I’ve a spank bank chock-full of a certain degenerative breed of human life and I will bestow upon all one of you these delectable memoirs I’ve amassed over the years.
I’m going to call him Skip. I could probably get away with using his real name because I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know enough information about me to get to stalking on all these media sites. I could be wrong though. Therefore, his name will be Skip.
This guy was a piece of work. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone like this ray of sunshine.
Here’s the back story:
Went out for my friend’s birthday. She’s 25 and still doesn’t know how to go on a first date. That’s completely besides the point. So we’re at this dive bar and I went up to the bar to order a drink. Old man Scrooge came over to me, asked what I’d like to drink and I told him, ‘Tito’s & water, please’. A few minutes of pure silence went by and my drink arrived and so did Skip. Maybe the way I stirred my drink, stirred up Skip’s confidence to pounce & pounce he did.
Skip is not my type. I have a pretty specific type and he did not fit the bill in the least bit. Well, maybe his musical tastes but that’s it & that’s more credit than I willingly would like to give him.
So, here comes Skip. His opening line was asking what my top 5 favorite artists were. Really? That seems to be men’s go-to to pick up the ladies. I humored him and told him but I’ve only ever had a top 4 so that 5th one threw me for a loop.
[In case you were wondering, my top 4, in no particular order because I can’t decide who I like better is as follows:
He’s the background on my phone.
I was him for Halloween a couple years ago.
Pretty sure, he divorced Laura Dern because he hasn’t met his soulmate yet. Wink, wink. It’s me.
Yes. Just, yes, yes, yes, yes.]
We engage in small talk. Of course, he breaks out the ‘I’m a world traveler’ (in my hoitty-toittiest British accent) and that he has the financial means to scooterpoot all around the globe. Congratufuckinglations, dude. I really don’t give a rat’s ass. He proceeds to disclose his most incredulous journeys to Argentina & Thailand, etc. He kept buying me my poison o’choice so I politely went on auto-pilot and nodded accordingly, laughed when something was remotely funny. Yada, yada.
That wasn’t even the clencher. The clencher was when he asked for my phone to mark down dates in MY calendar for shows he was going to take me to. I DON’T KNOW YOU, MAN. BACK THE FUCK DOWN. I’m sorry, when did we skip all the pleasantries and go straight for the marriage license? Do not assume you’ve whittled your way into my life that easily. No one gets in that easily. I’m like fucking Alcatraz. There’s just little ole me sitting in the middle of the ocean. You stay on the mainland, I’m perfectly alright out here, well away from the likes of you.
It was last call & the birthday girl was ready to go to the strip club so I played the doting friend and rounded up the troops and made headway towards that all-you-can-see clam buffet.
That was Saturday. Apparently, he had scheduled at date in my calendar for that upcoming Thursday. I ditched him and went to dinner with one of my friends I hadn’t seen in 2-ish years. He just so happens to be at the same bar we went to after dinner, and he does not leave my side the entire night.
I’m fast forwarding a bit because there was more mind-numbing ramblings of his world tour I had to endure. So, now we’re at the part where Skip tells me that he will not chase me. Really, dude? You just chased us to this bar. I’ve also known you for maybe 2 hours; do not start with this kind of mumbo-jumbo. Still not impressed by that feeble attempt at wooing, we made a mad dash to the door.
To wrap up this ridiculously long rant, I have not heard from Skip nor do I plan to. Dear lord.
The real question I have is, why the hell did I let him hold my phone in the first place?