All that time in the sun, his lips were probably drier than mine. Jerk…
Age 23
Oh, Don’t Do It
My mom is starting to get worried that I may remain single for the rest of my life. In my defense, I told her I would, but she thought I was just being negative. I think I’m being perfectly rational. That being said, she forced me to go to her singles group at church to meet a man more “up to my caliber.” Enter Jonathan, quite possibly the worst thing to happen since a stair climber. I mean, it’s nothing against his character, but he just wasn’t someone I could connect with. At church, he was great, he was a gentleman and I felt a sliver of hope.
Then, we met for lunch and I learned that he still lived with his mom. I also learned his mom and mine were friends and he was getting paid by the hour to be with me. You think I’m kidding, but I can’t make this stuff up. He told me everything. His exact words were, and I quote, “Honestly, I don’t know why your mom is even paying me to hang out with you, you are actually kind of cool. I mean, you have a slight snaggle tooth, but we can fix that with braces.”
This guy couldn’t hold his pee if you put him in a diaper. Safe to say, the slap and go procedure was in order. We didn’t even make it to dessert. Oh, for this cruel world I live in. Age twenty-three was a blunt blur.
Blunt ain’t pretty
Age 24
Time for a catfish story because that’s what you’re asking for if you use a dating website. It was one of the more well-known ones, but I don’t want to bash the company. All you have to know is that it’s another word for chicken strip. As the story goes, I found this perfect guy with a lot of impressive stats: single, ready to mingle, and seemingly normal. But it is never that easy because chivalry is dead. Sorry to say it so bluntly, but I’m one of the lucky ones who noticed the male population’s lack of effort as the times have changed. By the way, the catfish was me, I was the catfish. Now, I know what you’re thinking: Why would you catfish an innocent being? My answer: I was bored and curious. It’s the literal reason for every bad action ever committed. I was basically at the same level as a bank robber, but on a less serious charge. Nope, not identity theft, I’m not a creep, but rather, very smooth with my text conversations.
The prey of the hour was a man by the name of Aenold. Say it out loud, I dare you. He was very unlikable from the start and he probably knew it, which is why he didn’t bother to check my stats. I completed the profile haphazardly to say the least: there was no picture or location— just my name, which was a dazzling Anita, and my interests, as well as my physical assets. Sue me, but I definitely embellished the heck out of my page. My sole intent was not to ruin Aenold’s life but rather see how long it would take for him to realize that a dating site was the worst place ever to look for a permanent mate. He reached out first and was very smooth in the things he said, but also very needy in ways a man should not be. All he really needed was some dihydrogen monoxide because what he wanted, nothing living, breathing, or even extraterrestrial could offer.
I put forth my best moves, layered the jokes and flirty talk on thick, I was enjoying myself very much. This went back and forth for a very long time. After month five, I could tell he would just about marry me, having never met me in person, and be totally fine with the odd living situation and the fact that he had NEVER MET ME IN PERSON. So, it was time to pull that plug. During another one of our texting dates, which took place in the small hours of the night—hey, a girl has a day job—I spilled my guts. In one simple text, something unpleasant hit the fan. His reaction was blown way out of proportion and he acted like I murdered his cat.
He was all: “I’m going to find you and ruin your life, you’ll be lucky if you don’t end up rotting in a jail cell!” Now, if I had been told this by anyone else, I may have panicked, but in this case, he aired all his dirty laundry including the meth lab he had in his basement. So, I told him he could put his threats where the sun doesn’t shine and look left, while I look right. To be twenty-four and rejected so often, I had grown quite cynical.
Intermission: Family Matters
Excuse this cursory interruption, but I wanted to let you all know my thoughts on relationships and family persuasion. Not that you asked, but this is also my book, so I have the power, mwah ha ha. Anyway, I feel very strongly in what I’m about to say so bear with me because this excerpt will be passionate.
Okay, for starters, I lucked out in this area. My parents are very supportive of me and my decisions. Even if I ended up being single forever, they would eventually accept it, if not at first. But I know so many people who are told who to love and be with and how. I understand preferences, religious differences, and lineage desires, but at the end of the day, each person is their own and they should be allowed to make their own decisions. As time progresses, individuals start to find comfort in people who their parents may not have handpicked from a lineup. In turn, they face backlash and forcibly deem that possible future unworthy, their innocent search tainted by expectations.
You know what that causes? More wrinkles in time advancement. These people start to only look for the people they believe they have to be with rather than looking at what’s right in front of them and meeting someone completely different but indefinitely rad. Of course, there will be times where it seems that you’ve been graced with a complete bozo, but hey, the saying “try and try again” doesn’t just apply to sports.
This is real life and when the movies of our era pan out a life of perfection, the least we can do is strive for our own version of perfection, which doesn’t have to be perfect at all but rather, a substantial truth. The day mankind accepts all its inhabitants and sees potential in every corner, is the day we will actually grow and improve. Forget the past, live in the moment, and anticipate the future. If finding someone is what you truly want, don’t be afraid to dive in. In the end, you have to be happy with what you did in your own life and have that be enough. If the people in your life love you, they will understand why you chose who you did and that’s a pretty good end goal to me.
They should have put me on that one show…
Age 25
(The Fun One)
Okay, this chapter of my life was a doozy and for the most part, it takes place in Spain, which was a week’s trip, yet the only significant thing from my mid-twenties that I remember. This trip was planned for months with two of my best friends from high school. Tina and Carol were about the craziest pair I ever met, they had the same birthday but were completely different. One was hyper yet admiringly mature when it was time to be, while the other was compassionate and a great listener. Notice how I’m complimenting them? Yeah, that’s only because I know they’re going to read this. Hey, make fun of kiss-ups, but they are only hated by the ones who didn’t think to do it first. Anyway, the duo and I promised each other a trip after college to celebrate a new chapter. Boy, was it interesting. So, let’s start before we actually arrived.
They practically begged me not to drive, because of my previous driving history. I’ll skim through it because some things were literally illegal, and I don’t want a warrant for my arrest on the basis off an automobile safety inadequacy. But, to give an overview: I went down a one-way twice, turned into a turning lane going the opposite way, and pulled horizontal into a three-lane road and had the nerve to back up at the onslaught of hasty vertical drivers. And I get that most of these mishaps happened with them in the car, but yeesh, that was high school me, and I’d like to think that I’ve changed since then.
Anyhow, Carol drove us to the airport and on a plane we went. I was in economy class because I was broke. Those student loans left no wiggle room for airline peanuts. It was a no brainer that I got separated from my friends, they got to sleep cozy in first class. And that was when I met Tanner. Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but if you walk down the aisle behind a tall muscular man who smells good, do you think all the females sighing in their respective seats are doing it because of you or him? Trick question, becau
se I was sighing as well when I watched in slow motion as he reserved the seat right next to mine. What an interesting flight this was going to be.
I took my seat and less than two minutes after the plane took off and everyone was settled, he was introducing himself. His exact words were: “Hey, I'm Tanner. Do you mind keeping me company? I lost my earbuds and I didn’t bring anything else to entertain me.” I’m embarrassed to disclose this, but while Tanner was looking out the window at takeoff, I took his earbuds and sat on them. Just an incentive to get him to talk to me. Which actually freaking worked—not to worry, I planned on giving them back, as we disembarked the plane, of course. Thus, began the most immersive eight hour talk of my life. We talked about everything, from personal interests to eventual dreams. It was so refreshing, a mature goal-oriented man was all I could ask for, given my history.
Towards the end of the flight, we exchanged numbers. He was going to central Spain to stay with his family and he said he would try to come see me and show me around before the end of my trip. It sounded perfect, almost too perfect. Allow me to shatter that vision you may have been formulating. When I handed Tanner back his phone after inputting my golden digits, I saw him change the name to Wade. Do I look like a Wade to you? No. He then proceeded to tell me, “If you decide you ever want to come to me, because of my demanding job, you’ll have to come around 11 p.m. to 5 a.m.” If anyone wants to guess what that made me, you are welcome to say it out loud at this very moment. So, when the plane landed, I strutted off with a curt goodbye. Actually, I waddled, his earbuds clenched between my thighs. Yeah, he was definitely not getting those back.
As I met up with my friends at the terminal, Carol gave me a funny look and said, “Those are not your earbuds.” Always stating the obvious, that one. As we hurried to grab our luggage and hail a taxi, I had them sputtering for air in my recall of Tanner’s reaction when he saw his precious buds lodged where it didn’t shine. The hotel we ended up picking courtesy of mwah, was nothing short of a five-star edifice. She was a doozy and very expensive. Hotel Rippi-ovo didn’t have any coupons, go figure. Our room was tiny and very underwhelming but there was a balcony, so I got to do what I did best: people watch.
I try so hard not to judge others because who am I to do so, I have my own problems. But, when you see a girl in stilettoes walking along the shoreline trying to impress her newest boy toy, it gets kind of amusing and I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t say she looked like a praying mantis. She did, by the way, she was even turning a shade of green from the amount of concentration it took for her not to break her ankle.
After we settled in, we got ready for our first of many reservations, a dinner in an aquarium. How do these people come up with these things? It was very nice, but when a shark swam by our table, I was the only one who gave a blood curdling scream, and we were dismissed from the restaurant. For more background on my fear of sharks, refer to Shark attack. Offward and onward to day two, I had an ample number of excursions planned and slid in a couple solo ones as a treat to myself before law school and a studio apartment the size of a coat closet.
If you’ve ever heard the stereotype about being solo in a foreign country, you would know that the wise thing to do would be to stay with the group. My dad practically had that verbalization tattooed on his arm, it made him green whenever I mentioned my solo excursions for this anticipated trip. I’ll admit now that this trip is over, I understand his reasoning. I had some weird encounters. The kind where the ole duck and cover is recommended. Let’s get started …
Age 25
The Buggy
There are plenty of ways that this trip could be remembered, most of them in a great way, but this story is quite entertaining, and I feel the need to emphasize just how awkward I am, so I’m going to tell it in great detail. Buckle your seatbelt, buddy. Okay, so—when I was younger, I was always considered the tall friend, the big one, the oldest, the adult, whatever you want to call me. But for some reason, in this beautiful city that goes by the mystical name of Barcelona, I was considered normal. I was for the first time in my life, average height. I’m not going to tell you my height because then you might say I’m average height too, and after years of being deemed a giant, that fact might shock me to the point of no remission.
Anyway, I don’t want to call the means of transportation to and from the local places a chariot because there were no horses, or elegance, or northern England rustic flair, so I’m calling the thing I rode into the Spanish countryside, a buggy. Forgive me for my cultural ineptness but really, that’s the decidedly best name of the thing I had the pleasure of riding in. It was a tiny seat on two poles and wheels held by a man with a mustache. Why did I mention the mustache, you may ask? Well, be patient young grasshopper, I will get to the climax of the story shortly. I paid the ten euros required and hopped on with a dramatic “take me away.” We started the rickety, two-mile journey to my first excursion— solo excursion— at eight in the morning. A tour of the Sagrada Familia. Gothic inspired art, oh la la.
My driver, or more accurate “carrier,” went by the name of Tootsie. But we can call him Toot. I don’t think I grasped the fact that we would be going so slow, but I stuck it through, that is until we started going downhill. Literally. He went from nonchalant native to an Olympic superhero track runner in point-two seconds. I was like WOAH CHILL. He was going so fast that his mustache flew off his face. It was fake obviously. But I thought it was a flying street rat so when it hit me square in my eye, I flew out of the cart and to keep from falling, did the whole running escapade with him. But instead of the smooth stop at the bottom of the hill he made, I kept going, and going, and going, and I flew.
Into the fountain. I landed in this half position between looking like I had just broken every bone in my body or exhibiting my newest contortionist trick. This is the part when I started drooling like a Great Dane.
There was this cute little boy sitting on the side of the fountain and he turned around immediately and held out his hand in my aid. But right before I grabbed it, he did the whole “too slow” bit and I almost clubbed him. Self-restraint was ordered, and I gained my composure to get out of the freaking fountain. Here’s a little future knowledge for the general population: I don’t care what they say about appearances not mattering, if you every find yourself in a similar situation as me where you look like a WET DOG, the attention you’re getting isn’t because you got the “it factor.” But did that stop me from embracing the stares of the lad approaching me? Nope.
When he reached me, the first thing, he said was, “You look stunning, miss.” I blushed and feigned inability to receive a compliment, but that was my way of egging him on. He then reached out to shake my hand and turned it into kiss on the knuckles. Sounds not too out of the ordinary, right? Wrong. In case you forgot, read the cover title of this book. Because he then proceeded to get down on one knee and ask for my hand in marriage. He straight up did. When I laughed in confusion, he ran back in the direction he came and for the first time I saw a table full of more charming lads laughing. They high-fived him and pointed their butts to me. I cautiously looked at my butt and there was a lily pad from the pond stuck on it.
There was a time in my life when that would have majorly embarrassed me, but at this point, I expected things like this to happen. I snatched it off and walked back to meet my carrier. He apologized for scaring me with his fake moustache and said he would take me anywhere for the rest of the day. So, after the Sagrada Familia, I had him take me to lunch at a picturesque local restaurant per his suggestion, and insisted he eat lunch with me per my request. He told me about his family and how this carrier job was a way to make extra pocket money, which was going towards his son Maxima’s, college fund.
After lunch, we loaded back on the piece of wood and were on our way. I had no more destinations in mind, so I decided to just have him take me the scenic route back to the hotel. Let me tell you, everywhere I looked was breathtaking. That’s when Toot asked the golden que
stion: “Miss, how tall are you?” When I told him my height, he disclosed of a secret club for singles creviced in the depths of Barcelona’s strip. It was a club for single people called Average. At first, I took great offense to this suggestion by Toot, until he hurriedly explained that it was more of an ego booster for men under 5’10. Which I think it is actually brilliant, because great guys are always being turned down if they are shorter than six foot. There are many guys who top six feet and have the personality of a mop. So, I conclude with, don’t judge a book by its cover. Having a club for girls who don’t mind dating a “shorter” guy is the most modern thing since individual pot pies. Anyway, at the end of my marvelous journey with Toot, I thanked him immensely and skipped to my room where I told Carol and Tina our night plains. Carol took a raincheck because for starters, she’s not single, and also because clubs aren’t her thing.
They definitely aren’t mine either and this would be my first time, I really just wanted to meet a new genre of guys and figured this was my best bet. I was pulling up for the personality.
Tina on the other hand was the wildest out of the three of us and she would go to a club underwater if she had the gills. Bachata dancing was in her blood. So, we spent the next three hours getting ready and Carol helped with our hair, and outfits. Soon, we were on our way in a taxi.
* El taxi olía a sudor de cerdo y al conductor no le gustó mi intención de romper la ventana.
Ow.
Age 25
Average
From the outside, the club was underwhelming, it was a stone building covered in vines and very small. It looked like a mix between a cottage and a cabin, but smaller. It was this sickly gray color and kind of smelled like a horse stable. I tried to turn around but if you know anything about party people, they can be fierce in the best way.
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