WTF Is Going On Out There: Pt. 3 of Draco to Tiny Race Cars

WTF Is Going on Out There:

Part Three of Draco to Tiny Race Cars

“If you own a home with wheels on it and several cars without, you just might be a redneck.”~Jeff Foxworthy

As we further delve into the pathetic depths of my dating life it has become apparent to me through the responses I have gotten that I am certainly not alone in my great talent to attract those with their freak flags all the way up on the pole. In fact, my good friend, who for the purposes of privacy and the keeping of authority at work we will call him “Kelso”; he has had a few amazing dates himself. In today’s post, he has submitted his version of events to the best of his memory. 
 
This is my blog though so… ladies first.


My decision-making skills while at clubs should be monitored like a freaking drunk that has had too much. They should just put me in a cab to go home as soon as I start handing out my number. Or taze me... This theory has been proven time and time again.
 


While living in my first apartment so many…. Uh… months ago; I met a young man who shared my same taste in music at the time. Only one song but you know you can really build on that… So whilst bumping the infamous Staind and Fred Durst “Outside” acoustic version duet from the “Family Values Tour” we drove around in his busted-up truck.

Still an awesome song. But I left my CD in BUTG’s truck…

Whatever happened to Fred Durst? 

Well anyway, it is not important. "Busted Up Truck Guy" drives me to South Carolina, which is not that far from my home… but I figured if he kidnapped me it was technically crossing state lines and then would be a federal case. Not sure that’s better, but it sounded good and completely logical at the time.
The idea was to go to this really cool bar/club, when I say really cool I do not mean that… it is a big damn lie that I told myself to justify going to this place. The place was/is called “The Money”. 

We never actually made it there. Instead, he wanted to drive me by his “homestead” which meant an empty pasture he planned to put a modular home on one day, or as he put it “if I can’t afford that I will get a trailer, but a nice one”. He looked at me all moon-eyed and said “WE could have us a yard full of kids! Look at all that space!”
 
I am sure I looked terrified and said “Easy there, cowboy… you ain’t even out of the fucking chute yet.” 
 
I have actually been taken to two homesteads, counting this one. The second was with one of those good guys. Still, I find it kind of freaky for the first time spending any amount of time together. The good guy at least waited until we had known each other a long time. I ramble…
 
He announces we had to go by the house of a friend of his and that it shouldn’t take long. Well alrighty then… When he said house I thought he meant one that had maybe a functioning door and not wax paper windows. The pit bull in the yard might have been a killer once, but I am fairly positive he was drunk. Or that unsteady walk of his was rabies, but he was on a chain at least. Inside the um, house. I am immediately informed to watch the “hole”. When they said hole… I had no idea that directly inside the front entrance would be a hole that dropped to the large crawlspace under the house… you had to kind of shimmy around it up against a wall. That shed paint chips on my nice, brand-new blouse I had purchased for an evening at a bar. 
 
Neither of the two individuals inside spoke English. They were from Mexico and were here to work. It kind of broke my heart that this living space was considered acceptable. I am not gonna judge though because they work hard and do work most of the rest of us would not want. This shit hole they lived in literally had a shit hole. Not the one at the front door, but when I asked to use the restroom I was shown to what might have once been a broom closet with a hole cut in the floor and a plastic bucket, the bottom cut out, and an obviously previously loved toilet seat affixed to the top. Being Southern, I have had the pleasure of an outhouse before. (Please allow me to fulfill all your freaking, stupid stereotypes.) This was not out… but in the house… and I found it wrong on so many levels. Yeah, just freaking wrong. 
 
I found my way back to the one room of the house that had a heater and took my seat on the available “chair” a cooler. I smiled at the two gentlemen sitting there looking at me. Language barriers have never been more uncomfortable for me. Busted up truck guy, was nowhere to be seen. I could see out the “entrance” that his truck was still there so he had to be close by… right? 
 
Turns out the friend he had come to see took him to his pot dealer’s house to make a purchase and pay off some gambling debt. As I sat there as I guess either the entertainment or collateral; I try not to dwell on that at night in the dark. When Busted up Truck guy, came back and I could see his purchase and that he had clearly been partaking on the way back. I told him I was sleepy and needed to go home. I had only sat on that cooler staring at two men, staring at me for four damn hours. I was beginning to worry and think about jetting for the door. Busted up truck guy, who did keep paging me telling me he was on his way. I guess his dealer lived in damn Georgia or something. 

The drive home which should have only taken about 45 minutes, took more like two and a half hours because I was not gonna let Busted up loser truck guy, drive. I have never been able to drive a stick shift and do not function well without power steering and as tall as I am I still had a lot of trouble reaching the pedals. So it did take a while to get myself home. Especially after Busted up loser truck guy passed out over his Cheerwine and bag of Fun Yuns. (Why do you only see people eat Fun Yuns when they are high?) I left him in his truck and went inside and slept for about 45 minutes before I had to get up and go to work at the coffee shop I worked at. On my way past his beat-up truck, I hit it with my baseball bat a few times… His dumbass was still passed out.
And now the part I am sure you have ALL been waiting for… Kelso’s contribution, so without further ado:

Under World:

Rise of the Taylor Lautners

“Crazy people don't sit around wondering if they're nuts.” ~Jake Gyllenhaal

I do LOVE me some Kate Beckinsale in leather….

 
I met this girl at work, many moons ago.  For the sake of not calling her by her real name, I will just refer to her as "Taylor". Taylor was into the Goth scene...replete with the long black hair, excessive eyeliner, and of course the usual aversion to anything that resembled sunlight.  We had been talking for a while before she asked me out.  Our first date was at a local watering hole, in downtown Fairfax, Va.  
 
We drove separately, a precaution on my part just in case she turned out to be too interesting for my taste.  I arrived at this place at about 10 pm, because apparently fake vampires and D&D players like to begin their evening activities at this hour.  This place was a converted auto repair garage.  It was old and well...creepy inside.  If you had to imagine where freaky people would hang out, then this was the place.  When I walked in, I immediately realized that I was in the minority here.  I was the only one there not dressed from head to toe in black, nor was I wearing a horned Viking helmet...yes, I said Viking helmet with horns. I must have missed the memo on that one.  I mean, I love to wear black too and I was that night, but it was relegated to my boots, an old biker jacket, and a five o'clock shadow, a month old. 
 
I found Taylor, but not without some difficulty, as she blended in with the crowd.  What caught my eye looking for her, however; was the rather large amount of cleavage she was sporting, impossibly wrapped in a black leather corset and a long black hippy dress.  She looked like a diminutive Elvira impersonator.   Taylor was with a few friends whose names escape me now.  I sat down, willing to give anything a try, however.  We all exchanged the usual greetings...you know, "Nice to meet you..." and "What's your opinion on drinking blood..." Everyone except “Red” a flaming red goateed guy; he just stared at me from across the table with this, "I am so going to eat your fucking face" look. 

I found it mildly annoying, so I ordered a beer to soothe myself and got the strangest looks from everyone. 
Taylor looked at me, aghast, and said, "We don't drink spirits here." 
 
"I'm not drinking spirits kid, I am drinking a beer."
 
Thinking she was pulling my leg, I took a huge swallow to demonstrate my lack of concern.  Taylor then proceeds to explain, with some additional commentary from her friends, that as vampires, they no longer imbibe on beverages that "Normals" do.... uh, Normals?... Really? At this point, I'm thinking that I don't care how nice of a rack Taylor has, it's time to go, but I was committed to finishing my beer first. 
 
It was at this point that the red goatee guy opens his mouth and says,
"I'm going to take this mortal trash outside and beat his ass."
This got my attention and I locked eyes with his.  "I wouldn't recommend that," I replied.
I didn't yell, nor did I cuss, rather I said what I wanted to and went back to drinking my "normal" beer.  It was at this point that he got up from his chair, walks within two arm’s length of me, and flaps his long leather coat open with a flourish...like he was Batman and growls that it is time for this mortal to leave.  I stay in my seat and without skipping a beat; I took another swallow of my beer and calmly told him to go fuck himself or whatever it is vampires do.  
 
Red makes a dive for me, making this crazy howling noise. Is there a vampire war cry? Is this guy for real? As he was flying through the air towards me, I slid my chair back just far enough to let him hit the floor...rather unceremoniously.  Not surprisingly, this pissed him off even more.  

I had stood up at this point, telling Taylor it was nice, but I was leaving now.  Just as she was about to say something to me, Red had collected his bat-ness and decided he was going to grab onto me.  Now, let me explain what happens to me when someone pushes my “piss me off button”  I don't like to be touched unless I know you and you have it like that.  I apparently bared my teeth and met his attack with what Taylor would describe as animal ferociousness. I picked him up, throwing him through the nearest window.  Not out...but through. 
 


I was more than angry at this point as I leapt out of the window after him.  There he lay, on the pavement, face cut up and his hands peppered with little shards of glass; now begging me to leave him alone.  What happened to "I'm going to take this mortal trash outside and beat his ass."? I think if I hadn't realized the severity of the situation I was in, I probably would have continued to pummel him into oblivion.  The owner of the joint comes up, looks at both of us, and tells us both to leave. Apparently, the smoke-in he was having in the stockroom warranted him NOT calling the police on us.  I left a murmuring, disbelieving crowd behind and went home to drink more beer, without "vampire" supervision. 
 
The next day went as usual, work sucked, couldn't wait to clock out, etc.  Taylor comes in at mid-day and takes me aside and with the most deadpan look I have ever seen, says to me, 
 
"How long have you been a werewolf?"
 
I laughed...surely she jests; right? Am I wrong? Isn't that crap supposed to happen in the movies or something? She keeps that same serious look on her face, as I finished laughing myself to tears. Then it dawns on me...Taylor was serious and she actually believed what she was saying. 
 


Taylor then proceeds to list off all the werewolf-esque qualities I had.  Never clean shaven, surly and sarcastic attitude, and more importantly, my rather long and natural canine teeth, (which I have since had shortened).  A werewolf, huh… okay, she said it made her hot, so I let her run with it. I am only a man.  Never once did I ever say that I was a werewolf, but never did I deny it either.  I'm not proud of it, but we did have a great run though. Seriously though, a werewolf…really?
 

Engelbert Humperdink: Pt. 2 of Draco to Tiny Race Cars

Engelbert Humperdinck:

Part Two of Draco to Tiny Race Cars
“A question that sometimes drives me hazy: am I or are the others crazy?” ~Albert Einstein
 
For the second installment of this tragic saga of horrible dates of which I am truly only skimming the surface of things, I have abided in hopes of finding that one true love. As shocking as it may seem to you I am a hapless, hopeless, closet romantic. In that quest, I have been willing to overlook some habits, teeth, significant height differences, and horrendous breath in order to give a poor gentleman a chance. That is not to say he won’t become the subject of my writings one day but at least to be fair I do change their names. Mostly to protect the “innocent” and selfishly to protect myself from asshole creepers; they are out there.
 
I am having some difficulty pinpointing one particular date for this chapter of the tale. Today my mind seems to wander to the good ones. The one I still long for, the one I never could figure out what happened, the best friend I had to let go, and the one that got away. They are the ones that I use as standard bearers for all the men I have dated. That is not to say that I have rejected gentlemen who did not meet all their unique qualities; more often I tend to ignore reason and attempt to save the pitiable “strays” I find or that follow me home; thus my tales of hilarity and sometimes heartbreak.
 
Twice I have had my name come back to bite me in the ass. 




First in high school from a guy I occasionally caught a ride to school with. I suppose I knew he had a little crush on me; I ignored it because I knew he had someone he called a girlfriend though he was a scoundrel and I was never sure he knew what the term girlfriend meant. Being a true Southern girl, I love big trucks. I am a sucker for all the stereotypical “Southern Male” traits. This guy had a nice truck, but every time he picked me up the Waylon Jennings song “Amanda” played ALL the way to school. He had some super extended long version of the song I have never found to be in existence. It is not a bad song but after hearing it for 20 minutes you really start to want to rip the tape deck or CD (I cannot remember which he had) out of the dash.

I do love this song…. but on repeat?

Several years later, I met up with a guy for a first date. He had one of the nicest cars of any guy I have ever gone on a date with. This time… the Boston song “Amanda” was blaring. When I say blaring I do not mean just really loud; I mean really fucking LOUD. Ear-splitting, eardrum bleeding, brain hemorrhage loud; to the point I could feel the vibrations through the car as it drove up. It is a great song but at 120 decibels, or whatever it was, it was not even music anymore.
 
Take note kiddies that loud music you “bump” WILL cause hearing loss.

Again… a good song… but not at deafening levels.

In this guy’s case brain damage; once he had managed to work out that I was not getting in the car he turned it down and rolled down the window. I am thinking to myself Sweet Jesus does he only date girls that have names he can match with a freaking song? Either way, he leans across the seat and asks if I want in. I look at him dead in the eye and tell him I was hoping he was going to turn the music down and come open the door for me. He laughed. Throughout the date, the song would reappear in the playlist. Each time he would mouth the words to me at any stop or pause or chance he got. I do not think I have to explain that impressing me with your knowledge of the lyrics to Boston songs is not really a panty dropper.

Is this really what romance has become; cheesy songs and the forgetting of basic gentleman behaviors? Has chivalry really died? Did the feminist movement really kill it? What happened to guys that bring you flowers on the first date or just anytime for no reason? Where is the guy that opens your door, not because he doesn’t think you can but because it is the nice thing to do? I want a guy that will not wear dirty boots/sneakers and ripped-up jeans the first time I introduce him to my parents. It is my parents, not fucking Tommy Lee. What happened to guys that know better than to curse in front of small children (no, not the pot calling the kettle black, I do know when to mind my language) and do not swerve to hit the cuddly animal crossing the road and then scream out the points they just scored as I hold back my vomit?
 
Are there still men out there who know that real women eat food and do not look like Gisele Bundchen? Sorry to inform you suckers, but Giseles happen to Tom Bradys and Leo DiCaprios, not you. Angelina Jolie gets Brad Pitt… average guys do not typically score that type of woman. The reason, you may ask; is because only other celebrities know that part of the business is hiding the bulimia.
 
That being said I am not looking for a superstar-looking man. I do firmly believe though that all women deserve to be treated like they are superstars. Ladies, sorry that does not mean you get to act like a diva. You should treat your respective man like he is your superstar. Unless either of you commit a “Deal Breaker” why wouldn’t you treat each other that way? My grandparents and parents do/did and they have never been divorced. There is no shame in thinking the girl you are out with is the most beautiful goddess you have ever freaking seen. Stop acting like fuckwits.

 
Enough of that tangent of a soap box…


In high school when I was still pretty new to the dating scene (obviously) I turned down a guy because he had long hair; I was attempting to let him down easy, you know give him something totally bitchy and picky so he would leave me alone thinking I was superficial. By the way that does not work, even now as an adult. This guy we will call him Hogan because he loved to lift weights and he needs a name because he is actually likely to come up again in another blog, another day. Hogan shows up at school the next day with a shaved head. Now what? Clearly, as an adult, I can see the flipping weirdo flag there. As a hormonal, idiot, teenager… yes I said idiot because something happens when hormones start pumping, guys can do nothing but stare at your boobs and girls become bitchy and total vapid morons at least when it comes to the opposite sex. Anyway, as a hormonal idiot, bitchy, vapid moron teenager I thought this Samson-esque offering was romantic and kind of sweet. Hogan did have nice deep brown eyes… and he was a good kisser once I let him kiss me. He did turn out to have a violent temper and be a heavy smoker. My parents hated him and my friends thought he was an asshole. All I could see was he was a bad boy and I was gonna fix him; save him from the tragic life ahead of him… see… Vapid. Freaking. Moron. 
 
Bad first dates are something of a collector’s item of mine. Like teddy bears and snowmen… I have a remarkable collection of horrible first-date tales. I met a guy at a club once and needed a date for a formal event. I asked him if he would be interested in accompanying me. As anyone can tell you judgment about first dates in clubs should be made once the house lights come up and you have had several large glasses of water. I was absolutely convinced that this witty, dance machine was the one for this event. So we exchanged numbers and I went on my merry way. Planning ensued and I gave him the address to my building and he picked me up.
 
In the biggest car, I have ever seen! I do not know what it was, but I can tell you it was baby shit brown and made the parent’s old sweat hog look like a Mini Cooper. He insisted on valet as it was a “vintage” car and fully stock inside. Usually when I hear that it means that the guy tracked down original parts to replace pieces in the car; not this one… it still had a condom stuck to the floor in the back that I am fairly certain was the one that broke when he was conceived. The splits in the vinyl seats were truly period pieces and the eight-track player… well that WAS special. It had one eight-track cassette stuck in it, Engelbert Humperdinck. No lie.

This song too…. S E X Y

So I arrived at the formal event in uh, err, an interesting hoop ride style. Unfortunately, I did not notice in the burnt-out light of the car that his suit did not match and he wore white athletic socks. He assured me though that his mother told him it would be fine when she loaned him the car. He was 25. I nodded and said they were really nice socks and of course, blue tuxedo jackets go with black tuxedo pants. The Airwalk sneakers he was wearing were actually black, mostly. Fashion and hoop ride aside, I was willing to deal with it. Guys usually take their jackets off and who was going to really notice except everyone I was friends with? It was when he smiled, that was the real crux of the issue.

Something in his smile made you flinch. Maybe it was the serious lack of orthodontic work, the cheddar shade of white on his teeth, or just the creepy Joker-style smile he had. (Jack Nicholson Joker, not Heath Ledger Joker… might have been able to work with Heath Ledger's…) Riding home listening to the soothing vocals of Humperdinck I realized I was probably in the car of a serial killer. He asked if I wanted to be escorted to my door and I could feel his Jeffery Dahmer smile boring into the side of my face. I think that is literally the fastest I have exited a car and ran around my building so that he couldn’t see the entrance or door I might be going to. Manson-style smiles equal deal breakers.

Draco to Tiny Race Cars: Pt. 1

     Draco to Tiny Race Cars Part One
'But I don't want to go among mad people,' said Alice. 'Oh, you can't help that,' said the cat. 'We're all mad here.’ ~ Lewis Carroll
Due to the sadness of my last week or so… I have decided to try and fight that back with a humor post. Laughter is supposed to be the best medicine right? So when your heart is broken you should laugh… hard but here goes.
 
I suppose some of the funniest events in my life have been my dates. If they even qualify because most of the time it ends in me running for my car or a can of pepper spray… 

The first really odd date I can recall was a guy who I met through a mutual friend. Someone somewhere thought that I would be compatible with this guy… We agreed to meet in front of a local store; I was not comfortable having him pick me up at home. He told me he had a black car with limo tint and “ground effects”. I had no clue what that was… but luck was on my side! His was the only black car in that back parking lot that day.
 
We will call this man, uh… Draco. Draco cracked his window and I could see he was wearing dark round Lennon-type sunglasses. He was really pale and had bleached his hair recently as his scalp was still irritated from the shoddy job he had done of it. He calmly said he could not come out of his car for very long and perhaps we should go in his car. Not being one to relinquish complete control to a stranger I said I would just allow him to follow me to the destination; a really exciting meal at was then the “new” restaurant in town wait for it… OUTBACK STEAKHOUSE! Sweet Jesus, it was going to be a hot time in the city that night! Wallaby Darneds for everyone!
 
We get there and he parked his car in the shade on the farthest side of the building. I typically park as close to the door as I can but this guy obviously does not. Fine, whatever. I park a couple spots down. I watch him carefully as he gets out of his car; I am pretending to reapply some lip gloss or something. My father taught me to observe my situations so I am eyeballing this guy pretty carefully; he did already set off some weirdo flags by only cracking the window and wanting me to ride with him. Draco literally darted up to the side of the building staying in the shadows and skirted around the side the whole time in the shadows. I am a sun sensitive, pigmently challenged individual myself so I get the idea of avoiding sun exposure but this was ridiculous. So I was cracking up and attempting to stifle this amusement as I walked inside. He was waiting… in the shadows. I told the waitress we needed a table for two; Draco added that we would require the blinds to be shut around us or a table in the darkest corner. At this point, he has yet to remove the stupid ass hat he has put on OR his really stupid ass sunglasses. I notice now also he is wearing white makeup and had powdered his lips to give them no color. Suddenly I am thinking you freaking shaved for this. 
 
The hostess gave me a sympathetic look as if to say “You sure you want to sit with this guy?” He did meet some of my superficial requirements of my early 20s or late teens… whenever this happened. Of course, I am only 24-ish so this was really not THAT long ago. I digress. He was at least 6 feet tall and had a confident stride, a swimmer’s build, his mannerisms were jerky and seemed overly controlled but I wrote that off to nerves. Draco’s choice of clothing, black with more black, was a bit depressing but typically you can help guys in this area by giving them clothes or going shopping with them. Besides, maybe he is color blind and who am I to judge? 
 
So we sit down in the darkest hole Australia has to offer.
 
The girl took our drink orders and he just wants water; I needed a drink and I prayed she would not card me. She didn’t I think she knew I needed something stronger than Coke to deal with this asshole. Strawberry Margarita, with the extra shot, salted rim. Thanks. He starts looking at the menu I know what I want so I just pretend to look and watch him. I cannot figure out where I have seen “him” before. He seemed so familiar. Once he has decided on something and puts his menu down the bread and drinks have arrived. I, in my best southern drawl, ask if he plans on removing his sunglasses, it is such a dark corner surely the light is not bothering him here. He seems to look around; I am thinking yeah asshole we are literally alone back here no one is going to see your lazy eye or whatever you are trying to hide. 
 
He whispers “I will take them off for you because you may as well know.”
 
I am thinking such a great friend of mine that fixes me up with a gothic freak. Little did I know or was prepared… He removed his sunglasses and his contact lenses gave his eyes a weird white tint. I managed to maintain a polite smile and told him he had interesting eyes. Draco claimed that he wore contacts to protect his sensitive eyes; the sunglasses were an added precaution. He placed his hands on the table and I noticed he had a better manicure and longer fingernails than any man I had ever seen. Of note as well was that his hands were also exceptionally white and powdered like his face. He slid off his coat and I notice some sort of animal skin pouch around his neck. Hunting in the south is not all that uncommon but this guy did not strike me as the really outdoorsy type. Curiouser and curiouser. 



 I was about to ask, but the waitress arrived for food orders. I gave her my order and he looked at this poor girl who had apparently lost the straw draw back in the kitchen for this table. .. And said to her none of your food is really something I can tolerate but if you will indulge my tastes I will try. At this point, I am glaring at him. He orders steak, VERY RARE steak. He said he wanted it to moo when he stuck it with a fork. She tried to explain that state laws… blah, blah, blah. Still, he kept on explaining that if he needed to speak with a manager he would. Poor girl just rolled her eyes and asked him what side he wanted. He requested veggies raw. She looked at me with a look that seemed to be waiting to see if I would mouth that I had been kidnapped.  As she left I ventured to ask about the animal pouch. He held it out for me to see; but told me I could not ever touch it. Okay, why is that?
 
“It holds my talisman,” Draco replies.
 
“I beg your pardon, what?” I say as sweetly as possible. 
 
“A talisman, for protection from those that would seek my demise.”
 
Well alright, points for knowing the word demise and using it in a sentence, even a fragment sentence. So obviously I HAD to ask.
 
“And who is seeking your demise? And should you be sitting with your back to the door?”
 
Draco answers “Oh I will know if they come for me. I am a vampire.” 
 


I did not have Crohn’s disease at this time, yet I still nearly crapped in my pants. The pressure from trying to choke down any laughter made me feel I needed to poo. This man clearly believed his story and I did not want to question him. Twilight was not even a sparkle in that Mormon lady’s mind yet… so it was not really cool to believe, or pretend, you are/were a vampire. I surmised I was sitting across the table from a luna-fucking-whack job.  

I feigned as much interest as possible; though not before taking the sidecar shot of tequila STRAIGHT without mixing it in the drink first.
Then it hit me, mid gulp, I had seen this before. He had watched “Interview with a Vampire” enough to have perfected Lestat’s mannerisms and in fact some of his speech patterns. Draco still gave his own inflection to it, with a vaguely forced Eastern Europe accent. (Even though he had told me he was raised in the South.)  Food arrived, thank God. Although I was thrown off my food by his bleeding steak; I think if he thought I would have stomached it he would have drank the juices off his plate. Of course, I cannot be sure; that would have been most impolite and well Lestat was a gentleman.
 
It really was unfortunate; Draco was intelligent and well-read. He enjoyed theater, ballet, and all the classical arts that I am fond of. We were able to discuss Chopin and Debussy, politics, art, and famous literature. I had never met a man until that point that had read Jane Austen… by choice. Nor had I ever known a Southern man to have seen an opera or admit to it. 
 
The fly in the sweet tea was that whole vampire thing. I asked him how he came to that conclusion; he smiled baring his teeth. He had some caps over his canine teeth that made them sharp and like a vampire. He looked ridiculous. The rest of his ensemble was what he called his adaption to life in the modern world. His grander garments of time gone by were at home; you know because he came from a different era. Draco began to tell me his elaborate story of how he was “turned” and of his master. That was around the time I excused myself for the restroom. I found my waitress and gave her thirty dollars more than enough to cover my bill and give her an overly large tip. I asked her to let him know that his undercooked steak had made me ill and that I had to leave.
 
He called for a while after that… I think it is needless to say I never returned his calls. Nor that of the friend who thought we would be good together. That cow must have thought it was funny or that my pale skin and his pale skin would make great pale-skinned babies. No, according to the things that Draco told me I would have to convert to his lifestyle and babies are not part of the equation. Well damn it all to hell, that is a deal breaker…

Lessons Learned

Lessons Learned:

             Falsehoods and Facebook
“The truth is always one thing, but in a way, it's the other thing, the gossip, that counts. It shows where people's hearts lie.” – Paul Scott

 
This week has been one of hurt and pain for me. I find myself shamed and a bit wiser. There is nothing I have to be particularly ashamed of exactly; though I feel shame for others and shame because I was foolish enough to trust people. This is truly one of my faults. Trusting without question; I like to believe the good in people without any hesitation or concern. Generally, all people are good, right? 
 
Wrong. People may be generally good not necessarily bad; yet when allowed to gossip and spread lies without finding the source or asking the person involved what the truth may be shows what is in their heart. Spite and malice; a big sucking hole of blackness; and enough pain in their own lives that to feel a bit better they binge on the pain of others. That is their truth and who they really are. Many people would rather smile to your face and speak ill of you when you are not looking. It is fun, malicious, and juvenile, and though we all profess to hate it and think it is shitty; we all do it, most of the time we do not even realize we have done it.
 
What is worse is now in the age of social media we can gossip even faster and more efficiently than ever before. It is now easy to gossip and spread half-truths, even flat-out lies about people you do not even know or only sort of know. That makes it easier and less guilty feeling. You do not really know the person you are hurting. You never have to give a second thought to the humiliation you have pressed upon a person if you do not truly know this other person. Why question the gossiper saying the rumors? Surely the person has it on good authority; they wouldn’t just say any old damn thing... whatever just to be mean, would they? They would surely say the same things to the victim's face; not whisper or create some forum to bash the victim.
 
No one ever finds themselves choosing they dislike a person for whatever reason and then relish causing the victim pain and embarrassment. Pointing out another’s flaws and saying things that spread like wildfire on Facebook because everyone kind of “knows” the person.  

Isn’t networking great!?   Abso-fucking-lutely go ahead and spread bitterness and hostility around no one will ever, EVER finally wonder what you say about them when they are not looking.


This week I found out some truth of my own. My ex-boyfriend, whom I have known since high school… you know ten-ish years ago… is a liar and a cheater with at least two girls. That’s not gossip but sadly a confirmed fact and because he finds shame in himself he helps spread scandal to draw attention away from his own issues and hopefully his feelings of shame at what he did. Even someone who has been the closest to me as possible enjoys saying things that they perceive as truth but have never actually asked or listened to. Things like this eventually become tired and pathetic, but they go on. 

Worse still I find that people I called my friends, trusted, and believed were good and kind people are saying things and repeating words that have no weight or reality. Passing judgment without a moment’s reluctance; not one thought to the fact that words can harm and demean a person more than any other form of violence. Yes, I said VIOLENCE. It is violence; think about it. I would rather be punched in the face or beaten with a knotted rope and a bag of oranges than have people judge, hate, and blather about things they don’t know.
 
Lesson learned, trust no one. I suppose gossip is a form of flattery. The more people talk about you the more “famous” you become; you must be somebody pretty fucking important for people who do not even know you from Adam to talk about you. I hope they feel better about themselves; feel good. 
 
I did not get to feel good this week. Instead, I got to spend much of the week re-examining my own flaws, as pointed out by so many others. Not one of these people came to me and asked what was up or even here’s what is being said is it true? What is your truth? What would you like people to know about you? What would you hide? What is really no one else’s business? How would you feel if someone took your truths and twisted them, switched them for their own gain and the thrill of a juicy lie?
 
Facebook, is a wonderful invention, but a dark side exists there. Bullies exist well into adulthood. High school, even junior high is alive and well and lives on Facebook. I would delete my profile and move on with my life except for the few real friends I have that are far away or that I rarely get to see. I can say that things will be different now. I may put myself out there but I will be more guarded than ever before. My truth now is that even the people you think you know… you don’t.
 
No more will I allow someone else to bring me down. Especially if all they are armed with are words. While the damage done by words is expansive and lasts far longer than it should; my beating myself up over it only makes those liars' words more powerful. So one day when I prove them all wrong I get to choose to walk away. And all those people will ever have is their closed minds and their gossip. Karma is a bitch, people. She will find you sooner or later and I find she LOVES people who are mean and hateful liars.