Secret Crush

Secret Crush
written and read by Scott Weaver

She’s tall, around 5′ 11′, maybe even 6 foot.
She has raven-black hair that runs straight, all the way down past her shoulder blades.
She’s pale like a winter moon.
She’s beautiful.

She’s not fat, but not skinny.
She has a soft round face with deep-set eyes.
She looks naive, and shy, and wholesome.
She’s quiet.

I see her punching timestamps on receipts a couple of times a week.
Sometimes she goes to lunch with a short, fat, funny-haired old guy from the office.
She wears dark floral skirts that cover her knees and simple flats on her feet.
When she’s cold, she wears a shiny black-suede jacket, tied in the front.
I don’t think she’s noticed, that I’ve noticed, that she’s beautiful.

She’s my secret crush.

You Talkin’ To Me?

How do you talk to women when you’re not a conversationalist?

I’m really more of a situational talker then a conversationalist. I have to have something to talk about. And it can’t be me. I’m just not that interesting.

Anyone that has ever really talked to me knows that I’m fun to talk to. I have crazy conversations and talk about crazy things. I am honest and funny and witty and clever (and sometimes I try too hard), but never boring. I’m great to debate things with. I will talk about anything, and I do mean anything, but it has to be serious or completely silly or crazy or dirty or taboo. I just can’t talk about the weather. I can’t talk for the sake of talking. It’s beyond me.

So what do I do when I don’t know anything about a person? How do I talk to them out of the blue?

This is not a good dating trait!

Still single and very, very quietly working my way to dirty-old-bastard,


Date Night Jitters

It’s 1:20 pm on a beautiful Saturday afternoon, the apartment is clean, soft jazz is playing in the background while the cats lounge in front of the balcony door chattering at the birds eating at the feeder. There’s not a cloud in the late summer sky, the thermometer reads 81 degrees, and the forecast is for a high of 90.

It’s 1:20 pm, I haven’t showered yet, I’m smoking like a chimney, and watching the clock. I tried watching football, briefly worked on some writing I have to do, and have even done some last minute strengthening exercises. Nothing works. I still hear it, the “Click! Click! Click!” of the clock. No matter what I do, I hear it. “Click! Click! Click!”

This is a problem, you see, because my clock is digital, doesn’t display the seconds, and doesn’t actually make a sound. I hear it though, none the less. “Click! Click! Click!” in my head it goes.

“Click! Click! Click!”

I’m keeping time…

“Click! Click! Click!”

…going nuts…

“Click! Click! Click!”

…second after relentless second.

“Click! Click! Click!”

The plans are set. The place and time agreed upon. It’s actually going to happen…

“Click! Click! Click!”

…if I don’t go nuts first.

“Click! Click! Click!”

We’re meeting at 5:00 o’clock for drinks at the Island Cafe. It should be perfect. A floating, outdoor-patio bar with fancy tropical concoctions, fish and chips, and beer. The faint breeze off the harbor and the shade of the umbrella should keep the temperature pleasant while the sun sets in the West. We can watch the ducks in the harbor scrabble for each fry we toss them. We can watch as the power boats, yachts, and occasional kayaker go putting by. We can talk.

“Click! Click! Click!”

But it’s only 2:00 and I still haven’t decided what I’m wearing.

“Click! Click! Click!”

I’m leaning towards the clever and funny “Zombie Love” t-shirt and shorts.

“Click! Click! Click!”

But will she appreciate the zombie homage to our first conversation, or will she think me weird for wearing something with bloody zombie heads on it for our first date?

“Click! Click! Click!”

Maybe I should wear something black and slimming?

“Click! Click! Click!”

At least I got my hair cut last night and don’t have to worry about that.

“Click! Click! Click!”

But I still have to put product in my hair.

“Click! Click! Click!”

Spiky or flat?

“Click! Click! Click!”

Combed or stylishly mussed?

“Click! Click! Click!”

It’s still too early to shower.

“Click! Click! Click!”

I need a smoke…

“Click! Click! Click!”

Single and suffering… still,


“Click! Click! Ring!”

It’s 2:15 pm, my phone just rang, and clicking of the clock has stopped. It’s my date. An emergency with a friend. Babysitting. Sorry. We just have to laugh at this point. Monday or Tuesday after work? I promise it will happen. A text tomorrow to figure out the day. Sorry again.

The soft jazz is still playing. The cats are sleeping. In my head…


a little sad…

a little relieved…

a lot funny.

I wonder if Travis still has that tee-time reserved?


What am I REALLY looking for in a woman?

nice butt
lazy with an ambitious twist
emotionally aware
looks good in a baseball cap
not picky about food
good tipper
sexual, but not overly so
easy laugher
not to serious
wants to get lost with me
great eyes
not religious
free thinker
likes sports
wants me

Have you ever done this? Made an in-comprehensive list of wants in a mate? No order or pattern, just what comes to mind?

I know some who think this is key to finding someone. That if you don’t define what you’re looking for, you won’t know when you find it. Which actually has some merit, I suppose, when you think about it. I mean, how can you know what you want without thinking about what you want? But, then again, do you have to actually list it? Do you have to write it down?

I was once trapped in a car for 3 hours with a friend of mine that forced me to come up with the list while I drove and she wrote down the answers. She said that putting it in writing sent it out to the universe and then you would find what you were looking for.

That was over a year ago. Maybe the wanter has to be the actual writer.

She recently told me she still has the list in her purse, where she put it as soon as the drive was over. It’s kind of weird to think that a list of my wants in women are traveling about the world in the bottom of a purse, gathering dust and lint, and that the list doesn’t represent the desires of the person carrying it.

I wonder if it looks anything like this list?

Hmm… Still single,


The Jealous Type

Am I the jealous type? In a relationship? No. Of those in a relationship? No, not really. Of those who are madly in lust/love? Most definitely!!!!

What brings this up? Well, you see, I have this friend…

Let’s call this friend Girl X. Well, Girl X was in a long-term on-and-off-again relationship with this guy, let’s call him Guy A. Well, Girl X and Guy A were getting along alright, but not spectacularly, and were definitely not meant for the long-haul. I know this, because I was a confidant of Girl X. I head all about it. It’s just that she cared for the guy and had problems telling him exactly how she felt. Well, she’s going along with this thing, living day-to-day, and not really feeling it. Always looking for something else. When, along comes Guy Y.

The connection is nearly instantaneous! They had met a couple times before, but for some reason, this time was different. Enough so, that she immediately decided that it was time to buck up and tell Guy A everything. And, to move back home with her parents because it was over between her and Guy A (yes, they lived together). In fact, it was so good that she went on vacation with Guy X for like a week.

So, today, I saw her for the first time since returning from the aforementioned vacation. She was absolutely glowing. It was a morning-after-sex-glow, only brighter! They’re talking about moving. They’re talking about traveling. They’re talking about having fun.

Of this, I am jealous! I am sooooo damn jealous it’s not even funny!

Wy can’t I find this? Why isn’t it me falling madly in love/lust? Where’s my nice/funny/sweet girl?

Oh love, why doth though deny me?

Still single,


Suck it up! Weaver!

I don’t know about you, my ever-so-lovely readers, but I walk around in a continuos state of fat-inhalation. You know, where the gut that hangs low when no one is looking is sucked in so that all of your internal organs are squished up into your chest cavity?

Sure, it looks cool, all puffy-chested and man-boobily, but what happens when you meet someone and it does lead to the bedroom? Is that false advertising? Is it worth it? I mean, suck it in all you want, but when the moment comes to drop trou and all you got is on display, is it really that important? What does walking around in a state of clench, where, if you take too deep a breath there’s a dangerous chance of farting because your lungs are sharing space with your intestines, really gain you?

Maybe I should just walk around with my gut on display like a giant sign that says, “Yeah! I like food and hate stairs! What of it!”?

I just don’t know. All I know is that I caught myself doing it this morning, alone, while vacuuming in my underwear. That can’t be normal!

What do you think?

Still single and… ooh, I forgot! I have doughnuts!


P.S. Do you think I’m traumatizing my cats by vacuuming in my underwear? Is that animal abuse?

Turning Over A New Leaf

After much consideration and a fair-lot of beer, I have decided that it’s time for something new! I’m obviously in a rut and need a complete change of pace! So, in my common spirit of adventure, and with the gusto of a hundred fat men at an all-you-can-eat spaghetti feed, I have decided to grow long hair, adopt a British accent, move to London, and buy a crap-ass car!

The New Me

The New Me

Why? Cause that’s what women want! They want the longhaired dude with an accent that isn’t in to material things! It’s romantic and chic and because I make it look good!

But why London? Simple, I’ll hit on Sabina when she gets there! No woman could resist my charms!

Ooh! La! La!

Ooh! La! La!

Besides, if that doesn’t work out, I can by a truck and drive Sabina around!

Honk if you got a big blue bed and know how to use it!!!

Honk if you got a big blue bed and know how to use it!!!

Then, when somebody asks, “Do you drive lorry?”, I will say, “No. I drive Sabina!”

How cool would that be?

Yep, gonna do it! My dreams will come true!

Still Single and now out of beer,