Let me be upfront. I am one spastic motherfucker.

My inability to stay still is only unparalleled by my inability to complete a sente…

Just kidding. But I am an extremely dynamic person; I talk fast, I move a lot, my mind races...but all of that does not warrant you to hand me a pile of heroin on our second date.

I recently went out with a photojournalist (big mistake considering I hate both photographers and journalists) who seemed like a pretty cool and intelligent man. We went for drinks on our first date where he abstained from drinking and chatted about his time in what he called “the Sudan”. Both these behaviors are normally big red flags and major deal-breakers for me, but he complimented my tits which is my sweet spot – I gave him another chance.

We went out for dinner, he barely ate (now we know: side effect of the heroin) after which we headed to his place to watch a “movie”. This is where the night takes a slightly fun but mostly terrible turn: not only did he actually plan on watching a movie, but he had chosen Avatar as the feature film of the night.

Anybody who knows me knows I strictly watch true crime documentaries and pornography, or a mixture of the two if I’m feeling particularly wild.

Then the real kicker: he pulls out a little crumpled bag of what looks like the shitty cocaine you once tried in the bathroom of a club in Istanbul with not one, but two guys named Aslan.

“Oh cool,” I thought to myself. “Me and Whitney Houston’s favorite party favor is going to get this party started…the Avatar thing was a joke!”

“Have you ever tried heroin?” he asks holding up the aforementioned bag of drugs that I now see has a particularly beautiful shade of dog-shit color to it.

If I could teach men one thing it would be this: please don’t offer me any heroin on our second date. That is strictly a third date behavior. Also stop doing that weird thing with your hands where you finger-bang us like you’re digging for gold. Thank you.


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