Friday, March 25, 2016

wine chips dog netflix, no chill

I keep tentatively jumping in and out of the dating scene. Sometimes after a bottle and a half of wine and a really rowdy episode of Vikings, I feel like I need a dude around. Then I text one and remember how dumb he is and watch old episodes of the L Word and try to will my vagina into liking other vaginas. So far that hasn’t worked. My vagina is a traitorous bitch.
There’s been a dude who’s kinda been around for a minute. I met him on the internet so of course there was a 99% chance he was fucking insane. But he can text a complete sentence and I’m getting more wrinkles by the day so I figured what the hell. The worst that can happen is that he’ll murder me and my furry children and wear our skins as clothing for the new few months. No big deal, right? Also, from what I can tell, white really would be his color.

Apparently in Seattle after some jello shots and Moscow mules and literally a bucket of tator tots I had texted him and promised that we’d meet for a drink. And then again when I chased my wine with Ambien and purchased an embarrassing array of items for making homemade dog treats I promised a hang out. And so this is where we landed. I still blame the show Vikings.

I figured it was either hang out, or block his number and pretend I died. Which hasn’t quite worked for me in the past since I ran into a dude at a liquor store a few weeks after faking my death and it wasn’t the reunion anyone would have hoped for. Pretty sure he muttered, “Cunt” under his breath as I walked by him and smiled like an insane person. I hope you’re doing well Registered Randy. Don’t ask me what his Christian name was.

Anyway, so I agreed to meet up for a few dozen drinks. This guy is attractive. So I immediately knew there was something fucked up going on here. Either he’s got like a Quasimodo hump he’s hiding under that flannel or an inflamed ball or super aggressive growths all over his penis or three ex-wives and 14 children. Personally, I was hoping for the hump. I mean, that’s something I could get over. Children? Fuck that mess.

I ordered a double vodka tonic and figured I might as well just jump into this shitshow and rip the band aid off quickly. Even though, real talk guys, ripping off a band aid quickly really fucking hurts. I don’t think it hurts less. I think it hurts more, we just use our ADD to remove the memory from our minds quickly. That’s my scientific standpoint on that whole thing. You’re welcome.

The first thing Quasimodo says to me is, “This is my fourth drink because when you have an ex-wife and work three jobs and don’t live the life you thought you would have, this is what you do.” WHAT IN ALL THE FUCKS OF THE WORLD IS FUCKING HAPPENING? I think I literally died a little inside. All I wanted was my wine, my dog, my Netflix and a bag of chips. Seriously. I’m never leaving my house after 8 p.m. again.

Every time I tried to change the subject to more inspiring and hopeful things like baby goats on Instagram or the upcoming election or orphans or the end of the world, this dude kept bringing it back to his shitty, shitty life. He made me want to murder everything but I strongly considered just making out with his face in the hopes he would stop saying words. I also figured a super aggressive make out would allow me to search for the hump discreetly. I’m embarrassed to say this, how the mighty have fallen, but I did not want to make out with his face. Guys, he even had a beard and my body wanted to escape.

Every time he mentioned murdering his ex-wife I took a drink. My drink was gone in three minutes. If someone would have offered me meth, I would have done it. That’s how dire this situation was. I would have done meth and ripped out all my teeth and put them in his mouth so he would stop talking. This has given me a super fucked up visual that will haunt me for years. You’re also welcome because I hope it haunts you as well.

I tried to make up some reason why I had to run for my fucking life but then he’d say something self-deprecating and I’d feel kinda bad for him and stay and then immediately regret it 4 seconds later when he’d make a really bad joke and I had to fake laugh until my ribs shattered in my body. You guys, I literally wanted to break my glass and stab myself in the eyeball with it. However, I knew that would just be a story he would tell to someone from Tinder and because he has a beard that Tinder girl would feel sad for him and blow him in the parking lot. I didn’t want that life for Tinderella. She deserves better. Probably.

I sat through this bullshit for an hour. ONE FUCKING HOUR. You know how your hour lunch break at work feels like 30 seconds? THIS WAS NOT LIKE THAT. I thought it had to be 3:00 a.m. and felt tears welling up in my eyes that I was going to pull an all-nighter and not get any sex out of it. Finally, I was saved when he got called into work. I wanted to kiss his boss on the mouth for saving my life. Sir, seriously, whoever you are, thank you for your service.

We waited outside for our separate Ubers because I lied and told him I lived in Signal Hill so he would not try to get in my Uber and murder both of us and leave us on his ex-wife’s front lawn. Then he mentioned that he was on his way to work at a bar RIGHT NEXT TO MY FUCKING APARTMENT. Son of a bitch. Also, fun fact, he’s been newly hired as a server at a restaurant that I love and frequent to get my booze on. Cool. Also, because luck really was on my side, our Ubers pulled up at the same time. Clearly I cannot have the Uber driver take me directly home because then we would be following his Uber and he would see that I do not live in Signal Hill. And then he would murder me for being a lying scum bag whore like his lovely ex-wife. So I did the adult, logical thing and made my Uber driver take me to a liquor store to buy wine and chips because I knew soon I’d also have my dog and this fresh hell would be over. And then I still made him take the back way to my apartment so Quasimodo did not murder and skin me.

The moral of this story is I am never leaving my house again after 8:00 p.m. I am never texting anyone with a penis that isn’t related to me ever again. I am never talking to a male in public ever again. I am moving to that island that is run by cats. That is my new life goal.

Also, I have another date on Monday. Pray for me.