Divorced Dating and Damn Drama (6 page)

So yeah. That happened. Ohh poor baby, your life is so hard. Now let me tell you how I pity you and how the world is against you. Yep, that's it. That's my poor baby, hope you're happy. Sometimes, maybe they are employed, but God do they hate it. I get it, your job sucks. I understand. Kathy from accounting refused to sleep with you for a "promotion" again. Wow, you have so much to complain about. Does anyone else find it weird I'm only talking to rich people? Wow, lying is easy on the internet.

My dream came true today. I awoke in the arms of a sexy, shirtless hottie, with real muscles people. He had dark brown eyes and dirty blonde hair. He sported fitted pants, an orange safety vest and an orange helmet, with a little light on it. His eyes stared at me with what I thought was lust. Am I dreaming? Is this real? Oh who cares? I melted; this is exactly what I wanted. Too bad I had just fallen down a manhole and people kept shouting from above asking if I'm ok. Stupid people shouting, they are ruining the moment.

So earlier that day I was drinking a Gossip coffee while walking to the local convenience store, for some nachos, and I was a little distracted texting guys from online dating. I admit when I go out by myself appearance is not on the top of my list. I usually just wear my pajamas or sweats. Today I was wearing my pink pajama pants with the hearts on them. I understand that when you go out you should make yourself presentable, but I have to ask. Who am I trying to impress? So anyways, I fell into a manhole. I was so scared that I was going to die it's remarkable I didn't wet my pants, if you know what I mean. I happen to have an irrational fear of falling. That is a real thing, it's called
Altophobia.
I think I must have fainted because when I woke up I was staring into the gorgeous eyes of the love of my life. My hero, the construction worker. See, I'm not that hard to impress.

Once I was safely on solid ground, which was not easy, my dating brain kicked in. Now I know it is weird as anything to ask someone for a date out of the blue but wouldn't it be weirder not to? Let me elaborate. Thirty years from now are you going to think I really regret asking that guy out or are you going to think "What if"? So I asked if he wanted to get coffee sometime and he said YES! He said it was a date!

When you make plans with someone and they say "it's a date" they might mean it's a plan, not that you really had a date. I'm just letting you know so you don't get hurt like I did when I showed up dressed to the hilt in a sexy new dress only to find he brought a his girlfriend. W
hat? I thought this was a date. I guess he
meant he would 'meet me' not 'date me.' This is it, my fantasy of the sexy construction worker is over. This is really upsetting. I'm just going eat my nachos now.

Do you ever want to tell someone to suck it up? Their life is not that bad. I know I do, on a daily basis actually. I am in lust with you but I cannot stand to talk to you. Anyways, I ask them what would make them happy. Because surely they must want something from me. And if it's pity they aren't going to get it. So they cry and whine; stamp their feet more and tell me how I can make their dreams come true. Usually by giving them money or performing various, sometimes twisted, sex acts on them. Yeah, for real. Some people are crazy. I had a guy who told me I looked like his sister. I didn't know how to take it until he asked if I could wear her clothes and could he call me by her name when we were out and having, yes there it is again, sex. I told him that was disgusting. He then informed me that if he was in another country he would have bed her already. Can anyone say EWWW. Come on now. Say it with me, EEEWWWWWW. I told him he should seek professional help and blocked him.

I got to texting a rather average man, spiking my self confidence due to his mediocre appearance. He wore geek glasses and had adult braces. Richard was covered in zits and I suspected he had been struggling with confidence for a while. I had met a king and this time I was more than excited to at least start texting a dweb.

"Do you have large thighs?" He texts, right off the bat. Well this is awkward. I don't want to be mean but it's not like he looked amazing. So where does he get off asking me this question.

"Come again?" I ask

"I just can't tell from your photo if you have large thighs or not" Richard explains.

"Does it matter?" I ask. Well, it shouldn't.

"Since you are not telling me whether or not you have big thighs then I think it matters to you" Richard points out. Am I the only one who thought Richard was cool name, attach to a jerk.
Man I hate this: 'you don't want to talk about your body type. Thus you are fat.'

"Well, do you have big thighs?" I ask, trying not to sound mean, but come on. That is your question, out of all the questions in the world you chose to ask that one.

"I'm a guy I'm allowed to have big thighs" Richard
remarks.

"Are they fat big thighs or muscle big thighs?" I asked. what? Now I am curious.

"What's the difference?" He responds.

"One is created by fries and the other by working out."

"How as I supposed to know?" He shouts. "Quit judging me you fat heifer!"

That night I sat in my room clutching my life line to the outside world, my phone. My delightful roommates have been having friends over all week, and I refuse to talk to them. It's not personal it's just that I don't want to be judged and critiqued by 18 year old perfectionists. I gather my ear plugs and put my phone under my pillow and drift off into a deep slumber. I suddenly awaken from my deep sleep by a shadowy figure staring at me inside my room. I can feel its eyes on me. What does it want? Is it friend or foe?

I slowly raise my head to gaze upon a dark figure in my room. I sit motionless waiting for it to make its first move, for what seems like hours it stared at me. What does it want? My soul? Oh no, what if it's my car? If it wants my car I might have to literally fight to the death. I quickly pull out my phone and shine a light on it. Why, it was just the coat hanger from the hallway. Someone must have bought it in here to avoid it getting knocked over. Still the thought that someone was in my room while I was sleeping is disturbing. I should request a set of locks from Sara.

My ethnicity. Oh no, here comes the controversy. We all knew I would address this, now didn't
we. What is my race? Oh good G
od I don't know, how about American. Will that one work? No? Where were your born, they hound. My parents were born in America. No, no, they say, I mean where were your parents from? Umm let me think, America. Sometimes this line of interrogation goes on for a good while. So naturally I get pissed off and when I get really mad, I lie. Even when I tell them the truth they think I'm lying, but when I lie they think it's the truth. That's weird right? It's not just me. Right? I usually tell them, after they have pissed me off, that I am Russian. Roll that 'R". I'm Russian. That usually shuts
them up. The funny thing is I don't even look
Russian. I think people just want someone exotic. I have been told I look Asian. However, I don't see it.

Why do I have short hair? Well that is a common question I get, and my hair is not that short, but anyways; to answer your question, my hair is short because I cut it. Like magic. My current hair style is a short cropped pixie cut. My hair has recently been dyed black thanks to Eddie's Discount hair dye, got it on sale for 57 cents. What a bargain! Their follow up question is if I will grow it out. Yes, I know men love long hair. I have had long hair and yes I did get a ton of attention. So I don't mind the questions, but I do mind when I inform them that I don't know if I will grow it out , they get pissed off. Like mental mad. To set the record straight, I will grow my hair out but only because I'm lazy with my hair. I don't like telling people about my hair plans. I don't feel that my hair length should be tied into a relationship. I'm not going to promise I will have long hair, because it takes time to grow out hair and I might want to cut it. I might not, but I might. And I feel, as I'm sure all of you do, that it's my hair my choice. I don't think anyone, man, woman or child, should dictate how long my hair will be. And this is why I'm alone... now we know...

A woman my age, 27, gets asked the kid question a lot. Not just by my parents and friends, but strangers on the internet. Am I baby crazy? Is my clock ticking? Do I want to pop out a dozen just for the hell of it? Umm that's a tough one. I have to think about it. Umm... NO. Just because I'm 27 doesn't mean I'm looking to have a baby. It wouldn't hurt, but nope. I am struggling to just keep paying my bills, let along be responsible for another human being. Which segues
into my next complaint.
Oops, I meant topic.

One man tackled all the issues at once, and in the most astronomical way possible. We met at Mercury Tower. This was more of a romantic place so I wore a nice red blouse with a tight black skirt. Gus showed up in a wrinkly black suit and a clip on tie. His mustache was well put together, I wish I could say the same for the 5 kids that tagged along after him. He sets them up at another table with 2 lap tops, head phones, an assortment of snacks and each their own iPhone. How do kids have I phones, I don't even have an iPhone. Okay, now I'm jealous. I am jealous of children. This is not my first time and it will not be my last.

"So what are you exactly?'" Gus asks once the food arrived. I wonder if he would take human as an acceptable response.

"I'm confused by your question" I say before I stuff some cheese in my mouth.

"Your race, dear." Gus says while chewing an enormous bite of halibut. That's a fish, I hate fish.

"I'm Russian" I say bleakly. Surprisingly enough, we had already had this conversation before. This is the third time actually, the third time he asked me my race, maybe people don't really believe I'm Russian.

"So are you a dyke or something?" He spits out, causing his children to giggle from the next table. Now, I'm not one to insinuate but I do believe he is referring to my short black hair.

"No, I just have short hair." I stammer. Well that was rude. He brought 5 kids out on our date, I could call him ghetto but I'm not.

"Are you going to grow it out for me?" Gus asks casually as he leans over and grabs a nacho from my dish. What is it with everyone eating my food? This is becoming an epidemic. I will starve to death if everyone keeps eating off my plate!

"No, not for you." I reply, pulling my dish closer to my body. I wasn't just talking about my hair but also my nachos.

"What about kids" Gus snorts gesturing over to his herd.

"What about them?" I ask nonchalantly, finishing up the nachos.

"You ready to have them." Gus asks taking a chicken bone
out of his pocket and setting it on his fries. "I could
impregnate you tonight," he leers looking me up and down likes some sort of piece of meat.

"No thanks" I say drawing my sweater closer to my chest.

"You do realize you are not getting any younger." Gus says picking at something in his teeth.

"Yes I am aware of that." I say, paying my portion of the bill and leaving. In case anyone didn't pick up on the chicken bone thing, I'll explain. He is going to claim that he found a bone in his meal to get it for free. Except he didn't order chicken so it probably won't work. It all depends on how big of a scene he can make. On second thought with all those kids he will probably get a few meals for him plus a few to go meals for his kids.

"Beep." I lay on the horn as my life flashes before my eyes. Don't worry it wasn't great, my life flashing that is. Some guy just cut me off.
I am madder than a bull in a rodeo.
He is lucky my brakes work because if they didn't we would have collided. Why is everyone in such a hurry? I mean, what's the rush. "It's ok baby, they are gone now" I coo while stroking my steering wheel.

"Are you talking to your car?" My co worker Nancy demands.

"What I like my car, she is all I have." I say meekly.

"No wonder you're single," Nancy scoffs. I should really stop telling people I'm alone. But at work word would have gotten around. The reason I'm driving this intolerable fool is because today's my car pool day. So I get to drive 3 people home which takes an extra hour. But on days when they pick me up, it's nice, I don't have to worry about gas, traffic or anything. Yes, I ended up putting in four working seat belts. Yes it cost a lot. But it's worth it to not have to drive every day.

At work I'm at the lowest of the low position, so I get a lot of grief from everyone. I have also been consequently the butt of everyone's jokes for the last six months. They laugh at how stupid I must be, how intolerable I am and how I threw my life away by divorcing my lawyer husband. They talk about how he never loved me and was only using me for money. They remark on my recent weight gain and short hair. They say things like "I must have decided to be a Lesbo once I realized I could never land a man." These things are mean, cruel and unprovoked. The thing is, they wouldn't have hurt so much it they hadn't been so true.

The next day I decide instead of eating in my cramped little cubical I will enjoy my lunch outside on the sidewalk. We have a break room, but I avoid it like the plague because of the gossip. So I go outside and find a nice spot on the cold hard concrete. The one thing I hate about the Gossip Magazine building is that it's located right by Bobble and Company, the law office that Henry works at. We got divorced before he got his corner office, but I have heard that it had a large red couch and leather chairs. Megan from work told me she went there once because someone ran over her kid, don't worry the little snot is fine, and she actually got him to be her lawyer. She boasted about his nice office and how much she loved it. She described the sofa as orgasmic. Then winked at me after saying "did you hear me Mar, I said the sofa was orgasmic." I know she wasn't talking about the disease ridden cesspool of a sofa. What? I'm just saying he probably had tons of women on it and I doubt he washes it or has it cleaned. I was no way surprised that Megan and Henry had fornicated in exchange for him representing her son in his case. She
laid
down on the break room floor all sensual with her beloved co workers standing around giggling. "I
laid
like this" she said rubbing it in. "I
laid
here for such a long wonderful time." Megan said meeting my eyes.