Divorced Dating and Damn Drama (4 page)

He informed me he made a smashing viral video trailer for a movie he planned to direct. I received the link, it has forty two views, one like (probably from the guy), and two dislikes. Correct me if I'm wrong, but how does this video count as viral. Talk about exaggerating. It also wasn't even a trailer but a crudely directed and shot scene from, I guess, his movie. I did kind of pity the guy, he tried, right?
he made a bit of effort, so I decided to cut him some slack
. See, I told you I wasn't critical. I asked him how he was going to make this movie and so on. He then gives me his pitch, in which he asks
for 2,000 dollars, saying it will be in a theater near me next week (it has not been shot yet and
whether or not there is a script was never answered). He informs me his movie can only be made if I wire him the money today. I am, apparently, the only thing standing between him and a block buster. Well, I know a little about movies, not much, but a little. I think it might take more than a week and 2k to make a movie that will be in a theater near me in a week. He disagreed and proceeded to spend the next hour cursing me out and psycho messaging me. I told Sara about my conversation with this man and she burst out laughing.

'"Forty two views!" She laughs so hard she almost falls off her chair and onto the floor.

"Well, maybe it will get more." I stand up for random internet guy, who even I know is delusional.

"But forty two views? I can video take myself taking a poop and I would get thousands of views." She giggles.

"Come on, Sara. Not everyone can be a star by wearing revealing clothing." I jab at her ego.

"What is your problem? Are you really standing up for a guy work asked you for two grand?" She demands.

"I have a problem" I admit. "I just feel obliged to stick up for those being offended." I say meekly.

"Then give him the two grand. What do I care" She storms out. She is right. I saw this guy as scum, so why does that change when cheer captain makes fun of him? He is still a douche. Why do I feel the need to defend the underdog, when clearly the underdog has nothing going for him? He is not an underdog if you think about it. I am. He was the one who bullied me for two grand, and then when I refused he continued to pick on me relentlessly. This does count as harassment, right? So why do I feel bad making fun of him?

People normally love giving out information. It validates them. I did this, accomplished that, hey you check it out. Me on the other hand, I hate it. I hate it because there is only so much drama I can take. Once they see your work they don't just judge it, but you as well. Oh, you work for Gossip Magazine, well I hate that. It's so anti-men and the women are all heifers. Judging is fun. Better now than never right? Wrong. They take what you feel pride in and they rip it to shreds. Like the dogs they are.

One of my many exploits lead to me a man who saw himself as a king. His name was Henry; yes that is the same name as my ex. It is weird, but I feel I shouldn't discard a man purely based on his name, right? Henry had a strong manly jaw line with just enough whiskers to accent his strong bone structure. His eyes were a deep hazel green. His brows were dark and thick resting ever so slightly above his eyes. He has a musky manly sent, probably from working at the motorcycle repair shop. He exuded confidence, from the way he walked to the way he commanded the room. I was impressed, such confidence, how could I not be. Little did I know he didn't see me as his queen. We went out to a nice upscale restaurant, you know, Denny's. He talked about this and that. I was engaging, laughing at his non funny jokes. His cup became empty and he asked me what he should do.

I said, "Wait and someone will come along." I adjust my weight so I appear taller. I smooth my skirt under the table debating whether or not to play
footsie
with him. Do people my age do that? Play footsie that is.

"I am a king, and a king never waits." Henry says with authority. An awkward silence ensued. I discretely look around me. Did anyone hear him? Is he making another joke? It's hard to tell, none of his jokes were funny so maybe he is making a joke. "You need to go fetch me a new root beer." Henry bellows. Really? I need to do this? I am generally confused on what exactly is going on.

"Yeah, no, you can just wait." I say, trying to laugh it off. Henry then gets belligerent. Is it just me or is he trying to mimic my ex husband. I admit it's a little creepy.

"You need to stop being selfish, learn your place and get me a root beer." Henry shouts with a roar of thunder. Wow! Now everyone is staring. I wish I was a turtle, and then I could just poke my head into my shell and hope he leaves. But I am not a turtle, sadly, so I must speak. I'm not really a confrontational person but I think everyone can take offence when they hear the words "learn your place."

"Hello, this is a date, your majesty. Your name may be Henry but you are not the king of France. In fact we are not in France. We are in a little place called America.
There are no kings here!
" I shout. This is where he throws down his napkin and storms out. I would say I got a standing ovation, but I didn't. In fact
I had to pay his part of the bill. Things w
ork great in the movies but in reality they just suck.

That night I was spilling my guts on Sara's shoulder. Her sweater is so soft. Is it Cashmere? I look up at her and she nods. Can she read my mind? Creepy, but anyways how can she afford silk? Back to me being upset. My mascara is running as I tell her that I was not his Queen. It is the stupid stuff I get upset about. There is no logical reason to be upset, but that is emotions for you. My emotions defy logic at every turn. Ruby is staring at me and she is not blinking. I have to say I have never met a woman with such long eyelashes. She is a parasite just waiting for Sara, the host, to move in such a way that she can latch
herself on. I really want a
symbiotic relationship with a man. My last husband was a parasite, sucking my emotions and bank account dry. I think a lot of the men I meet are parasites. They just want what I have or what they think I have. Bad analogy, but you get what I'm trying to say. I look back at Ruby. I hope she is high, because she is creeping me out.

Sara actually sided with me. I know it doesn't sound like a lot, but she never does. She said that even though I'm old I should always be treated like a queen. It's the nicest thing I've heard all night. She then informs me I have been talking out loud and I should never tell anyone my parasite theory because then they will commit me to a mental institution. Then Ruby comes over and start petting my head and whispers "If they don't, I will" and then she maintains direct eye contact for a good five seconds before scurrying off into her room. She is a weird one, that one. She is more of a rat really.

I'm lying in my bed and thinking wouldn't it be nice to stay here.
To stay safe in my cocoon of a room
. I look out the window and my mind wanders
. It's a hard life out there, everyone is so mean. Henry this, Henry that.
I sit up on my bed and look at my computer
. And you-you are so cruel.
I lean back down and just lie there.
Here is the only place I feel safe. No one watching, no one judging me and most importantly it's where my chips are located
. I roll over and grab at my stash. Stash of chips that is. I pull an unopened bag on my bed and dig in.
Henry never let me eat chips. He told me that it was for poor people. Rich people didn't eat chips. I don't know why he though this, maybe it has something to do because chips are cheap. I was deprived of chips for my six year imprisonment with him. I used to hate being alone, but now I enjoy it. I enjoy lying here on a Saturday morning and not having anything to do. My life is a lot quieter now and I get to read the books I want to. I love reading, I always have.
I pull a book out from under my pillow.
Last night I was transported into another realm filled with witches and wizards.
I think back to a conversation I had last night with self proclaimed Rapper.

"Why don't you do something productive with your life" R.T. Drizzle said. That is his rapper name, R.T. Drizzle. Am I the only one who thinks his name sounds
ridiculous
. If I was a rapper
I would be called nothing. Why? I wouldn't be a rapper. I just don't have any interest in anything like that.

"Reading is producing." I text back. What? It is. Reading is good, T.V. told me so.

"No it is not, it is for fools." R.T. Drizzle texted back.

"Then I'm a fool." I respond then put my phone on the desk and left it there.

Today's going to be my day I think. A day where I only do what I want to do. And all I want is to lay here, eat my chips and read. I lay there for a good five minutes then realize I need to do my laundry or it will be bikini underwear, again. I get up and grab my laundry bag then head down to the laundry mat. Is it just me or has anyone realized that if you work five days a week then your weekend is just filled with chores you failed to complete during the week.
Saturday is chore day.

I'm so desperate for affection I often get sucked into doing everyone's work. This is true in all aspects of my life. Dating is no exception. I want so badly for someone to approve of me, to like me, that I sacrifice my happiness in order to try to make them smile. I give them anything I can. One man in particular was a singer. He was on YouTube and yes he can actually sing. The problem was he couldn't write. I'm no expert and I have never written a song before, but when he asked me to, I of course said yes. I stayed up all night looking up rhythms and similes. Wanting so desperately for him to like my work. Why? I thought if he liked my work he would keep me around and maybe, over time, like me. He didn't of course. He hated me and my stupid song. He told me to pick a different genre and send him another one. And like a host I did. Remember my theory about parasites and hosts? Yeah well I'm referring to that. Over and over again I let the parasite suck at me in my determination to please him.
They're just slowly sucking the life out of me and I'm letting them.
A week passed and I had sent him a total of 20 songs. He got fed up with my worthless talent, I never claimed to have, and he "fired me." I did not know I was ever hired... A month went by and I went on with my miserable life. Then he messaged me again. We got to talking a bit, he informed me he sold my songs and was able to fund his music video. I really doubt that, not that he sold them but that he got enough to fund his music video. Am I right? Anyways, he informs me that I must write him a 'good' song this time. You know, because all the other songs I wrote that paid for his music video were considered bad. I have to tell you that when you work hard to impress someone and they sell your work then have the audacity to demand you to write them another song it really makes you take a good look at yourself and humanity.

I hate my job, I do. I am not valued and I'm treated horribly. My boss is a dragon lady and even she is an assistant. Do you know the saying, shit rolls down hill? Well it is true and I am literally at the bottom of the hill where it forms a pool. I work in a cesspool. How can I work fifty hours a week and still go into debt living the way I do? Look around people. I'm not living upscale, in fact if I go anymore down scale I'll be living out of a box. Also I have discovered that telling people I work for Gossip Magazine can backfire, here's how.

"So you work for Gossip Magazine?" Asked Thomas, 22, self proclaimed surfer. We sit at this lovely patio set in this lavish court yard. I had no idea a place like this existed. We didn't agree to eat, but before he got here I had ordered a nacho for me, or we could split it, if he insisted. I know he doesn't though. I just have a habit of meeting people who eat my food and it would be nice if I could eat my own food for once in my life.

"Yes, yes I do." I say proudly, straightening up to exude more confidence. The nachos arrive and I offer him some. He looks disgustedly at the nachos and shakes his head. Good, more for me. Do you want to know a secret? If you answer the riddle on the board they give you free nachos. This place is amazing, can anyone say cloud 9.

"So do I have to sleep with you to get on the cover?" Thomas asks in monotone. Turing his head ever so slightly that it appears jarred. Well this is getting interesting and I shove a loaded nacho into my mouth transfixed. If this was a movie this part would be the good part. I wish I had a soda. I just feel a soda would enhance the whole experience.

"No, why would you?" I ask, squinting in skepticism.

"Oh, so you will just put me on the cover then. Nice!" He says folding his neatly manicured fingers on the table. I pull my nachos closer to me. I stare at his nails and soon realize they are coated with a clear nail polish.

"What? No." I say, snapping back into the conversation.

"Why not?" Thomas asks twitching his upper lip and right eye.

"First, I don't have the power." I say drawing back in my seat.

"Can't you just talk to someone?" Thomas hisses. His eyes now locked on mine.

"No" I say sleepily. Should I run at this point? This guy does not seem stable.

"Come on, just do it, for me." He left his mouth slightly open and I notice his hands have moved from their folded position and are now under the table gripping the sides of my chair.

"The answer is still no." I say scooting my chair out of his grip.

"Why are you against me?!" He assumes, his voice deepening into a roar.

"I'm not against you. I'm just not going to get you on the cover" I cry.

"Well this was a waste of time." He spits, and then proceeds to flip the table, knocking over my nachos, and storms off towards my car. I watch him leave thinking, not the car, anything but the car. Luckily he maneuvers out of the parking lot, just barely missing it. I let out a gasp of air. Well that was awkward. The entire courtyard is now staring at me. I grab my purse then make a speedy getaway. My car got away scot free but my nachos were ruined. Oh my nachos. I will morn for you until I get home and find something else to eat. But alas, it will never be the same. I think maybe I have an obsession with food. Just maybe.