I woke up Sunday morning in a complete daze, then I looked in the mirror at my crackhead hair, telltale puffy, red eyes and smeary mascara and I unfortunately remembered what happened the night before. I finally broke down, became a hooker for some extra cash and my pimp slapped my drunk, ho ass? Nope, just another date that crashed and burned in a fiery fiasco of bullshit.
This, like all of my dating disasters, left me baffled at the complete lack of consideration for another person and downright meanness of the actions displayed by my male counterpart. Fortunately not all of my experiences with men and dating have been completely and explosively awful. A lot of times it's me because I'm the first to admit that I'm extremely fickle about men, or I'm fucked up at the time about something and would rather not bring another person into my shitstorm, or it just "fades away" as in there's just not enough interest from either party to keep the relationship going. All of these anticlimactic endings seem to fare far better since I'd like to think that I would never ruin somebody's fucking night by acting like a total dick. *SIGH*
Anyway, my latest dating FAIL got me thinking about all the mean things boys have done to me in my life and no, not in a pity party, feel sorry for me type of way. Some of this shit is so appalling it's hilarious and it makes you want to throw out the, "I'm calling your mother and telling her what you did" threat. Here's a selection of fond memories:
- My encounters with mean boys started at a young age, which is probably why after more than 20 years of this crap I'm completely exhausted and frustrated yet surprisingly not made of stone. I had my first crush on a boy when I was 5-years-old and when one of my friends asked him if he liked me, he replied with, "NO! She's a buuuuutt wipe!"
"Excuse me, you little bastard, did you just call me a butt wipe?" Then I gave him the most ball crushing wedgie of all time. See, that is what I would have said and done if all of my years of cynicism were rolled into my 5-year-old self, but the feisty bitch of a woman you know and love today took years to develop, so my soft and impressionable kindergarten heart was crushed. While I haven't had the pleasure of coming face to face with this guy in many years, the word on the street provides truth to the saying, "once a wiener, always a wiener." Go figure.
- If anybody were to come up to me and tell me that their junior high experience was a happy and joyous one, I'd immediately call bullshit, then question them about the type of drugs they were obviously taking between the ages of 12 and 15. My favorite of the mean boy memories from junior high had to be when I asked a boy from another school to the Valentine's Day dance and he just didn't show up or when a boy who was actually younger than me told me just out of the blue one day that I had bushy man eyebrows. Apparently I missed my waxing appointment at the salon because naturally that's what you should be concerned about when you're a 13-year-old girl. Man, that kid was a bitter troll of a little boy. Let's hope he became an esthetician, which might help explain his unnatural obsession with eyebrows at such a young age.
- Dancing was my saving grace for most temptations that high school brought - drugs, drinking and mean boys. I was so busy with practice, competitions and teaching that I had little time to care about much else. However, I still managed to snag my first love and it's too bad I couldn't have chosen a mentally stable one. This guy stalked me and I'm talking calling-me-every-two-minutes-and-lurking-in-the-bushes-waiting-for-me-to-get-home-with-dad-threatening-to-call-the-police caliber of stalking. Then, he called my dad the fucking Unabomber (WTF?), which in turn made my head explode because you don't mess with my people unless you'd like to die, THEN he decided to stick around long after I tried to get him out of my life with a short-lived attempt to turn my friends against me. Oh, high school...Much later, I found out he cheated on me with some skank in Padre Island during Spring Break, which most likely wasn't the only time, but at least I got a beer bong out of it. I'm pretty sure he's married now, which is so hilarious since he's obviously a keeper. *wink*
- In college, the boys became more creative and thus the dickheaded art of ditching came into play. Greek life introduced me to some interesting rituals such as the themed date party, which is why I now have a trunk of random costumes in my parent's basement like some traveling circus side show. Digging through that thing would garner some interesting question and answer sessions:
"Why do you have this black leather whip?"
"Oh, that's from my french whore costume."
"And this sparkly red tube top?"
"That's when I was a pimp and my date was a ho."
Barn party was a popular one - we'd dress up like cowboys and party in a barn - fairly self explanatory, and I was feeling pretty ballsy for asking this particular guy that I hardly knew to this date party. However, I was ditched the minute the school bus rolled into the party and I would unknowingly be ditched after the party was over as I literally watched this guy fling himself out of a still moving vehicle and run into his fraternity house, never to be seen the rest of the night because I apparently have leprosy.
I was reunited with him for the short school bus ride back to the sorority house where he grabbed my boob, tried to make out with me and then explained to me how he told his fraternity brothers what he was doing that night by telling them, "You know, I'm going to a date party with that girl with the hot body," he said. When I reminded him that I also have a face, he said, "Yeah, but the body sort of overshadows the face." It might have been the vodka, but I'm pretty sure it was that comment that made me fall out of bus seat. Did he just more or less refer to me as a "but-her-face?" Oh man, I reveled in that nickname, "The Body." It stuck for probably a year - on the back of shirts, in joking conversation, as my signature on my e-mails to friends... I suppose there are worse things to be called...like bushy eyebrow girl...and the guy eventually did stick his foot in his mouth and apologize on numerous occasions claiming that the comment came out wrong.
Another case of the ditch-your-date-at-barn-party happened just a few months after the first one when I agreed to go with a different guy to his party. After a long bus ride full of many shots of vodka, I found myself on a farm full of drunk, singing strangers in 10 gallon hats and furry pig suits in the middle of nowhere Kansas barfing behind a tractor...ALONE. My date didn't even look up from his conversation with Tits McBigboobs when I finally found him hours later teetering on the edge of a hay bale in a dark corner. Then, when it was time to go, the THREE of us boarded the bus-o-fun where my date leaned in for a long, seductive kiss with Tits McBigboobs about two inches from my face, but their moment of passion was interrupted by my 19-year-old self screaming, "WHAT. THE. FUCK. ARE YOU DOING?!" through a raspberry vodka haze.
I once again witnessed a guy flinging himself from a moving vehicle when we arrived back at the fraternity house and I eventually found his dumbass passed out in his bed. Since my phone oh so conveniently died in the middle of this trainwreck, I used his phone to call a bunch of wrong numbers at two in the morning in an attempt to call one of my friends to pick me up. When I couldn't remember anybody's number, a lightbulb went on and I began to hoof it towards Kate's boyfriend's frat house a few blocks away in heels, at two in the morning, ALONE. I was a giant blubbery mess when I finally got there, but nothing my best pal Kate and a mini fridge full of Natty Light couldn't cure.
- In modern times, guys and their crap have evolved into much craftier forms of mean - being verbally abused via text at work by Stage Five Clinger, the running away from party hat boobs, the usage of the word 'cunt,' among other things, to describe me by live in boyfriend (who, by the way, I've made amends with after a few years and lot of growing up on both of our parts) the "void of a caring bone in his body boy" and the dumping over an extremely flirty glass of water by Robocop.
However, my date Saturday wasn't a newfangled kind of mean, but kind of a throwback form of mean and unfortunately it wasn't of the "butt wipe" variety.
I found myself in a world that I've long since grown out of and as much fun as it is to try to carry on a conversation with a trio of fresh 21-year-olds that are so fucked up on pot and Xanax that their necks can't even support their heads, I still tried because I genuinely liked this guy and saw no red flags when I had been out with him a few times before. However, I still questioned why a man who is nearly 30-years-old would voluntarily subject himself and a woman he barely knows to such things. While I'm hardly pretentious and adapt to most situations, like I said, you naturally grow out of things and therefore your tolerance for such situations tends to have a limit.
He received some ill-timed bad news when we were out and while I completely understood his situation with this chronic unemployment and scrambling to find income in the form of pennies and dimes and temp jobs hanging over my head, he decided to handle it by drinking himself into oblivion and pretending that I didn't exist.
I think the height of my night was when he disappeared for almost an hour with one of his friends and by the time he reappeared, I had given up on talking to the remaining faded friends and took a seat at the bar by myself. Apparently an hour in his world translates to 20 minutes (which, by the way, is also an unacceptable amount of time to leave your date alone in grown up date land) even though I have a nearly hour long text message conversation on my phone that I had with Kate while I was passing the time...at the bar...drinking water...BY MY FUCKING SELF...FOR AN HOUR.
When I pointed out that I didn't appreciate such jackassery, he turned the situation around on me, said I was attacking him and demanded his keys. I refrained from quoting the famous Dan Connor of "Roseanne," "Women tend to get upset when you treat them like crap," handed him his keys and he disappeared into the bar crowd never to be seen again.
The band we went to see was actually pretty damn good and thankfully I didn't have to listen to it alone for long since I ran into my old friend Sean. A while later, Sean walked me over to my usual watering hole, and since I have a soul and don't like to be an asshole, I sent the infamous disappearing date a courtesy text telling him where I was and inviting him to join me. Much to my surprise, he actually responded, but of course he didn't actually show up leaving me to either jump in a cab to get home or call my friends to come pick my dejected ass up from the bar. I chose the latter. The few times I've been upset in a bar I do everything I possibly can to hide it since nobody is going to believe that the chick squirting tears in a bar at 2 in the morning is not a drunk ass, but the victim of a mean boy. It's one of the few times I actually care what strangers think of me.
While I love to have fun, perhaps more fun than most women my age, I'm also a grown woman and demand to be treated like one, which frankly, isn't asking too much. I'm always going to value myself enough to stick up for myself and I'm never, ever going to compromise how I feel I should be treated. Sometimes I wish I could wear a sign that stated this so men would be warned that if they can't handle that, they should probably just stay the fuck away. Here are some simple pieces of advice to follow as well: a.) Women, like most human beings, don't appreciate being ignored, so don't invite me out if you think this is acceptable behavior and b.) learn to handle your shit and if you can't possibly do that, then please don't make me a victim of your path of destruction. I certainly don't expect any guy to be perfect, but I can expect them to treat me with respect.
While disappearing date sent me a half-hearted apology the next day via text, it's sort of too little, too late...although it was more than I've gotten from most and dammit, I really thought I had run into a cool one this time. Sometimes I wonder if my forehead secretly has "Welcome" or "Wipe Your Paws" imprinted on it signaling men that it's OK to walk all over me without any objections. Perhaps I'm acting in such a way that doesn't warrant respect from the opposite sex, but that's not true either because I'm not any of the following things: Mean, slutty, needy or overly possessive.
Really, I think there are just that many mean men out there. They're always going to be lurking around and there's not much I can do about it besides defend myself, which is why I'll never waste my energy on being a man hater, nor will I give up on dating. Eventually and certainly I'll run into somebody with the right mix of chemistry and kindness. Until then, I say, bring it on. Go ahead and pummel me with your bullshit and consider yourself lucky if you behave in such a way towards me and then make it out of the situation without severe injury to your testicles. Shit, with the number of mean boy encounters I have under my belt, I'd be pretty stupid not to find the humor in it all at this point.
Now, I'm curious. Sorry to leave you out non-mean, straight men, but I sort of have a theme going here. What is the meanest thing a boy has ever done to you and how did you react to it? I'd like to know just how many of you can top my mean boy stories.