Venting: The Birth of DSL

Drunken Stupid Love. The title spawns from the realization that you feel like a drunk and stupid person after you finally manage to drop the last bastard you dated. And of course with that classic anecdote comes a typical story that is heard in girl-world on a daily basis: he stood me up.

Now I’ve had boyfriends stand me up, and idiots that disappear after they realize I’m not sleeping with them on the first date. But this one, my friends, truly trumps all stories.

About a year ago, I participated in a fashion show for a press party. After the show, there was pretty much a mini-meet-greet-and mingle session with the models, attendees, designers, and caterers. In between stuffing my face (yes, I’m the type of model that eats), I managed to meet a good 50+ people. One of those people was a random model/whatever the hell he does decently gorgeous guy, not quite man candy perfection, but…he’s a model. That should tell you right there. Anyways, we flirt a bit, but there’s not any kind of number exchange since I have a boyfriend (now an ex).

Fast foward to a few days ago. I get this message asking me how have I been. Of course, I see the photo and know who it is, but I check to be sure. Indeed, it is the guy from the press party. I am beyond estatic that he even remembered me, especially with my less-than-savory history of past encounters with males. I give him my number, he calls me, and tells me how he spent the last year trying to track me down and finally did, which is by far, the sweetest thing any guy has done for me. Being that he went through all that to find me, and was moving in a few days, I figured I would speed up the process and ask him out. After all, it was the least I could do.

So here I am now, writing to you during the time I was supposed to be going out with this fool. You would think that going through all of that to find me, he wouldn’t do something as stupid as stand me up. Maybe I’m writing prematurely…but then again, I was told that if he couldn’t make it, I would be called, messaged, or emailed. I did send a text, asking if we were still on, but no word.

So, to say the least, here’s another name on the “fuck you” list that I tote around in the back of my subconscious, that makes me feel as if I am a leper to society simply because I seem to have the hardest time keeping guys around me for some reason or other.

So let this be a lesson to all ladies: if at all possible, become a lesbian.