Sunday, April 6, 2008

Not Dating the Danish (ie Douchebags)

Sidenote: I went out last night to my favorite local dive, The Goathill. It was packed and 90% guys as usual. Despite my lowkey outfit (black t-shirt, jeans, flats, and a ponytail... not my usual outing attire) I was getting a ton of attention. I said hi to the friend I was meeting up with, and went to the bar to stand in the long line (all men) for a drink. As they turned around and noticed me, they kept letting me go ahead of them, 'til finally I was behind a group of three guys. The loudest of them (with some sort of accent) stopped what he was saying midsentence when he saw me and grabbed my arm and pulled me up to the bar. With slurred speech, he asked the bartender (about 5 times) for "a vanilla vodka and cranberry." (I won't say no to a free drink, though what I really wanted was a Hefewiesen.) He said cheers in Danish and handed me what he called a "Pantydropper." I thanked him, apologized that it wouldn't work on me, and went back to my friend.



I learned years ago not to date the Danish. Now I'm sure they are not all bad, but after a few examples of Douchebagginess I think I've accepted they are just not for me. Here's a prime example.

I met Von in the library my sophomore year of college. He told me how he thought I was beautiful and wanted to take me out, and at this point in my dating career a little compliment could go a very long way; I agreed, and we made plans for that weekend. Though I wasn't particularly attracted to him, I hoped he had potential.

We met up for shopping (his idea) which was really just walking around downtown and him pointing out all the stores he recently spent large amounts of money in. He didn't ask me a single question, and interrupted me every time I tried to speak, mostly with examples of how much money his family had. By the time he took me home, I was almost jumping out the car window.

In the days that followed, he would text and email me, telling me how great of a time he had and how he couldn't get his mind off me. I finally said very bluntly that I thought he was really full of himself and didn't want to see him again. He apologized profusely and promised that if I gave him another chance, things would be different. I conceded.

Three days later, he picked me up for a romantic dinner in Montecito. He dressed nicely, opened every door, asked me all kinds of questions, and was more of a gentleman than I had ever gone out with at that point. This time around, by the time we got back to my house I was aching for a goodnight kiss.

My best friend M, who had been my very first friend in college and literally the closest thing to a sister I have ever had, didn't like him from what I had told her the first time. She was protective and what I always described as not only my best friend, but also my sister, lawyer, and bodyguard. I finally talked her into accepting that we were dating after telling her how amazing he was the second time. They met one evening after lots of convincing, and she agreed that he wasn't quite as bad as she had expected. Even still, she didn't understand the attraction, telling me that he wasn't even cute. (Thanks, girl.)

Naturally, we started dating. He lived two blocks from our campus in a nice house on the ocean. We spent days at the beach, went out to great meals, took day trips, and he even took me back to Solvang to meet his family (yes, they actually live in Danishville... I know). He bragged to all of his friends about his new girlfriend, told me how thrilled he was to be with me, that he was going to plan something amazing for Valentine's Day (over two months away), and even gave me his passwords to his email account for some reason (which I never thought to check).

Somewhere around two months into the relationship things started to turn. When we would go out to eat, he would surprise me with having "forgotten" his wallet (despite the fact that he knew I was barely getting by) and started making rude jokes about me around his friends. One night at dinner (another one I was duped into paying for with the $25 I had left in my bank account), he made some stupid comment about how if I wasn't happy with him, maybe he'd just go date my best friend M. Flustered and angry, I snapped back, "she isn't even attracted to you." He laughed. "Are you sure we're talking about the same M?"

A few days later was Valentine's Day, the night before which I was at her house, close to tears and telling her how the relationship was going downhill at a fast pace. "If he doesn't perform a miracle tomorrow, I'm going to end it," I proclaimed. We'd had plans to get a room at a bed and breakfast in Solvang, but after the plans changed, he would now already be there hanging out with his friends, and I would drive up to meet him (almost 2 hours away) for the night, where we'd be staying at his parents' house since they were out of town. How romantic.

Even still, the next morning I packed up my overnight bag, put together the feeble Valentine's gift and card I was able to get him, and kept trying to call him to get directions. Finally he called me back, and when I picked up the phone, he said this:

"Look, I've been thinking, and this just isn't working. Let's not fool ourselves here, we both know this relationship isn't going anywhere. Why waste this holiday with someone I don't even want to be with? It just doesn't make sense."

I was so much in shock that I walked out into the living room where my roommates were watching TV, and put one of them on the phone to verify that I wasn't hallucinating. She cussed him out and hung up on him. As much as I was furious, I wasn't sad. I didn't cry. I called M and went over to her house to vent. She seemed even more upset than I was. We logged into his email (the first time I had ever used that password) to see that he had written an email to a friend of his two weeks prior, saying he was over me and was going to dump me. He had actually been planning to do it like this. She had all kinds of ideas for retaliation. "Let's go key his car! We should put sugar in his gas tank. Or egg his house. What a fucking asshole." (Like I said, best friend and bodyguard.) I turned down her ideas, wanting to stay on the high road. But just for laughs, we changed his name in my phone's contact list to "Danish Douchebag."

For the next few days, she would constantly ask me how I was doing, if there was anything she could do to help, or get back at him, or if I needed anything. By the following weekend I was over it and out partying with my friends, when I ran into her cousin. I called her to tell her, no answer. Unusual, but ok. We talked for a long time and I (drunkenly) tried to call her again, no answer. We went to another party down the street, I called her on the way, no answer. Since she and I talked on the phone about 50 times a day, this was strange. About 45 minutes later, I got a text message from her. "Sorry, I'm going to sleep, I'll talk to you tomorrow." Wtf, right? So of course, I call her again. NO ANSWER. Now I'm getting frustrated. She texts again, "my phone is about to die, I'll talk to you tomorrow." So I write back, "M, what is your deal? I have to talk to you!"

Two minutes later, I got a text message. Not from her number, but from "Danish Douchebag," that said "I didn't want to tell you like this, my phone died. I'm sorry. We're going to sleep. We'll talk about it tomorrow." I may not have cried on Valentine's Day, but I cried this time. In fact, I bawled. I cried so hard I couldn't see, and had to be escorted out of the party and back to my house, and I cried the whole way home. I wrote her an email when I got home about how heartbroken I was over the loss of my best friend. She wrote back the next day with some stupid response about how it wasn't her fault that they were "meant to be." We wrote back and forth a few more times, each one I sent a little more crushed, and each one I received a little more ridiculous.

On a whim, I logged into his email account again. I knew that password would come in handy someday. And there were all the emails we had exchanged, forwarded to him and sitting in his inbox.

It took me 5 days to get over him after he dumped me, less than 5 for her to pounce on the asshole (possibly even less than that, quite possible they started hooking up before he broke up with me), one month before he dumped her too (big surprise), and three years before I could bring myself to talk to her again. And even still, we won't ever be friends like we were then.

Moral of the story, I've written off Danish Douchebags for good. Save your Pantydroppers for another girl!

7 people had something to say:

MastaX said...

I think breaking up with the both of them would've been the best, do you remain on good terms with her, even after the betraying?

Anonymous said...

It seems a bit irrational to detest a whole nationality due to an experience with one person...but then again, rationality is overrated.

The Girl in the Mirror said...

Mastax: I did break up with both of them. I didn't talk to her for years. It was a lot harder than not talking to him! She and I have reconnected, but it's not nearly the friendship it was, and it never will be. We're on alright terms, but how could she ever be trustable again? It's sad.

Drew said...

Question about the sidenote: Did you drink the awful cocktail or not?

Matthew SanGabriel said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Grof said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Lyla Lou said...

Shit, that sucks! I would be sooo pissed!!! I'm pissed just reading that! That's just disgusting. Good thing she's not around anymore, if I were you I'd want to spit on her.

 

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