The Classy Idiot Project

The elusive Stairs Man turned out to be married. Lovely. Stairs Man is actually the second guy in as many months that I've hooked up with, only to find out through various methods of stalking that the reason he's not calling is because he's at home with his wife, kids, and chlamydia. I'm losing hope in the human race, and my excitement for exploring men has plummeted. The two guys I've been with since I found out about Mrs. Stairs Man have been boring, even limp. It's like guys can sense my disgust for men in general and their dicks shrivel upon contact with my angry vagina.

Bachelor number one: the child. This was some random idiot I met at the casino and fucked for the mere fact that for months I had been saving my body for my friend's brother and that needed to end immediately. The guy was 21 and had this ego on him like he was the answer to my prayers. He was the answer to my dry spell, and was the perfect candidate, until he slept over and wouldn't leave, ugh. Unless I've given a guy some kind of CLEAR sign that I want to pretend we're married for the next 12 hours, I would appreciate it if they'd beat it. This rule especially applies to guys who aren't old enough to rent a car, since every time I look at them after we've done the deed, I start reassessing my life choices which greatly interrupts my ability to fall into a deep REM sleep. The next morning I made myself breakfast and didn't even feed him water. He still didn't leave. I would have offered him bus fare but to be honest I'd rather spend the $2 on a Cream Soda Slurpee. Finally I turned on The Young and the Restless and just stopped talking to him. He finally picked up on my subtle hint to get the fuck out of my apartment and left, but not without asking for my number. Really? Give me a break.

Bachelor number two: the bartender. Bartenders are always an easy target. I met this one when I was out for dinner with a friend. For no particular reason the manager started buying my girlfriend and I drinks and we hung out with the staff after they closed down. Using the process of elimination, I singled out the hottest guy in the group and proceeded to get him wasted. Mission accomplished. I took him home and a week later we met for Round 2. We should have left it at Round 1, since Round 2 was the cause of The Unfortunate Limp Dick Incident, and left me with a lowered sense of self-esteem and a serious case of blue clit. He insisted it was the condom's fault, but I have a zero-tolerance policy for banging bartenders without protection. I'd have less of a chance of contracting a disease if I licked the floor of an insulated lab at the Infectious Disease Control Centre.

I've had bad sex in my life, but with the addition of this married man drama, I've never felt so positive that I treat men like shit because that's what they are. I have been advised by my friends that it's simply the young guys that are losers, and that I need to skip a couple of decades and find myself a nice 40 year-old. I don't know how I feel about older men. Most of them could probably be the fathers of the guys I usually date. The number "40" instantly reminds me of old principals, bosses, and old man stench. But before I do something crazy like swear off sex or alcohol, I'll try and get over myself and see if I can focus my efforts on someone older than me. I guess this means I'll have to change my old habits. Instead of getting wasted, I'll get a mortgage. Instead of fucking random idiots, I'll fuck random intelligent people. I'll be a classy idiot. It's worth a shot...