Single And Not Quite Ready To Mingle

As the wretched Hallmark Holiday that is VD, I mean Valentines Day (but really, it is the herpes of the holiday world), approaches, I start getting asked by my friends, co-workers, the dude at Dunkin' Donuts who makes my morning crack infusion and just about every other fucker who knows I'm single, what I am doing for VD?

And I know you want to know the truth since you stopped by this little slice of the interwebs; I am going to tell you. It's pretty much the same thing I do every year.

NOT A GODDAMN THING.

I am not boycotting the herpes of holidays because I am not a fan of romance, love or any of that flowery shit that makes other women's ovaries tingle like me in a shoe store with a stolen credit card. Most would be surprised to find out that I, H-Bomb, am quite the romantic when I so choose to be. Cocoa Butter Butt Lotion? Check! Jodeci CD? Check! Cooking dinner in my skivvies when my person comes home? CHECK! I can pull out all the stops to show the chosen one why they are THE chosen one, if I so choose.

Besides the fact that I worked in the restaurant industry for many years, 5 of which were spent at the Cheesecock Factory (where there are no limits to people's foolery on this day), the reason that I am single and would rather eat a Pringle than go out on VD is that I have a wretched dating history and have been on some pretty fucking awful dates. Like the kind of dates that when I tell people I have been on, they are like, "No fucking way, that shit cannot be real?!" To which I gently and sweetly reply, "No, SERIOUSLY...a 38 Special concert (in 2006), 1 hour from my home in PA, in a blizzard and then the guy told me he doesn't drink after I was already trapped an hour from home." How fucked up is that, right? 

My most recent episode of dating douchery took place just a few weeks ago. Because fuck logic and reason, that's why I went out with this person...AGAIN. 

Smart H-Bomb knew this was a bad idea from the jump, but not-so-sharp H-Bomb said to herself, "Nahhhhhh girl, it can't be that bad." And it really wasn't THAT bad - like nothing that will get me on a Lifetime movie for choking a motherfucker out in public, but it was another re-inforcement of my impeding spinsterhood.

The guy is a relative of a very dear friend. He is younger than me. He has the biggest case of Peter Pan Syndrome EVER and I don't think he could grow up if I paid him a million dollars - you will see why this is a key factor later. There are a few more non-pluses, but overall the kid is sweet, likes me, and has been pursuing me for some time. The back story is that 6 months ago, I gave him the opportunity to date me and he said no to me. Can you believe this fucking fool? I guess shit really does happen.

So I picked my ego up off the floor, got back on my horsey and rode off into the sunset never to give it another thought. We hung out a few times after that, as friends, and one night he asked me for another shot at the title. I said no, gave him my litany of reasons, but this fucking kid was persistent and eventually wore me down. So we hung out a couple more times, and even went to a family function together (where he was texting most of the night), but I knew I was not feeling it anymore and needed to let him down gently. Yes, I have human feelings and fuck no, I don't want to talk about them.

The last hang sesh in question comes around and all week long this kid is texting and calling me, telling me he can't wait to hangout, blah blah blah and to take me out. Remember that last part...it will be useful in a few minutes. What I am about to say may come as shock to the delicate minds of some, but I am what some might call, "a stickler" for punctuality. I know it, he knows it, and yet he is still almost a half hour late to our date. But, the bar has scotch and it is happy hour, so I work on getting happy like a motherfucker. 

When he gets there, he sits next to me and we make a few minutes of small talk and he says to me, "I have some bad news about tonight," to which I reply, "That's why I drove myself." I am expecting him to say something like his friends are going to meet up with him or some other such bullshit, but no, this dude lays on me this gem: "I have enough money to cover myself, but not enough to pay for you, too."

WAIT A HOT FUCKING MINUTE, SON. 

You told me you wanted to take ME out and now you can't PAY for ME? Did I miss the memo where I was being Punk'd? 

Before anyone hands me a golden shovel and a key to the Playboy Mansion, let me give the facts. Every time, and I mean E-V-E-R-Y-T-I-M-E I have hung out with this kid, his fund situation has been slim to none. I have zero problem paying for my own shit...never have, never will. My personal rule is pretty simple - if I don't have money to go out, I don't go out. Fortunately, I happen to make decent skrilla and keep my overhead to a minimum, so covering my own bill during happy hour ain't no thang. Especially since my ass likes to drink scotch...and LOTS of it. 

We continue on our busted double-dutch date and chit chat about the weather and fishing...no seriously, fishing. I, for real, no bullshit, begin to not feel so hot (and I had been sick a few days prior) so I tell him I think it's time for me to make tracks and we get our checks.

I get my check, pull out my card and hand that shit over. He starts fumbling in his wallet and grabs some cash and looks at me and says, "Can I borrow some money, I don't have enough to cover my check."

Ain't this a goddamn bitch?!?! 

Surprise, motherfucking surprise. I grab his cash, throw his check at the bartender and tell them to take care of both with my card - the least I can get out of this is a couple of extra SkyMiles. But for real, I can't even get mad at the kid for doing his thing, because I got played for an ATM on a whole mess of occasions and still kept coming back. Well played, young sir, well played. 

Since I am convinced that someone has put Crisco on the slip-n-slide into spinster-hood that is my dating life, I will quite happily sit out this VD, while so many others get duped for the eleven-teenth time, under the guise of romance. But if you make someone cover you, after you tell them you don't have enough money to pay for  them and yourself, don't be hating on them when all they give you is an ass-out hug good night! Happy VD, suckers!

VD ain't shit but deception and tricks. Well...to some of us, anyway.

I'm out.