Divorced Dating and Damn Drama (11 page)

"I'm sorry you can't afford a car but it is not my responsibility to provide you with a vehicle or transportation." I reply honestly. What? It's really not my responsibility. We all have responsibilities in life; this just isn't one of mine.

"The rich get richer and the poor get poorer." He scoffs reaching over and grabbing my burger.

"I'm sorry, are you calling me rich?" I ask as he takes a bite of my burger.

"You own a car thus you are rich." He says reaching over only to dunk my French fry into ketchup and eat it.

"Owning a car does not make you rich." I say bluntly. What? It doesn't. Does he think I don't notice he is eating my food? Because I notice.

"You are rich in my eyes." He says while stuffing another big bite of my hamburger into
his mouth.
Before anyone jumps to conclusions, no I am not eating in front of him. He picked the place, he ordered his food. He ate his food and since I can be a slow eater at times, he then decided he should help me eat my food. No, I did not ask him to eat my food. If I could not finish it, which I can, then I would take it home to eat later.

"I do not know what to say to that." I respond snapping back into the conversation.

"Say yes and give me your car. Come on! You can just buy another one." He says while he continues to eat my food.

"Actually I can't." I say crossing my arms.

"Yes you can." He whines grabbing hold of my soda and sipping it.

"No I can't, I really can't even afford this one." I say motioning to my car.

"You are the one percent." He accuses, dunking another one of my French fries into salad dressing.

"I'm not; I'm really the 99 percent." I plead.

"Look, I'll make you a deal ok. I will buy you a bus pass in exchange for your car." He offers. What the what? He will trade me a ten dollar buss pass for my fifteen hundred dollar car. How is this a fair trade.

"No." I say with confidence.

"Why do you put me down? Why are you doing this to me?" He bangs his fists on the table.

"But I'm not doing anything." I plead.

"You are not helping me." He shouts.

"I can help you by not giving you my car." I raise my voice.

"How can you help me then?"Markus asks calming down from his outburst.

"I can tell you to use the bus pass for yourself."' I suggest.

"You just don't get it, do you?" Markus assumes. He assumes I don't understand why he needs my car; he assumes I am just some fat cat who works in a corporate office, who makes a six figure income. He assumes that this is a justified request. That me losing my car is like me misplacing a pen. Perhaps he also assumes that in me giving him my car I will be saving the world. But it won't. The only thing that giving him my car will accomplish is him getting a car and thus me loosing mine. It won't touch the hearts of the rich because I'm not rich. Plus, what makes him more deserving then me? Why should he get something of mine? I think people make too many assumptions. Don't you hate people who expect everyone else to give them stuff? Why don't they work hard so they can have the things they want? But, why should they? People often do give them things. People who deserve thing to be given to them have to work and work for nothing, while people who don't deserve anything get everything handed to them. Life sucks!

"I'm sorry" I say meekly. He wouldn't understand that I wasn't rich. He sees me as someone who
has something he wants. That's it. He didn't want to date me, he just saw
that I had a car and thought he could get me to give it to him.

"You should go." He demands. He is right, I should go. There is no reason for me to stay on this mock date. Because it was never a date remember? It was just a camouflaged extortion attempt.

"Ok." I say, then get up and leave. Is it weird that I'm more upset that he ate my food than I am at another failed relationship attempt? I think it can be easy to be offend. Hell, he ate my food and bugged me to give him my only car. However, I'm not. Sometimes dates affect me differently, it could have been worse. He could have stolen it.

Thomas Wagner, twenty eight, blue eyes, black hair and a gnarly tattoo of Mickey mouse on his arm. The cop mustache is a bit much, but everything else is looking good-really good! Now you I like. You are like a gangster, no hipster nonsense for you. Let's text shall we.

"Hi Tom. How are you?" We text a good half a day. Hooray,
go me. We start sending photos and something looks off.
In all of his photos he is wearing the same uniform as everyone else. He is in some sort of encampment.
These pictures just don't sit well with me. "
Are you in jail?" I ask.

"Nope, I got out a month ago." Thomas quickly texts me a updated headshot. In this photo he is smoking a cigar and sitting on a bookcase. Surprising as it might sound, being an ex con is fairly common. However, how did he take photos while in prison? I wonder if some jails allow the inmates to have cameras. Maybe if you are in for a petty crime you can have a phone. I know they can have TV and stuff, so I guess having a cell phone isn't out of the ordinary. I hate to be that girl, but I feel that if a prisoner has more stuff, provided free by the government, then me-then that's wrong! Why should I have to work all day to barely scrap by, while if I break the law, I get treated like a king? Yes, some prisons are bad, they are actually horrible, but some sound like dreams. Three hot meals a day, a cot plus free health care sounds good to me right now. Throw in a working TV, which probably has cable, and I'd be in heaven! If only it wasn't for that little matter of not being able to leave... Just saying!

"Oh, well that's good to hear. Can I ask what you were in jail for?" I ask. What? I just want to know if he killed someone.

"You can't ask me that. It's illegal." I'm not an employer so I'm pretty sure I can ask him whatever I want, but I won't make an issue out of this.

"Oh, ok." I press him for information "Do you feel remorse and will I find you on Megan's list?" He then informs me that he has no idea what Megan's list is. Well, if you don't know what it is, you're not on it, so that means we can go out. You see people; you see how low my standards are. He never even told me if he felt remorse or not. Lucky for me he kept postponing meeting with me because his turtle was displaying anti social behavior and he kept having to "address"
that. I don't want to be mean, but come on. Do you know what turtles do? What they really do? Nothing, they do nothing. So his turtle displayi
ng anti social personality just meant that he was healthy and happy. You want love, get a cat. I have seven, so I can give you one of mine. I'm will give you the one that pees in my hamper. Just kidding, I love that one too.

If you are twenty years old and you have ten kids with ten different women you are not a player. I know the rappers and your friends say you are, but I must enlighten you. The fact is you sir have been played. How's that child support working out for you? Ohh, you can't pay it. Well you shouldn't have slept around. Now you will go to jail if I don't give you money. Umm nope. You go have fun in jail. Maybe someone will try to impregnate you.

"You need to stop judging me; people have kids all the time. I can't help if I have fathered several beautiful children." Kevin demands. What? I don't judge people for having kids; I do judge people
for being absentee parents. I just don't understand them. If I had a child
, they would be my world! I actually wanted kids when I was with Henry. He was the one who told me to wait, saying we had the rest of our lives to have kids. Now I don't really want one, seeing as how my life is in shambles. That being said if I did have one, my life would revolve around them.

"Have you seen them then, all of them?" I accuse, knowing full well he doesn't even bother paying child support. Now this conversation, that is taking place in the park, has been going on for the last half hour, I'm just letting you see the important stuff.

"I can't be expected to always be perfect for you." Kevin shouts as the park lights flicker on. Wow, it gets dark early in the winter, doesn't it?

"Ok, do you see them like split custody or on weekends or something?" I ask, not really paying attention.

"I can't be expected to live my own life and take care of my kids." He shouts.

"Does their mom take care of them?" I ask. I mean he can't be expected to give up his life, but the mother, she has to give up hers? How is that fair? Oh wait, it isn't.

"She better or the state will take them away." Kevin spits.

"Is that what happened with you?" I ask meekly.

"What's your problem, I answered your questions, now write me the check already you stupid bitch." Kevin shouts. Well this is the part where I leave.

I don't know what was weirder that he kept pressuring me to meet him in the cemetery or that he was clearly wearing more make up than me. I'm not saying guys can't wear makeup, it's just that if you're wearing more than me, I count that as a turn off. People post the, most normal photos. Them with their families, them at the beach, them with their dogs, then I show up to meet them and they look like Marilyn Manson. Go figure!

For all that is right, please don't suck up to me. Do not tell me how you will worship me. Why? Because it is a lie and you are not doing it right. If you are going to lie, lie well. It is not that hard. Millions of people do it every day. Kennedy is the perfect display of over affection coupled with lying badly. He is 34, lives in a rent controlled apartment and has a goldfish named Sir Edward the fifth. Sir Edward the fourth died a tragic death after Kennedy left him out in the sun for two days. He assures me that if I was there I would have been so overcome with grief I would have leapt off his balcony to my death. That is why, he says, I will never be allowed to go to his apartment. However, he still would enjoy texting me and meeting me in my apartment. I can just pick the winners, can I not?

"I love you so much. I wish I was with you right now." Kennedy coos.

"I'm free let's meet." I state, bluntly. I mean if you really liked me you would meet me. Right?

"Oh, I can't. But if I could, I'd lick your feet." Kennedy whispers. Lick my feet? Really, is that considered a turn on now?

"When can you meet then?" I ask. Keep your pants on; I know he isn't going to meet me.

"I don't have a schedule. So I don't know. Oh man I want to lick your eye. Lick it good." Now he wants to lick my eye? If this is how people flirt nowadays I'm inventing a time machine.

"But you are unemployed, so you can meet anytime actually." I reply. I mean, logically he can meet me anytime.

"I'm so into you. If I meet you I don't know what I would do to you." Ok, this is getting close to a flirt, but yet sounds a little like a threat.

"Can you just talk like a normal person?" I ask. I mean really, we are all adults here. What? I'm 27, that count as an adult.

"Omega I'm so feeling you right now." Is this guy on drugs?

"Hello are you listening? Earth to Kennedy." I shout.

"I am lying on a bed of nails thinking of you. That fact that we can't be together is awful. Oh I love you so much!" He lusts. So, yeah. You want me so bad but you can't meet with me. Really? Again people, if you lie, do it well please.

I do not own my own house. I never did. I paid for it but my name was never on the deed. So, that too I lost in the divorce. I now have two roommates. One is a stoner with a medical marijuana card the other a self professed instagram whore. Whatever the hell that is. She tried to explain it to me once and I got so fed up with all the likes and umms that fell out of her mouth that I had to stop. I told her I completely understood and she believed me. See people, lying isn't that hard. If I can do it anyone can. So yeah, I'm living with morons and to top it all off, I'm going into debt to maintain my lavish life style. Just shoot me now.

I used to love the rain on a Saturday afternoon. I used to like to sit in the window and read until my heart was content. I used to help Henry read and study for tests. I was too exhausted during the week. After coming home from work, I had to clean the house, which mostly just meant picking up Henry and his friends' trash throughout the house. And boy could they generate trash! Then I would go about cooking dinner, hoping he would be on time so I would not be eating alone which usually meant I would be sleeping alone too. So I should be used to it, right? But on Saturdays
I would be left alone to read Henry's law books. It was my job to write down
bulletins and important stuff or sayings for him. I didn't mind, I loved reading. This way I could do what I loved and help, whom I thought was my loving husband.

When I think back, it once again brought to my attention that he was using me. He got to party with his friends while I not only paid the bills, I did the housewife thing and I did his home work. You know if it was not for me he would not have passed his classes. He wouldn't have. Henry was never good at reading; in fact I'm surprised he got into college,
let alone law school. He
probably cheated, because he sure as hell didn't work hard. While he was struggling on the first chapter, I was already on the third
book. I'm no
t crazy smart, he is just crazy dumb.

Now Saturdays are awful. Three people crammed into a small apartment, there are many conflicts. Such as the great lemon incident. Long story short, I noticed that my freshly chosen and purchased lemons were gone. It was around 11pm and I was overtired, but I was determined to stay up until midnight, I need to do something young people do. To feel alive again. What? Twenty-seven isn't that old!

"Where are my lemons?" I screamed after opening the fridge and discovering that they were missing. No, not missing, kidnapped.

"No, nobody touched your damn lemons." Shouts Sara who was in the process of cutting Ruby's hair on the living room floor.

"Then where are they?" I snap.

"Maybe you ate them." Ruby snaps back. She is always on Sara's side. I'm getting really sick of my own roommates being against me. They teamed up and I'm always the odd man out.