If you told me I’d see this guy again after he kicked me out of his hotel room, I’d tell you you’re out of your mind. For some reason we continued texting each other for the next month almost every single day. I finally agreed to hang out with him again with the promise that he wouldn’t do anything stupid to fuck it up. We decided to meet for dinner the next Friday. He made reservations for 10pm. I work Saturday mornings and told him it wouldn’t work. He fucked it up. We tried again later and met up at a rooftop before heading to a street festival. I warned the hostesses when I walked in that I might storm out in a few minutes if he did something to piss me off. Luckily, that didn’t happen. We actually had a lot of fun.
After a drink or two, he asked me about my blog, which he had done before via text and I thought it was odd. I asked why he was so interested in my blog and he laughed for a second and then told me that he reads it. He then explained to me that when I posted something on Snapchat about it, he charged a separate phone so he could replay the snap, take a picture of it, look up the blog online, start a new email account and become a follower. That’s some next level sneaky, stalker ass shit and I thought it was awesome. I like this creep. If he read all the shit I posted about him and still wants to talk to me and hang out, there is probably something wrong with him but I don’t even care. There are lots of things wrong with him but that’s what makes him interesting. He also has an idea for a YouTube channel so I can be like Jenna Marbles or Nicole Arbour. He has a great plan for a TV show called Ghost Busters where I crash dates of people who have ghosted other people and call them out on it. Brilliant. Weird but brilliant. His pitch to me went like this:
When you get ghosted, who you gonna call? Erin and her crackpot team of degenerates have women who get ghosted contact you. You (and me, if you want my PI help), track down the guy, preferably when he’s on a date with the next girl he swiped right with, and we confront him and ask why he ghosted her!
We still have some kinks to work out but I’m into it.
We left the rooftop and I reassured the hostesses that he didn’t totally suck before we hopped in a cab to head to the fest. We drank some beers and took an Adderall while listening to music. He dared me to get a picture with some eccentric older gentleman. Since I can’t say no to a dare, I started dancing with this guy and asked if we could take a picture together. He tells me he’s Jimmy Buffett and I almost believed him. It turns out, his name is Rick and he has a large collection of hats that are all from Miami. Interesting. The Bobcat and I hung out near him while listening to 16 Candles for a while.
When the festival was over, we headed over to Concrete Cowboy for another drink. It was there that The Bobcat told me he had molly. The last time I did molly, I was in college. This was my summer of ‘YES’ though so I was down. I’ve said yes to everything since I left my ex, besides offers from friends to break his legs or have him killed. Always say no to violence and say ‘hell motherfucking yeah’ to everything else.
We headed downstairs to Spybar and took over a table in the back corner that was occupied by a very intoxicated man named Tony who could barely sit up. He ended up sleeping in the corner while we hung out. After becoming friends with the bartenders, we did a couple shots. This is where my memories are all a blur. I don’t know how much time went by. I don’t know what I said or who I was talking to. At one point I was calling Bobcat and my friend who owns the club while they were standing right in front of me. I knew when I was talking I wasn’t making any sense and that just made me laugh. Finally we decided to get out of there. Probably for the best since by the end of the night, I had the bartenders hating me.
In our Uber back to his place, the driver offered us beers which he was charging $5 for. Of course we bought them. When we got back, we apparently made out in his kitchen. I also apparently answered my phone at 5:30am and talked to my friend for a few minutes while she stood in the alley behind my house requesting that I bring her alley wine. I explained to her that I was at a gentleman caller’s house and was unable to deliver. Finally I got into his bed and immediately, when I fell into it, became one with it and started to pass out. Despite his attempt to be romantic with wine and cocaine, I pushed him away and passed out.
I woke up hours later, spread out like a starfish in his bed and was so confused. I went into his living room and found him and his dogs hanging out on the couch. I went with my typical M.O. and bolted right away. I felt like death and needed a shower. Throughout the day he helped me piece our night together because his memory of the night was far less foggy than mine.
I still talk to him everyday whether it’s geeky shit about trading cryptocurrency or talking about our pending divorces. For some reason I tell this guy more than I tell my closest friends. Maybe it’s because he seems more interested in the random garbage I have to say than my friends do. I texted him WHILE getting my IUD put in. He’s completely honest which is refreshing and tells the truth brutally with no sugar-coating. Not a lot of people are like that but I am that way too so it’s refreshing. Have I forgiven him for kicking me out of the hotel room that night? Yeah, but I’m not forgetting about it. That shit was awful and hilarious and I’ll bring it up every chance I get it.
People oftentimes come into your life for a reason. You don’t know what the reason is right away but you learn eventually. Why do I willingly spend time with someone who admits to cheating on his soon-to-be ex-wife repeatedly? Why does he hang out with me still, knowing that my soon-to-be ex-husband is dangerous and puts every woman he’s met in the hospital? My sister would tell me it’s because I can’t stay away from risky situations. Maybe she’s right. Life without risks seems really boring though. We’ve all got baggage and we have demons to battle. I have no idea why the Bobcat is still around but we’ll all find out eventually. The reason better not be to teach me lessons about going to random men’s hotel rooms after just meeting them.
Swiping My Life Away 