Giveaway Junkie

GIVEAWAY WINNER: And The Most Miserable Bastard Is…

Wow. You know you’re an underachiever when a blog post writes itself, yet you’re still a week late in publishing it.

The-Happiness-AdvantageLast week Two weeks ago, I asked you to submit tales of run-ins with miserable bastards in an effort to win a copy of Shawn Achor’s “The Happiness Advantage,” a book about positive psychology (see what I did there? A little reverse psychology?).

I don’t know if I should say thank you or I’m sorry for your spectacular entries. You made my first eHarmony experience look like a fairy tale.

And thus, the winner of “The Happiness Advantage” is none other than…

Lorna from Lorna’s Voice!

Lorna
She’s going to use those stunning peepers to read this amazing book.

Lorna’s entry:

Okay. Here goes. The Reader’s Digest version of a blind date with a Miserable Bastard (MB) that ended up in a marriage proposal from hell.

The MB in question was a pompous ass lawyer. My friend set me up with him. I immediately began questioning my judgement in friends. During our first date all he could about was talk about:

1. himself
2. how much he hated the town we lived in (my home town, his new town)
3. his former girl friend who was of Nordic descent (I’ll call her Icelandic Dream Girl)

I thought it was a “one and done” kind of an evening, but he wanted to see me again for dinner, not just drinks, explaining that he only asked women out on first date for drinks because he didn’t want to waste his time and money for a whole “dinner thing” if the woman wasn’t his type. Charming, huh?

I accepted his dinner invitation. Why?

Because I was:
1. drinking heavily at the time
2. lonely
3. drinking heavily at the time
4. had low self-esteem
5. drinking heavily at the time
6. didn’t want to spend the rest of my life alone

We dated for several months, during which time he berated me every chance he got, which was a lot. He even forced himself on me (like in rape) and blamed me for not liking it, which I apologized for due to (see above list).

After the rape thing, I kind of knew he wasn’t the MB for me. I tried to avoid him by making excuses not to see him. Clever MB must have figured out what I was up to. Icelandic Dream Girl must have pulled something similar.

In a moment of weakness (see above list), I agreed to go with him on an outside adventure. I’m not the outdoorsey type. He fancied himself an Olympian in canoeing. Out we went onto an angry lake in a yellow death trap. I sat on the floor of the canoe which was swamped due waves cresting over the sides, my hands were claws gripping the edges of the damn boat/likely casket. I thought his plan was to drown me. Imagine my surprise when he proposed marriage to me. I told him I had to think about it, wanting to be on terra firma when I told him to screw himself. Which I did.

The end.

Congratulations, Lorna! I’ll be in touch to award your prize. And a martini.

Any new run-ins with miserable bastards? Um, any plans for spring? Talk to me. I love you.

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