Archive | July, 2012

Psychopath Dating – Neil Diamond, Nerf Guns & Nudes

28 Jul

As you know, I have a habit of dating psychotic freak shows.

I planned to craft this dating blog post about my ex Sam, another Cleveland dating disaster, for quite some time. However, the tale is so disturbingly fucked up, yet funny, yet sad… I couldn’t fathom how to put this revolting mess into words. I still don’t kow. But here we go…

dating a psychopath, dating a sociopath American Psycho

I found the American Psycho on Match.com

Sam had all the signature traits of a psychopath. The first dating red flag that our relationship was doomed? A giant framed movie poster of “American Psycho” is the first thing I saw when I  entered his apartment. It’s in the main hallway next to the front door and impossible to miss. He was grossly infatuated with the film. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a great movie, but his fixation was a bit over the top.

American Psycho aside. I had been dating Sam for two months or so when the following incident occurred. I found out about it later on. I’m still disturbed… mostly because I didn’t dump him immediately.

Sam’s douchebag college buddies were in town for the 2011 holiday season. He had an insatiable urge to impress these guys, so he hired a prostitute to come over and entertain them. I mean, what better way to flaunt your success than with a seedy prostitute? Perhaps it was a stripper, but he used the term “prostitute” to describe her multiple times, so let’s go with prostitute.

Did they make her perform a strip tease? Have sex with them (not that I know of at least….)? Masturbate in front of them? No.

prostitute hooker

Sam bought these colossal Nerf guns for his nephews for Christmas. (Mind you, he bought these while on a shopping outing with me) Apparently, he wanted to give them a trial run on a prostitute. Sam ordered the prostitute to go into his room, undress and wait. He cued up “Coming to America” by Neil Diamond for her grand entrance.

Sam and his buddies proceeded to shoot her with Nerf guns to the tune of “Coming to America” on repeat. When they finished a round, she had to pick up the Nerf pellets and return them so they could continue their game.

I was floored. He seemed sincerely proud of himself for causing this woman total hNeil Diamond concertumiliation. Even as he fessed up, he was cracking up with laughter. It was sick. A strip club is one thing, but this?

One morning about a week later, I woke up to him listening to “Coming to America.” I wanted to vomit. I forced him to turn it off. I tried to write the prostitute ordeal off as no big deal, but I knew better. I couldn’t erase it from my mind. How can one person get off on the degradation of another? I still can’t listen to “Coming to America” without my stomach turning in complete disgust.

Thankfully, our “relationship” ended soon after.

My new relationship goal is simple – to not find a man whose inspiration stems from Christian Bale’s character in “American Psycho.”

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Cleveland Dating Disasters – Dude, You Ruined My Couch!

23 Jul

Anyone know of a decent upholstery cleaner in the Cleveland area?

I recently dated another run-of-the-mill yuppie Cleveland douchebag guy from Match.com. He owned a nice boat and I had some time to kill, so I just went with it. If you’re gonna date around like I do, it’s never a bad idea to keep at least one boat owner in circulation. You know?

I'm on a boat

I’m on a boat

My friends and I went out on his boat a few times (my way of saying “thanks for listening to all my shit.”). Plus, he took me to some nice restaurants. I tried to like the guy, but in reality he pretty much just sucked. He sucked at conversation. He sucked at kissing. He sucked in bed. He sucked at returning texts/calls. He loved wearing salmon-colored shirts. Seriously, he just sucked.

He came over to watch a movie with me one night. We were lying on my couch and out of nowhere he began to sweat profusely. Not just a little perspiration, he was virtually drowning in his own sweat. I couldn’t bear to lay next to him since his sweat was soaking into my clothes.

Wet Guy

Wet Man

I forced him to lie on the other end of the couch with his head by my feet. His skin had turned bright red and was secreting more fluid than I’m sure is humanly possible. It was like he ran a marathon.. in South Florida… in August. Or I cranked the heat up to 100 degrees in my apartment and we had some hot love making session (yeah, right). But no, we were just watching some movie where George Clooney’s wife dies.

Making him move did little to alleviate my discomfort and disgust. I could feel heat radiating off his boiling skin. I cranked up my air conditioning to the point that I was shivering under a blanket, but he just kept sweating away. I had to get him out, so I did what anyone in my situation would’ve done and faked sickness. I used the always reliable headache/nauseous ailment. It wasn’t a total lie, the thought of Mr. Secretion spending the night with me & sweating up my bed was making my stomach turn. It worked – after the movie he went home and I went to bed (Way to go Summer!).

As I sipped my coffee on the couch the next morning, I was suddenly overwhelmed by the pungent scent of man-sweat. The foul smell sent me running for the Febreeze. As I doused my couch with stench repellant, I couldn’t help but notice the sun shining directly on a brown stain that formed an exact outline of Mr. Secretion’s head. oozing

I stood in disbelief – he oozed all over my beloved couch.

It’s been a little over a month since we’ve spoken. The aftermath of his seeping secretions lingers on. An outline of a sweaty head remains and if you dare put your nose near the soft and cushy armrest, you’ll be greeted by an unpleasant odor. Like the scent of skunk, it’s nearly impossible to fully get rid of!  So, out of this relationship… I got a few boat rides, some bad makeout sessions… and an eventual bill to have my couch professionally cleaned.

I’ve done worse.

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