My friends and I joke that I attract unavailable men. Jokes over, this is, without a doubt, a modern day standard for my everyday life. Taken, married, not far enough into their steps in the recovery program, lives in a different state, half way through self discovery, separated but not fully divorced, gay. The list goes on. I don’t meet all of these people online, so I can’t really blame them for a peeked interest. I get it, poor timing is inevitable, but it’s come to my attention that statistically about 75% of men will ride the poor timing wave until you’ve Sherlock Holmes’d their ass. That means, that in order for me to make an educated decision on whether or not the skeleton’s in their closet are too vast to move forward, I have to, on my own accord, find said secrets through research.
There are literally not enough fuck you’s in the world to pass out to the asshats who think that I have enough time in my day to figure out if they are really ready for a relationship, or just pretending to be so that they can touch my butt. What a selfish bunch of idiots this generation has produced. I sound angry, cause I am. I pay to go to therapy to talk about people who don’t go to therapy. And I go to bars, to essentially sit down, smoke cigarettes I don’t even smoke to tell you how to better love your girlfriend at home and stop hitting on me.
You read that right. Last night, I slipped into a dress and pulled myself out of my comfort zone to rejoice in the fact that my face had been healing nicely and my confidence had sky rocketed. In doing so, I found myself hours deep into a game of pool with “birthday boy”. We first made eye contact after his sixth exit from the men’s restroom in a small window of time. He was either vomiting the last shot some rando bought him, or pissing himself like a race horse. Either way, he passed me often and with intent.
Let me just preface this with the fact that I typically make myself unapproachable unintentionally. Guys don’t hit on me unless they are either A. Just in town for the night or B. Drunker than a skunk. Birthday boy was both. So you can imagine the level of handsy this tall glass of water became. He proceeded to ask me my name. Then my career. Which lead into us picking songs for each other on the juke box. All fairly flirtatious. And then he went in for the kiss. He went from “birthday boy” to “speed racer”. I couldn’t blame him, we were vibing. From the way he tried to slow dance with me when skrillex came on to trying to ‘teach me how to bank an 8 ball shot’ by pressing his body into mine. Everything felt like the interest was there. All wonderful things for someone like me who’s been single for 2 years and hates everyone she’s been on a date with.
The night fell quick, and before I knew it the bartender threw us the last call reminder. He asked me for my number. (Birthday boy, not the bartender) Does this get any more perfect? No. The answer is no. All good things must come to an end, especially when you are as smart as I am. A little voice inside of me reminded me of the facebook post I had put up earlier that day:
There is a search bar at the top of Facebook that allows me the option of copy and pasting your phone number in it. Therefore bringing up a profile of you and your girlfriend. Stop lying. Just stop. You’re not cute.
Holy premonition batman.
As he spouts off his digits I coyly plug them into the search bar at the top of Facebook. Boom. Girlfriend. Girlfriend of a lot of years as I scroll into 2013 pictures of two very in love faces.
Granted, there could be many explanations, but none as good as the three his bright red cheeks followed up my findings with. “She’s a meth head and a bartender, and I haven’t been on Facebook in two years, and I was just trying to have a good time tonight.” Wait…what? So…what you’re saying is that for your birthday, you wanted to cheat on your girlfriend? Fuck, most people just want cake. Or is it that because her job allows you the opportunity to be insecure about her intentions whilst doing her job, you would also like her to feel insecure about your relationship by blatantly being unfaithful when you’re traveling for yours? I don’t know what the hell he was trying to prove. But I just laughed in his face.
So much shame exuded from him as he went to the patio for a cigarette break before the place shut down; while he shut down. Realistically he should have left the fucking bar. Nobody wanted him there. Like scram, vamoosh…kill yourself in your hotel room. Oh the irony of dying your birthday. Ok, fine that’s a little extreme…but still, why are you hanging out after I just caught you being a giant dildo? What happened next is probably the reason this shitty stuff keeps happening to me.
He pulled me aside to tell me that he was really unhappy in his relationship and that he felt ‘comfortable’ being around a woman like me. I reminded him that it didn’t matter how much he hated his current situation, he was still in it. And wrongfully so, in it on social media for a multitude of people to witness. Including future partners. We talked for another half hour, mostly about how smart I was and how he now knew that I wasn’t the kind of woman he could lie to, and I took a drag of a menthol while I shit on this generation that keeps me on my toes. I didn’t want to ever see this prick’s face again, but as luck would have it, I would.
I woke up this morning to a Facebook message. The very url that brought his unfaithfulness to a crippling light. Read below for what might be the funniest string of words from a complete stranger a girl can get after catching him red handed:
You guys, he has a ‘good woman that he loves’. I wonder if drunk him knows that.