This may come as a surprise to all of you, but finding a date to functions has always been an ordeal for me. There are so many yet so few options. Do I want a hot asshole, a sober gentlemen, a shit show life of the party, or a desperate guy that I know will hook up with me because what are his other options? I won’t tell you which one of these categories I picked for the main character of the following story, but just know it was a disaster.
Like I said, finding a date for a function is just a complicated process. I put off the decision for weeks before settling on what I thought would be good enough for this date party. I just needed someone there to take a picture with me to post on Instagram, dance with for a song or two but not too long at the same time, and leave me the hell alone when I’m trying to go home. Well. I did not get my dream date. I did not get him at all.
First, he never told me when he arrived at my humble abode of my dorm room. He just sat in the lobby for 15 minutes waiting for me to come down. Because of this, we were fifteen minutes late to the pre game. I was fifteen minutes behind in the alcohol consumption than everyone else. Strike 1, man.
Everything was fine for a few minutes, I sat down, ordered my pitcher of margaritas, and talked to my friends. Then the strangest thing happened. He wanted to sit next to me and…. talk. And I don’t mean fun talking where you converse about people you hate or tell funny stories. Oh no. He rambled on political jargon and spoke of his hatred for President Obama.
“I’m just trying to get drunk,” I respond after his ranting and raving had ceased for a few seconds. I hate everyone, so I understood where his passion was coming from, but this was neither the time nor the place for that shit.
He goes to use the bathroom or hide from the embarrassment, I”m not really sure but I made sure to tell the waiter that everything would be on his ticket while he was away.
He walks back from around the corner with two drinks. “Please don’t be for me please don’t be for me please don’t be for me,’” I pray as he makes eye contact with me. Shit. He sits down and speaks about his career goals in risk management and his interests in golf. He says he’s failing business calculus one, yet has the audacity to laugh at me when I voice my aspirations and says, AND I QUOTE: “Don’t you think you should just be a stay at home mom or something?’”
Listen here fucker, I won’t stay at home and clean up after someone like you, a piece of shit, selling fucking insurance for a living and golfing in your free time. You can’t pass business calculus, I am in calculus two. You literally just said you failed your last paper for plagiarism, I made an A in honors writing. You are garbage. You are filth. When I asked you why you hated the president, your response was, “He isn’t an American citizen.” At this point the liquor has gotten the best of me and I’m just madder than Kanye West during Taylor Swift’s acceptance speech. Do you realize how much the government looks into every single person who boards a fucking airplane? I’m pretty sure they will look into who is living in the damn White House. It’s cool to disagree with politicians, we all do it. But he justified the ludicrous statement by saying, “Donald Trump offered him one million dollars if he would just provide his birth certificate, he wouldn’t provide it, that must mean he doesn’t have it.”
….. Is this a joke? Who is this ignorant piece of shit buying me drinks? I ask myself. After I realize that I’m not hearing things, that this is real life, and I’m on a date with the biggest douche bag, I reply, “He has his own fucking air plane, there is an actual bowling alley in his home, he wears Armani suits just because it is Tuesday, he is the President of the United Fucking States, why the hell would he need Donald Trump’s one million dollars?”
I angrily grab the beer from his hand that he had brought me, and desert him until we go to the actual party. Just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, It does. The pre game was only the beginning of my night of misery. We arrive to the venue and at this point, I’m just trying to escape his clutches. But he finds me. He always finds me. I go to the bathroom, he waits outside. I dance with my friends, HE STANDS BEHINDS ME AND WATCHES. There is no escaping this man. I’m doomed. He grabs me and tries to “grind” to RESPECT by Aretha Franklin. I turn around and just stare. I literally just looked him in the eyeballs with the most shameful look, staring past his eyes and right into his soul. One does not rub their genitals on a woman while an Aretha Franklin song is on. I think he got that I was angry and asked if I’d like another drink. I wanted nothing from him (and I already couldn’t see very well and felt nauseated and on the verge of death and having out of body experiences) so I said no. He said, “Why are you being so whack?” THE FUCKING NINETIES CALLED AND THEY WANT THE WORD “WHACK” BACK. I cannot, I really cannot. I was so done with this boy.
I dance the rest of the night away with my dear friend Katie, and had the time of my life. I may or may not have grabbed the mic, performed an a cappella rap to Push It by Salt N Peppa with a girl one year my senior, and hidden from embarrassment and the fear of being sent to sorority court for improper behavior at a social function. It was time for me to go. I thought there was a chance I could sneak away and leave without him noticing, and for a minute I thought I would actually succeed with this plan. But no. There he was. Waiting for me by the bus, in a deep conversation with another guy about abortion. TALKING ABOUT ABORTION AT A COLLEGE SOCIAL EVENT WHEN THEY ARE BOTH GUYS AND WILL NEVER PHYSICALLY BE CAPABLE OF GETTING AN ABORTION ANYWAYS WHAT IS THIS LIFE I AM LIVING. DAMMIT LET ME WAKE UP FROM THIS NIGHTMARE. It was rock bottom for that evening. But that’s the thing about rock bottom, you can only go up. I don’t know who was watching over me that evening, but something magical happened. The bus we were riding broke down, and we were all forced to load on another bus with more people from the function. Fate brought me to a girl named Marley who had a vacant seat. Seconds later the bus driver exclaims that if you are not seated you have to get off the bus and someone will come seat you. Well guess who was not seated, my date! My real live terrible date was standing in the isle no where to go but off the bus! I heard him call my name so I literally hid under the seat so he would not see me. I felt the bus begin to move. Success. I had escaped his clutches.
No more than forty-two seconds later I feel my phone urgently vibrating non-stop. It’s him. No. Not tonight, sir.I turned off my phone, and if I were ever to be questioned on what exactly happened I’d simply reply that my phone died. I was on cloud nine. Then we pulled up where everyone gets let off. And you’ll never believe it. There. He. Fucking. Was. Waiting. For. Me. I was not getting off that bus. I begged the bus driver to let me stay on until that boy got the hell off the premises and to tell him the bus was empty. To my great surprise, he did it! He let me stay on, and when the boy wouldn’t move, he proceeded to drive me and the others hiding from their dates around campus. HIs name was Big Kountry with a K and he is now my most loyal cab driver and dear companion. He drove around and dropped us off at the dorms. To this day I will forever be grateful for Big Kountry, and I’m convinced he is my fairy godmother.
It took me months to decide if I should post this for fear that it would hurt the poor boy’s feelings. And then I remembered he told me I should be a stay at home mom and he talked about abortion at an event I invited him to that was supposed to be about dancing and booze. Not to mention the fact that I never really want to cross paths with him again considering I receive shirtless snap chats of him on a weekly basis that I never respond to. Needless to say I no longer care what the repercussions of this blog post are. Life is hard. But with perseverance and Big Kountry, you can pull through.