Dicks In Our Box: Things I'm Barely Tolerating This Week

Before I rattle off the list of things I'm barely tolerating this week, I will explain how on Wednesday I find myself with a new dude who is texting me to the point of chronic irritation. Last Saturday afternoon shortly before dinner, I am forced by a persistant friend to leave my bed (I spent all day sleeping one off) so I can listen to her talk at length about dudes. As per standard. I show up smelling like I belong in a barn, hair fucked into an enormous hank at the back of my head, wearing flip flops and a DARE t-shirt, still hung over and irritated that I'm not in my room with the blinds drawn. So we trade stories about trawling for bottom feeders and repeat offenders in crappy bars, leaving out none of the obscene details. All of this is usual. Only this afternoon, there is some dude there I have met briefly once or twice, but who listens to us both prattle on at length about the people in our beds the night before. I actually thought he was gay, so I wasn't too embarassed (but more about that later). Long and short of it, I think him attractive but boring, and apparently he likes the way my tits look in my stinky DARE shirt. I make up an excuse to leave because I'm tired of listening to him talk about being a salesman after criticizing my friends ill-manicured nails. He texts me, I go to the bar without him to get drunk, I text him after last call, he comes over... [yes, I am a six dollar whore]. THE CONVERSATION IS AWFUL. And now we have arrived at the list of things about him that I am barely tolerating this week and will probably not be tolerating next week.

1. He is a helpless fiend for text messaging. This included sending pix messages of the view from
my apartment to his roommate.
2. He talked at length about his "bromance" with his roommate, how close they are, how terribly he misses him when he's gone, etc. I know everyone is a little bit gay, but come on now...
3. After seeing that every surface in my room is covered in stacks of books, he comments that he only has two books, and that he hasn't read anything in two years.
4. He looks through my closet, commenting that I don't have many clothes or shoes.
5. He tells me that he has 32 pairs of shoes. This makes his shoe-to-book ratio 32:1.
6. We wear the same perfume.
7. He tells me how much the car payment is for his Audi.
8. He thinks it is all right to use the word "cuddling" when not preceeded by the phrase "I hate".
9. He expressed irritation that he couldn't find his Marc Jacobs sunglasses; he could only find his white-rimmed aviator Raybans.
10. And to round the list off at an even ten, I will repeat, WE WEAR THE SAME PERFUME.

So the guy's a dandy straight out of an Oscar Wilde novel. But, because the sex was awe-inspiring, multiple orgasm inducing, second only to one person in memory, and in short almost WORTH THE PAIN, I saw him again Monday. He spent the first forty minutes in the bar two-handed texting his roommate/gay fake husband, and finally he asked me to put his phone away. I was heaving a relieved sigh and fiddling with his jacket pocket when he PULLED OUT A SECOND BLACKBERRY. Motherfucker's got two. Later, he seemed unhappy with my choice of outfits and tried to convince me that I should take off my hoodie and put on the tiny jacket thing he's wearing. So, of course, in the future he will doubtlessly try to dress me like the life-sized blonde Barbie he always wanted. I spend every moment I possibly can steal standing at the bar making fun of him to whomever will listen, because, apparently, laughing at his expense does NOT get old. Later, he drove me to his loft in his Audi and fucked all of my reservations about his mind-numbing materialism right out of my head. And every time I hear my phone beep to indicate that I have a text message, my heart sinks a little in dread of what inanity demands my response. Last night, he referred to himself as a "sad boii". And then I threw up all over my not-nearly-stylish-enough shoes.

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