If You Hang Out In The Zoo, You Should Expect To Meet Only Monkeys

by gooseandsoda

And by Zoo I mean “Pretentious Bar” and by Monkey I mean “Douchebag”

I have been told by friends that I need to be more open, and less jaded and cynical when it comes to men. I would like to think I’m just “picky,” but if I’m being honest with myself, it really just boils down to my giant ego forcing me to turn down any man who isn’t a Nobel Prize winning billionaire supermodel. Idiotic trolls need not apply.

I have a fantasy about meeting a great man in the grocery store, but I say “fantasy,” since I only ever meet guys in bars. And I like to frequent one particular neighborhood with one particular type of clientele, which basically means that I am dooming myself to never meet anyone I even remotely respect. I am all for trying to be more open, but given the limited range that I know I am giving myself to work with, I would prefer to be able to continue to spew hate.

I was recently at my favorite “Hot New Pretentious Establishment” where you could literally firebomb the fucking building and the world would be a better place for the dregs of humanity that died in the resulting inferno, when some overly served gentleman approached me. I was drunk too, and I still despised him the second he opened his mouth. He wasn’t even good looking. I was polite to him, and he had a couple friends that my two girlfriends seemed relatively interested in, so I played nice. At some point one of my girlfriends gave me A Look and I knew it was safe to peace out on the guy. I tried to escape and he asked for my phone number. In the spirit of trying to heed good advice for once in my life, I gave him the right one.

The next day he said he was to be the “doctor of the evening” for the symphony, and asked if I would like to accompany him. I guess this is some hoity-toity nonsense wherein big galas and certain venues request that a doctor with critical care training be present in case some old society doyenne’s brain starts to bleed when she sees the nouveau riche who have been allowed in and she tries to kick the bucket right in the middle of the theater/ballroom/museum – “Not on our insurance!” scream the owners.

Annnnnyway – I started to think maybe my friends were on to something here, and I had been wrong to write this guy off so fast. I mean, I can get over not being physically attracted to him if he wants to take me to the symphony and it was kind of cool to think that if the conductor had a seizure he’d be the one in charge of managing the situation. So I agreed to go.

And. Now.

Now I want 4 hours of my life back, even if it means I never ever got to see one of the world’s most renowned pianists play Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 20.

This guy was a Bro’s Bro, Bro. He actually used the word “bro,” unironically, many times in conversation. Actually, I should not use the word “conversation” here, as that would imply we had anything resembling a two-way dialogue. Instead, he chattered AT me incessantly both during the performance and for 2 hours afterwards about:

1. How much money his parents have

2. How many expensive watches he owns

3. How awesome he is at pool/his job/life

4. His frat brothers and that time one of them dared him to slip the words “anal fisting cock monger” into casual conversation at a wedding (and he did! SCORE BRO!! HIGH FIVE!! YOU’RE SUCH A REBEL! DID YOU SEE THEIR FACES?!?)

5. How all the nurses at his hospital hit on him and he has to reject them

6. How incredibly fucking smart and observant he is (although he apparently missed my eyes rolling so far back in my head they came out my asshole after he said that)

7. How he could literally be anything he wanted but he chose to be a doctor even though it meant being “poor” for 4 years while he completes his residency

8. How he was a total badass when he was younger and was arrested over 20 times and has scars all over his knuckles after getting in fights

9. How he owns all these nice clothes, but shoot damn he never gets to wear them since he’s in scrubs all the time

10. (The best, or worst, of all) How I just need to “cook him a few nice meals and offer to help him out” and then I can stick around. I gagged on my drink here, and shot him such a death look that he actually shut up for 2 blissful seconds BUT then he just couldn’t help himself and blurted out, “Well I mean, I took your number, took you to the symphony, bought you drinks, I mean come on, you gotta put in a little effort too!” I was literally rendered speechless and I think I just open-mouth gaped and blinked at him – not that it mattered as he continued to prattle on.

Needless to say, this ass clown will never hear from me again – or if I’m lucky, I’ll never hear from him again. And I will continue to frequent my favorite DBag-riddled haunts, which means I’ll continue to be “closed off” as I meet guys I would like to punch in the face, all while clinging to my grocery store fantasy man, and I am JUST FINE with all of that, thankyouverymuch.

If only I was willing to cook and help out a bit…