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“WHERE’S A MACY’S?” he yelled, hurling me off my bed and out of my sleepy drunk state.
It’s 6 a.m., I’m tired as hell, and there’s a 24-year-old werewolf of a man asking me where he can find a Macy’s. So he can buy sheets.
Because he wet my bed.
Twice.
I mean, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Not eight hours before, he looked me straight in the face and said: “Just so you know, I’ve had 13 concussions. So I’m basically retarded.”
He slugged back his Bud Light, gave me the “still in?” eyes, and I took him to my apartment.
He was a dumbass. But he wasn’t the first dumbass I’ve brought home, and he probably won’t be the last.
I’d like to think I’m a pretty intelligent lady. I graduated with a 4.0 and haven’t even once mixed up “meet” and “meat.” (Yes, I really did date a guy who mixed those up. Repeatedly.)
I have a standard type: Beefy, athletic (former lacrosse stars, get at me), and conventionally attractive. They drink too much, talk too loudly, and are generally fun, obnoxious people that I’d never introduce to my mom.
But last week, as I dropped $60 on dry cleaning, $25 on a new mattress pad, and five hours of my life clearing out the urine stench from my apartment with a bucket of bleach and an oversized vanilla bean candle, I really stopped to wonder: Why do I love meatheads?
I know I won’t marry, or will ever, ever call them my boyfriend. (Can I get an amen, commitment-fearing millennials?) But I just can’t help it. I love ‘em.
I think it’s because I am in a constant state of worry-panic. I worry about everything, anything, all the time: work, friends, family, my body, my Google search history, ISIS, not trying hard enough, trying too hard, working too much, not working enough.
My mind is an obnoxiously talkative, stressful place to be. And meatheads are my salvation.
Their half-functioning brains force mine to slow down.
You talk too fast.
You worry too much.
Sometimes, you tell a story and I don’t even know what you’re saying.
They erase all of the worries and stresses and make me think about the here and now, and would I like another drink? (Yes.)
Am I intimidated by smart men? Maybe. But it’s more that I find them…bland. Work? Blah. Money? Blah. Stress? Blah. I don’t want to hear about a guy’s stress of working for the man and no, I don’t give a shit what Wall Street looks like a 3 a.m. I have enough stress of my own. Gym, beers, boobs? Done.
Somewhere in the depths of my very dark soul, I know these boys never really know me. I mean, I’m sure as hell not going to marry a guy who still identifies as a retired college athlete, chugs dollar beers on a Tuesday, and grunts more than he speaks. But they’re fun, easy going, and don’t cause me pain. Love is a bitch, after all.
And maybe one day I’ll sack up and find man who doesn’t measure life in bench weight. Maybe even one who has a stable job and stellar bladder control. But he sure as hell better have one hairy chest. .
Image via YouTube
Respond
@_cflammia
@tine_vogue
cflammia
Maybe you’re not as smart as you think.
Correct title: “I Like To Fuck Hot Guys And Don’t Care That They’re Dumb Because I’m Not Looking For A Relationship”
Is this “Write Like Kendra Day”? Both this and the one about checking in when you are at airports are giving me PKSD.
Post Kendra Stress Disorder?
This was depressing. At least date a fireman or something instead of socially retarded gym rats.
To each their own I guess. I can’t stand stupid girls because part of being with them is pretending to listen/care about their stupid interests and concerns.
Jesus, have we met before?
Yeah man, you wet her bed remember? Geez, those concussions are really getting to you.
I never got a concussion playing lax 🙁 I did get a worm burner to the groin once though, different head, same brain.
Probably for the best, concussions aren’t fun in my experience. I don’t know what a “worm burner” is because I’m black and don’t understand lacrosse but anything hitting your dick sounds really bad.
Hey I can help here. It’s an underhand shot that stays on the same plane as the ground, burning any hypothetical worms that are there
Also a common term on the golf course for a shot that never gets off the ground.
You beat me to it…I hope she has read the comment sections of her prior self
I was actually going more for the stupid, hairy chested, former lax player that enjoys beer.
This post gave me cancer.
Also…I cant figure how to post pictures
Not knowing how to post pictures on a web forum. PGP
But anyways here’s the how to if using Chrome:
Right Click Inspect Element
Copy the part that starts with “Img Style” from “”
Paste
I’m probably going to bookmark this article just for this post. Not that it matters since I am diehard firefox user
Copy image address then put img src=”http://urlforimage.jpg” within chevrons. Like this:
IT WORKS! thanks brosif
You’re aware there are decently athletic men who are also confident, low-stress/low-drama…and also not stupid, yes?
She’s in it for the new sheets
I usually ignore typos in these articles, but since your entire premise is that you are “smart”, maybe you should proofread a little more so we might actually believe you.