Chemistry is a Wonderful Thing

Chemistry is lovely, especially when it allows you to make LSD. I'm just saying. Anyway, I believe in many types of chemistry. There's the genial chemistry that you have with your best friends. There's the romantic chemistry (that "spark", if you will) that you have with your special someone. There's the unmistakable chemistry that you have with a really well-made hot pastrami sandwich. Delicious. While I could write a litany of things about a proper pastrami sandwich, I will instead focus on romantic chemistry.

I've definitely felt the irresistible spark of romantic chemistry many times in my life. I endured a tremendously volatile five-year relationship where the spark was mainly exhibited through fighting, making up, and the occasion threat with a baseball bat. No, I did not threaten my woman with a bat; that's not cool. I threatened some dude who disrespected her. During my college years, this guy tried to walk in on her while she changing. He might've thought that he was being funny. I thought he was being a fucking idiot who needed to get his head bashed in. As I like to say, sometimes you just need to get your head bashed in. I was going to help him out with that. Being that my girlfriend (at the time) went to school at UC Davis and I went to school at UC Berkeley, it involved a forty-minute commute going at approximately 100 mph, in a friend's car no less, to ensure the head-bashing would occur within an appropriate time period. There are rules involved with this sorta thing, you know. I recruited two of my best buds: Daniel D, an electrical engineering/computer science major, and Gass, a math major. We were definitely not an intimidating crew (hence, the bats). We plotted and came up with the perfect plan. I think it went something like this:

me: Hey, I have to go to Davis and, like, hit some guy or something. Do you guys want to, like, have my back or watch my back or do something with my back?
guys: Sure. (pause) Wait, what happened?
me: He walked in on Sunny while she was changing. She's not pleased.
guys: That's fucked up.
me: Yeah, I'm pretty angry. Should we bring bats?
guys: You mean to, like, hit the guy?
me: Yeah, I think so. Either that or shove it up the dude's ass.
guys: I think you should just hit the guy and not worry about the ass part.
me: Okay, fair enough. Let's go.

We left around midnight and, on the ride there, discussed how I was going to have a very stern talk with the guy and then hit him in the head with a bat. It made sense. It was simple. I also wore one of my ghetto shirts in case I got blood or brain fluid on it. And after the beating, we were going to go to Cache Creek (an Indian casino), because that's just how the entire head-bashing routine works. Once we arrived in Davis, we picked up my girlfriend and went to the guy's dormitory. I knocked on his door loudly, since it was already 1am and he was sleeping, and he eventually answered. I think my adrenaline took over because I don't exactly remember what was said. It probably went like this:

me: You fucking asshole. Don't you ever, EVER walk in on Sunny while she's changing.
him: Uh huh.
me: If I ever hear of that shit again, I'm going to fucking twist your neck off.
him: You will, huh?
me: Yeah, I will.
him: Okay.
me: Okay.

Then we went to Cache Creek.

Years later, I found out that there was a warrant for my arrest. I think it was just a rumor, because I think I would've heard about a warrant for my arrest. Though, upon hearing this rumor, I actually felt like a bad ass. "Watch out for the dating machine, he's on the lam! He's wanted by the police and the ladies." I then brought bats with me everywhere I went. No, I didn't. Anyway, there are three morals in this story: (1) Don't walk in on my girlfriend when she's changing, (2) Bats are good for bashing in heads, and (3) I know what chemistry is. And amazingly enough, I've just experienced chemistry again. That's right dear friends, the dating machine is not a completely hopeless pile of human feces. Well, at least not entirely.

Bainie is a chick from match dot com. Shocker, I know. She's a 5'6" Caucasian chick originally from South Carolina and currently in San Francisco (as of two months ago) looking for a job in the advertisement/graphic designer arena. Artsy chicks are rad. I've already decided that I eventually want my future betrothed to be mad creative. Or have a cute face. And wear a ponytail. And have a European accent. Oh, and ride a scooter too. And if it's not too much to ask, to have twins run in her family. You know, the standard stuff. Anyway, Bainie seemed like a kick-in-the-ass, laugh-till-your-jaw-hurts good time. In our communication before the date, we talked about going to Dolores Park in jumpsuits. She also used the word, chortle. That's awesome.

Since Bainie and I are both unemployed, we decided to meet up at Dolores Park on Tuesday afternoon. Unemployment dates are the best. If there's anything I hate talking about, it's work. I hated it even when I had a job. Unless your vocation is your life's passion, why the fuck do you want to discuss it? You already have to live it for half of your waking day. You want to discuss it for the other half of your day too? Ridiculous. I can usually tell when a chick will turn out to be lame when her face is ugly. Aside from that, I can also tell when a chick will be lame if she asks about my job within the first five minutes of a date. What's she going to ask next - my favorite color? How I like the weather? If I prefer my pastrami on rye or wheat bread? Wait, that last question is interesting. (Wheat.) So, yeah, unemployment dates are the best. We decided to have a little picnic with a blanket, some chips, some dip, some wine, and some good company. This is why Dolores Park is a preferred first date spot.

Dolores Park was incredibly cold and windy this past Tuesday. I got there slightly early, as I always do. It's an unfortunate habit that I'm trying to change in 2009; it's actually my New Year's resolution to arrive late and not be so anal about the time. I need a lot of help. Bainie had warned me that she'd be arriving late, since she was going on a mini-adventure navigating the wonders of San Francisco's MUNI system. I usually have big issues with people showing up late, since I view it as a sign of disrespect (see, I told you, I need to loosen up). However, if someone informs me that they're going to be late, I have no problem whatsoever. I waited about half an hour for Bainie and it was fucking cold. My nipples felt like icicles.

When Bainie arrived, I was pleasantly surprised. She was cuter than her pictures. Also, seeing how I've been out with one chick who was 5'1" and another chick who was 5'11", her 5'6" stature was ideal. In an effort to say something really smooth and make a good impression, I busted out my A-game material. I said something along the lines of "Hi. It's fucking cold." Smooth, the dating machine is a fucking charmer. She sat down and we chatted. It was nice. The conversation was easy, flowing, and interesting. She talked about her recent move to San Francisco and love of the city. I talked about how much I hate Los Angeles. She told me about her interests, which included cooking and doing stained glass art. I told her about how I've already planned my meals for the next five days. She discussed her idea of doing personalized catering for small groups at people's homes. I pictured sushi being eaten off naked bodies. I'm not entirely sure, but I don't think her catering involved naked bodies. I guess it could. That would be kinda weird. I don't even like sushi, but I guess I could learn to love sushi, especially if it unveils a tit:

Outwardly Doing: I take the unagi roll off the woman's breast. I eat the roll and comment that it's a tasty roll.
But Really Thinking: Show me a tit! Just show me one! Tit! Tit! Tit! Yessss, that's a tit! Damn, nice nipple type.

We spent about two and a half hours at Dolores Park shooting the shit. Good talks, good times. Since Bainie was new to the city, I decided to play tour guide. If I do say so myself, I'm an excellent tour guide. Being part of the couchsurfing.com, I've played host to a chick from Iceland and three people from Austria. The Icelandic chick was pretty funny; she had a real acerbic wit. The Austrians were pretty fucking awesome, especially one of the chicks who was probably the cutest, sweetest, most genuine person I've ever had the pleasure of meeting. And staring at. A lot. Shit, she was cute. I pictured myself doing vile things to her body. And by vile, I mean sweet love. When the Austrians left, I knew one basic thing about Austrians, they love Full House. We probably spent two hours at Alamo Square Park looking at the Full House houses. Well, I spent about thirty seconds doing that. The rest of the time, I thought about how half-Chinese and half-Austrian kids were beautiful. Never seen one? Me neither, but just trust me.

Our first stop on Bainie's San Francisco tour was Noe Valley. I live in the ghetto. Noe Valley is like a haven of attractive people who actually speak proper English. We went there and walked around a bit, nothing earth-shattering. The next stop on the scooter tour was the Marina Safeway, which is known for being a pick-up spot. In fact, when my friend, Daniel D, and I first learned of this fact years ago, we went there and successfully picked up zero chicks. Daniel D and I have successfully picked up zero chicks at many establishments, so it got our seal of approval. Though, I later found out the key for a successful pick-up at the Marina Safeway is to have a bunch of bananas in your basket. Not in your shopping cart, but in your hand-held basket. If you're using a shopping cart, it definitely signifies that you're making a large purchase, likely for yourself and your boy/girlfriend. Or for yourself, your babies, and your seven baby mamas. In short, do not use a shopping cart. However, if you use a basket, it signifies that you're in heat and you just want to fuck. And, apparently, for some reason, you need to have bananas in your hand-held basket, where the bananas are slightly peeking over the edge. I don't know how they came up with that. It was probably some meathead having a conversation with another meathead. I'm pretty sure the conversation went like this:

meathead 1: Bro, I saw this hot chick at the Safeway today.
meathead 2: Really!? Awesome, bro.
meathead 1: Yeah, bro. She was fiiiiiine. I was checking out her produce, if you know what I'm saying.
meathead 2: I don't, bro. I don't know what you're saying.
meathead 1: Like, her melons and her bananas were really fresh, bro.
meathead 2: So, do you mean that she had fresh melons and fresh bananas in her hand-held basket?
meathead 1: Yeah, bro. That's what I'm saying. I could see those bananas from a mile away.
meathead 2: Ch-yeah, bro. Awesome.
(the meatheads then high-five and say "bro" like fifty more times.)

Anyway, Bainie and I did not use a shopping cart or a basket, but we did walk around and follow people with bananas in their baskets. Sadly, we did not see anyone get laid at Safeway. I need to do more research into the methodologies of the bro. Incidentally, Robin Williams may have been outside of the Safeway dressed as a bum. We thought it was him until we passed by and he asked us for 18 cents. Robin Williams does not ask for 18 cents. Robin Williams does a short comedy routine where he's running away from the flying lizards and unicorns in Jumanji. That's how Robin Williams gets 18 cents.

Next, we made our way to Alamo Square Park to check out the Full House houses. Unfortunately, even though I had taken three crazy Austrians there, I had a less than vague idea of where the park was. I also did not know it was named Alamo Square Park. This would prove to be troublesome. I know that my sense of direction is horrible; it is like that of a retarded turd from a retarded monkey who is stricken with retard poisoning. Alamo Square Park is probably around a ten minute scooter ride away from the Marina Safeway. I was able to make the trip take forty minutes, which involved two and a half circles (to Geary and then back to the Marina and then back to Geary and then back again and again) and a near-death experience. San Francisco is full of hills. My scooter can handle hills. Unfortunately, I cannot handle my scooter. While going up one hill, I was able to stall my standard-shift scooter, turn it back on, and then do a mini-wheelie all in one swift move. Luckily, we were in between cars so our potential fall would've been cushioned by a car's front hood. I had all the shit planned. Fortunately, we did not fall and made it out of that situation alive. Plus, to comfort Bainie while I was in the middle of stalling and doing a wheelie, I said, "This isn't good." I think I felt her tears on the back of my neck.

Bainie was an absolute trooper and still had a very positive attitude. I appreciated that, especially since I felt like a jerk for almost maiming us. Eventually, we made it to Alamo Square Park. She took a couple pictures of the Full House houses and then we sat for a few minutes smoking a few cigarettes. When you have a traumatic life experience, you should always smoke some cigarettes. It's part of a realization that you can die at any moment, so you might as well have some control over it by choosing lung cancer. Anyway, after our short respite at the park, we made our way to Loi's Vietnamese in the Sunset. You may be thinking to yourself, "Damn, dating machine, when are you going to learn any new moves? Don't you realize that these moves haven't really resulted in you finding a lady friend?" To which, I would respond, "Shut up, punk."

Loi's was thankfully empty that night. I had surmised that Loi's recent poor-tasting food (at least held up to the Loi's level of deliciousness) was due to an influx of customers. So, I was hoping that tonight's meal would taste a little better. Prior to ordering, I noticed that the main dude/waiter/owner had gotten a haircut. Two things: (1) I never notice when people get haircuts (I think it has to do with me being too self-involved), and (2) I go to Loi's enough times (because I'm a dating machine) to see subtle changes day-to-day. Without any thought, I told the dude, "Nice haircut." Well, I'm an idiot. I forgot that Asian males do not respond well to compliments, especially from other males. He probably thought that I was getting my gay on and, in turn, wanted to violate his asshole. I did not. He started getting angry and yelling, in Cantonese, with the waitress about how I was a fucking idiot. The waitress had my back by telling him, "The boy's just trying to be nice and tell you that you're an attractive man." Thanks, lady; that sure helped the situation. And you know what else helped the situation? I then told the dude that I understood Cantonese. My intention was to prevent him from saying anything else derogatory about me, because he might feel like an idiot if he later found out I knew what he was saying the whole time. Well, dating machine, how the fuck was he going to find that out? My comment about being able to understand Cantonese was met with a slight growl. That dude hates me. I might need to figure out another standard date spot; my psyche was in pieces.

Thankfully, our meals came out quickly and were quite delicious. I don't know if it was semen or spit, but my shit tasted good. Bainie and I chatted a bit more, but I obviously don't remember shit because I was still frantic about my soon-to-be self-imposed exile from Loi's. We ate as much as we could, but still had a little food left over. I hate wasting food, so I asked for a take-away container. The dude charged me fifty cents for the container. In my years of going to Loi's, he's never charged me for a container. That fifty cent charge was basically him saying, "I hate your fucking guts, you fag." That hurts, Loi's dude. I'm sorry to have offended you. We left Loi's and I scootered Bainie back to her place, which was only a dozen blocks away. When we got there, we exchanged a nice hug and thanked the Gods we didn't die on that hill.

So, the date went very well and Bainie's a fucking awesome chick. And there was definite chemistry. Though, I believe the chemistry was more of the genial, friend-type. I bet you thought that love was in the air and little, shitty birds were chirping. Maybe even a dating machine jr. was on the way. Nope, incorrect. Love's not that easy, buddy. I didn't feel a spark and I doubt Bainie did either. She's a rad chick and I'd love to hang out with her again and often; we are both unemployed after all. However, the lack of romantic chemistry was pretty apparent. So sad. But as my motto goes: Chemistry is tough to come by, unless it's in the form of wet panties. Now, let me sniff those panties.

Fun - 9
Interesting - 8.5
Future Relationship Potential - 3
Future Friendship Potential - 10