We'll Just Call This One: Dominican Papi

Just when I thought I had broken free of my bad luck in dating, life decided to throw one more disaster my way ... sneaky, sneaky!

So, without further ado, let me tell y'all a little story about this past Saturday night ...

Finally, after a couple of months, I had a date! Yay!!!  Earlier last week, whilst attending a ladies' night/karaoke/happy hour (talk about a trifecta of pure awesomeness) with some friends, I met a guy - a really cute guy - we'll just call this one: Dominican Papi.  We started out by innocently eye fucking each other from across the bar, then talking, then exchanging numbers, then having some shots and beers, which eventually led to us making out in a desolate corner of the bar towards the end of the night ... I know what y'all are thinking: #swag

And so, we continued speaking everyday (morning, noon and night), for the next couple of days and agreed to hang out that Saturday night.  So far, so good.  Although there were never any specific plans set, we both agreed to meet in the city and see "where the night takes us" or in Dominican Papi's words, "let's meet up, walk around and if you get hungry, we eat; if you get thirsty, we drink" ... red flag numero uno.

Red flag numero dos: Initial meet-up time was supposed to be 9pm, which at 7:30pm, Dominican Papi called and changed it to 9:30pm - I said fine.  At 8:30pm, Dominican Papi called to tell me that he "had been in traffic", which I later found out meant, "I can't leave my house until I put the wife and kids to bed" (but please - let's not put the cart before the horse here) and so we agreed to meet up at 10pm ... and so 10pm came and I parked my car and patiently waited for him to arrive ... 10:05pm - nothing.  At 10:15pm, I decided to give him a ring and check on his ETA - no answer.  By 10:20pm, I was getting a little nervous and just when I assumed that I had gotten stood up, HE CALLED ... to tell me that he was fucking running late!!! What. the fuck.  He finally made it at 10:45pm - mother fucker.

Now, I'm not a super high maintenance kind of girl, but I do like my nice things.  When it comes to dating, there are things that I am willing to overlook (and for those of you that are easily offended, please read no further), but RED-FLAG number 3: if you are going to pick me up in your 1990 Honda Civic "hooptie edition" - just don't.  I'd rather just pick you up. But if you are going to pick me up in that car, have the fucking decency to RED-FLAG number 4: hide the TWO (yes: not one, but two; as in DOS; as in 2 little infant seats; as in the roman numeral II; as in a double whammy) baby seats you had chilling in the backseat.  Forgive me for getting ahead of myself - what was I thinking?  Of course, he couldn't pack away the kiddie seats!  There wasn't any room in the trunk with the $3000 system he had invested in his car ... I can't!  If there is anything I learned from Dominican Papi, it was: Priorities.  It's all about priorities, people!

Despite the fact that his car looked like it was being held together by a wire, I decided to give him the benefit of a doubt (all I heard in my head was my mother's voice saying: Stop being so god damn picky) and I got in.  Oh, and a little side note here: I already knew he had kids, because at the bar one of the first things we had asked each other was, 1. Are you single and 2. Do you have any kids. AND he wasn't wearing a wedding band - just saying!  I can deal with the kids, but really, bro?  Leave the fucking car seats at home. 

I was already upset because he was 45 minutes late, which didn't seem to phase him in the slightest, but I didn't want to continue beating a dead horse so I decided to let the tardiness slide ... for now.  It wasn't until about 20 minutes into our drive that we decided to have a normal conversation.  We revisited the events that transpired over the course of that Wednesday night, laughed about the crazy karaoke singing and then it happened.  He asked why, "such a pretty girl is single".  I answered his question as honestly as possible and then decided to ask him AGAIN if he was single, he said "well no, not really", so I asked him if he had a girlfriend and he answered me by saying, "No. I don't have a girlfriend" and jokingly I replied with, "Ohhh ok so you have a wife!" ... and without skipping a beat, he said YES.  And that's when I punched him in the face.  Just kidding, I still needed a ride back to my car - we were somewhere in Brooklyn for God's sake!!!

I gave him five minutes to explain why he was a douche.  I asked him to drive me back to my car and endured what was the longest, bass pumpin', but-at-the-same-time awkwardly silent, 25 minute drive back to Conan O'Brien (not the celebrity; that's what I named my car).  As I got out of his car, I went to close the door and he leaned over and said, "No! No!  Let me close it ... I don't want it to fall".  Sweet Jesus in heaven.

The Struggle continues ...