One Single Year: Part II

Note: this is a continuation of the previous post. Hence the "Part II" in the title. So read the previous post before reading this one. Otherwise, it will all be lost on you, the earth will fall out of orbit, Heidi Montag will win a Grammy and all other matter of Doomsday scenarios will come to pass.

Okay then. Where were we? Oh yes, the coma-inducer. During a most awkward hug and air-kiss goodnight, the guy must've spread some sort of "old, boring guy" pheromones on me, because they all started coming out of the woodwork. Really. I felt like I was constantly being tailed by a parade of guys in Jazzy Scooters. Alright, that's an exaggeration. But I was starting to get attention from a much older set than I'm used to (in all fairness, I should point out that I hadn't been single since I was 19, so yea...I guess it makes sense that older guys weren't hitting on me as much). One night, after my friend and I couldn't get a cab to save our lives, we took a ride with an older gentleman (not old old, just older than me by a decade) who had been clumsily hitting on me all damn night. Before you start judging me, I should note two things. One: my friend was flirting with this guy's friend, so I decided to be pleasant to the guy in lieu of throwing my drink on him and calling him a skeevy buttlick. Two: you shouldn't take rides with people you've only just met, unless, like me, you pack a stungun.

Eager to get the whole ordeal over with, the four of us head out to the parking lot. Where we waited. For twenty minutes. As the guy who has been talking about how much he'd like to "take my ass out for dinner and get me wasted" removes not one...not two...but three child safety seats from his backseat. THREE!! Math, people--that means homeboy has three children young enough to require some serious strapping into a vehicle. That's three more children than he mentioned in the two hours I was forced to listen to him (mostly about his quarterly sales. Douche.)

Needless to say, I had had enough. I didn't care if I had to start hanging around a skate park passing out PBRs and wearing nothing but Laffy Taffy, I was determined to find someone who wasn't ten years my senior and hadn't already produced a small legion of children (no offense to the single dads--but I get nervous holding a houseplant. Babies are not really in the picture right now.)

Of course, guys my age come with their own set of issues.

(More bitching to come...aren't you excited?)