Divorced Dating and Damn Drama (14 page)

"No, she is pregnant. We are going to keep her on the ground." I say with authority. What? Pregnant women should not be standing on desks. Me and Posh share a glare down. Then he releases her and goes back to the front.

"Look to the person to your left, now look to the person on your right." He begins. The woman starts making noises like she in is pain. I think she might be having contractions.

"I think it's labor. We should get to the hospital." I say franticly.

"A pregnant lady having a baby, that too predictable, she is fine." Said Posh going back to his speech.

"Are you for real!" I shout over him.

"I'm a doctor. I know what I'm doing." He assures me.

"No you are not." I say getting between him and the pregnant lady.

"I have a PhD." He says matter-of-factly.

"In theater. You have a PhD in theater." I shout. Trying to get him to see that he has no idea what he is talking about.

"PhD means doctor." He says trying to overpower me with his voice.

"Not a medical doctor, not a medical doctor!" I shout taking out my phone and calling for an ambulance. This whole town is freaking crazy.

So I get to go to another meet up event. This one is an hour away but only cost 20 bucks and they promised me a voucher for a restaurant near their event. I plan to use it tonight. Why? Because I'm not going to drive an hour for a food voucher for one, that's why. After a month of battling with the insurance company, I was able to finally get a small two door, blue rental car. I love it, but I don't own it, so I'm kind of afraid something is going to happen to it knowing my luck. I also am not wearing a wig, so I will no longer be responsible for poverty. Remember, that's what Greg said the other night.

I walk in to what looks like a former jail. The air is cold and musty. I swear I hear faint cries coming from the walls. I maneuver carefully around the suspicious people here. Everyone looks strange, I'm an hour out of my sweet little town and I am thrown in to an alternate universe. The people here are not just weird internet folk, they looking like deviants. As I slide past one he grabs at my purse, causing me to spring around and land on a wall. I quickly turn back, expecting an attack and fin
d none. People
moving about like ghosts, not seeing, not realizing. I start talking and learn that it is a jail that has
been rented out for this event. Is that
legal? Granted there are no convicts, oh sorry. No innocent until proven guilty individuals here, but come on. I see computers and papers just oddly sitting on desks. This sounds like a risk. What if someone, oh I don't know, stole files or hacked the system? I glance around me to see if anyone notices me snooping. Am I a criminal just thinking about this? Hmm maybe I should keep my mouth shut then. I go back to stand with the zombie crowd.

"Hi, My name is Marissa and I work for Gossip Magazine. I live with two delightful roommates." I sing.

"Oh roommates. "Kyle shouts, I know his name is Kyle because we have to wear name tags.
Red hair, red stubble, and a black leather jacket. His
cologne is awful though, just bad. He smells like a rotting carcass. But I'm going to power through it. So,
back to the question.
He asks a valid question why don't I live on my own? However, after hearing the same damn question over and over again I can get a bit cranky.

"Well, Kyle, I live with roommates because I can't afford to live on my own. Yes, I have been married before. "I stammer. Why do I feel under attack when someone just asks me a simple question?

"Were you submissive?" Kyle asks, getting a little excited. He grinds and I notice he has a cracked tooth in the back of his mouth.

"No, it wasn't a 50 Shades of Grey deal." I say looking away. That damn book, just causing me trouble and giving everyone else pleasure.

"That's the ideal life style for a women your age." Kyle
says matter-of-factly.
Oh, I was not aware that it was the ideal life style for women my age.
Um, maybe because it's not.
"You just know what every man is looking for. Women in this country
are so selfish. Men want someone who will wait on them."
He states, as if reading off a piece of paper. Wait? What country are you talking about? Ireland? He does realize he is the definition of ginger.

" Sorry, I'm not an ideal person." I say. I want to say more, but other potential men might overhear and I must be wise by not making everyone here think I'm a total bitch. He then mouths that I'm going to hell. "Yes I know I'm going to hell. Why does everyone keep telling me I'm going to hell? That's not an original insult."I spit out. Plus there is a whole website about it, so it isn't really an opinion it's more like a trend. I'm trending, is that a good thing? It must be! Everyone likes things that are trending.

The bell rings and a new m
an sits at my table. His name is
Garry Morrison. He is very clean. Mental note to chock one up for Garry. He has dark rimmed glasses and his hair kind of resembles Alfalfa's hair, remember from the Little Rascals. No? Just me, I'm just old. He is sweating a lot. Maybe he is nervous, that's kind of cute.

"You think I have a nice name?" He stammers, wiping his forehead with a napkin. "That is the nicest thing I have heard all day." He then proceeds to thoroughly put on Chap Stick.

"I'm sorry that's the nicest thing you have heard all day." He babbles on more about his last relationship then informs me he has cats. "I have cats also. Tell me about them." I gleefully say.

"They are dead. All of them!" Garry leans in, clutches my hands and stares at me. His eyes are black as coal. It is terrifying. A bead of sweat roles off his nose and lands with a splash on my hands.

"Oh, they are dead. I'm sorry to hear that." I say freeing my hands.

He grabs my hands again and leans in to whisper "My cats told me you would be here." Garry licks his lips. "Did your cats tell you I would be here?" He spits at me while he talks.

"No, my cats do not talk to me." There is an awkward pause.
I look down the tables
at the men who soon be seated before me and realize that the night isn't going to be getting better. I look back at him. He is just staring at me with his coal eyes. I feel I have to say something, before he eats my soul. "Yeah, we just don't have that special bond. It is a tragedy. "He leans over and strokes my hair with his hot breath hitting my face. What is this? Is he wearing make up? Yes, I think he is. Mental note: remove any mental points for Garry. Ding. Another hour of this and I get my voucher.

After getting my voucher I look at it and read "all you can eat buffet"?! Score. I hurry as fast as my sore blistered little feet can take me all the way to my rental car. Once I approach my car and get in, I look up to realize the windshield is not only cracked but there is glass all over the passenger seat. Really? My car. I'm not driving a Grand Am here people. This car is barely a step up from my old one. Can I drive home in this? Better call triple A, there goes 100 bucks and then some. I can't help but think that all these series of unfortunate events aren't so coincidental after all. I call triple A and they said it could take up to 2 hours, feeling defeated I scan my surroundings looking for a sympatric ear and spot the buffet. I look down at my voucher, 'All you can eat' I read out loud. Well there is my silver lining. I scurry out of the dark into the welcoming restaurant. I scan the room; I'm the only one here. Yes!

"You are going to hell!" is a common phrase that I have heard. Not only from online daters but friends and family as well. It has come to a point where it is conditioned in my mind. If someone tells me that I'm going to hell, I react as if someone has told me that they ate a hamburger for lunch. I don't necessarily think this is wrong but it isn't right either. Now, I'm not talking about imposing religious believes, that is a whole other story, I'm purely talking about the you're going hell phrase. I have to admit I'm not an avid church attendee and perhaps this plays a part in the saying however I think it's much deeper than that. I think people are just not clever with an insult. I have so many faults that it is laughable that they couldn't come up with one clever insult. I know an insult is an insult, but a clever one is just worth more in my opinion.

I really want another pet, but Sara says I'm pushing it with the five cats I already own. Maybe she is right. "Oh my little guinea pig, I will have to leave you behind at the pet store." I coo as I place him back in his open pen filled with various rabbits and other guinea pigs. Oh, I wanted that one; I swear he looked just like me. I leave the store empty handed, I know if I can't have another animal I shouldn't look, but I do anyways. I'm like a child, I just want to look. I get in my car and try to start it. Broom broom broom. It doesn't start. Three more times and it finally kicks on, you know if I'm having this much trouble with a rental car I really should buy another Junker. I mean it's not like my car is worth being fixed.

The Gossip College is having initiations into the fraternities and sororities this week. Normally I would not care but a member in our complex is apparently being rushed in a fraternity and he was weird to begin with but now he is downright creepy. Sara finds his antics amusing. His name is Patrick Haggle, 19, and has egged me in my living room, thanks to the help of Sara. I was just sitting reading on the couch and he runs in and eggs me. Then takes my photo and posts it online. I hate the internet, it is destroying my life. Whoever said they want to be internet famous, I think you have suffered a brain injury. Being hated by the town online and in person is like being double hated. It sucks, but back to the story. Sometimes I think she gets off making me suffer. She says she is going to create a website called 'pranking Mar' then charge people to prank me. She literally wants to profit from my humiliation. She says it's a great way to make money. For her maybe; but , for me, not so much. So now it's Friday, the last day of pranking and I admit I'm on the edge of my seat. Well not really, the pranks have all been pretty stupid.

"What are you doing?" Asks Sara stepping out of the bathroom.

"I'm just waiting for you to team up with Patrick and prank me." I say in a monotone voice flipping through the channels on the TV. So many channels, so little to watch.

"Oh, yeah... About that-" she begins.

"What about that?" I cut her off.

"Turns out he was never trying to get into a fraternity." Sara says meekly and kicks at the floor.

"So he was just picking on me for fun?" I ask directing my attention back to the TV.

"Yeah." She said and then sat down.

"So I'm just going to leave then, because frankly I'm disgusted by your actions." I set the remote down and head outside for some fresh air. After I get outside I realize why I don't go outside after work. The chain smokers. There are maybe about twenty women, on a good night, just sitting on lawn chairs, just making smoke stacks from their mouths. In order to get away from their killer smoke I decide to go swimming. It is getting to spring and although it not hot out yet it is getting there. This being Friday and me not having done laundry yet, I was wearing my bathing suit already.

I get into the surprisingly warm water. This is nice, with the chain smokers there are no kids in this pool. I just float in the water and relax from my week of pranking. This is so relaxing, the water sloshing against the side of the pool, the cloud of smoke from the cigarettes floating above. I lay there on a floaty someone left at the pool. It is a little sticky, probably someone spilled soda on it. Anyways, this thing is not fully inflated so as a result every so often the water sloshes into my mouth, soon a cigarette floats dangerously close to me so I kick my feet away from it heading closer to the deep end. I hear faint music in the background as I close my eyes and slip into a light sleep. What? I'm on a floaty and just below the smoke line so I'm good.

I'm suddenly awakened and I find the vessel I was commandeering, the floaty, is taking in water. Oh no I'm sinking. Abandon floaty! I jump into the water and when I rise up to get some air, I feel someone grab my shoulders and push me down. Someone is now holding me down in the water. I thrash and thrash. I grab onto the perpetrator's arm and pull them under. We then had an epic water fight. My eyes are closed as I am blindly moving my arms due to the high chlorine level. The chlorine burns my eyes, there I said it. So anyways, I kick, scratch and pull hair, trying not to drown. One second I bob up to take a breath of air then the next second I'm being pulled down again. I have no concept of time and all my joints ache. I'm struggling so hard, I can't keep this up. I'm not physically strong enough; I know they are going to win eventually. I keep up the charade for quite some time... then the water finally gets a hold of me, filling up in my lungs. I had so much I had wanted to do; I wanted to go to college to learn a trade, and ,of course, to own a guinea pig. My eyes feel so heavy and I slowly drift into what I can only think is a death sleep.

I awaken on the side of the pool coughing up water. I slowly open my eyes only to see a cloud of smoke. I slowly get up and look around. All I see are the chain smokers gabbing about what their dogs look like. I slowly get up and grab my clothes. I sulk back to the apartment, with a new lease on life. Well not really, but I don't want to die alone, now I'm more determined than ever to find a mate.

You might be wondering why I didn't call the cops. Well, what would I tell them? Someone tried to drown me then changed their mine and ended up saving me, also I have no idea who they are and it's not like the smokers are going to speak up in my defense. Why waste my time looking like a fool.

Cookies! Yes! I will bake cookies for my date. Rubio is perfect and we have video chatted a total of nine times and each time was better than the last. He is 29, lives with five other guys in a loft, has a fancy beard and has face tattoos. I look at the clock, an hour until he is scheduled to arrive. I rush to the kitchen to make some wonderful homemade chocolate chip cookies. I really am a good baker. I often baked for Henry, and I love baking again. It just feels right. I skip around the kitchen baking and feeling blessed.