100 Emails, 20 Dates An SF girl's systematic quest to end her singlehood

The Chef Who Hit on My Two Roommates (at Once)

My roommates, K. and B., had a dinner party on Oscar night, catered by a cook from a local restaurant. B. thought it was a little odd that, when she was talking to the cook to make arrangements, he started telling her about how he was working out a lot and trying to eat better. But hey, there are plenty of people in this world who think complete strangers are interested in the minutiae of their lives.

The cook showed up on Sunday and starts following her around as they're setting up. He's 29, cute, short enough to make a girl who's 5'3" think twice before wearing heels, and recently got out of a long-term relationship. It's hard, he says, because he's a relationship guy; he's into commitment. He continues along these lines, chatting B. up.

That is, of course, until K. comes home. He's still flirting with B. a bit, but he's definitely flirting with K. Food is eaten, wine is drunk, phone numbers are exchanged, the kitchen is cleaned, and the cook leaves -- without his cutting board. Hmmm.

B. texts him to let him know he can pick it up on Tuesday, when she'll be home recovering from knee surgery. On Monday, she wakes up from general anethesia to her friend shoving her cell phone in her face. "What is this text you got?" the friend says. It's from the cook: "I hope when I come to pick it up you're wearing a negligee."

WTF?

At the same time that he sent the text, he was on his way over to our house to pick up the aforementioned cutting board from K. They flirted, they kissed, he left, B. forwarded K. the text, and K. immediately called him on it.

His response? "Wait, I can explain," he said. "I'm not like that. I mean, of course I wasn't hitting on your roommate."

(FYI, guys: negligee reference = hitting on someone)

And then, "Well, I'll let you two fight over me." Then, apparently in an attempt to prove that, for him, there's an inversely proportionate relationship between perseverance and intelligence, he called K. up last night -- at 11 p.m. on a Friday -- to see what she was doing.

I've heard of things like that happening, but never to people that I knew. And definitely never to people that I lived with. In my house. So this guy inspired two new categories for this blog: douchebags and horror stories. Feel free to send me your stories.