15 July 2011


I have accepted that at this age, when you meet someone of potential dating or even friendship material, certain ‘baggage’ may accompany them and I am perfectly fine with people who are divorced and/or have children from previous relationships – if they are awesome enough. It’s when they are still walking around as self proclaimed damaged goods wallowing in all ways ‘life has failed them’ rather than count their blessings that I have a beef with.

My college started hosting a series of local alumni functions and I’d go to some from time to time with my friends and always ran into one guy I dated. He and I never really got along so I’m not even sure why we dated other than the fact that I was breaking up with my friends and looking for new housing and needed a place to stay so he worked for that but I hated who I was when I was with him for our brief encounter. Running into him wasn’t an issue though because I won that break up and he will forever be trying to win people over who don’t give a shit about his existence – c’est la vie, not my problem. Anyway, he was there and I’d say less than 15 other people were there. I had a lot to catch up on with my partner in crime because a ransom note of sorts was left on her door from a failed booty call the weekend before, the guy left jacket behind that he was all about telling us he got at good will for $10 and was trying to reclaim it making it seem like it was suddenly worth millions – there is more to that story but that will be for another time. As I am reading this note, the bartender comes over and asks what this is all about, so we give him the story and he starts pouring shots of kamikazes, wow um okay haven’t had those in forever but sure why not. A guy came around and was trying to get elected to the alumni board, always someone with an agenda. We listen to him talk about the phenomenal wonder that is himself and the only thing I could remember was him saying he traded in his wife for a younger model and has a bunch of kids with both wives. Congratulations, he is now of AARP age but instead of shopping for buick’s and retirement homes is shopping for pre-schools. ‘Michelin Man’ overhears the convo and joins in. After a few more pints of beer and several rounds of shots, we’re all BFF’s and are asked to relocate to the main bar area so they could clean up the private room we had all been in.

The party is now in the main bar and the band is playing their hearts out. Michelin Man tells the band itis my 22nd birthday and I really really really really want to hear Kings of Leon – um no I most certainly did not, I have nothing against them, but I wasn’t in the mood to get jiggy with Michelin Man to Use Somebody and have him get any ideas. The band calls me up and wishes me a happy birthday – next thing I know I’m dancing with Michelin Man (this was when I decided that he will be referred to as Michelin Man because that was his body type). Then I ask if we should be swing dancing because he’s older than me and probably lived through the swing era – I should have been flagged but apparently, because it was my birthday, I wasn’t. The song ended, we were the only two dancing, he definitely kissed me and it was definitely gross. A guy at the bar hands me a shot and a beer and I inform him that I’m toasted and can’t have the beer but I’d do the shot – of whiskey…. I had to get rid of the taste of chain smoking, too much tongue using Michelin Man – ew.

I collect my friend who had been in black out city with a plate of chicken fingers during the dynamic duo of So You Think You Can Dance and we head home. I decided some drunken facebooking was in order and I see that Michelin Man sent me a friend request – I accepted. I start to review the life and times of Michelin Man and see that he has four children which he denied having any at the happy hour more than once and is married. I took it upon myself to leave a love note style posting on his way that said ‘YOU FUCKING KISS YOUR WIFE WITH THAT MOUTH?’ He quickly changed his status to ‘it’s complicated’ and sent me the longest novel about shit I don’t care about - I don’t care about how psycho is ex is or how alcohol, cigarettes and pot are his only comforts in life , I do however, think it’s incredibly fucked up he would deny having children.

Michelin Man is still in my social circle and is fine in small doses, at a distance. He’s still out there trying to be a dater but when you’re in your late 40s and living comfortably with mom and dad, that kinda tramp stamps you damaged goods.

Point of the conversation: Unless you are Ms. Stay Puft Marshmallow Lady looking for her body type counterpart – it’s probably best to avoid dating Michelin Man because the two of you cuddling by the fire when sparks of more than one kind start to fly, it will end in a disaster smelling like tire and leaving everyone covered in marshmallow fluff and no one wants to lick that off.

- Scarlett

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