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Dating Daycare

 

(Disclaimer: I preface this by acknowledging that I am aware that the only complaint I have ever had in bed is how much room I take up while sleeping.)

 

I think you can judge people by those they associate themselves with. Angelina Jolie chooses to spend her time with orphans and Brad Pitt. Paris Hilton is surrounded by copious amounts of dog. And I have a BlackBerry and Facebook.

 

For the past two weeks, I have been judging CC based on his personality and had come to the certain realization that I didn’t think that I really liked him. He would banter with me in messages, but in person I found more excitement when interacting with a potato (which I have actually done).

 

My final judgement of him started by spending a night with his friends and ended with me walking past a Post Office and bakery at one o’clock on a Monday morning holding my shoes and passport.

 

My friend Aimee and I went drinking at a bar on a Sunday night (which usually beats watching “60 Minutes”. Usually.) CC and his friends were sitting at a near by table, so we joined.

“You’re a ranga!” One hick yelled and pointed to brunette Aimee.

“Excuse me?” She retorted.

“You. Have. Red. Hair,” he replayed slowly.

“I understood the reference.”

CC gave me Hick’s history, by way of explanation for his behaviour [I suppose].

“He is from Alabama. You know, where parents are cousins.”

“Oh.” It sunk in for me. “So, where his?”

 

The night continued in a downhill spiral, me drinking glass after glass of scotch to stop me from judging CC based on his friends and thus stopping any chance I had to get laid.

“Let’s go back to my house and smoke weed,” one of the forgettable people suggested.

“Weed puts me to sleep,” Hick announced.

“Perfect! Let’s roll!” I led them out the door.

 

In the years I have known Aimee, we have never been single at the same time. Purely because she is actually capable of having an adult relationship. The night became something of an experiment for how wayward we could be as a single duo.

“I want a blow job,” the Thing tuning Aimee announced.

We met in the bathroom, laughing until we fell on the floor.

“You know when you are in a situation where you have to balance how horny you are against how drunk you need to get?” She asked.

“My ears are burning!”

 

We went back to their house. Never under-estimate girls on a mission to get laid.

 

Maybe ten minutes after CC and I finished what I can only image was a version of sex for the physically challenged, he turned to me and said, “Would you be mad if I kicked you out?”

 

Let me repeat that:

 

“WOULD YOU BE MAD IF I KICKED YOU OUT?”

 

“Mad? No.” I sat up in his bed, wearing only my birthday suit. Insulted? A little. Deleting his number in three minutes time? Yes. Hooking up with someone half his age and twice as hot in a matter of days? Hell yes. But mad? No.

In fact, I probably would have been rather flattered if he had at least offered to pay me. Isn’t that part of the procedure?

“Why?” I at least had to question. Call me stupid or inquisitive, but I like to know the thought process of my douchebags.

“I don’t like sleeping in a bed with other people.”

“Oh.” I reached for my underpants which were surrounded by his shirts. I quickly wondered whether it was the perfect time to steal all of his shirts that I like.

It is one thing to insult me. It is quite another to treat me like an idiot. “I can sleep on the floor,” I joked.

“Really?” He seemed almost eager. “Who the fuck are you?”

“No.” I decided to forgo the shirts. Douchebag may be contagious. “I can sleep in a ball on the side of the bed.” I had no intention of staying. But I needed more punchlines.

“No, no. That would make me feel bad.”

“That would make you feel bad?”

 

CC walked me to his door like a true gentleman (Read: douchebag).

I was in dreamland. Only partly because I was exhausted.

“It is so weird that my roommate sleeps with his door open.” We had arrived home to the same roommate peeing with the door open, so the mind boggles at what else he does in public view.

“Yeah, THAT is weird,” I scoffed again. “People in glass houses…”

CC looked me with that expression that can only mean “I was dropped as an infant”.

“Well, I better be off!” I waltzed through his door, deleting his number as I pranced. “I want to beat morning rush hour traffic!”

 

So at one o’clock on a Monday morning, I was walking back to my house, shoes in hand, laughing at how I only ever attract boys who are missing at least three chromosomes.

I actually managed to meet someone infinitely inferior to people I have already dated. You would think that after all my experience (and I imply a large number) in the dating world, I would have become a little smarter in picking them. I am going to start ignoring people I am intrigued by. From now on, I will only do boys who bore me to tears. At least they may surprise me. The intriguing are all too predictable (Aside: Although, getting “kicked out” did actually shock me).

 

“You have to give him credit,” Aimee reassured me as we debriefed via phone during my walk back to reality. “He actually made [The Johnny] look like a sane and decent person. I’m astounded that you found someone who made it possible.”

And with that kind of judgement, I don’t mind if I am judged by some of the company I keep.

 

Post By Salium.