You know what's really embarrassing? Walking into the bar with Randy and Buck (the roommate, stay with us) and seeing the two lovely ladies who sang like canaries, opened our eyes, and pointed directly at the giant red flags in front of us.
Let us back up.
Us: OMG. Last night with Randy was so fun!
Cute Spy Girls (friends of ours and, interestingly, Randy's coworker): Randy?! Please don't tell me you're dating him!
Us: Uh, I'm not sure "dating" is the right word...
Cute Spy Girls: You are way too good for him! You are smart, pretty, funny, successful, well-traveled, well-read, highly-educated, and nice! (Um, duh. We know.) Why are you dating him?!
Us: Oh, you know him?
Cute Spy Girls: Let me tell you! He is a hot mess!
Us: Yeah, yeah. Story of our lives. Fill us in.
At this point in the conversation, Cute Spy Girls proceed to tell us just how gentlemanly Randy (and his roommate Buck) is.
Story #1: "Let me tell yoooooooou a story. You want to know about Randyyyyyyyy? We will sing like the pretty little birds that we are!" As it turns out, Randy is a little more organized than we gave him credit for. Hey, when you're juggling 18 women, you better be able to keep a calendar. Unfortunately, Randy kept his in his easily-accessible cell phone. One of Randy's more educated "bitches" (his word, not ours....this one was a lawyer) found some salacious texts from another, more mature (read: old.....like, 50's...sorry Moms) bitch. At this point in the early morning, Lawyer gathered Randy's belongings and not so politely asked him to leave. Given the fact that Randy has no transportation (three OWI's, no license 'til 2071, remember?), you can imagine what he must have looked like dragging his garbage bag full of crap across town at 2:00 in the morning. It gets better. One of his younger bitches (his word, not ours) called and added to his baggage the happy news that she was carrying his child.
At this point in the conversation with our pretty little songbirds, we realized that Randy maintained an honest-to-God rotation of women. Our only dilemma now was to figure out which night was reserved for us.
Oh, and remember that fancy, expensive, board-of-directors charity event we attended?
Seven hours prior:
Us: getting excited for our hot date.
Randy: getting drunk (Blue Moon) at his place of employment.
Six hours prior:
Us: talking to our friends about how excited we are about our hot date.
Randy: getting drunker (Vegas Bombs) at his place of employment.
Five hours prior:
Us: calling our moms to tell them how excited we are about our hot date.
Randy: telling the bar, "My bitches don't care what condition I'm in! They're just happy to see me!"
Four hours prior:
Us: steaming the dress to get the wrinkles out.
Randy: smoking...something.
Three hours prior:
Us: calling friends to solidify pre-event plans.
Randy: thinking of reasonable excuses to tell his Friday-night girls (apparently not us) as to why he needs to switch them to Saturday night.
Two hours prior:
Us: picking out the perfect shoes and accessories to match our smokin' hot dress.
Randy: begging his roommate to borrow something semi-nice and semi-clean.
One hour prior:
Us: having a glass of wine to relax and prepare for what will surely be a fabulous, glamorous evening, hobnobbing with Des Moines' who's who.
Randy: lighting up another...um...coping skill.
The event:
See previous post.
You know who doesn't mind being embarrassed? Us. You know who doesn't heed red flags? Us. Because yes: despite those cute little songbirds, we went out with him again. Sorry, Moms.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
A Charity Case
As we mentioned in the previous post, we invited Randy to an upscale charity function a couple of weeks ago. It may be important to note that this was not just a charity event that we attended but one for which we serve on the board, one for which we were underwriters. Read: it was kind of a big deal.
We had been looking forward to this event for months and had purchased a beautiful new cocktail dress (and looked exactly like the model):
5:00 p.m.: After spending nearly two hours primping and curling and make-up-ing, we went to pick up our date. (OWI's, remember?)
5:05 p.m.: Smell the Blue Moon and Vegas Bombs wafting off of our date.
5:06 p.m.: Jaw hits the ground as we see what he is deeming appropriate attire - the most torn-up jeans he owns, a t-shirt, and a stupid hat.
5:10 p.m.: Randy asks us if we would drive him to a friend's house to run an "errand" with him.
5:30 p.m.: Walk into a scene straight from Half Baked - in a tiny cocktail dress and five-inch platform heels.
6:30 p.m.: Drive back to Randy's and force him to change.
6:31 p.m.: Randy invites roommate (Buck) to the event. Repeatedly.
6:33 p.m.: Randy digs out slightly more appropriate clothing (cigarette burn on the pants, a fly that didn't work).
6:35 p.m.: Randy demands that he will be wearing flip-flops.
7:00 p.m.: Arrive at a fancy downtown restaurant to have a glass of wine and schmooze with friends. (In hindsight, Randy did not need anything to drink other than a liter of water and eight Aspirin.)
7:30 p.m.: Pull into parking lot, and Randy answers a girl's phone call and invites her to the event. When he realizes she does not have a ticket, he said that we can sneak her into the venue "in his trousers."
7:31 p.m.: Become even more annoyed.
7:32 p.m.: Move from annoyed to pissed.
7:33 p.m.: Move from pissed to furious.
In the hour that we were at the event, Randy had approximately four bottles of wine to our one glass, ate appetizers straight from the platters (sans napkin or plate), wandered around outside during the ten-minute presentation, picked flowers out of the centerpieces, asked the server to "top him off," and acted like a complete ass.
8:45 p.m.: Tell Randy that it is time to leave, despite another hour of open bar.
Did we drop him off at home? No, no, of course we didn't. Instead, we decided to take him to our house because his roommate, who is dating our best friend, had an "overnight guest."
Stay tuned for that hot mess.
We had been looking forward to this event for months and had purchased a beautiful new cocktail dress (and looked exactly like the model):
5:00 p.m.: After spending nearly two hours primping and curling and make-up-ing, we went to pick up our date. (OWI's, remember?)
5:05 p.m.: Smell the Blue Moon and Vegas Bombs wafting off of our date.
5:06 p.m.: Jaw hits the ground as we see what he is deeming appropriate attire - the most torn-up jeans he owns, a t-shirt, and a stupid hat.
5:10 p.m.: Randy asks us if we would drive him to a friend's house to run an "errand" with him.
5:30 p.m.: Walk into a scene straight from Half Baked - in a tiny cocktail dress and five-inch platform heels.
6:30 p.m.: Drive back to Randy's and force him to change.
6:31 p.m.: Randy invites roommate (Buck) to the event. Repeatedly.
6:33 p.m.: Randy digs out slightly more appropriate clothing (cigarette burn on the pants, a fly that didn't work).
6:35 p.m.: Randy demands that he will be wearing flip-flops.
7:00 p.m.: Arrive at a fancy downtown restaurant to have a glass of wine and schmooze with friends. (In hindsight, Randy did not need anything to drink other than a liter of water and eight Aspirin.)
7:30 p.m.: Pull into parking lot, and Randy answers a girl's phone call and invites her to the event. When he realizes she does not have a ticket, he said that we can sneak her into the venue "in his trousers."
7:31 p.m.: Become even more annoyed.
7:32 p.m.: Move from annoyed to pissed.
7:33 p.m.: Move from pissed to furious.
In the hour that we were at the event, Randy had approximately four bottles of wine to our one glass, ate appetizers straight from the platters (sans napkin or plate), wandered around outside during the ten-minute presentation, picked flowers out of the centerpieces, asked the server to "top him off," and acted like a complete ass.
8:45 p.m.: Tell Randy that it is time to leave, despite another hour of open bar.
Did we drop him off at home? No, no, of course we didn't. Instead, we decided to take him to our house because his roommate, who is dating our best friend, had an "overnight guest."
Stay tuned for that hot mess.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Lessons in Spotting Red Flags
Where do we even start with this one? We are pretty sure we just spent the better half of two months dating (we use that term loosely) a cartoon character: there is no way this person could actually exist. Alas, he does. And we experienced it.
On May 8th, 2011, we decided to celebrate not being moms by doing the most un-mom-like activity we could think of: drinking on a patio at 3 p.m. Interestingly, we were the only ones who had this idea, as the patio was empty. We decided to have one pitcher - yes, ONE pitcher - and then go home. However, our plans were thwarted when two gentlemen (we use that term loosely) arrived and pulled up their chairs.
At first, we were certain these guys were together; they appeared to be way more into each other than they were to us. We were wrong.
The next thing we knew, we were sitting around a bonfire in someone's backyard, in the middle of the city, at 3 a.m. on a Monday morning. Clearly, it was time to go home.
Guess what decision we made?
A week later - to our surprise - we received a phone call at 8 p.m. on a Friday. The caller - Randy - asked if we were at work.
On the topic of work, let us take a brief respite to tell you a little about Randy:
Apparently spotting all of these red flags unfurling in the wind is not enough: acting on them is key.
Before that, we needed a date for an upscale charity function, and despite the red flags, Randy was the perfect (okay, only) candidate.
Stay tuned for the date recap - and more on his roommate, Buck.
On May 8th, 2011, we decided to celebrate not being moms by doing the most un-mom-like activity we could think of: drinking on a patio at 3 p.m. Interestingly, we were the only ones who had this idea, as the patio was empty. We decided to have one pitcher - yes, ONE pitcher - and then go home. However, our plans were thwarted when two gentlemen (we use that term loosely) arrived and pulled up their chairs.
At first, we were certain these guys were together; they appeared to be way more into each other than they were to us. We were wrong.
The next thing we knew, we were sitting around a bonfire in someone's backyard, in the middle of the city, at 3 a.m. on a Monday morning. Clearly, it was time to go home.
Guess what decision we made?
A week later - to our surprise - we received a phone call at 8 p.m. on a Friday. The caller - Randy - asked if we were at work.
On the topic of work, let us take a brief respite to tell you a little about Randy:
| Career | College degree but not using it: no big deal – in this economy, many people our age find jobs out of their intended field | Completely satisfied with career trajectory as a server at a local restaurant |
| Transportation | No car: lessening one’s carbon footprint is admirable | Three OWIs |
| Parenting | Child: as we get older, many people we date are fathers | Has not seen his daughter in three years, nor does he have means by which to financially support her (see above) |
| Legal | Iowa Courts Online: we were all young and crazy once | 2008?! |
| Health | Addiction: yes, it is a powerful thing, but there are ways to conquer it | Nothing like a year in prison to kick a meth habit |
| Housing | Living with a friend: great way to save money | An official lease would have shown up on his parole officer’s radar |
| Domestic Skills | Some parents don’t teach their children to cook | Survives on Taco Tuesdays, roommate’s leftovers, and copious amounts of Coors Light |
| Clothing | Jeans are expensive; besides, the worn look is in | Holes that show the entire butt cheek are not appropriate for the workplace, even with boxers underneath |
Apparently spotting all of these red flags unfurling in the wind is not enough: acting on them is key.
Before that, we needed a date for an upscale charity function, and despite the red flags, Randy was the perfect (okay, only) candidate.
Stay tuned for the date recap - and more on his roommate, Buck.
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