I was in a weird single period after breaking up with a girl I truly consider to be my soulmate. I went to OkCupid and Tinder to be reminded of all the mediocre women I’d been missing out on, and boy did I learn: the girl who brought up her dead mother and then went to the bathroom and never returned; the one that verbally said she was into me but recoiled from any touch (we’re talking hand holding here, folks); the one that embodied every hipster stereotype BESIDES sluttiness. It was a doozy of a time, but one stands out above the rest…
(Editor’s Note: All names have been changed to protect this poor woman from the shame of having slept with me.)
The Start Of A…”Beautiful” Night
Dina: a young single mother. Not really my type, but she seemed like a lot of fun. We’d gone on two dates already, with a third coming up that was clearly “the sex date.” She lived in two separate homes, splitting time between her friends house and her grandmother’s. The day before the date, she tells me to meet her at her friend’s house because she was cooking dinner for everyone, and insisted I would “love” her friends. Now…this is “Trying Too Hard Too Soon 101,” but I decided to go along anyway.
I meet Dina at this house and am welcomed with a kiss and a barking dog. I walk into the main room of this house to the worst display of urban white trash I have ever seen. Everyone looks hungover, everyone’s in undershirts, etcetera. (If you don’t understand what I’m describing, you have never spent more than a week in a major city.)
I try to introduce myself, but these people are clearly wrapped up in their own squalor. There’s the douchebag chin-strap-beard guy, who was clearly abandoned at an early age and learned to speak English by listening to Eminem on repeat; the annoying butch lesbian playing insanely loud rap music in the only room where people are talking. (And it’s that bad rap, too. That, “16-year-old-bragging-to-14-year-olds” style about all the girls he kissed over the weekend. She also gets bored and changes to a different song before any of them get more than a minute in.); then there’s the drunken princess, a staple of any white trash community—she’s about as hot as a Slim Jim on a summertime sidewalk, but that’s as good as filet mignon where she’s from.
Observing all these people, and with Dina cooking dinner for them all, I make the only obvious decision I can: I pet the dog and talk to him all night.
I did make one attempt at communicating with these cretins. The butch lesbian was playing a song that only said, “My Bugatti, My Bugatti,” over and over again, but turned it down because Drunk Princess needs to make a phone call. ChinStrap is suddenly aware of the pain of existence now that the song is off, and demands why it’s no longer on. Butch explains that Princess needed to make a phone call; he looks crushed. I put an arm on his shoulder and comfort him, saying, “Don’t worry buddy…he’ll still have the Bugatti when he comes back.” He responds with a look that can only be described as… “Dog Wondering If That Is Edible.” AKA confusion…and slight anger. I should’ve known though that in order to understand wordplay, you must know some words beforehand. I decide it’s a good time to get some air.
I come back in being greeted by the dog running and barking at the sound of the door opening, to which I yell, “Shut up, dummy, it’s only me!” in a friendly manner.
“WHO THE FUCK SAID THAT?”
Uh oh. It’s Drunk Princess on the other side of the bathroom door. Despite being the only living creature in the room that hadn’t gotten cigarette ash on the damn dog, “dummy” is the ultimate insult. I tell Princess to fuck off, and to tell Dina I’ll be in the car. When she comes out she doesn’t address it, but asks where we’ll be later. I said it’s her call. She says she’d like to go back to her friends. I respond, “I am never setting foot in a room with those people ever again.”
But Getting To The “Good” Part…
Dina and I go on an okay enough date…but I’m feeling my attraction for her drip away like the hourglass in the Wizard of Oz. We go to a karaoke bar, where she sings a love song, but inserts my name into the lyrics. This is bad…very bad. I will most certainly not be dating this girl under any circumstances. But still….seems we’re both steering towards sex. So, after many songs (ALL with my name inserted into them), we go back to my place.
It is roughly 3, 4 AM. There is a family in the apartment above us. There are my roommate and his friend in the next room over. And this girl is screaming like a stuck pig with every thrust of my depressingly average penis. I try to get her to be quiet; yes, this would be super sexy under different circumstances; instead, it’s incredibly annoying. In a fit annoyance (or, “passion,” as she saw it), I swiftly yank the pillow from under her head, sweep off the pillowcase, and garrotte her like the sneaky spy I am not to shut her up. She finds it super hot and screams louder. I mercifully cum, and wonder how I’m going to get this trainwreck out of my apartment and into the freezing January night. I fall asleep trying to figure this out.
Next morning is better. We have decent sex, she hangs around for a bit too long, but then she leaves. Too late though…I’m looking for some kind of relationship instead of a fucktoy. Any possible repetition of the previous night’s depressions would drive me to drink (more). So I do the fadeout.
It was shitty of me, but this was one place where honesty was not good. We were so plainly on different wavelengths, that any explanation would’ve made her feel more like shit. Hell, for a lot of dudes, that would’ve been the perfect date. She wasn’t the bad one here; I was just looking for more than she had to offer.
Moral of the story: Sometimes the shitty route is the right one, as all involved are now happy: I got back with the ex and Dina began dating a guy who looked just like me. Chin-strap-beard waited nine months for the return of Bugatti man; and sure enough, when he returned, it was with Bugatti in tow. And all was right with the world once again.
Follow Victor Vaselino on Twitter. He doesn’t have a Bugatti. He has a shitty Buick.
