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…
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.
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.
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.”