SelfAbsorbed.ME : ‘It’s Your Life, We Just Write it Funnier’

Anyone who survived Stunned’s Super-Official Hot Dog Week knows of my affinity for the frankfurters. At 11:00 p.m. last night, after being forced to eat nothing but gruel for dinner (translation: I only had oatmeal in the apartment, literally), I was seriously hankering for a frank. Such hunger-lust was destroying my hulu.com viewing of Friday Night Lights. Unacceptable.

Oh, what the hell? I thought. I’ll go to Nathan’s. The Nathan’s on the corner of 14th and 2nd is just a brief walk from my apartment. I’d yet to try this famous breed of dog and, now that the decision to indulge had been made, I was quite excited.

I was dressed to the nines in leggings and an oversized sweatshirt that looked like it must belong to my hot, hulk of a boyfriend (one of my less-than-five-dollars KMart purchases–gotta love it). At 11:07 I ventured out of my apartment, my wallet and cellphone in hand, keys in my boot (actually quite convenient), and a fire in my heart.

I ordered a plain hot dog and lathered on the ketchup–yet another love in my life. Honestly, I have more affection for ketchup than I do for most people. I initially planned on taking the dog home and consuming it within the comforts of my apartment. However, about twenty paces into my journey home, the temptation of the first bite overwhelmed me. Bite number two soon followed. Half a block later and halfway done, I was, for lack of a better word, approached.

“My dick, bigger than a bridge. Your dick look like a little kid’s.”

This guy, out of nowhere (well, out of the bar Finnerty’s), had come up to me and my wiener, spouting Mickey Avalon lyrics–lyrics that I had been inconspicuously listening to for months whenever I was particularly bored at work.

In the past, I would have simply thought, What the shit? and physically recoiled while becoming socially paralyzed. However, this felt like a meeting with fate. Time, experience, and Mickey Avalon had brought me here, final frontier, to defend my wiener, uh, honor once and for all.

“My dick,” I shot back, “large like the Chargers, the whole team. Your shit look like you fourteen.”

A grin of genuine surprise spread across this guy’s face. He had to be around my age. He was kind of…hot.

“My dick, VIP. Your shit, needs ID,” he continued.

“My dick need no introduction. Your dick, don’t even function.”

We shot a few more verses back and fourth. It ranked as one of the most curious interactions I’ve ever had with anyone, particularly a stranger. It was liberating–I had nothing to lose. Feeling bold, an original lyric fell from my lips, my grand finale:

“My dick tastes delicious. Your dick got a case of syphilis.”

There was a pause.

He extended his hand. “I’m Jake.”

And that is how I got a boy’s number last night. Hot dog!