Dating today is like trying to find a chunk of gold in a cesspool. Impossible? No. But you’re going to have to break through that nasty surface tension and sift through a lot of shit before you happen upon your little nugget of poop covered (everyone has baggage) happiness. And, let me tell you, the process is long and arduous, honey. There are SO MANY TURDS.
Diving into a cesspool after having your heart shattered is apparently like having anchors tied to your feet. On God, you sink right to the bottom.
Following the terminus of my thought-I-was-going-to-marry-this-dude relationship, your girl was mad lonely. Like, intensely lonely. I listened to The National and Bright Eyes, I screamed in the shower, wiped my tears with a few too many chalupas, and did a lot of shit I am not proud of (still a good Catholic Girl, so calm down your imagination), but nothing comes close to Halloween 2016.
I was living in Chicago at the time, working as a model, and taking the Hot Mess Express into downtown everyday. On Halloween night, I decided to go clubbing with my friend, Maddy. Maddy is the perfect friend for when your life is in shambles because her cure is alcohol – always alcohol. Like putting the sting on an open wound, she assures you that you WILL feel better later. And I love her for this.
Another friend joined us that night. Tito. Now this guy is a real piece of shit. He starts off smooth and kind of standoffish, but by the end of the night, he is ruining you. He’s the type of friend that encourages you to pound down way too much Taco Bell and then call your ex to profess what a mistake he made when he dumped you a year prior. And on Halloween, Tito saw me coming a mile away.
Tito started off smooth. His home was filled to the top. Maddy and I took turns with shot glasses until Tito was spent. The glass bottle that once stored Tito stared at me, empty; its contents in my stomach and on their way to suffocate every last functioning brain cell I had that night. I looked at Maddy. She knew what we had done.
And then it gets fuzzy.
There was an Uber ride. Maybe more than one. There had to be more than one, right? There were also Chicago Bulls players. I was on the floor, wiping up drinks with my dress. And then I was in Maddy’s bed, trying not to vomit on her down blanket.
This was all Tito’s fault.
Here’s another thing I hadn’t remembered:
In my drunken stupor, I had FaceTimed someone. Not just anyone. It was someone I didn’t know. It was someone from the bane of my existence: my hometown. And this dude stayed on FaceTime with me for TWO WHOLE ASS HOURS. Never mind that my drunk white girl self was probably relentless in making him stay on the phone, but I had NEVER met this guy in person and he stayed on the phone with a drunk girl for two hours.
Look, not even Jesus would do that. Was this guy a glutton for punishment or just a fucking weirdo? The latter would prove true.
And in these two hours, I had somehow agreed to a date. Or at least thats what he said. I probably also agreed to buy him a giraffe or some shit, but he knew he could capitalize on the date. If anyone agreed to that date, it was Tito and definitely not me.
I woke up the next morning and Maddy told me she had to go to church with her grandma. I had to leave. I hadn’t even told my uncle that I wasn’t coming home and figured he was probably worried out of his mind. I headed off, but not before taking a hundred dollar Uber ride to Taco Bell because while Chicago is the junk food capital of the world, their appreciation for garbage “Mexican” food that tastes like heaven is lacking… that and I also left my wallet at Maddy’s and the Uber driver had to take me all the way back in Chicago’s notorious highway construction.
Still no recollection of the FaceTime call. But a few hours later, I got a text. That text told me that I “owed (this dude) one.” By “one”, he meant a date. As if FaceTiming with me was a huge favor and one that apparently was equal to subjecting myself to one of the worst decisions of my natural born life.
But I was lonely, remember? It just so happened that I was heading back to Alaska for Thanksgiving in a few weeks and I ACTUALLY AGREED. The night I got back, I hopped into this guy’s 1993 Jeep Grand Cherokee that didn’t have working windshield wipers (in November… in Alaska… what the hell?) and went on a legitimate date.
I don’t know if I had actual fun or I was so damn depressed that anything that resembled interest made me feel like I wasn’t a worthless piece of dog shit, so I agreed to hang out again.
We went to a hockey game. There was a kissing cam. Homeboy was eager to get up on that Jumbotron and all I had wished for was the kiss of death. Neither happened. Thank God.
A few days later, we went to a basketball tournament at the local college. I was previously a student there and a member of the basketball team had expressed interest in me, which I vehemently rejected him because I WAS WITH A DUDE I THOUGHT I WAS GOING TO MARRY. While sitting at this tournament with my FaceTime Forced Boo, I told him about the basketball player who liked me. You know, like trying to make conversation? FaceTime Boo knew the basketball player and decided to yell, “look who I’m with!” to him. I was hungry at this game, but at that moment, I realized all I was craving was a bullet. Or a ripcord to get me the fuck out of there.
He felt it was necessary to say he was with me, to drop my name loudly and obnoxiously, and tell everyone I was a model. All three of those repeated actions made me want to roundhouse him every time he opened his mouth. I had to cut him loose or my foot was going to find its way into his temple and my ass was going to find its way into jail.
It took a few weeks to get him off my back. He told me he wanted to marry me. He told me his family past. And I felt bad because I FELT BAD. I was only there because I felt bad enough to be there, knowing that I could say to myself, “I’d never be caught dead with this guy,” all while riding in his Jeep with no windshield wipers, which very well could have led me to BEING CAUGHT DEAD WITH THIS GUY.
I was trying my hand at ghosting, but was failing miserably. He asked me to get lunch. I reluctantly accepted his offer, but stated I wouldn’t be eating.
When we got to the restaurant, he said he didn’t like to eat alone and that it would be awkward, so I ordered one black coffee – a single black coffee, one full dollar’s worth of caffeine. He again made attempts to wrangle me into a relationship and every advance was met by my hardcore rejection. More time was his retort. He would give it more time and I’d fall in love with him. When the bill came, he pulled out his wallet and I started to head towards the door. This man, who didn’t want to eat alone and had coerced me into getting a black coffee that only served the purpose of 1. helping me take a dump later that day and 2. making FaceTime Boo feel comfortable, actually said to me, “you need to pay a dollar for your coffee.”
And suddenly ghosting was the easiest thing I’ve ever done.
I have not talked to FaceTime Boo since that day.
He was the first person I went out with after the end of my five year relationship and easily the biggest turd in the dating cesspool from that time up until today.
We do a lot of things we would never do out of loneliness. Rash actions are taken just to make us feel something other than shitty, but if I could impart any wisdom from this experience to whomever is reading, its this: you don’t owe anyone a damn thing just because they stayed on FaceTime with you while you were blackout drunk. And while that seems specific, let me break it down into broader terms. Dating sucks. It sucks even worse when you subject yourself to people who do not love you but want to flaunt you or use you or chew you up and spit you out. You are not an accessory or a tool or a piece of meat. You deserve better. Remember that. And stay away from Tito.