Dating Is Also A Cunt
By far the most arrogant man I ever dated, Michael was someone I met the night I was dumped by The Cunt (although that doesn't particularly mean much, since true to his namesake, The Cunt dumped me on several occasions).
I had spent the night crying in a club and had snogged a Fresher who'd just thrown up, so it was hardly the classiest night of my life. Intoxicated and heartbroken, I thought I'd serve The Cunt right by fucking someone else... and so I chose Michael.
I woke up in the morning and bawled my eyes out. The body lying next to me was not that of the person I was so in love with. Before even removing last night's make-up or applying deodorant, I drove him home to the squat he was staying in. At six a.m.
"Call me, won't you?" he said.
"Of course I will."
After ignoring Michael in various social circumstances, I bumped into him again when my best mate pulled his best mate in a club. She took his mate home, so I took him home, making my excuses for not calling saying I'd lost my phone / lost his number, blah blah blah...
Since she began dating his best friend, I could hardly avoid him. So we went on a few dates. I was bemused by the fact that he refused to eat a proper McDonalds and instead opted for a Cosy Salad. I was not impressed by his pretending to receive calls from a modelling agency whilst we were on a date. Overall, I was just generally unimpressed.
There was a reason I had driven him home at six a.m. Subconsciously I'd known he was an arrogant wanker.
Somehow, the Trodden Down Donkey, Neglected One Night Stand had turned into Bastard Material.
It all came to blows one night when we bumped into each other in the same club. I was out with my friends and was having a good time - until I saw him, of course.
"Come home with me," he said. "We'll drink champagne..." (oh you cheesy bastard).
"No, I'm out with my friends."
"Well you're only out to find a man, so you might as well come home with me."
Bring on Pride & Prejudice style sermon from yours truly about how I was happy being single, was certainly not out to meet a man, and if I did want a man, he would be way down the list of potentials.
Of course, I told him where to go. And he went. The next day, I began dating someone else. OF COURSE.
Moral of the story? It's not just love that's a cunt - dating is, too.
I had spent the night crying in a club and had snogged a Fresher who'd just thrown up, so it was hardly the classiest night of my life. Intoxicated and heartbroken, I thought I'd serve The Cunt right by fucking someone else... and so I chose Michael.
I woke up in the morning and bawled my eyes out. The body lying next to me was not that of the person I was so in love with. Before even removing last night's make-up or applying deodorant, I drove him home to the squat he was staying in. At six a.m.
"Call me, won't you?" he said.
"Of course I will."
After ignoring Michael in various social circumstances, I bumped into him again when my best mate pulled his best mate in a club. She took his mate home, so I took him home, making my excuses for not calling saying I'd lost my phone / lost his number, blah blah blah...
Since she began dating his best friend, I could hardly avoid him. So we went on a few dates. I was bemused by the fact that he refused to eat a proper McDonalds and instead opted for a Cosy Salad. I was not impressed by his pretending to receive calls from a modelling agency whilst we were on a date. Overall, I was just generally unimpressed.
There was a reason I had driven him home at six a.m. Subconsciously I'd known he was an arrogant wanker.
Somehow, the Trodden Down Donkey, Neglected One Night Stand had turned into Bastard Material.
It all came to blows one night when we bumped into each other in the same club. I was out with my friends and was having a good time - until I saw him, of course.
"Come home with me," he said. "We'll drink champagne..." (oh you cheesy bastard).
"No, I'm out with my friends."
"Well you're only out to find a man, so you might as well come home with me."
Bring on Pride & Prejudice style sermon from yours truly about how I was happy being single, was certainly not out to meet a man, and if I did want a man, he would be way down the list of potentials.
Of course, I told him where to go. And he went. The next day, I began dating someone else. OF COURSE.
Moral of the story? It's not just love that's a cunt - dating is, too.
posted by A Girl Like Me | 9:27 pm
I love that you're able to sanitize such activities as 'dating'.
Lol, yeah, kinda like Kenneth Lay complaining "It's a real cunt trying to make an honest living".
Hey, too harsh. What's worse - securities fraud or making out with a mouthfull of stale vomit?
So lemme get this straight...
You got drunk enough to snog a putrid fresher before sleeping with a random to get at your ex, and chose whoever happened to be most convenient... Then when he wants to stay in touch, *even though* you must've been a total slurring oaf when you met him, you dismiss him for 'being arrogant' (which is, of course, not only something you had fed by bedding him within a single night, but also something he probably deduced you liked). You ignore his attempts to see you again, and when you finally told him how you really felt, he left you alone. And then you 'move on'?
Is this dating?. This seems like some sort of self-gratifying, cop-out attempt to regain some esteem after being cunted up. Which didn't work.
It was, in fact, nothing to do with self-gratification or trying to make myself feel better after being cunted. Actually, the bloke really was a wanker, and a bit of a fuck-up as well. OK, I probably gave off the wrong signals (ahem!).
I know I did bad things and I've treated people like shit. My main regret is that the ones I shat on probably didn't deserve it. The ones I was nice to deserved to have their testes dug out with a scarpel and thrown on a burning fire. Preferably with Satan present for added wrath.