Part Two of My Date From Hell: Royals

On the way to Laguna, I looked out the window as my roommate drove past the cheap, Hawaiian-themed bar the DILF and I spent some time at before any of the knife wielding, teeth clenching, crazy eyes stuff happened. It was there that we drank Lupa Lupas and got into an actual argument about what era the bar’s decor was from.

I remembered his condescending fake smile as he announced loudly to everyone within earshot, “No, the style is definitely from the 80s. I’m pretty sure that you’re wrong on this one, sweetie.”

Oh god. It was happening again. The more he talked, the more he unknowingly performed an exorcism on my right fallopian tube, which caused it to entirely vanish from my body.

I wouldn’t be getting that back any time soon.

As I began Google searching images to prove that I was correct about the 50s-style porcelain tiki cups, a human granola bar disguised as an old man came bursting through the door.

He had Beatles-esque white hair, black Rayban wayfarers, a button down beachy shirt with palm trees on it, and a small electric ukulele with him. His strut was filled with absolute resolve, as he made a bee-line for the tiny stage that was set up by the window.

With a stick up his ass, and without introducing himself, he took a seat in front of an adoring crowd of seven people and immediately began strumming the hell out of, not “Yellow Submarine,” but instead, to my absolute surprise, Lorde’s 2013 hit single, “Royals.”

2005

“And we’ll never be royalsssss (royalsssss) it’s not in our blood. That kinda lux just ain’t for us. We’re crave a different kind of buzz. Let me be your roooo-ler (rooo-ler). You can call me queen beeeee. And baby I’ll roooooo-le. Let me live that fantasy.”

“Awww. UH… Awwww… aww… UH, UH. Let me live that fantasy!!!!!!”

There was some little machine or something that he had with him that copied his voice on certain parts of the song, which produced the effect of a chorus singing over him.

“Thank you!” he panted heavily, directly into the microphone.

He smiled a little self-congratulating smile.

I didn’t know if I should clap loudly or dramatically fall out of my wicker chair in a bonafide seizure.

My mind had just been blown on 42 and a half levels.

This was obviously one of the most hilarious things that I’ve ever witnessed in person and it needed to be acknowledged. I looked over, but this guy didn’t even notice the oddness in any of this. Having the same sense of humor as the guy that I’m dating is like my NUMBER ONE rule. What kind of sterile (well obviously not that sterile) robot-human was this?

I began feeling like he was the kind of guy who liked Dane Cook jokes, which made me really sad.

But at least I had this beautiful muse singing to me. Next up? You guessed it, “Last Dance with Mary Jane.” Our seasoned performer looked like he’d had a dance with Mary Jane nearly every day of his adult life and he was about to turn down for never.

“I think we should leave,” he said as my white-haired jam man started playing  “Party in the USA” by Miley Cyrus.

Was he serious? We couldn’t leave now.

“It’s just starting to get good!” I deflected.

“No,” he said, answering a question that I didn’t ask. “I want to go now. I thought we were going to the beach. That’s why we came here.”

I don’t know if there’s been another person that I’ve met in my entire life that I’ve ever disagreed with more. Every little thing was an argument waiting to happen. Something about him just made me feel like I was in a constant state of PMS. I’m not saying he had a demon trapped inside his body, but at times I felt this horrible energy being exuded out of a tremendously “nice guy.”

But that’s the problem with self-proclaimed nice guys. They’re only nice for awhile. See, if you’re actually nice, you don’t have to tell people. They just know that you are. On the surface he was nice, but keeping up appearances is a lot easier said than done. After I stopped being interested, he turned into a legitimate psycho, and somehow I ended up being the bad guy?!?

Flash forward to our horrible date, where I decided I should end things in person and be a responsible human being. I hate ending relationships and severing ties in a bad way, so I decided that I would just be up front with him for good one last time and then go about my merry way.

See ya never!

2007

I couldn’t text back to the long 907 messages that he sent me, because they gave me anxiety even looking at them. I decided that if I was going to do this for real and severe it, I needed to just meet him one last time and give him the respect that I feel all humans deserve.

Besides the Segway, ghosting is like the shittiest thing our generation has invented.

So, I set up a final time to meet him and he seemed satisfied with this.

Problem was, I just applied to live in a new house. When I got home the day that I was supposed to meet him, my roommate was panicking and told me that we had to go and immediately meet our landlord to sign the lease or we’d end up losing the apartment. We rushed to get to Laguna, and it wasn’t until I passed that weird Hawaiian bar that I remembered to check my phone.

UMMM… so, are we meeting up or what?” a pissed off message read back at me.

“Hello? Seriously, what are your plans?” another one yelled.

We were five minutes away from meeting our new landlord, so I quickly wrote: “Oh, I’m so sorry! Something came up and we had to meet our new landlord to sign papers. Today is the only day he can do it. I’m sorry! Maybe I’ll catch you after this, but we are going to get drinks after this to celebrate. I didn’t drive, so I don’t have much of a choice! Sorry again. Raincheck?”

A raincheck wasn’t exactly on his agenda, but this was:

After the meeting, I checked my phone again and was met with a tirade of pissed off texts that I for some reason kept reading in the voice of a maniac two-year-old.

Are you serious, Hannah? I had to get a baby sitter for this!”

Not taking things like kids seriously, I laughed out loud. We were obviously living in two different worlds.

“How was I supposed to know that? And honestly, that was kind of not a smart thing to do. I thought you knew where this was headed, any way,” I responded, probably a little insensitively, but completely honest.

I was fed up with walking on egg shells. I’ve never been good at that and I normally just end up entirely crushing the egg with my bare foot. I had been pretty clear beforehand that I was not interested in a relationship with him. I don’t know why he thought my feelings would suddenly change over a dinner meant to confirm this.

Like why would you hire a babysitter to get dumped? Seemed stupid to me.

“I just feel like you are being so insensitive to my needs right now,” he accurately responded.

giphy

“Well, I’m so sorry that you had to pay a babysitter for a few hours at my expense,” I replied in the most sarcastic tone possible.

Did he want me to refund him 30 dollars or something?

To my shock, he took this as an actual apology, thus proving even more how much we didn’t understand each other.

“Well, I’m really glad you apologized. That was very mature of you to do so. I accept your apology. Have fun with your roommate and congrats on the new place,” he said, bestowing his grace upon me.

2008

At this point it wasn’t even funny. Even though I was laughing, it was like nervous laughter. I showed my roommate the texts and we proceeded to make fun of him the majority of the night.

What a weirdo.

I thought that it was pretty clear that things were over from that entire conversation, so later that week, I wrote a post about moving to California and how I was having a great time, but I hadn’t really met anyone that I could see myself falling in love with.

Little did I know that hell hath no fury like a DILF scorned.

Long story short, I had just got back from a night out and was a bit… drunk. I checked my phone before I went to sleep, as I always do, because let’s face it, memes are the only thing keeping me company these days. In between my drunken giggles, I noticed a text from the DILF appear. At first, it started out as sort of a profession of love and admiration.

“I really enjoy our time together. I just think we get along so incredibly well. You’re such a smart girl and I love our conversations. I can’t wait to see you again,” the cutesy text read.

But, about nine seconds later, I get another text, from what appeared to be the other side of his split personality.

“HA. Just read your blog from last week. Now I feel really freaking stupid. I can’t believe I fell for this,” it dramatically stated.

Meanwhile, I was completely in no position to put out a fire.

“Aww, you don’t have to be embarrassed!” I said, reading the text entirely wrong.

I was drunk, so I had forgotten all about what my blog even said. I took this as, “I feel bashful for admitting my feelings for you,” instead of, “I feel stupid for you not being into me and us not getting married within the next five months.”

After this short exchange, I passed out.

When I woke up in the morning, I checked my Facebook messages, because I had been having a convo with one of my best friends who lives in Japan now. Directly underneath her name, was the DILF’s name. He had sent me some video or something earlier in the week, but where her name was blue, his was gray.

Weird.

My text from the night before that I sent was also green, even though he had an iPhone.

Look, I’ve blocked enough guys to figure out what happened. He had blocked and deleted me from all social media, which I wasn’t that mad about. He even unmatched me from Bumble, because he must’ve been 100% U.S.D.A. Grade A Butt Hurt.

For about two months, I feared that I’d run into him and he’d just roast me in front of my friends or a guy I was seeing.

He was petty like that and I could totally imagine him coming up to one of my dates and smiling with his dagger teeth, while saying something like, “Yeah, I’m sure she’ll do the same thing to you that she did to me. Here’s a free Crest White Strip. You can buy these anywhere at your local Walgreens or CVS.”

I am always honest and upfront when I’m not into someone. This “nice guy” turned into a little bitch as soon as I didn’t reciprocate the feelings that he believed he deserved just because he took me to dinner a few times and bought me flowers.

I don’t owe any man anything for paying for my dinner or buying me presents. That’s not how relationships work. I don’t ask for that stuff, nor do I expect it. If a guy wants to take me to dinner to spend time with me and he happens to grab the bill, awesome, but I don’t owe him the favor of falling in love with him.

That’s where nice guys get it wrong. Just because you play this role, doesn’t mean that you’re going to get every girl to fall for you. Some women can see straight through that facade.  I don’t want someone who starts developing expectations based on their acts of service.

I don’t want someone with sharp teeth.

I don’t want someone who yells at waiters.

I don’t want someone who challenges every little thing I say, just for the sake of an argument.

I don’t want someone like him.

If I did, I’d date Nick Nolte.

End of story.

I’m not going to settle for someone who isn’t what I want. I don’t have to and I won’t. Any man that I’ve entered a relationship with, I’ve known that it was 100% what I wanted at the time. If someone starts pressuring me into a commitment that I don’t want, I’d rather run for the hills and spend my remaining years on Earth with the radioactive (or are they just a product of incest?) creatures that inspired The Hills Have Eyes 2.

That’s just my personality. I hate being forced into things, so when I start feeling this way from someone I don’t like, I literally begin to pick that person apart inside my head, until I become disgusted by the thought of them.

So, farewell, DILF.

After every man that I date, I learn something new about the person that I do ultimately want. I can honestly say that this dude had all of the opposite qualities of a partner I’d enjoy being with.

On to the next one.

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