Divorced Dating and Damn Drama

BOOK: Divorced Dating and Damn Drama
10.13Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

Divorced, dating and damn drama Prolog
Today Henry and I are celebrating our six-year anniversary
. We have been together for so long and been through so much; just thinking about our kooky adventures makes my soft pink lips curl at the corners until they form a gleeful smile.
I've been working my horrid dead-end job for the past five years to support my better half through law school-- but it was all worth it. He finally graduated magna cum lade last June
. He then landed an amazing job at the prestigious
law office of
Bobble and Company and is now making a six figure income. He told me I could quit my job and be his little housewife.

I walk around the island in the kitchen and head into the dining room making sure that the table setting is perfect. I bought these romantic red candles that give off a
cinnamon sent and I have sprayed enough body spray on the curtains to make the room smell like a Victoria's secret store. I can't wait for him to get home. God, I love that man! I skip back into the kitchen and look around. I have a turkey in the oven and stuffing on the stove. The potatoes are in the slow cooker and I have fresh cut carrots already on the counter. I take a peek into the mirror resting just above the sink. I'm wearing a pink night gown with matching slippers. I bought my outfit today, whole sale not clearance, and I hope to surprise him. My hair has been straightened to give off that sleek sexy glow. I adjust the pink bow on the top of my head. I look perfect. This is going to be the best anniversary ever.
Wait what's that?
I wonder pulling myself out of the moment. I look around causally. I think I just heard someone come in. Intruder alert! I grab a steak knife from the utensil drawer, walk into the living room and gasp, dropping my knife. I see Henry with his pants around his ankles, sprawled out on the couch with Isabel, our dog walker on top of him, in the mist of passion. What the .......

Chapter One

I'm Marissa Langerson, I'm 27, divorced, and work for Gossip Magazine. Nope,
that's a lie
. I am the assistant to the assistant who works for the woman who works for the magazine. I'm only allowed to run pointless errands, but this is the internet, so.... Wait, this is bad? Lying about a job, how dare I. Oh, yeah, because it's closer to the truth then any of you assholes spit out. Enough about me. I managed to set up my online dating profile six months after my husband, aka lying douche
formerly known as my
high school sweetheart, decided to fornicate with the dog walker. You heard that one right, the bloody dog walker. Apparently she got him off while I was paying off his college debt. This is ironic though. That we have a dog walker that is, since in my job description it explicitly says I have to walk my boss's six Golden Weiner dogs every morning. So why the hell did we have a dog walker?! He obviously hired a dog walker for the sole reason to sleep with her. But, enough about me. The past is the past and I just want a guy who won't cheat, or lie or a lot of other things. In other words, the opposite of Henry. So that's what brought me to where I am today. Lost in cyberspace and beginning my solo adventure. Trying to conquer online dating.

Navigating the ins and outs of dating is hard enough, but add the world wide web and you have a sure fire path to disaster. I have tried and failed at meeting Mr. Right, in fact I have failed so badly that even Mr. Ok is way out of my league. That's why I turned to online dating. Online dating sites are all the rage. I agree, they are fast, easy and full of catfishes. For those of you who don't know,
a catfish is someone who pretends to be someone they are not. The one thing about being online is you really can be anyone you want to be. You can be a gym rat and, thanks to thousands of images available on Google, you can look like one too. You can be any body type, any age, any gender and
any race you want to be. Hell, if you want to be a millionaire who sells private jets for a living, just type it into your profile. How do I know they are lying? Well if I type their name into Google and they come up as a fugitive then I know they are lying. Now put your professional bull shitting hat on and get to work impersonating someone you could never be. Congrats Mr. Catfisher, y
ou are now an online dater, ready to scam the world. Not for money, but for boosts to your ego. Well, not your real ego, the fake one you made up.

Now let's skip ahead a few weeks after I made my profile to my very first date. "Michael, if you live in your mom's basement, fine. If you dress up as Pikachu from Pokémon, fine. If you dress up as a baby, fine. If you... Oh this can go on and on and on-get my drift?" I asked. I don't really find Michael attractive, his nose is too big and his forehead is way too big. He looks like a misshapen Frankenstein, however, I'm divorced living with two high school drop outs who make more in a week then I do in a month. So I'm not exactly on the top of my game when it comes to this whole dating thing.

"So I can do anything I want and you will still be with me?" Michael asks. He strokes his black mountain man beard, hoping to give off the impression that he is considering dating me. Maybe he is, who knows.

"Well, define anything." I respond. I suck on my lemon water though a slender red straw, I hate it but water is free and the lemon gives it the extra spice I need to keep me alert. I look up at him trying to figure him out. I know I'm desperate, but I do want our relationship to work. But Do I really? Or am I just lying to myself. Do I even want to be seen with this guy? Maybe the question is why? Why am I so desperate to be with another person?

"Can you give me my rent money?" Michael yawns. He stretches his arms back like he ready for bed. His arms are hairy, like a cave man. His whole body is really hairy. I can see his thick gnarly black chest hair sticking out of the top of what appears to be a piss stained, previously white t shirt.

"No, I can't give you rent money." I answer honestly. What is this guy thinking? I know I'm new at this whole online dating thing but this doesn't happen, does it? I let it go. I tell myself:
aybe he was joking who knows, right. I take a bite of my potato. I like mashed potato and if it come with brown gravy than I am in heaven.

"Well, can you pay for this meal and I will get you back later?" He spits out. He then leans in and stares at me, aggressively? No that can't be right, maybe he is staring with intent? That's sexy, right?

"Define later" I inquire. I'm not really sure what is happening, is this flirting?

"Next year, maybe." Michael snorts. Then he looks over to the table and winks at what I can only assume
is a 16 year old girl. Well, now this is awkward.

"No, you can't get me back later. We can go Dutch like we agreed on." I scoff. What I want to say is look at me, aren't I pretty? Didn't you notice my engaging personality? Don't you like this sexy little black dress that cost a week's salary? Wow, I'm insecure.

"Well, jokes on you because I didn't bring any money." Michael laughs. Why is he laughing? This isn't funny. Who goes on a date and expects his date to pay for the whole meal-and he had dessert! Dessert-I never have desert. It's way overpriced and I can't afford a luxury like dessert!

"Really?" I ask astonished.

"Yeah, so you have to pay!" Michael
gives another hearty laugh
, this time getting a little out of control and starts slapping his knee. Really? This is your idea of entertainment? This is what makes you smile?
Asking someone out and making her pay? Am I the only one this happens to?

"The hell I do!" I shout, then get up, pay my half and walk to my car. I wish I could tell you that I left. That I drove away and he had to wash dishes or call his mom to bring him money, but I didn't. I went back and paid for his meal.
I legitimately felt bad.
I am the definition of loser. To make matters worse, when walking to my car I noticed that my sweet, innocent car got keyed. Why would someone key my car? Can't they see it's the definition of crap. I mean, seriously, the paint is peeling, only the driver's side seat belt works, the trunk is held down by bungee cords, it has over 200,000 miles on the odometer, and to top it all off the back window was smashed but instead of fixing it, like any normal adult, I have a clear plastic trash bag covering the massive hole where the window should have been. Hey, in my defense, with the wind rushing through the gaping hole I can almost imagine myself with a sleek little red convertible-I've always wanted a convertible. Do you want to know why I am driving this abomination of a car? My Ex husband got not only his BMW (that I paid for) but also my Toyota corolla (Yep, I also paid for that). Why did he take both cars? Because Henry is a jerk and has the judge in his pocket. He only needed one car and I bought both of them. That is a valuable lesson for everyone. If you buy it, you better make sure your name is on the title. I was blinded by love, but now I see the truth. I get into my simple car, slam the door shut and the handle comes off. This is my luck. The door handle? Really? This has got to be the worst day ever. And I went in credit card debt buying this hunk of junk. Good thing the car dealer never ran a credit check-I'd never be able to get a loan if he did.

That night, mad as a bull in a rodeo, I start mass emailing guys. "Hi Steven, how are you today?" Good message, right? I used to write more, but let's face it, guys don't read it.
The messages they get, they just look at your photo. If you're hot you get a message back. Or if they're horny you get a message back
. My photo sucks. I have three posted to the site. One is a full body of me by myself at last year's Christmas party, a three quarter shot and a close up head shot, all taken by yours truly. I have yet to prefect the self photograph. For some reason every photo I take looks like a DMV photo on my driver license, and, no I'm not drunk in the pictures-although I would love to drink the pain away, but booze is expensive, so.... It's just awkward taking self photos. I think the popular girls spend hours taking one photo because their photo always looks perfect. Now back to guys skipping me over because I fail to meet the beauty requirements. This isn't just men, mind you. It works both ways. I too, look at someone's photos and decide whether or not I want to start a conversation. To be honest, I kind of search for people who don't look like 10's. The reason for this is that guys who are 10's just reek of bullshit. If I can smell it from my computer then I pass. "I just love to surf and buy girls things." Yeah. Bulls to the shit.

Chapter two

The dogs in the apartment next door are relentless with their barking tonight. I wish I could go for a drive but my little miracle of a car is in the shop. It's a miracle because it hasn't needed to go to the shop before now. Don't worry! With the state of my finances, I only approved having a new seat belt put in. My old one got slashed, as if someone cut it with a knife. No, not a knife, a samurai sword. They then proceeded to create large gashes in my driver's seat. I had to do a quick fix with duck tape and then take my life into my own hands by driving to the nearest garage so I could bribe a mechanic to put in a seat belt from a car of a different model. The guy didn't want to do it, he told me to junk the car because it was unsafe to drive. I asked if he meant unsafe by law, and he replied that it technically worked fine but was a mess. I don't have the luxury of buying a different junk of a car, let alone a new car. So I slipped him a fifty dollar bill to put in the damn seat belts. He said I could pick the car up sometime tomorrow. I really must live in the worst neighborhood in the city. The breakins are constant, everyone hates my car! But why? It clearly isn't bringing down the neighborhood and I park it right next to Sara's, one of my roommates, luxurious import. You would think someone would slash her tiers, but no. My car is always the victim. I get up, wander to the fridge and find only health foods. Where are all my Snick Snacks?
Fun fact: the internet calls snacky snacks snick-snacks.
Back to why I'm in the fridge, where are my snacks? I don't have to think hard about where they could have gone. I look over my shoulder to see my pot smoking roommate Ruby sitting on the couch crunching on my potato chips. They were clearly marked people.

I confront Ruby, but she is so high that she doesn't care. Or she is not high and this is all an act, who knows. No food, no car, my life is a waste land. I look down and find Ruby is resting her feet on my wedding album. An album I only got because my neighbor saved it from a horrible fate on trash day. I rip my album out from Ruby's Olaf like feet and march into my room slamming the door, which just gets the dogs barking louder.

I sit on my bed looking at Henry and stroking his picture. Oh Henry, why did you do this to me? Wasn't I a good wife? An instant massage just pops up on my computer form SexyShirtless57 whom requisitions me to a chat. I look back down at the photo of Henry on our wedding day and get up, slamming my hand on his face in the process.

I accept the chat and get to talking. It takes little time for him to request a RT photo, meaning a real time photo. I quickly take one with my webcam and send it along. There is an awkward delay in his typing. Just as I'm about to go back to the photo album he replies with a picture of his own. Granted in the photo he is shirtless, but he is far from sexy. His eyes are staring into the camera with lust, I guess? His left eye is runny though and so is his nose. It happens. His hair is barely visible around his ears however his arm pit hair looks like it could be longer then my glorious black locks. I look at the photo and realize the figure in it is moving ever so slightly but moving nevertheless. Am I drunk? Why is this photo moving? Then it dawns on me, this isn't a photo, it's
a live feed. I
quickly look up and realize my camera has been activated and turned on. He is getting a live feed of me. I quickly shut my laptop and turn away from it. Technology nowadays is insane. How did that just happen? I feel violated.
I definitely did NOT turn on my video chat!
Next time I will have to put a sticker over my computer's camera. Who am I kidding? Where's the duct tape? That won't happen again!

BOOK: Divorced Dating and Damn Drama
10.13Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

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