Catman!

Ok, here's a good one. If this doesn't make you pee your pants with laughter, I don't know what to tell you.

So here I sit, in a hipster cafe', surrounded by people with shaggy hair and every tartan of plaid ever created. The Scottish would be proud.
I once dated (and by "dated" here I mean, crawled my way up a winding metal stair-case to enter an apartment with 8 cats) a sweet southern boy who has no idea what is going on around him at any give time. His apartment sports three rooms, gracefully adorned with graffitti, dirty dishes, conputer monitors stacked on top of boxes, random blankets-covered in beer, cat piss and god-knows what else-, couches that have been around since man discovered fire, and the ole' mattress-on-the-floor situation. First of all, who thinks this is an acceptable way to live? (there is no second of all...)
So, I went to a friend's house one night to see a punk show in her basement (should have know right then and there that this was not going to lead to anything other than the chance to watch a bunch of unshowered men -covered in black clothing, studded belts, and tattoos that don't really mean anything except "I hate the world because it wont accept me for who I am"-bump into each-other to loud music, while I stand in the back leaning against a washing-mashine, blood pouring out of my virgin ears). So I'm at her house...it's a clear summer night so of course I'm wearing a floral sundress and kitten heels (might as well have a little white ribbon in my hair). I go through the awkward, "where do I sit? who are these people?",laugh-at-every-joke-I-eavesdrop-on-in-order-to-get-in-with-someone situation. This strategy abruptly fails, at which time I go the much more staightforward route and begin to drink heavily. Whatdya know? Before long I've made some lovely friends (by friends here I mean people looking at my boobs and envisioning me giving them sexual favors). At least they were talking to me. One of those people was Danny, a boyishly handsome, punk-rock wannabe with a general look of confusion permanently plastered on his bearded face. I found it endearing...
So I begin following Danny around, sharing a beer with him (which was warmer than the coffee I have in my hand at present), and pretending to have any idea what it is he was rambling on about. All I know is that there were a few references to "Family Guy", and "South Park", and some other spoutings-off about this band-that-he-knows, and that band-that-he-knows. I must have been drunk, because I just shrugged my shoulders (to an invisible audience), smiled at him, and let the madness continue.
Hours passed, and I find myself passed out on Katie's couch, knees to my chest, and arms twisted in an extrememly unnatural fashion. Needless to say my neck was also feeling fantastic. So I peeled my skin off the sticky fabric and slowly stood up. Where is my phone? Why are there bottles all over me? Did that dog scratch my eye last night? Is this my life????!? So I called a cab on my speed-dial, and high-tailed it outta there as fast as my new friend, (insert unpronounceable name here) could drive me.
A few hours later, I'm at work watching "The Lion King" while three five year-olds argue over the use of a black crayon (those things are rare!), and I receive a text from Danny. How he got my number still remains a complete mystery to me. The message says something about how amazing it was talking to me last night, and how he wants to take me out to coffee sometime. I choose not to respond, and then forget about it altogether. over the next two weeks, the messages continue, and, being the idiot that I am, I give in (free coffee?...).
So we meet up for coffee, chat, and have a generally good time. I start thinking that there may be hope for him (second mistake).
So we begin texting back and forth, and decide to meet up again. This time it's late at night, and we can't go to a bar because he has no I.D. (fail...). So we walk to the Charles River in the middle of the night and dangle our legs off of a rickety bridge inches from the water. I proceed to smile and nod as he blabs on and on for 36 and a half years about god-knows-what. At this point I don't know what is wrong with me, because I'm still finding it all endearing. how is it eandearing when you can't have a conversation with someone?? So we go back to his house (this is the first time). He tells me it's behind Allston Wine and Spirits...what I didn't realize until we were there, is that he wasn't kidding. The place is literally sharing an alley with 49 Mexicans and a bunch of dumpsters. The walk leading up to this apartment (I use the word "apartment" extremely loosely here), consists of a metal fire-escape with random bicycles chained to it. So I scale my way up behind him, the little heels of my flats getting stuck in the metal cracks and wires leading in and out of the dwellings.
So he lets me in (without any warning, desclaimer, release to sign) and I am immediately slapped in the face with a stanch so think I can chew it. There are cats everywhere, dishes....etc (refer back to the previous description). He leads me through the kitchen and into his room (mattress on the floor), where I find yet another cat. The 5x5 square grafitti-adorned cell covered in cat hair and little grey pebbles of litter (sexy). So I sit down on the mattress and we proceed to pass a 40 back and forth while he lights a thousand joints and smokes them all at once (no wonder this guy can't form sentences!).We end up making out to youTube videos, and the next thing I know I'm waking up with a cats ass next to my left cheek, and an arm draped accross my chest. The sounds of snoring/wheezing fill the room.
We snuggle for a couple of hours, periodically shutting off our cell phone alarms , until finally waking uo. My head feels like it took part in a boxing match, and evey square-inch of my body is covered in reddish-white cat hair. There are flies hovering around the ceiling, and the drone of a fan pushing hot air around the room. What am I doing here? I should be jogging, or pretending to write something insightful on a Starbucks loveseat, or making breakfast and watching the news. I am an adult!
How does one allow themselves to make these desisions?? There were MANY clear red flags here, which I chose to whiz by at breakneck speeds, and for what? Because he's a "good guy?" The sad thing is that this went on for weeks. I mean, he was very charming and sweet, but I have barely scratched the surface of the problems with the situation. There was a time when we rode the bus together (romantic) because he had to see his PAROLE officer, and it was on the way. Im like, "Ok, great! A bus ride together!" What!!!!? Where is the voice saying "why the fuck do you HAVE a parole officer!!?"
Needless to say, I eventually came to my senses, and it does make for a great story, but clearly that wasn't my intention at the time. The lesson to be learned here, is that although saying no can be hard, sometimes seeing the good in people puts blinders on you, and make you miss the MESS of shit you're about to step in. It's safe to say that I've stepped in it enough times to know.