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url-1Oh man, I went on the MOTHER LOAD of dates this weekend.  This date really confirmed my  “men are absolutely crazy” theory. 

Super bowl Sunday I went to a very good friend’s Super bowl party at a bar in my neighborhood.  It was perfect, we had the entire downstairs of the bar to ourselves and it was a really cool vibe, couches everywhere, really chill, and a good crowd of cute, straight men, most who I had never met before.  I invited some friends, and I didn’t care about the game necessarily, I just wanted to drink some whiskey with some cute boys, and watch Beyonce shake her perfect booty.

When I arrived, I ran into a guy that I had a met a long time ago through the friend who invited me to the party.  I was happy to see him because the last time I had met him, I thought he was cute, and he had tattoos.  I like tattoos.  I moseyed on over to him to say hello and I felt like we really hit it off.  He was complimentary, made eye contact, and spoke English.  Things were looking great.  Throughout the course of the night, he told me he loved my eyes, and that I was sexy.  So that was cool, and I was totally interested in seeing him again.

We planned a tentative date for this past weekend.  I had my parents in town, my best friend was in from DC for the night and I had a few birthdays I had to hit up all in the same night, so I knew it might be difficult to see him.  I knew he was downtown, where I had to end up anyway, so when the second birthday party was a bust due to a huge line around the corner to get in, I called him to make the drink happen.

Here is where the fun really began:

He picked the LOUDEST bar in the East Village to meet up.  When I got there, I was already regretting it.  I had been to the place before, but for some reason, it was douche bag with bad hearing night and it was loud and very crowded.  I got myself a drink and waited for him… for 20 minutes.  In those 20 minutes, I was already obsessing over the fact that I left my parents back at my apartment, left my good friends at the first birthday party, and now the third birthday party was happening without me. 

He showed up and sat down next to me.  Apparently he knew everyone that worked there and the first 10 minutes, he spent way more time talking to the bartender and his buddies then to me.  I was already not feeling it.  I couldn’t even hear anything he said because it was so damn loud in the bar.  What? I’m getting old.  

His friend left, and I thought “alright, we’re alone now, let’s just go with this”. 

I had just ordered my second drink when he asked me a little bit about what I’m up to, and what my life looks like.  I think he let me speak for 5 seconds, when he said, “I am phenomenal at 3 things”.  “Phenomenal?” I asked.  That’s a ballsy word.  You’re phenomenal at 3 things?  I am good at many things about phenomenal…. That’s huge…

“Okay tell me, kind sir, what are you phenomenal at?”

“One. Sports.  I can play ANY sport.  ANY.”

“And you’re phenomenal at them?” I asked.  I mean, if you are phenomenal at something, you’re famous… the BEST, Better than anyone else…

“Any sport”, he continues…  “Except tennis”. 

Better work on your backhand.  Does that make sense? I said that.  I don’t know anything about sports.

“Two. Dancing…  I’m phenomenal at dancing”….

What kind of dancing? Ballroom, the tootsie roll? Please, tell me more.

“And the third thing I’m phenomenal at is…drum roll please….Eating pussy”.

Wait, I know it’s loud in this bar…. But you heard that correctly. EATING PUSSY.

If the bar wasn’t so fucking loud, you could’ve heard my ice melt in my Makers Mark.  I died.  I died.  I died. Guys, I’m 2 drinks in and he’s telling me he’s phenomenal at eating pussy.  Wow.  What a douche.

If I am phenomenal at something I want people to recognize it in me, not scream it myself from the rooftops.  I am confident…  I own when I am awesome at something… but I seriously cant name one thing that I am phenomenal at… And I am absolutely fine with that.  If that’s what phenomenal looks like, I don’t want to be it.

But it doesn’t end there. 

Then, and I’m only half way done with my second drink, and it’s 20 seconds after the eating pussy line, he turns to me and asks, “can I be really honest with you about something” .  He looks VERY serious

I’m thinking… what? You have no penis… your mom dropped you as a small child and that is why you’re such a dick… tell me please ANYTHING…  ANYTHING is better then you just telling me 30 minutes into a “first date” that you are phenomenal at eating pussy.

“I have a girlfriend”

All my energy dropped from my face, and probably from my vagina. 

“They why are you here?” Why are you WASTING MY SATURDAY NIGHT?

“I have a girlfriend and I feel myself holding back… I can’t be myself.  I’m sorry”

You can’t be yourself?? What else would you have said if you didn’t have a girlfriend!?

Then he proceeds to tell me that he’s in his head about it, he knows she isn’t the one, he’s really into me… blah blah blah…

I just downed my drink, said, “hey I am going to use the restroom and then i'm going to leave”

“Really? Why? “ He asked… like he was surprised that I wanted to leave…

And I just looked him and said, “ If I was your girlfriend I’d kick your ass”.

“But we vibe, I think your cool”…

“I’m not looking for new friends”…

I peed, and laughed a little while squatting in the disgusting New York City bathroom with only half a door so the whole bar could probably see me pee…  He probably saw me pee.

He walked me out, I wished he wouldn’t…. he tried to help me get a cab… I wished he wouldn’t … and I looked at him and said,

“Hey, I had a great time… talk to you REALLY soon”

Listen, I don’t care that he had a girlfriend, I don’t care that he gained a little weight since the last time I saw him (it's winter, I get it), I don’t care that he is not cool enough to be such a dick, but I did care that he wasted my time. 

On my way home, I texted my mom to see if they were still up.

Her response,

“Yes, we are watching videos of people doing the Harlem shake on YouTube”

“Perfect. I’ll be right home”.

My night ended in my tiny little studio apartment with my mom, dad, sister, and dog all hysterically laughing about the three things he was phenomenal at… well Oliver wasn’t laughing, but I could see in his eyes that he thought it was ridiculous. 

Then we did the Harlem Shake.


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