Given that this happened about two Aprils ago, I think it's enough time distanced to calmly talk about my worst day ever. I don't have a lot of bad days. I'm a freak of nature that turns frowns upside down. One individual killed my day. My months. Possibly the next three Christmas's. That's how bad this pompous jackass was. Let's start with a little background that lead up to this atrocious day...
We met at a dealer's school. Classy, I know. He'd seen me on my lunch break a few times and decided to give me his number, telling me we should hang out sometime. Harmless. Sure. About a week later I text him for some company, had me meet him at his favourite bar. I didn't do it on purpose, but it happened to be our first meeting was on Valentine's Day. Whatevs, I don't celebrate that anywho.
Meet him there, jokes ensue about V-Day, the night ends. Asks to take me out for breakfast a couple days later or whatever. Can't quite remember. Go out for breakfast, viewed some art places, la la la, all over very nice, but I just didn't click.
So by the actual second date, I was very upfront and honest. I wasn't feeling it. Thanks but no thanks, don't wanna date. Very nice. Have a good day.
Then shit just got all fuggin weird. He's all Oh yeah that's cool, well I'll talk to you in a few weeks, month or so when I think I can be your friend. I'll need some time.
That was the actually seemingly normal part.... I didn't give shits either way. He was nice. No click. I was honest. Only two dates, you know? And I mean very very clean dates. Like a, no-don't-walk-me-to-the-door-thanks-for-dinner dates.
As promised, a few weeks later he hits me up for coffee. To fast forward this part, I'll tell you it was a weekly thing. Always optimistic for a different outcome, but always ending the same to where I stopped answering texts:
Coffee is normal.
Would start talkin about some other honky I could give two shits hearing about.
Continue that conversation into some weird "oh but you didn't wanna date me though" talk.
Continue into some ... weird... guilt trip for not wanting him? The fucks I know.
This guy thought he was top notch because he's always been a dealer and made his thousands and comes from money or some shit and moved to the dirty south because who the fuck knows the reasons...(my language doesn't get better from here...) and thinks that because he can buy shit means he can get any girl he wants.
I've never been rude to a human unless they gave me reason, and even then I've had the patience of a monk. This man would not stop badgering me. You wanna play a cock showing game, mine's bigger. Every time.
So yeah. I stopped answering texts. It stopped a couple weeks... then I got the text. Why Oh Why didn't I avoid it like the plague...
Him: What's up?
Me: Just got off work.
H: What you doing tomorrow morning?
M: Relaxing. Haven't had a day off for two weeks. I'm gonna stay up til six then sleep in.
H: Wanna go to breakfast with me?
M: Day off. Sleeping in.
H: Come on! I'll treat!
M: No thanks.
H:Okay, I'll hit you up later tomorrow.
Son. Of. A. Bitch.
Letting that man still know that I existed for that weekend was a mistake. Responding was a mistake. A Christmas ruiner.
Because the next morning...
I did not get my sleep in day.
I did not get my day off.
I did not. Enjoy. My life.
At about fuggin ten that mornin I get a phone call. Not looking at the caller ID, I pick up and hear that voice. That VOICE. EFF.
"HEY!" So fuggin obnoxious, "Where you at?"
"Home. Sleeping. What?"
"Guess you haven't been getting my texts. Well since you ditched out on breakfast, how about you take a drive with me to New Orleans?"
"Fine. In the afternoon."
"Come on! It's already ten! I'll give you an hour."
GIVE me an hour? Mo'fuggah I will cut you.
"Fine." And I hang up.
Why did I even agree, you may be asking. See I have this problem with getting rid of people. Too nice to scream at the ignorant but still bold enough to call them fuggin ignorant. Well. Used to have this problem.
I get up. Throw on some shorts and a button up. No need to impress- it's just a drive. I might be able to enjoy some fresh air. I remember my electric bill is due. Having an hour to spare, and knowing I already took the total ten minutes it takes for me to get ready for the day, I drive down to my power company to pay said bill. Not even thirty minutes after Pompous called the first time, he calls again,
"Where are you?"
"Paying bills. Why?"
"Well hurry up! I'm waiting at your place."
Hurry? Waiting? Mo'fugga I have another thirty.
"Uhm, why? You're early."
"I wanna get driving! We're wasting daylight!"
At this point I have no idea what he's talking about. We live an hour outta Orleans, and I can't possibly understand why we would run out of daylight. It's just a drive, right? He said a drive right? There and back? Maybe a scenic tour of the town? Ohhhhhh little ginger. So naive. So. So. Naive.
I take my sweet ass precious time driving home, contrary to my normal Indy 500 style of driving. I get there and Pompous is already getting outta his car and headed to my door like a damn puppy. Y'all, this man is 9 years my senior. When he met me, he thought I was his age. A common occurrence, older men and myself. I don't think I've ever met such a man that acted like such an arrogant child.
Walking to my door, he announces he has to use the loo before leaving. Good boy. Then, I'm grabbing my purse with my ID and shit in it just in case- you know, because everyone gets in the swing of bringing their ID and cell with them- and as I'm walking out the door, Pompous grabs a green tea from my fridge. My last green tea, in fact. Knowingly. Ass-wipe, we ain't cool like that for you to be jacking my last tea. Especially since I'm a broke bitch at this point. Hence working non-stop.
My broke factor is very important later as well. Keep it in mind.
We get into the vehicle. I'm looking rather tattered. Probably had been a few days since I'd showered, knowing me. Damn sandals. Booty shorts. If I was gonna be stuck in a car, I was gonna be comfortable. About thirty minutes into his psychobabble, he pulls up to a gas station, needs gas.
"You wanna pay for the first tank?"
"No." I said promptly. He invited me to go on a drive with him. Why the fuck would I put money in his tank?
"Suit yourself." Gets out, puts gas in, gets back in the car with a bottle of water. Only took a few sips of my last tea. I'm pissed. Bastard. Tea stealing bastard.
I had brought CDs because he suggested it. Not that good music lasted long... he said we should "rorate" which entailed listening to a couple songs off one CD I brought, then listening to his.... rap.
I appreciate good music. This particular rap was not it. Not only was it shitty, I had Pompous big ass white boy screaming the lyrics half assed into my ear. Maybe he thought it was cute. Maybe he knew he was annoying. Maybe he has downs. Maybe.
Either way, I wanted to jump ship but at the time I was still relatively new to the area, not really knowing a lot of people and the few I did know, I didn't know their dedication to a ginger that wanted to jump out onto the freeway into the possums and raccoons rather than sit there and listen to the Tubby MC Fagsalot.
Somewhere in that drive he asks if I had a time I needed to be home.
"Seven?" I said, not understanding how we could possibly be driving for that long.
"SEVEN? Maybe TEN!"
"Dude, I have a friend's show to get to. I told him I would show up at eight. I'll need time to get ready."
"Well why didn't you say so before we left?"
"I didn't think it was relevant. You just said a drive. How fuggin long are we driving for?"
"Haha ohhh well you know, a drive, a walk, let's wander!"
So. We get to Orleans. He starts talking about parking at Harrah's because they're the best or some shit..Exqueeze me? Parking? That means stopping? He reads the sign and looks disgruntled, "Ugh, parking for more than four hours here is twenty dollars? Well. We'll worry about that later."
"Uh, why are we staying more than four hours? More than two?"
"Well I was at least hoping to gamble while I was here."
See. I can accept that. Sure, he didn't tell me, but gambling, fine. I can stand in an air conditioned place for a little bit while he gets his rocks off. But that's not where it stops. Oh no. Not at all. May the wrist slitting begin.
We walk into the casino and it's gorgeous- go up a floor, explore the carpet- simple. Until he leads me outside. He wants to go to Bourbon Street. I look down at my sandals and booty shorts and I'm not happy. Sandals are not walking shoes. When you have thunder thighs like mine, booty shorts are walking shorts either. Too much rubbing. Fuck. I wanna go home. I never should have come. Someone kidnap me and hold me for ransom because I feel it would have been a lot more enjoyable at this point. But no. No ransom. No kidnapping. Just horrible shoes. Shorts. And company.
We go on Bourbon Street and my stomach starts to grumble. Lunch. Fuck I haven't eaten and I'm surrendered to this cow for who knows how long. I'm a broke bitch and I just wanna get off Bourbon and onto the main strip where I know I can afford subway. He insists we get plastered. Momma ain't got that kinda money, but being a lady I don't say so. I just mention I don't quite feel like drinks on this afternoon and just want food. Of course he pops into every damn bar outlet on Bourbon, falling for the women who insist he take shots from their tits, then 'blaming me' for him drinking so much. Finally we get to some little food place just barely off Bourbon. Still out of my price range, but fuck it. He isn't budging and I'm hungry.
When we're inside he keeps asking if I'm paying for lunch.
No.
Appetizer?
No.
Alligator tails?
Fuck off.
RELENTLESS.
We get done with lunch and he still wants to go out to all the bars. He is lead by women and alcohol, I am lead by the sweet sounds of music... there was a band in particular I could never forget. Well, not so much the band more than the tenor sax player. The stage was inside but very open to the street, where the sax player stood. His solo was so beautiful I literally began to cry. Probably but a few years older than myself and it brought me back to a time I played a little jazz. Then the bastard tries to ruin my moment with his want to go to the next place.
Go fuck yourself with something hard and sand-papery. If I'm going to be on Bourbon I'm going to enjoy myself and let the sax man mesmerize me. And he does. Our eyes lock as he's playing. Gives me a nod and a smile while he's playing. Mm. Dark chocolate smiles.
When he has a break I let him know I'm an appreciator, a former bari player. He smiles and thanks me.
Pompous ushers on, and eventually I cop enough of an attitude and tell him I'm going to be late for my friend's show that he finally gives in. He mosies on to the car which at this time is about two miles away. My feet are angry, my legs are so rashy and sore, I give no fucks and am high tailing out of the streets and into the casino to where out car is parked... I know he knows he's pissing me off by now. He's taking an extremely long time. I want to punt small animals.
We get in the car and get all buckled in, it's already eight. I'm livid. Good thing I lied and told him it was so early, knowing the concert didn't start til ten. Still time. But it was super rude and shitty on his part to keep me so long. He starts the car, grabs the parking ticket from his dashboard, looks at it, and tosses it in my direction, "Guess that's your's". I want to cry. I barely had a spare buck to spend twelve fucking dollars on lunch let alone a fucking twenty dollar parking ticket. I swallow my tongue. Can't afford a fucking taxi home. I better shut up on this one. I bite the bullet and pay for parking.
On the way home he tries to make small talk about how 'great' the day was and wishes he could have stayed the night. Trying to knock away my terrible mood, I try engaging in conversation. "Yeah, one day when I have a spare couple hundred, I think I'd like to come here and blow some money on Bourbon. Could be fun."
The next sentence that came out of his mouth is what sent me into a boiling inner rage. So hot that the devil himself would have crossed his legs.
"Well that's exactly what I wanted to do today. I brought seven hundred with me to blow for the weekend. Oh well I guess."
I slowly turned to look at him all Emily Rose style, "What?" I said barely in a hiss.
Composure. Composure.
"Yeah! I wanted to get out of town, blow some money, and have fun!"
I couldn't hold it.
"Then why the fuck did you throw a fit about me paying for gas? And lunch? And the fucking twenty dollar parking ticket?"
I thought the last statement was the worst. Nope. It was this next one.
"Because we're not dating. You can't expect me to pay for everything."
WHAT THE EVERLIVING HOLY TITS ON A CRACKER MONEY IN THE HOLE OF A WHALE YOU MOTHER FUCKING TWAT SCUMMING SON OF A RATS ASS PIECE OF.....
But I said none of that. Quickly following he asked me if I wanted to take the scenic beach route home or take the freeway straight home.
"Take me home. You're already making me late."
"Making you late? You're the one that was watching the sax player. "
RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGE!
But that's not what I did. I wanted to start crying. I wanted to go all Collumbine up in there with only one witness to worry about.
The drive was less than enjoyable. I got home and bastard asks me if he wants me to wait outside while I get dressed so he can take me. I let him know he's not invited. Then huddle into my place, rage showering and changing.
So. That's what this trip was about. Because. We're not. Dating. I see you, you fat fuck.
After that, he kept texting me for the evening, wanting to meet me at the show. I got short with him really quick, insisting I was trying to bang the drummer. His mood went all "I have money" super quickly.
You can't buy me off.
Moral of the story? Sometimes we lesn't be optimistic. Sometimes you really can't just be friends with someone after only two dates. Sometimes maybe laying into someone is better than holding your tongue for the sake of their feelings. Because in turn it will completely ruin you if you don't fucking say something to the pompous twat who's single for a fucking reason.
We met at a dealer's school. Classy, I know. He'd seen me on my lunch break a few times and decided to give me his number, telling me we should hang out sometime. Harmless. Sure. About a week later I text him for some company, had me meet him at his favourite bar. I didn't do it on purpose, but it happened to be our first meeting was on Valentine's Day. Whatevs, I don't celebrate that anywho.
Meet him there, jokes ensue about V-Day, the night ends. Asks to take me out for breakfast a couple days later or whatever. Can't quite remember. Go out for breakfast, viewed some art places, la la la, all over very nice, but I just didn't click.
So by the actual second date, I was very upfront and honest. I wasn't feeling it. Thanks but no thanks, don't wanna date. Very nice. Have a good day.
Then shit just got all fuggin weird. He's all Oh yeah that's cool, well I'll talk to you in a few weeks, month or so when I think I can be your friend. I'll need some time.
That was the actually seemingly normal part.... I didn't give shits either way. He was nice. No click. I was honest. Only two dates, you know? And I mean very very clean dates. Like a, no-don't-walk-me-to-the-door-thanks-for-dinner dates.
As promised, a few weeks later he hits me up for coffee. To fast forward this part, I'll tell you it was a weekly thing. Always optimistic for a different outcome, but always ending the same to where I stopped answering texts:
Coffee is normal.
Would start talkin about some other honky I could give two shits hearing about.
Continue that conversation into some weird "oh but you didn't wanna date me though" talk.
Continue into some ... weird... guilt trip for not wanting him? The fucks I know.
This guy thought he was top notch because he's always been a dealer and made his thousands and comes from money or some shit and moved to the dirty south because who the fuck knows the reasons...(my language doesn't get better from here...) and thinks that because he can buy shit means he can get any girl he wants.
I've never been rude to a human unless they gave me reason, and even then I've had the patience of a monk. This man would not stop badgering me. You wanna play a cock showing game, mine's bigger. Every time.
So yeah. I stopped answering texts. It stopped a couple weeks... then I got the text. Why Oh Why didn't I avoid it like the plague...
Him: What's up?
Me: Just got off work.
H: What you doing tomorrow morning?
M: Relaxing. Haven't had a day off for two weeks. I'm gonna stay up til six then sleep in.
H: Wanna go to breakfast with me?
M: Day off. Sleeping in.
H: Come on! I'll treat!
M: No thanks.
H:Okay, I'll hit you up later tomorrow.
Son. Of. A. Bitch.
Letting that man still know that I existed for that weekend was a mistake. Responding was a mistake. A Christmas ruiner.
Because the next morning...
I did not get my sleep in day.
I did not get my day off.
I did not. Enjoy. My life.
At about fuggin ten that mornin I get a phone call. Not looking at the caller ID, I pick up and hear that voice. That VOICE. EFF.
"HEY!" So fuggin obnoxious, "Where you at?"
"Home. Sleeping. What?"
"Guess you haven't been getting my texts. Well since you ditched out on breakfast, how about you take a drive with me to New Orleans?"
"Fine. In the afternoon."
"Come on! It's already ten! I'll give you an hour."
GIVE me an hour? Mo'fuggah I will cut you.
"Fine." And I hang up.
Why did I even agree, you may be asking. See I have this problem with getting rid of people. Too nice to scream at the ignorant but still bold enough to call them fuggin ignorant. Well. Used to have this problem.
I get up. Throw on some shorts and a button up. No need to impress- it's just a drive. I might be able to enjoy some fresh air. I remember my electric bill is due. Having an hour to spare, and knowing I already took the total ten minutes it takes for me to get ready for the day, I drive down to my power company to pay said bill. Not even thirty minutes after Pompous called the first time, he calls again,
"Where are you?"
"Paying bills. Why?"
"Well hurry up! I'm waiting at your place."
Hurry? Waiting? Mo'fugga I have another thirty.
"Uhm, why? You're early."
"I wanna get driving! We're wasting daylight!"
At this point I have no idea what he's talking about. We live an hour outta Orleans, and I can't possibly understand why we would run out of daylight. It's just a drive, right? He said a drive right? There and back? Maybe a scenic tour of the town? Ohhhhhh little ginger. So naive. So. So. Naive.
I take my sweet ass precious time driving home, contrary to my normal Indy 500 style of driving. I get there and Pompous is already getting outta his car and headed to my door like a damn puppy. Y'all, this man is 9 years my senior. When he met me, he thought I was his age. A common occurrence, older men and myself. I don't think I've ever met such a man that acted like such an arrogant child.
Walking to my door, he announces he has to use the loo before leaving. Good boy. Then, I'm grabbing my purse with my ID and shit in it just in case- you know, because everyone gets in the swing of bringing their ID and cell with them- and as I'm walking out the door, Pompous grabs a green tea from my fridge. My last green tea, in fact. Knowingly. Ass-wipe, we ain't cool like that for you to be jacking my last tea. Especially since I'm a broke bitch at this point. Hence working non-stop.
My broke factor is very important later as well. Keep it in mind.
We get into the vehicle. I'm looking rather tattered. Probably had been a few days since I'd showered, knowing me. Damn sandals. Booty shorts. If I was gonna be stuck in a car, I was gonna be comfortable. About thirty minutes into his psychobabble, he pulls up to a gas station, needs gas.
"You wanna pay for the first tank?"
"No." I said promptly. He invited me to go on a drive with him. Why the fuck would I put money in his tank?
"Suit yourself." Gets out, puts gas in, gets back in the car with a bottle of water. Only took a few sips of my last tea. I'm pissed. Bastard. Tea stealing bastard.
I had brought CDs because he suggested it. Not that good music lasted long... he said we should "rorate" which entailed listening to a couple songs off one CD I brought, then listening to his.... rap.
I appreciate good music. This particular rap was not it. Not only was it shitty, I had Pompous big ass white boy screaming the lyrics half assed into my ear. Maybe he thought it was cute. Maybe he knew he was annoying. Maybe he has downs. Maybe.
Either way, I wanted to jump ship but at the time I was still relatively new to the area, not really knowing a lot of people and the few I did know, I didn't know their dedication to a ginger that wanted to jump out onto the freeway into the possums and raccoons rather than sit there and listen to the Tubby MC Fagsalot.
Somewhere in that drive he asks if I had a time I needed to be home.
"Seven?" I said, not understanding how we could possibly be driving for that long.
"SEVEN? Maybe TEN!"
"Dude, I have a friend's show to get to. I told him I would show up at eight. I'll need time to get ready."
"Well why didn't you say so before we left?"
"I didn't think it was relevant. You just said a drive. How fuggin long are we driving for?"
"Haha ohhh well you know, a drive, a walk, let's wander!"
So. We get to Orleans. He starts talking about parking at Harrah's because they're the best or some shit..Exqueeze me? Parking? That means stopping? He reads the sign and looks disgruntled, "Ugh, parking for more than four hours here is twenty dollars? Well. We'll worry about that later."
"Uh, why are we staying more than four hours? More than two?"
"Well I was at least hoping to gamble while I was here."
See. I can accept that. Sure, he didn't tell me, but gambling, fine. I can stand in an air conditioned place for a little bit while he gets his rocks off. But that's not where it stops. Oh no. Not at all. May the wrist slitting begin.
We walk into the casino and it's gorgeous- go up a floor, explore the carpet- simple. Until he leads me outside. He wants to go to Bourbon Street. I look down at my sandals and booty shorts and I'm not happy. Sandals are not walking shoes. When you have thunder thighs like mine, booty shorts are walking shorts either. Too much rubbing. Fuck. I wanna go home. I never should have come. Someone kidnap me and hold me for ransom because I feel it would have been a lot more enjoyable at this point. But no. No ransom. No kidnapping. Just horrible shoes. Shorts. And company.
We go on Bourbon Street and my stomach starts to grumble. Lunch. Fuck I haven't eaten and I'm surrendered to this cow for who knows how long. I'm a broke bitch and I just wanna get off Bourbon and onto the main strip where I know I can afford subway. He insists we get plastered. Momma ain't got that kinda money, but being a lady I don't say so. I just mention I don't quite feel like drinks on this afternoon and just want food. Of course he pops into every damn bar outlet on Bourbon, falling for the women who insist he take shots from their tits, then 'blaming me' for him drinking so much. Finally we get to some little food place just barely off Bourbon. Still out of my price range, but fuck it. He isn't budging and I'm hungry.
When we're inside he keeps asking if I'm paying for lunch.
No.
Appetizer?
No.
Alligator tails?
Fuck off.
RELENTLESS.
We get done with lunch and he still wants to go out to all the bars. He is lead by women and alcohol, I am lead by the sweet sounds of music... there was a band in particular I could never forget. Well, not so much the band more than the tenor sax player. The stage was inside but very open to the street, where the sax player stood. His solo was so beautiful I literally began to cry. Probably but a few years older than myself and it brought me back to a time I played a little jazz. Then the bastard tries to ruin my moment with his want to go to the next place.
Go fuck yourself with something hard and sand-papery. If I'm going to be on Bourbon I'm going to enjoy myself and let the sax man mesmerize me. And he does. Our eyes lock as he's playing. Gives me a nod and a smile while he's playing. Mm. Dark chocolate smiles.
When he has a break I let him know I'm an appreciator, a former bari player. He smiles and thanks me.
Pompous ushers on, and eventually I cop enough of an attitude and tell him I'm going to be late for my friend's show that he finally gives in. He mosies on to the car which at this time is about two miles away. My feet are angry, my legs are so rashy and sore, I give no fucks and am high tailing out of the streets and into the casino to where out car is parked... I know he knows he's pissing me off by now. He's taking an extremely long time. I want to punt small animals.
We get in the car and get all buckled in, it's already eight. I'm livid. Good thing I lied and told him it was so early, knowing the concert didn't start til ten. Still time. But it was super rude and shitty on his part to keep me so long. He starts the car, grabs the parking ticket from his dashboard, looks at it, and tosses it in my direction, "Guess that's your's". I want to cry. I barely had a spare buck to spend twelve fucking dollars on lunch let alone a fucking twenty dollar parking ticket. I swallow my tongue. Can't afford a fucking taxi home. I better shut up on this one. I bite the bullet and pay for parking.
On the way home he tries to make small talk about how 'great' the day was and wishes he could have stayed the night. Trying to knock away my terrible mood, I try engaging in conversation. "Yeah, one day when I have a spare couple hundred, I think I'd like to come here and blow some money on Bourbon. Could be fun."
The next sentence that came out of his mouth is what sent me into a boiling inner rage. So hot that the devil himself would have crossed his legs.
"Well that's exactly what I wanted to do today. I brought seven hundred with me to blow for the weekend. Oh well I guess."
I slowly turned to look at him all Emily Rose style, "What?" I said barely in a hiss.
Composure. Composure.
"Yeah! I wanted to get out of town, blow some money, and have fun!"
I couldn't hold it.
"Then why the fuck did you throw a fit about me paying for gas? And lunch? And the fucking twenty dollar parking ticket?"
I thought the last statement was the worst. Nope. It was this next one.
"Because we're not dating. You can't expect me to pay for everything."
WHAT THE EVERLIVING HOLY TITS ON A CRACKER MONEY IN THE HOLE OF A WHALE YOU MOTHER FUCKING TWAT SCUMMING SON OF A RATS ASS PIECE OF.....
But I said none of that. Quickly following he asked me if I wanted to take the scenic beach route home or take the freeway straight home.
"Take me home. You're already making me late."
"Making you late? You're the one that was watching the sax player. "
RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGE!
But that's not what I did. I wanted to start crying. I wanted to go all Collumbine up in there with only one witness to worry about.
The drive was less than enjoyable. I got home and bastard asks me if he wants me to wait outside while I get dressed so he can take me. I let him know he's not invited. Then huddle into my place, rage showering and changing.
So. That's what this trip was about. Because. We're not. Dating. I see you, you fat fuck.
After that, he kept texting me for the evening, wanting to meet me at the show. I got short with him really quick, insisting I was trying to bang the drummer. His mood went all "I have money" super quickly.
You can't buy me off.
Moral of the story? Sometimes we lesn't be optimistic. Sometimes you really can't just be friends with someone after only two dates. Sometimes maybe laying into someone is better than holding your tongue for the sake of their feelings. Because in turn it will completely ruin you if you don't fucking say something to the pompous twat who's single for a fucking reason.
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