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Last night I went out to dinner with my friend and in yet another glaring demonstration of how little he knows me, he had a friend of his (who he thought I would like/who he thought would like me?) come meet us.

The first thing this person did when he arrived was to spill that entire carafe of water all over my body. The WHOLE carafe. All of it. When it was full. Impromptu baptism! I will say that I actually thought that was hilarious and I didn’t even get up because I didn’t care and I was laughing so hard.

The fact that this person knocked half a gallon of water onto my lap was the BEST thing that happened to me last night.

Then there were the requisite jokes about being “wet,” which he, obviously, exhausted much too quickly with his overeagerness. I mean, I was literally wading in a puddle of tap water. Yes, funny guy with the jokes, I am wet. I’m drenched. Because you dipped me in a lake.

When things settled down, I was all on board with this guy. He was really good looking - which I’m not super into - but he was also really tall and therefore physically capable of picking me up, which I am very into and is essentially the only thing that matters to me. (Actually, I should clarify. He was beyond good looking, so much so, in fact, that when he knocked that water over I was like Oh maybe we’re at a photo shoot (???) and I should just sit here laughing and pretending like this is funny. Not really, but he looked like a model or a mannequin. Or Adonis…)

Then my food came (don’t have a pic, I’m not a douche bag) and from the mouth of this person - after he interrupted some interminable story he was telling about how he had lost his coat? or found a coat? or made a coat? - comes, “Oh, you’re on a pretty high carb diet?”

TALK ABOUT THE UPPER HAND. He had the upper hand from jump street. He floated into this restaurant, doused me with water and (in)directly called me fat all within eight minutes of meeting me.

The fact that I did not burst into tears as soon as the word “diet” landed is a testament to… how much I wanted to vomit because of how fat I felt. COOL UPBRINGING, ASSHOLE. Honestly. Fuck. I ordered risotto, not the unlimited breadstick and pasta special at Olive Garden (side note: can someone take me to Olive Garden? I’ll pay. LOL OBVIOUSLY). 

So, I ate maybe a third of it because I honestly felt sick to my stomach because of his comment and also because I knew he’d say something if I finished it. 

Well, he still had something to say. And it was this: 

I love a girl who doesn’t finish her food. That makes you so much more attractive.

You know when a guy knows he’s really good looking and feels like he can just say whatever the fuck he wants because of it?
Well, I didn’t. Until last night.

Also, at some (very random) point, he asked me if I knew who Ataturk was? SMH.

And, I sometimes pretend not to know things to let people feel cool and interesting about dropping some knowledge on me. But I was doing it here because I legitimately wanted to see how much one person could look down on another. 

So I said, “No.”
No. No, I don’t know who the “Father of Modern Turkey” / first president of Turkey is… Never heard of him. What are you saying, “a Turk?” Yeah. No… tell me all about it at this casual dinner we are having on a Saturday night that you are so recklessly determined to ruin, you fucking pedant.

Then of course he asked me where I went to college and when I said Columbia and when he picked his jaw up from off the floor and popped his eyes back in their sockets, he asked if I was serious.

“Really?” he asked.
“No, I’m lying.” I said.
“Columbia State?” he said.
“YUP. Columbia State. In Florida. Mmhm.” I said.

And that was that. 

Later he asked me what type of guys I was into and it became clear to me that my friend had given each of us very different expectations of this evening: I, on one hand, was under the impression that I was going to meet a cool person of the opposite sex who I might like and who might like me. I’m guessing this wasn’t presented to our guest in the same way. In other words: this person probably didn’t even know I was going to be there.

I told him I like “tall, old guys” and those were my only requirements but they were non negotiable and he tried to engage me in some sort of cursory conversation about this but he was also involved in a seemingly arduous text conversation with someone he was actually interested in, so I just stopped talking after I mumbled “aaand no one is listening to me,” because I am petulant and need a lot of attention.

Anyway, besides me blatantly requesting that people treat me poorly, I have no idea why people treat me poorly. But, I should probably stop being so picky because people aren’t knocking down my door tryna get at this, so that all being said…

I’m incredibly insecure and love being treated poorly. I thought that was so fun. If ur rding, plz call me. xxxxoxxox