It’s different, remember Barbie and Ken and that pink jeep, the arranged marriage and her current expectations of finding the perfect guy? Yea, you guessed it, she’s insane.
I mean, if you have a vapid personality as a guy, this is probably true. I throw up not the best pictures I could but then go all in with personality such that expectations are exceeded in person. Then it’s my decision to write them off or not.
I had been seeing this girl every now and then for about a month. We had gone on two dates over the course of a few weeks, and finally the moment I’d been hoping for: the third date. She had told me on the second date she owned four cats. I lied and told her I loved cats, but in addition to hating cats on a matter of principle, I’m actually pretty allergic. I figured there was a 50/50 chance we’d head back to my place (which is damn nice and has a good view) and I’d be able to come up with at least a few bullshit reasons over the next few weeks not to stop by her feline infested apartment. In retrospect, this was a poor decision, but she was better looking than the usual bar bunny I take back to my highrise, so I was all in for at least one night–even if we headed back to her place.
I took her out to a nice dinner, and casually went to the washroom on several occasions to pop a few handfuls of Benadryl tablets. Little did I know how this would react with the three bottles of wine she insisted that we slop through. After she spilled her second glass of wine, I knew I was in, but also that I needed to get her the hell out of here and subconsciously there was no way she would come over to my place, but fuck it, downed another handful of Benadryl.
At her place, she insisted on making the cup of coffee (French Canadians…) even though she could barely stand. It’s also worth noting at this point that she refused to take off her heels (not that drunk, of course), so I followed her around ensuring that her face didn’t greet any hard surfaces. I was pleasantly surprised not to see any goddamn cats throughout this process, and finally, things started to get a bit heated. I figured I didn’t have much time before I exploded into a sneezing and sniffling mess and she didn’t have much time before going severely catatonic. We stumbled into the bedroom door and I spent a second steadying her before opening the door.
Turning the knob, goddammit, my worst nightmare. Her bedroom could only be described as a feline harem. Too late to turn back for the couch. I made an executive decision to go in there like SEAL Team 6 for a surgical strike and hope she didn’t remember the incident. No such luck. As I rolled off, after what could have been no more than 5 minutes of the most boring intercourse ever, her eyes opened with a fire and fury I thought had been sufficiently buried under 3 bottles of Chianti. Then the harpy’s mouth opened and she went off on me, stumbling around in a drunken rage. I was astounded.
I started to really feel the Benadryl start to kick in, said nothing, and suprising even myself, lethargically dodged a TV hurled at my face before gathering my wits just long enough to slide across her bed like Bo Duke to grab my pants and GTFO.
I hope she still has to get up to change the channel, that bitch.
This may be anecdotal, but have you ever not blown straight through an entire package of Oreos in one sitting like that one (or 20) times you “tried” cocaine? And if not Oreos, the other special sort of cookie crack known as Thin Mints?
All under the assumption (of course) that none of us here are disgusting fatties that would buy a Costco pack of Oreos or have the drug habit and bankroll of Charlie Sheen.
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It’s different, remember Barbie and Ken and that pink jeep, the arranged marriage and her current expectations of finding the perfect guy? Yea, you guessed it, she’s insane.
Holy shit, this is an indicator that our education system is working!
I mean, if you have a vapid personality as a guy, this is probably true. I throw up not the best pictures I could but then go all in with personality such that expectations are exceeded in person. Then it’s my decision to write them off or not.
Shit, this means I have to find a wifable girl before buying a boat… But in the end you kill two birds with one stone. Decisions.
2 carat? Dream big!
Yes, yes it would be.
UW-Milwaukee… Enough said.
He might as well have just gone tranny and tried to hook up with Bieber.
Real power move: Bring a second monitor from home/steal one from an empty cube and tell your coworkers it was a reward for doing good work.
Anything with YOLO/EDM/rave sparks my violent tendencies.
It’s up there, but not enough rampant alcoholism to be “the best” one.
“Since I Drank My Way to Houston” is my Friday afternoon starter.
I would never hire a lawyer that has enough time to get jacked.
Greek letters indicating their sorority. One of them knows you, and you’ve already lost.
That shit will still make you fat as fuck. Can’t they engineer the fat out of chips with modern science?
Fucking cats, way to truly go off the deep end.
You have my permission to murder her.
Howard Dean’s blow buddy.
I had been seeing this girl every now and then for about a month. We had gone on two dates over the course of a few weeks, and finally the moment I’d been hoping for: the third date. She had told me on the second date she owned four cats. I lied and told her I loved cats, but in addition to hating cats on a matter of principle, I’m actually pretty allergic. I figured there was a 50/50 chance we’d head back to my place (which is damn nice and has a good view) and I’d be able to come up with at least a few bullshit reasons over the next few weeks not to stop by her feline infested apartment. In retrospect, this was a poor decision, but she was better looking than the usual bar bunny I take back to my highrise, so I was all in for at least one night–even if we headed back to her place.
I took her out to a nice dinner, and casually went to the washroom on several occasions to pop a few handfuls of Benadryl tablets. Little did I know how this would react with the three bottles of wine she insisted that we slop through. After she spilled her second glass of wine, I knew I was in, but also that I needed to get her the hell out of here and subconsciously there was no way she would come over to my place, but fuck it, downed another handful of Benadryl.
At her place, she insisted on making the cup of coffee (French Canadians…) even though she could barely stand. It’s also worth noting at this point that she refused to take off her heels (not that drunk, of course), so I followed her around ensuring that her face didn’t greet any hard surfaces. I was pleasantly surprised not to see any goddamn cats throughout this process, and finally, things started to get a bit heated. I figured I didn’t have much time before I exploded into a sneezing and sniffling mess and she didn’t have much time before going severely catatonic. We stumbled into the bedroom door and I spent a second steadying her before opening the door.
Turning the knob, goddammit, my worst nightmare. Her bedroom could only be described as a feline harem. Too late to turn back for the couch. I made an executive decision to go in there like SEAL Team 6 for a surgical strike and hope she didn’t remember the incident. No such luck. As I rolled off, after what could have been no more than 5 minutes of the most boring intercourse ever, her eyes opened with a fire and fury I thought had been sufficiently buried under 3 bottles of Chianti. Then the harpy’s mouth opened and she went off on me, stumbling around in a drunken rage. I was astounded.
I started to really feel the Benadryl start to kick in, said nothing, and suprising even myself, lethargically dodged a TV hurled at my face before gathering my wits just long enough to slide across her bed like Bo Duke to grab my pants and GTFO.
I hope she still has to get up to change the channel, that bitch.
Mac users…
This may be anecdotal, but have you ever not blown straight through an entire package of Oreos in one sitting like that one (or 20) times you “tried” cocaine? And if not Oreos, the other special sort of cookie crack known as Thin Mints?
All under the assumption (of course) that none of us here are disgusting fatties that would buy a Costco pack of Oreos or have the drug habit and bankroll of Charlie Sheen.