seriously. (The only things I take seriously are science and my hair.) In return, I promise to get 8 numbers of the hottest women. I will then exchange the last two numbers you requested for two homosexual men so that,(NO)  in theory, your study well (will) be semi-well rounded. I believe ten women would be a large number for one man. (Really because my middle name is Solomon)  Assuming that 4 of the 8 women will turn out to either have attachment or daddy issues in which case you won't have time to deal with this many women on such a large scale. (Umm not a problem… I have an ignore button on my phone.)

If you failed to adhere to my conditions, I must refuse to be apart
(a part) of such a study.

Sincerely and Sincerest,
(redundant)

Taylor”

Thank you Taylor for taking the time to pound out a response… you are awarded 1 point.
Once again I would like to emphasize that points may NOT be exchanged for money or sexual favors…


People continue to make the mistake of thinking that these outings are about them, when in fact they are about science and me.  These “dates” are not just things I make up off the top of my head, pull out of my ass, nor are they fashioned together from suggestions by coworkers and strangers; they are methodically planned out high tech experiments that have no room for error, improvising, or tinkering. 
It would seem that once again I am cast out into the night alone, with only science to hold me, comfort me, and know me.  I am not discouraged, merely disappointed.  Instead of the clink of wine glasses over a meal I am left with the sounds of beakers clanking together exhaling the hope of our scientific ancestry for what was once a bright and promising future.  Instead of whispers and dinner conversation I have only Robot’s cold, oddly creepy voice to console me as I stare out across the expanse of what might be, of what could be…  In bed I wrap myself up in the dream that Social Media Science (SMS) will soon become a recognized field of scientific study and art.   






Points may in fact be exchanged for money and sexual favors…

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