Operation No More Douchebags: An Epic Story of Douche Dating

Recently I decided to take it upon myself to go out on a date with every single guy that asked me.  Much to the delight of all my friends; I could hear a collective “Oh, the stories!” silently betraying their thoughts when I told

them my plan.  It would be a way to prove that my friend Darcy’s Operation No More Douchebags can actually exist.  Point being that if I say yes to everyone, at least one is bound to not be a  douchebag.

I made it through four dates, before giving up on all of mankind.

Highlighter Dude:

First was a guy from the gym.  A giant sports fan, he took me to a sports bar our first date to watch some sports, in which his team happened to win.  He immediately thought I was his lucky charm and he and I would have to watch games together for the rest of eternity.  I conceded, as he was rather sweet.  Plus he went to New York and brought me back this great Buddha from China Town; and as my friends all know, I can be bought.  He and I never once kissed and only ended up going on two dates.  However, for some unknown reason, he decided to start sending me pictures of inanimate objects placed in his butt.  Said pictures were entirely unsolicited.

The first was a highlighter.  And not one of those skinny ones, but the regular, huge, industrial, yellow highlighter.  Ouch.  The caps on those

things aren’t ass-insertion friendly.  They’re kind of sharp and jagged and hard plastic and just totally not for penetration of any kind.  (Not speaking from experience, just an assumption.)  I was both alarmed and humored by this and thought it was over.  But, it so wasn’t.

Later in the week I got another picture.  This time a banana was in his ass.  A banana.  In his ass.  I mean, I don’t know about you, but to me, there’s nothing remotely sexy about a banana hanging out a dude’s ass.  Then came a follow up text asking me how many bananas I’d like to see up there, as he’d be happy to accommodate.  I wrote back:  “Are You Fucking Kidding Me?  Do you know you’re sending these to me?  Sonny?”  Thinking, and hoping, that he was just sending these shocking pictures to the wrong person, because there was no reason for me to be on the receiving end of this bizarreness.  He wrote back:  “3 it is!”  And then I got a picture of THREE bananas up this guy’s butt.

Holy shit!  Literally, holy shit!  I mean, I can’t imagine the pain that would have incited had three bananas been up MY ass.  It makes me clench even now, just writing about it.

Then it got REALLY weird.  He proceeded to ask if I wanted to see the video he made with some undeserving bananas and “a friend.”

Are you effing kidding me?   No!  Nooooo.  Hell, fuck, definitely no.  I certainly do not want to see that.  And this is where our relationship should have ended.  But, somehow we maintained a rather strange one for a couple weeks after the banana fudge sickle situation.  It turns out our Romeo is bi.  What a shocker.  So, not only does he affront my gender, he also has no qualms with affronting his own.  He actually has sex at the YMCA.  I mean, what a stereotype!  But, true.  And he records these guys in the shower!  Without their knowledge!  But his plan isn’t over, he then meets sweet, innocent girls (yours truly) and sends them the videos!  He thinks it’s funny.  Gross!  Have you ever?

What a douchebag!

Mr. Business Trip:

Next was a super-hottie I met while out dancing with friends.  He was with other guys here on business.  So effin’ cute!  He asked me to go to dinner and since my rule dictates that I have to say yes to everyone, I said yes.  He said they only had one company car and asked that I pick him up at the company condo on A1A in Delray Beach.  No problem.

When I arrive the following night I can’t help but notice the rank smell of beer and the boys with sleeveless shirts, board shorts and uber tans.  My date asks if we can get lobster and I’m all about it.  I take him to a cozy little joint on the beach and he begins asking me everything there is to know about myself.  He’s very curious about my job and where I went to college and my friends and how I like Florida; but he’s completely evading all of my questions about him.  At first I don’t mind, I mean, it’s fun to talk about yourself, but then it gets peculiar.  When I further question my adorable man he looks me deep in the eyes with an inexplicable grin on his face and grabs my hands in his, “Don’t be mad.”

Worst sentence ever.

“What?”  I ask.

“I’m not here on business…”

Pause.

“Um, okay, that’s cool.  What?  Do you live here?  I mean, what is it?  Are you married or something?  Are you divorced and you moved away and you’re here visiting your kids?  Tell me…”

“Oh, no nothing like that!  Not even close!”  He’s laughing with relief.

“Thank, GOD!”  I start laughing with relief.

“Yeah, no, I’m here on Spring Break with my friends.  I’m a sophomore at Michigan State.  My boy, Dank’s, grandparents live here and that’s who we’re staying with.”  I stop laughing with relief.

Silence.

I start doing some math…

Finally, “So… how old does that make you?”

“Oh don’t worry, I totally scored a killer fake ID.  We’re cool.”

Then, “You have got to be kidding me.  Tell me you’re kidding.  The married thing would have been better.”

The rest of the night was filled with several nickel-pitcher-night stories.  Riveting.

He didn’t have enough money to pay the bill.

What a douchebag.

Stay tuned:  Part 2 of Operation NMD coming soon…..