Jul 1

Written by: michaela renee
7/1/2009 4:11 PM

Therapy Sessions of an Online Dating Addict - Fiction Folks. Fiction.

Me: So I have to start by saying, I‘ve never had a one night stand, and certainly not with someone I just met online.

Therapist: Who are you trying to convince?

Me: No, seriously...I’m just saying.

Therapist: Ok, continue.

Me: So he‘s super cute, and I think someone slipped something in my drink.

Therapist: Foul play?

Me: No. I shouldn‘t be so extreme, it‘s entirely plausible that I drank too much, but I just really don‘t believe that one margarita and one lemon drop would have caused me to get that drunk.

Therapist: The phrase of the guilty.

Me: I think I might set up a sting at the bar, I‘m pretty sure the bartenders are roofie-ing drinks.

Therapist: Is roofie-ing a word?

Me: Yes, definition: the act of lacing multiple drinks with roofies to ensure men continually return to your bar despite that the selection of women may not be of any decent caliber.

Therapist: Are you saying you are ugly?

Me: I‘m saying it‘s a cougar-den, he picked the date spot.

Therapist: I RESEMBLE that statement! (laughing). So you meet up at the cougar-den and the bartenders are roofie-ing, and you‘re drinking and having a nice time.

Me: Right, did I mention he‘s hot? Like a total bad-ass covered in tattoos. Super sexy, turning me on. So the next thing I know we’re drunk walking from the bar to my place. And he’s on top of me and I’m not complaining and he’s pulling out a magnum…

Therapist: Way to pick em.

Me: If a guy pulls out a magnum I’m usually laughing, “Like really? You know those come in sizes that actually fit your penis.”

Therapist: I hope you don’t actually say that.

Me: (rolling the eyes) Now wouldn’t THAT be a riot? So I look down and think. Oh crap. He needs a magnum. And all my excitement is quickly destroyed when in the moment he starts repeating, “HI” over and over again.

Therapist: Ohhhh noooo!!!

Me: Ohhh yessss! So I’m like responding with “Hi Back” and then after awhile, I start testing my vast knowledge “Hola” and “Aloha” and “Guten Tag” and “Bonjour.”

As I’m racking my brain for how to say hello in Russian I suddenly hear a much more terrifying set of words.

Therapist: Don’t tell me.

Me: Yep, he says, “The condom just broke.” He then leaps from the bed, grabs my leopard print towel and shoots his wad in it.

Therapist: Disgusting.

Me: And I start repeating, “pedazo de mierda” while slamming my face into the pillow.

Therapist: You are remembering way too much to have been roofie-ed.

Me: Noted, I’ll come up with a better excuse for our next session. Regardless, he eventually asks me to stop saying “piece of shit” over and over and we both passed out.

So I wake up about 7am with my head pounding, I look over and he’s open mouth trout drooling. So I politely elbowed him as hard as possible, and start saying hello in the 15 different languages I had rehearsed the night before.

“Ok, ok, I’m up,” He says.

So I jump on top of him and pin him down, I look like the living dead, by the way, and his expression reminded me of that and I say very sternly, “So here’s the only thing I need to know. Did you pull out in time?”

And rubs his eyes attempting to shake away the fact that I’m not a bad dream and says, “Ya, I think so.”

And I said, “Think so isn’t good enough, are you positive?”

And he says, “Positive? No, not positive.”

So I grab him by his boxer shorts and say, “Get in the car. It’s time for Plan B.”

Therapist: Good call, quick thinking. It’s not 100%, but that’s what it’s meant for.

Me: So he looks terrified, but he doesn’t have a car because his is still at the bar. He’s got no choice, but to succumb. He throws on his clothes, shoes and gets in the car, with his knees tucked up to his chest like he wanted to suck his thumb. I swear he buckled his seatbelt like Plan B was launching us off the Grand Canyon Thelma and Louise style.

Therapist: He doesn’t know Plan B is back up birth control.

Me: Nope, he sure doesn’t. So I pull into Rite Aid and said, “Listen, you’re the one with the too-big penis, and you’re the idiot who was going wild with your HI HI HI in and out back and forth up and down. So you’re going in here with me, and you’re going to deal with the sheer embarrassment that is about to ensue from having to ask the pharmacist for Plan B.”

And he says, “What the HELL is Plan B? A coat hangar?”

And I said, “No you idiot, the Morning After Pill.”

Therapist: Wow, you guys are off to a great start. Very healthy.

Me: So he snaps back that he’s not going to be embarrassed one bit and I said, “Oh please. You just wait.”

So we cross the parking lot and stroll casually into the Rite Aid. I’ve got my head down, hair tucked under a ball cap with massive sunglasses on and I forced him to put his arm around my shoulders.

Therapist: I have to say, I’ve never had to do something like this before. You just took “walk of shame” to a whole new level.

Me: After what felt like an hour waiting in line, not to mention me seeing my high school friend buying diapers and baby butt cream and him seeing a coworker getting some heartburn medicine we’re finally next. We scoot to the counter and I lean in and I whisper “Plan B please.”

And let me just tell you, those stupid little plastic shields don’t do anything to protect privacy or anything for that matter, because she might as well have been on the intercom in the store paging the manager when she said, “WHOOPS, little accident? No problem, I’ll check and see if we have Plan B in stock, but the government keeps track of losers like you so I’ll need to see your ID.”

Therapist: No she didn’t.

Me: Ok, but it was close.

Therapist: (laughing)

Me: She walked back with the box and said it would be $49.99. Without hesitation he swiped his card through the machine. I reached out to fight him over it and said, “Seriously? You don’t have to buy it for me.”

He quickly glances at the clerk and looks me straight in the face and says as loudly as he can, “NO PROBLEM, SIS! THAT‘S WHAT BROTHERS ARE FOR!”

Therapist: Oh my God. He is hilarious.

Me: Yea, haha, very funny. If that isn’t the worst one-night-stand gone wrong I don’t know what is.

Copyright ©2009 Michaela Renee

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