Drug Suitcase

I’ve lamented the perils of online dating before on the ol’ blog, especially the treacherous waters where the OKCupid sharks circle hungrily around their prey.

But this one…this one my friends…takes the cake.

Now, because I’m a lady, I will not be disclosing names. But I have no qualms with giving you vague details. The particular gentleman I had the experience of dating for a couple of months is a white male in his early 30’s, owns a bulldog (gross), and is an attorney. For this entry’s sake, let’s call him Jag Head.

(Let it be noted that I love dogs, but not bulldogs. All that slobber? Those face folds? No thank you.)

His cleverly written profile caught my eye as all of the words were spelled correctly, he refrained from using “lol”, and his sprinkling of dry humor did in fact make me LOL. But I hesitated in contacting him, as gypsy + lawyer does not a happy couple make. But alas his words piqued my curiosity, and my curiosity got the best of me, like it always does.

The first date was dinner. It was stimulating conversation but I wasn’t crazy about him, nor did I feel any physical attraction. I give it a “meh”.

He contacted me a few days later for a second date, and took me to an EDM concert. Interest increasing. But then he ordered Long Island Iced Teas all night. Interest decreasing.

The third date was dinner and a flamenco show at a Spanish restaurant – interest increasing. Plus he let me choose the wine, so I guess he retired his Arizona State sorority girl for the night.

At this point, I enjoyed his company well enough, but I wasn’t chomping at the bit. However, I had friend after friend after friend tell me I needed to give white guys a try (since I had a Latin-only policy) and so I thought it was my duty to oblige them…and myself. Cause maybe I was wrong on the whole Latin thing after all.

When you’ve only dated Latinos, dating a white man is very different. For one, I was never actually sure he was into me. Not in an insecure “does he like me?” kind of way, but an actual, “I am not sure this man thinks I’m interesting or attractive”, because he gives zero indication of his feelings. I was used to the overboard displays of affection and tenderness that Latin men are notorious for. That’s what I like, and that’s what I want. Jag Head was practically a corpse in this department.  So….cold. I had to poke him every now and then just to make sure he was still alive.

There were other things about him that I could never manage to get past. That’s right – I don’t just judge based on cocktail choice.

One, he used a “voice” when talking to his dog. I’ve heard men use a voice when talking to their animals before, but it’s always in a deeper, jokey kind of way. Jag Head used a voice that was several pitches higher than his normal speaking voice, and it made my teeth grind together in agitation every time I heard it. It was never okay. Not even when he picked up the dog and waved it’s paw at me and said “Hi Erin.” I didn’t wave back. I’ll never wave back.

Also, I think it’s gross when animals are allowed on the furniture and in beds. I do not want to come over and sit on your couch only to get up and have white dog hair all over my black clothes and you just look at me and shrug. NO.

Another thing – he was obsessed with those e-pipes. Not an e-cigarette. An e-pipe. Do you know how big an e-pipe is?! He was never a smoker (so he said) but he puffed on that thing morning to night, because “it tastes good”. What? It had a skull and crossbones on it too, and one of my friends pointed out that it looked a lot like a vibrator. Enter new name: Dick Pipe. Every time he pulled that thing out, I cringed, and a part of my soul died in embarrassment for him.

Jag Head is also a musician. A very talented one, I’ll admit. He was part of a band. For a music lover like myself, I first thought that meant major bonus points. Hahaha – FOOL. While we were dating, a new member was added to the band who was stronger on the guitar. So this new guy was made the lead, and Jag Head was bumped to backup guitar. He was so irate about this that he quit the band a few days after the change was made. He was either going to be the lead, or not part of it at all. Red flag.

He wasn’t funny, and he didn’t think I was funny. Red flag. But we had intelligent and challenging conversations, which I loved. And I figured the above issues weren’t severe character flaws, so the problem was just me not being able to let things go. So I stuck it out, lobbing zingers over the fence all day long with nary a chuckle.

Then one fateful night…

It was his birthday weekend, and his brother and sister in law were coming to town. He was super excited about this, telling me how they are the funniest people he knows and that I am going to just adore them. My expectations were high. I have the kind of friends who make you spew wine out of your nose holes, so I know funny. I meet them, and it’s one of those really awkward encounters where nothing works out:

Me: So nice to meet you! I’ve heard lots of great things!
Them: Oh.
Me: (rocking back and forth on the balls of my feet) You live in Fort Worth? That’s where I’m from too!
Them: Yeah, it’s great.
Me: So…(clear my throat) So.
Them: (looking up at the ceiling)
Me: (looking down at my feet)
Them: (talking to each other)


None of Jag Head’s friends had planned anything for his birthday (red flag; did he have friends?) so we were to attend another party that one of his colleagues was hosting. But first, we order pizza and sit around together…watching YouTube videos. What?

The party had all the promise of being fun. People, DJ spinning EDM, beer pong, dim lights, lots of booze. I’m lubricated with several glasses of wine and attempting to engage the brother and sister in law in some form of conversation that won’t leave me glassy eyed and watching the football game on TV instead.

I look around at one point and realize every single person in the party is sitting down. No one dancing, no one talking…it was strange. I spy Jag Head in the kitchen chatting with another lad so I figure I’ll go see what they’re up to.

As I saunter over, I overhear Jag Head’s companion say: “Well man, let me show you what I’ve got!” And he reaches down and picks up a hard silver suitcase and places it carefully on the kitchen counter, casino style. Jag Head leans in eagerly, as do I.

As he opens it, I still don’t know what I’m looking at, but Jag Head begins salivating. Drug Suitcase owner starts describing the contents: “So I’ve got all the finest stuff here.” He pulls out a vial of crystal rocks. “This here is the purest you will find.” He pulls out more vials, points to more bags. “Ecstasy, meth, cocaine, mushrooms, acid…whatever you want, dude.

At this point all noise around me silences and my vision tunnels into a fine narrow point as I realize what’s happening. I’m standing there, knots in my stomach, alarm bells going off, while Jag Head bounces up and down begging the guy to stay so he can go get some cash from the ATM. He wants everything. I stare at him, aghast. THIS is how you tell me you’re into hard drugs?? You thought THIS was the right moment?

But he doesn’t even notice I’m there. Like my ex boyfriend with African hookers, he won’t be distracted from his goal. I look around, and the party has continued as if nothing out of the ordinary is taking place.

Am I the ONLY one who thinks this is weird?

I say I need some air and go outside. I’m trying to sift through my thoughts, as the alcohol I have consumed seems to be clouding my judgment. Am I overreacting? No one else seemed to think it was weird. Am I weird? I’m not weird. How do I get out of here? Do I need to get out of here? Do I play it cool? What do I do if he offers me meth? What does meth even look like? What if I accidently inhale something? Why can’t I see any stars? It’s cold out here. Where is my jacket?

Eventually, they come out to find me, and we leave. Jag Head never went to the ATM, so not sure if he was able to procure any drugs. I don’t bring it up, and neither does anyone else. Awkward.

The normalcy with which this whole transaction was carried out made me think there was an entire rite of passage into adulthood that I somehow missed, and “handling drug suitcases as a part of every day life” was in that lesson.

The next day, he tells me that his ex girlfriend’s birthday is that night and he’s taking her to dinner. What? At this point I can only laugh, because the entire situation (and his life) is so ridiculous. “You are taking your ex girlfriend out on a date?!” He brushes it off. “She doesn’t have many friends.” Red flag. “And it’s a thank you for taking care of my dog last week while I was gone.” She took care of your dog?! And then I recall how I had asked him a week ago who would take care of his dog while he was gone, and he merely replied: “a friend”. Red flag.

After further probing, I find out they dated for 2 years, and just broke up 3 months ago. Red flag. I actually laugh into the phone as he tells me that none of his girlfriends have ever minded that he still takes his exes out, and alludes to the fact that we will never work because I “am so jealous.”

Yep. That’s why this won’t work.

Good luck out there, guys. It’s a cesspool of chum.

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20 Responses to Drug Suitcase

  1. Though not the life story I desire for you, wonderful Erin, it is perhaps the best writing I’ve read from you. Don’t give up, you still have Asian and Jewish men to try. Or just try the drugs!

    • erinparker75 says:

      Wow Wayne, what a lovely compliment! thank you!!!! As I’m partial to Jews, I’ll give them a try next. 🙂

  2. Amy says:

    Great stuff!

  3. theyololife says:

    Yes, it is finally released!!! Oh my, how I love hearing this story!!! Erin Parker- great blog, you get a two thumbs up! =)

  4. Amna Johamna says:

    loveeeeeee it!!!!!

  5. Kim Walter says:

    Wow. I was going to totally make fun of you for judging him on the Long Island Ice Tea choice but then the smorgasbord of drugs appeared. In retrospect, that was the first red flag. Carry on.

  6. Gary Thorpe says:

    This would make for a good Grisham novel: “The Carry-on”

  7. Alyssa says:

    Oh Erin, how I do love and miss you!

  8. Jennifer Burtt says:

    OMG! Freaking hysterical!! This rivals one of my friends stories….he was named Dead Rob! Brilliantly written!

  9. Barbarella says:

    And THAT’S why it won’t work. Whiney white boy. lmao. no, really, laughing my ass off. Another golden entry that feels like you’re writing for me and only me. *sigh* I miss you and your rules, red flags and latino loving self.

    • erinparker75 says:

      Miss you too mama. Me hace feliz que te encanto!!! nos vemos prontisimo porque ya estoy en houston!!!

  10. hippieinheelsblog says:

    like your ex that loved African Hookers… that made me lol such a funny story!

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