I have what's called party ADD. Yes, that's party Attention Deficit Disorder.
What was I saying?
I can only sustain a conversation at a party for about 10 minutes, and then I need a break from speaking, a repose.
My brain is kind of like a rocket, so after 10 minutes my boosters are gone, stage 3 of the rocket has been ejected and the inertial guidance system is down. I'm Apollo 13.
Or aPAULo 13? Sorry!
This explains why I never left any party with a girl when I was single.
"Hey Cath, that guy you were talking to is soooo cuuuuute. What's he doing in the corner by himself?"
"I don't know. He just sort of stopped talking and walked over there, like a robot being called back to its laboratory."
"You gonna date him?"
"Is that a serious question?"
When I went past the 10 minute mark, I could still manage to speak, but I answered questions out of context.
Girl: What do you do for a living?
Me: Oh, about ten inches. Eight when it's cold.
Girl: What do you think of the new Culture Club album? (It was the eighties)
Me: Don't worry, my doctor took a culture but it was negative.
Past the ten minute mark, only a few topics could keep me engaged enough to prevent milky retinas: discussions about me, sex, sex with me, sex with myself, my views on rough sex, women I've conquered.
Conversations weren't always that shallow. Occasionally I could delve into the intellectual: Freud and sex, sex with smart women, like Natalie Portman…you get the picture.
I once met this guy who was a master with women.
I called him a vaginius. A genius at attracting vagina.
He tried to teach me everything he knew at this bar one time, but it just didn't take.
That's because every lesson was 11 minutes long.
