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.
Why are there more douche bags than nice guys out there? I don't get it.
ReplyDeleteWhy are girls so attracted to the "hot messes"? I don't get that either.
(I do it too, so don't feel bad!)
Why? Why? Why? WHY?!
That's why I quit.
I quit dating.
Let's all just let control go and see what happens........
:)