It’s been a while since I’ve blogged about a specific specimen in detail. To make up for that, this piece will cover at least four of them – a far stretch from the Fantastic Four.
For the past seven months, I’ve been in an unlabeled relationship with one we’ll call Mr. Bullshit. Mr. Bullshit and I met on a dating site. He seemed cool, collected, and confident. We had fun whenever we went out, but it was apparent (and stated) that part of his attraction was based on his love of the limelight and my ability to naturally draw that light onto myself, and, incidentally, him. As seems to be my standard whenever I have some semblance of interest in a specimen, things escalated extremely rapidly. Fuck being on some chill shit. Drake and I share the trait of going from 0 to 100 real quick. Slowly, though, my life started falling apart. I’ll skip the details on that for lack of desire to fully permit public entry into my personal life.
Mr. Bullshit has a flexible schedule and appeared (intentional word choice) very compatible. In many ways, he is a chameleon, but not on the level of Mr. Chameleon. More on him later. Mr. Bullshit and I spoke every day and saw one another almost as frequently. He integrated me into his life – i.e., I met his friends and acquaintances. We didn’t spend much time discussing past relationships. I did ask him when his last serious relationship ended and the reason for termination. I also asked him the name of the most recent ex. It is critical to ask names because pinning someone down to details rather than abstractions allows me to later spot bullshit a mile away. About a month into our relations, I was at his place as he got ready to go on a double date with one of his friends, with whom he was on the phone. He mentioned me to his friend on this call and said, “No, not [x] girl.” When he wrapped up the conversation, I asked, “Who is [x]?” He said that [x] was his most recent ex. Rewind back to the one conversation we had had about his past relationships and lo and behold, [x] was not the name he had told me. Long story short, it turned out he was double dipping in his last relationship[s]. I had him take me home because I’m a firm believer that a leopard doesn’t change its spots. He rationalized by saying that the two girls were on notice of his philandering and that he wasn’t about that life anymore. Bullshit. Hence the name.
Likely a product of convenience and familiarity, Mr. Bullshit was not dismissed. I kept a reasonable emotional distance, though. Time, as it seems to do, continued to progress. Eventually, he requested labels. I denied that request because deep down, I didn’t trust him. However, as much as I try to remain in control of my feelings, they sometimes rebel against me. Defectors. More bullshit happened along the way, but I’m not trying to write a seven month long story here.
Suffice it to say, I was in rightful possession of his phone one day and curiosity took over. I learned that his philandering had in no way been impeded by my intense and constant presence in his life. Perhaps worse, the subjects of his philandering were of the complete trash variety. In other words, he was eating filet mignon, but digging in the McDonald’s dumpster for scraps.
Needless to say, that enraged me and, in response, he spouted out more bullshit. Now, that should have been a clear end to the Mr. Bullshit character in the story of my life. Yet it wasn’t. But at that point, I emotionally shut down. He was no longer welcome in the inner sphere of MoMo world. Probably due to ego, he upped his pursuit and Obama campaigned me, aka promised change. Fuck that noise. Once my trust is breached, it’s game over. But it lingered.
Fast forward to late September. I went to NYC for a meeting. Because I was there, I figured I’d catch up with some friends. Game plan was to meet my friend Bill. My meeting ran over time and I didn’t have a chance to text Bill before he headed home from the city. One of my girlfriends texted me that she’d be in the city later on that night. I had some time to kill before she arrived. I went through my mental rolodex of city contacts with whom to potentially spend that time. One of said contacts was Mr. Rainman. Mr. Rainman is likely a legitimate genius. He’s balling out of control too. I had met with him once before, but we didn’t hit it off. He has leanings of social awkwardness. Nevertheless, I was in the city with some time to occupy. So we met for dinner. He told me to give him a 20 minutes heads up before I arrived and so I did. Despite the advanced warning, he had me waiting for 45 minutes before he appeared. I told him during dinner that I was going to meet up with my girls after and that he was welcome to join. Instead, he insisted that they meet up near us rather than us going to them. I explained that that was not the plan, but I compromised by agreeing to vet the place of his choosing. If the place was to my liking, I would solicit my friends to relocate. If not, we would go there. Not surprisingly, nothing was happening at the place he chose. So, I said, “Let’s go downtown to meet them.” He then said he had another spot in mind and refused to relent or compromise. Instead, he said, “People come to me.” I did what any reasonable human being would do in that situation. I said, “Go fuck yourself” and walked away without turning back. Though it would be nice, I don’t expect that anyone will cater to my every whim. Similarly, I do not offer full catering services.
About two minutes after my departure, he texted me thanking me for meeting up with him. I responded by asking why he had to be so unrelenting. He continued insisting that now not only friends, but now I should relocate to meet up with him. We negotiated back and forth, during which time my girls and I graced three different establishments with our presence. I reached a point of exhaustion and decided to leave. As I was making my exit, I noticed Mr. Ken Doll walking in. What a sight to behold. He stands a commanding 6’3” with dirty blonde hair and blue eyes – the perfect combination with which I would like to mix my own genetic material to spawn mini me’s. Because I was leaving, with reckless abandon, I overtly pointed him out to my girl. Because he has eyes, he took notice of our antics and approached. It was very loud in this watering hole so I had to get within close proximity to Mr. Ken Doll for him to hear me and because his ears are at an elevated height, I had to stand on my tip toes to make myself audible to him. In doing so, I placed my hand on his stomach to maintain my balance and felt his rock hard Ken doll-like abs through his garb. Bonus. My departure was delayed by this encounter. Not only is Ken a visual delight, but he’s also well educated and intelligent packaged with southern charm. What a stroke of specimen luck. We had an extensive conversation. Not surprisingly, I wanted to see him again. However, I was heading out of the country in a few days. He said we’d link up once I got back. We set a firm date, but I didn’t believe there would be follow through because momentum would be lost with that much time passage.
Right before I left domestic land, I spent some time with Mr. Bullshit. However, during my time abroad, we had no contact. This was the longest Mr. Bullshit and I had gone without contact. In fact, I did some international specimen-slaying and had no contact with any of the domestic ones while I was away. Upon my return, Mr. Bullshit and I had an argument and had another week of silence. On the timeline, this puts us about three weeks after my date with Mr. Rainman and my meeting with Mr. Ken Doll. I was set to spend the weekend in the city and had a date set with both.
Mr. Rainman and I went to dinner. We were seated next to two gentlemen who appeared to be flamingly homosexual. What was strange, though, was the age difference between the two. One looked to be in his 20s, while the other in his late 40s. To each his own. The dynamic seemed strange, though. Mr. Rainman picked up on that as well and we subtly communicated to one another that we’d discuss it later. Little did we know that our table neighbors were equally, if not more so, sizing us up and passing judgments on our dynamic. All of this would have gone unshared among the group but for two fateful fluid-filled martini glasses served on their table. Inquiring minds wanted to know what said drinks were. Big mouths, specifically mine, asked. Enter Mr. Chameleon (the younger of our two neighbors). He informed us they were Peruvian adult beverages called Pisca. The name is two letters too long because the drink should just be called Pis to reflect what it tastes like. “How can I vouch for the taste?” you ask. Well, Mr. Chameleon and what turned out to be his heterosexual partner ordered Mr. Rainman and I a round of Pis. They then invited us to drinks with them at an establishment across the street. Ever seeking adventure, we joined them.
With social lubrication copiously at hand and in mouth, conversation flowed freely. Mr. Chameleon and I seemed to be hitting it off. Unbeknownst to our original partners, he told me of a Halloween party and we exchanged numbers. I was skeptical of Mr. Chameleon’s charm. I expressed my skepticism by telling him that he comes off as a salesman and that struck me as untrustworthy. I should know better by now than to challenge my gut feelings. Shortly thereafter, we switched conversation partners – Mr. Chameleon engaged Mr. Rainman and I conversed with the chameleon’s partner (for ease of reference, we’ll call him the Sales Sidekick). The Sales Sidekick began trying to sell me on how great Mr. Chameleon supposedly is. I assured the Sales Sidekick that Mr. Chameleon and I had Christopher Columbus-ed that territory.
Satisfied with their date snatching work, they departed onto the rest of their night’s escapades. As one would expect, Mr. Rainman and I had another contentious ending to a date unrelated to the sales pitch.
The wavelength of light being reflected off of Mr. Chameleon’s skin the night we met must have been glittery pink because the next day, being that I was still in the city, I wanted to see him.
To be continued…
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