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May 15, 2011

Just another awkward true story from the dating life of your’s truly…

Several years ago I met this guy at a bar when I was out with my friends. He was completely normal and charming and cute. I mean he walked right up to me and started talking about some really funny stuff. That literally never happens to me, so at the end of the night I gave him my number without even a second thought. Well, a week or so went by (ok, it was 10 days) and I never heard from him. I wasn’t completely surprised; it really did seem too good to be true. That’s why I was so excited the afternoon I got a call from a number I didn’t recognize, and it turned out to be him. We ended up talking for awhile and even met up a few days later. We went out a couple of times and had a really good time. One Saturday night, he invited me out to a friend’s birthday party where we proceeded to get blind drunk. Ok, I proceeded to get blind drunk (I didn’t know anyone, what was I supposed to do). At the end of the night he took my keys and told me to just come home with him. I figured what the hell, I hadn’t been to his place yet.

We pulled up and it was literally a mansion.

“Holy shit Paul! What do you do for a living again?”

“Don’t worry about it, let’s just get inside and go to bed. You are ridiculous right now.”

We walked in.

“OH MY GOD! Your home is BEAUTIFUL! Are you serious!?”

“SHHHHHHHH! Keep your voice down you are going to wake the dogs!”

We went upstairs to his room and I immediately passed out. I dreamed of throwing up in a gold plated toilet the next morning surrounded by dishes of caviar, then crawling down the stairs to rest in a red velvet throne next to Paul surrounded by six German Shepherds.

The next thing I remember is waking up with an incredible headache. Bright sunlight was blasting me in the face through the skylight directly above my head.

Skylights? This guy is seriously a baller, what the fuck? He’s white and he has a beard, so I know he’s not a rapper. His friends are all like band guys, and he is always wearing assorted concert tee-shirts… maybe he’s like a record executive or something…

I slowly sat up and looked around the room. There were two Southpark posters on the wall, a wooden shelf on the wall with a bunch of CD’s. To my left was a gigantic cage. A weasel poked it’s head out of a pile of woodchips blinked at me and crawled back out of site.

God what is up with this guy? He has this serious house and he picks the smallest room and decks it out High School circa 1998 to sleep in? Is he messing with me? Is this just a funny guest room? I mean he is obviously loaded, he can do whatever he wants. How eccentric, it’s kind of…

That’s when I heard it.


What the fuck is that?


“Paul! Wake up, is that your butler!? Do you have an intercom system and you have butlers that have prepared you a meal? Is this really happening right now?”

Paul reached behind me to the intercom console on his bedside table and pressed a button.

“I’ll be right down Mom.”


“Are you fucking joking!? I can’t go downstairs and have breakfast with your family! I honestly thought this was your house! I just fucking met you! My shirt is still soaked in beer, I smell like a bar bathroom! Do you actually have a pet weasel!? Am I dreaming right now!? Is there a fire escape!? Can I please… God, PLEASE crawl out your window and go home. You gotta take me home!”

“Are you done?”

I took a deep breath and looked down at Transformers bed sheets.

“Here, put this on.” He threw a Slayer t-shirt at me.

“My sister lives here too… and my older sister and brother-in-law are in town. Also, the neighbors come by every Sunday for brunch, so you will meet them too.”

So I put on the Slayer t-shirt and had a very nice brunch with the entire extended family and next door neighbors of the man-child I had been dating for only a week and a half.