another douchebag story

When I was 17, my "boyfriend" (notice the quotation marks, please) waited for me to leave the room and asked Missmo for her phone number and suggested they hang out sometime sans me. Of course, Missmo immediately alerted me to the fact that I was dealing with a douchebag and that was the end of that. Because that, my friends, is a line that is never to be crossed. Lord hath mercy on he who crosseth that line.

It's not crossed very often, save for the few poor slobs who seriously think that there is a real possibility that Missmo and I are closeted lesbians, or worse, girls who kiss girls for attention, and have the audacity to seriously suggest a threesome. In the ten years that we've been friends, however, we've learned to shake that off. I mean, she's a good looking girl, and some like to say that I am as well. As they say, hate the game, not the player.

Recently, though, that line was crossed again by a guy down home with whom I made out like a year ago. We ran into him again at Benny's over Christmas vacation, and as is always the case, we threw a little afterparty at Missmo's place with a few of our friends. We invited him along for old time's sake, for him to promptly pass out sitting up in Missmo's chair, baseball cap and sneakers on and everything. Figuring that this was a good sign that he was too intoxicated to drive home, we left him to sleep it off, and when everybody else left, we went to bed and slept it off ourselves.

Now, anybody who is or knows a girl knows that girls have no problem sleeping in the same bed together. I even know some heterosexual men who have no problem sleeping in the same bed together, but I won't go there. I don't see really what the big deal is. When we woke up in the morning, the dude was gone, but he wasted no time sending us a text message (to Missmo's phone because mine was dead) that went like this:

"Hey - were you guys sleeping in the same bed last night? I should have jumped in between you guys."

Wha?

Not yet sure of the level of creepiness this text achieved, I responded sarcastically:

"Naw, then you would have interrupted our spooning and we would have been unhappy."

To which he responded:

"I wouldn't have interrupted! I luv spooning! Especially with two girls who are bringing sexy back!"

To which there was absolutely no response. "Luv?" "Sexy back?" For real?????? I wrote him off as a tool, and that was that.

Christmas vacation ended, and I went home. Missmo saw him out a couple weeks later, and being the polite and cordial girl that she is, said hello. We figured there was no harm in being friendly, so she would chat him up when she saw him out and we thought nothing of it.

That is, until one day, she received this text message:

"Anybody up for a mustache ride?"

Wha??? Is this even for real???? WHO SAYS THAT????

Needless to say, that was the line, he totally crossed it, and she hasn't seen or heard from him since. However, the text did land him a spot in the elite group of men that I will blog about, those who are such douches that I have no shame blathering their business to the internet.
So there you go. Another douchebag story. About a guy who once asked my best friend if she was up for a "mustache ride."

further proof that you can't trust 'em as far as you throw 'em

Bill Clinton.

JFK.

My mom's ex-boyfriend.

Missmo's ex-boyfriend.

Brad Pitt.

Beer on the Lap Boy.

What do they all have in common?? An extremely slimey disposition and a complete inability to uphold even the lowest standard of morality.

So Beer On the Lap and I spent about a week trying to make plans. I thought it odd that he would only make tentative plans - never anything definite, and always call the next day with some reason why we couldn't get together. However, I thought it considerate that he would call each time and never make any promises, so I continued answering his calls and inviting plans.
This was the week that DC was on fire from the heat wave, and simply stepping outside would cause me to become a puddle of sweat, which is totally unsexy. Moreover, he was a hippy like me and had no car, so the easiest plan was for him to come over to my house, and we'd sit on the porch, drink some beer, smoke some cigarettes, and just hang out.

So the day finally arrived and the plans came through. He arrived at my door promptly after work, dripping with sweat, and we sat down for a beer. I started trying to initiate the conversation, and I noticed that he wouldn't look at me when he answered my questions and all his answers were monosyllables. I started to feel a little uncomfortable, and started to drink my beer faster. Finally, after the third beer, the awkwardness disappeared. We talked, we laughed, we joked, we were really having a good time. I told him about myself, my family (i.e., Missmo, my mom, and my mom's big fake boobs), Dougie's adoption story, etc., etc. He told me about his home state, college, his friends, his parents, etc., etc. He was getting along splendidly with Dougie, which always makes my heart melt. Then, after a few more beers, he'd tell me how hot I am, what a nice girl I am, how very cool I am, etc., etc. I'd tell him "thank you." Then he started pulling the grab-and-kiss move, which is my absolute favorite. Very sexy, very cool.

However, during one of these grab-and-kiss sessions, it all fell apart. Whilst caressing my cheek, and again telling me that I'm just such a nice girl, his whole demeanor changed. Suddenly, he had to go, he had to leave, he had to go RIGHT NOW. Confused and a little drunk, I followed him out to front porch for one more cig before he left. There, he jumped on his cell phone, started calling everyone he knew to come pick him up. I heard him talking to the one who ulitmately came to get him, and I heard him telling the friend that he was BEGGING him to come get him and to SPEED THROUGH INTERSECTIONS. A little drunk and a lot of mad, as soon as he got off the phone, I lamented to him that I was compltely and utterly insulted by what had just happened and WHAT THE FUCK was going on???????

At that, he tried to hold my hand and told me that it wasn't me, it wasn't me at all, it was him. I, of course, would have rather held an octopus's hand than his at that point, and told him "Okay, George Castanza."

"No," he replied. "Really. I haven't been very honest with you."

"What?" I asked.

"I have a girl."

Goddamnit, people!!!!!!!!!!! Am I destined to be a fucking spinster for the rest of my life or what???? I mean really, what does it take in this world to find a nice, fun, cool guy with who does the grab-and-kiss move????

Upon further inquiry, I found that he has been with this girl for FOUR YEARS, and he followed her here from the friggin' midwest for graduate school. Also, she had called him three times while he was with me so he was pretty sure that she was going to know that something was up. Finally, since he had just met me, and I'm so cool, looks like he was going to have to dump her, or at least could we just be friends??? Of course my answer everything was "GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE. DO NOT EVER CALL ME."

He didn't take my advice, however, and called me fifteen minutes after he left (with my cigarettes, might I add. Motherfucker stole my cigarettes!) to apologize once again because again, I'm just such a nice girl. Then, he had the nerve to call once more at 3:30 in the morning the next night. I of course didn't answer and he left no voice mail but I wish he would have only because I'm so curious as to what the objective of the call was. Another drunken, slurred apology? A declaration that he had left his girl, could he come over? Or to propose that both he and his girl come over????????

Dudes. Can't trust 'em as far as you can throw 'em.