So much for my momentary respite from dealing with the epidemic of asshole guys in my life. I turned around from writing about my last foray into dating, just to be hit by another iceberg. Honestly, I’m not trying to become the Taylor Swift of blogging, but clearly life has other plans for me. Sadly, people either relate, sympathize or laugh with me when I write about this crap, so here I go again. Sit back while I tell you a tale about someone who told many tales.
The first time I made the acquaintance of this guy we met for a few drinks on the same property where we both work. For all intents and purposes, let’s call him “Woody.” He was a talker, it was almost as though someone was obsessively pulling his string! That meant I just sat back, enjoyed my drinks and listened to him prattle on about himself since he asked me, maybe, one question. “Woody” hales from the Central Valley, near where I grew up, so I figured he wouldn’t be as asinine as the boys down here tend to be. He touted his chivalry from the word go, “I have two sisters, I know how to treat women.” Then the bill came and he said we could spilt it.
“Woody” also informed me, “If you want to hang out again, text me.” This guy seemed kind of funny and we had a few things in common. But, as we all know by now, I’m a blunt person and want to be treated like a girl, NOT a bro. I told him, “I do want to see you again, you can call me.”
We both work very odd hours so, we started hanging out at my apartment afterwards. We would watch stand up specials. He likes comedy and thinks I’m a “comedy snob” like him. First of all, that’s not even a thing. Secondly, I know more about comedy than he does. I studied it, I’ve written/write it, I’ve performed and to me, what’s funny is funny–that’s it. (And you need to learn your stand up comedians better if you want to keep this “snob” title up, son.)
I, too, thought we were both on the same level of nerdiness. I have a secret love, not so secret anymore, of Star Wars. While discussing what celebrities we’ve hobnobbed with, I mentioned that one of the most impressive stars I’ve ever met was Debbie Reynolds. This guy, a self-proclaimed geek, didn’t even know that she is Princess Leia’s Mom.
Debbie Reynolds is a God damn delight to behold and the only reason Carrie Fisher became anything in the first place. Why do I know so much and others know…nothing?!
“Woody” even had a podcast and some stand up of his own work that I listened to. (No, I won’t post a link, I’m not giving some jerk free publicity! I’m not sad enough to be stupid.) To prove that I’m not a completely heartless, vengeful, bitch, I won’t say that he’s stuff was shitty because it wasn’t. One of the main reasons I liked this guy was because I thought I had finally found someone with whom I could be creative. His stuff needed work and the idea of doing that together was an intoxicating thought. Clearly, I got a little too drunk on the idea.
“Woody” and I got pretty close. He opened up about his past relationships. He reassured me and said “not to worry about” certain other girls from his past. He was well aware about the Hindenbergh of my last jaunt into dating. He even told me he didn’t want to lead me on like the last guy did. Unfortunately, he thought a certain blog entry about the last doucher was directed towards him. Just like a man, thinking every little thing is about him. I liked “Woody.” So much that I even wrote another entry, expressing how sorry I was about “Woody” feeling like I had written something awful about him when he hadn’t deserved it…yet. At the time he was also expressing that he didn’t know if he was ready for a relationship, which is why he found a few similarities between the post and his life. Trust me, I felt like I was watching the same, crappy re-run. Like that episode of ‘Saved By The Bell’ you hate, but always end up catching on WGN when you can’t sleep. Just like that!
Then, he stood me up. YEA!!! That…again! A day later he got off his ass and text me back, “I’m horrible at communication. I don’t know how I feel.”
What? That’s such a stupid, dick head excuse. It’s 2012, you’re 27, try again.
I know you saw the texts, you didn’t have the balls to respond until a day later with a lame excuse. He feigned an attempt to mend his fences, but I knew something was up. I’ve dated too many assholes not to know in my gut when something is wrong. I felt it coming, the Joan Crawford inside of me knew.
On Thursday, “Woody” had informed me that he wasn’t going to be driving back down from visiting family until the following day and we would hang out some time this weekend. *Ting* Something’s not right again.
As I drove around LA, going from lunch with a friend to having cocktails with Rog, I look into the craptastic Los Angeles traffic and saw….”Woody.”
I see weird crap all the time, but this really took the cake. I raced to Musso & Franks for a stiff cocktail. I texted “Woody,” telling him I saw his twin, just to see if he would cop to his lie.
“Fucking Doppelganger. What sort of car what he driving?”
“Do you think I’m stupid?”
Nothing enrages me more than a liar…except for when that liar thinks I’m not smart enough to unravel their crappily planned lies.
“Stalker Staus. We’ll talk soon”
Oh, I see. I was in LA when you were SUPPOSED to be up north. I caught you in a lie and I’m the crazy one. Ok, yeah. That makes sense.
Seriously, you think you are smarter than ME? Go back to Fresno, amature night.
A few days go by and I get some texts from a friend that wake me up. “Woody’s” got a girlfriend and it’s not you.”
God knows he wasn’t man enough to tell me this glorious news. I’m sure he thought he was playa enough to pull off juggling two girls. I told you I KNEW something was wrong. I have a very STRONG hunch that the girl he’s with is the girl he told me not to worry about. I’m sure he lied about a ton of other things too, but you get the gist of it. I don’t have to date every single guy to know 99% of them are assholes. I just really wanted him to be contrary to all the other drones. I thought I’d finally found someone who’d broken the mold, but he was just a cheap knock off. And, he was right, he really does know how to “treat women,” he just didn’t define exactly how he liked to” treat” them.
“Woody,” that post was not about you, but you can bet your life that this post, right here, this one, is alllll about you, boy. I didn’t want to have to write this post, but you practically begged me to. Enjoy your self-made celebrity. You are King Shit of Turd Mountain. You did a play-by-play of what the last guy did to me. You manipulated my feelings, got me attached to you, erased yourself from existence and gave me, yippie, a reason to write a blog about another turd blossom I’ve dated. How original. That’s somebody else’s bit, think up one of your own, you HACK!
I’ll let the Queen of my heart, Mr. Mercury, express my feelings in song.