Cock in the Hen House

The weirder the guys you meet, the more you learn about what really goes on in the brain of the gents, right? This weekend, while away with my girlfriends, there was a man, he was cute but not gorgeous. Your typical surfer, pot smoking, dude that you would absolutely NEVER bring home to your family. Opted for the GED rather than finishing high school. But who can blame him, in reality, who has time for high school? Patty was his name. He was fun, no real charmer and certainly no winner, but fun non-the-less. Minus the creepiness, he could have been fun to roll around in the sack with. But I can't do this somewhere where the girls will find out about it. First thing in the morning the girls will begin mocking me one over Sunday lattes at our brunch spot.

"Bunny, seriously. You always pick winners."

"At least this time he has a bike."

Yea, busted. I love having a dirty little secrets occasionally. It's fun. No strings attached. Perfect for me and my commitment issues. And it allows me focus solely on my work issues (as I have tons of those). I get all the play I want or need with none of the bullshit.

Oh yea, back to Patty. He picked up one of the girls from the weekend. He even came back to the hotel with Denise. They left the hotel for a romp in the bushes in route to the nearest 7-11 for some late night ciggies.

In the morning, when we all woke up, we were certainly relieved to find that Denise made it home alive and seemingly unscarred.

Patty was gone, for now at least.

After wine tasting since 10am, a few of the girls and I opted to skip the afternoon nap for some mid-day cocktails. At the local watering hole we had carelessly chosen, we run into a far more direful Patty than we had met the night prior. We're drunk. And all I can think is, if we're really mean to him, he'll just go away.

YIKES.

This is decidedly not the answer to the creep alert. I think it made it actually made it worst.

Sunday morning, it's time to head home post our incredibly fun weekend. Everyone was packed and in the car. When suddenly, out of no where, Patty pulls up on his BMX. He's there to ask me if I'll take him snowboarding. Oh God. When did I even tell him that I snowboard? Shit. Did I have that many martini's after the winery tour?

OMG, I'm being stalked, and I don't think anyone knows it. Fuck. What do I do? Ignore him? Pretend I didn't know who he was? Perhaps they all think he's there for Denise. Oh good. Whew. One bullet dodged. But I certainly need to figure out what it is that makes men tick. Because every time that I am 100% positive that something will work, I'm embarrassingly proven wrong.