Saturday, November 12, 2011

Topics of Conversation to Avoid During a First Date

Once upon a time, in a bar and grill in Texas, two people were having their first date.  I met Mr. Richards for drinks and dinner, I think.  So I arrived a tad bit late which almost never happens but I went to the wrong place.  I will admit, it was my fault, and I did not put the correct address in the GPS.  However, when I did arrive, Mr. Richards had permanent glasses.  I say permanent because according to his profile pictures they were not there.  He was also fluffier than I remember.  Regardless, he started to talk.  And talk...and talk.  Somehow we got on the topic of weddings.  I find that this should be avoided.  Period.  The End.  He had an engagement ring  because a long time ago (around the end of high school) he asked a girlfriend to marry him.  Now, they did not marry, but I was all ready starting to get concerned.  The engagement ring looked similar to this:

A dolphin engagement ring
THEN, he said that he was going to put her birthstone in the eyes of the dolphin, which was a ruby.  I thought to myself, wow, a possessed dolphin engagement ring.  Could I be looking forward to this?  What surprised me is that he kept talking about her, the engagement, how much the ring was valued at and that the ring could be traded up, and that it took place in a mall.  I hope no one asks me to get married in a mall, or worse, in the food court.   

Now a few people know that I had a plan to meet someone fabulous and get  married on 11-11-11.  Naturally, this was more of a joke than a feasible plan, but do you think I told Mr. Richards that on our first date?  Of course I didn't.  I didn't want him to think I was crazy just yet.  Crazy comes in later right?  Right.  So he talked about his upbringing in a small town (first warning alert) his career, his college years, his high school years, his perception of being the class clown and how funny he thought he was, his refection on the truck he had to recently trade in for a more economical car, basically everything under the sun.  I didn't even have to ask him a question because I sat there just listening.  Listening for 3 1/2 hours.  (Now I do deserve brownie points for all that listening, something I am personally working on)  I started to look at his watch, then I had to cut him off and say, in the land of people, I have to get up and go to work tomorrow.  He, of course, did not.  I think I am a little too nice.  I should have ran out of the restaurant screaming in horror after seeing this engagement ring.  I know what I would like, but it sure as hell isn't this.  I collect PEZ but I don't want an engagement ring that looks like a pez with a diamond in it.  He paid for the 2 beers I had.  In hindsight, I should have had 10 beers and then called Miss Silky Hair for a ride home, and left the car there.  It would have been a totally awesome plan and made the talking bearable!  At least if I had 10 beers I could use my raised voice, cut him off and been a little wild.  One of my friend's told me that is not a raised voice, it's my yelling voice.  I am not sure I recognize the difference.  He walked me to my car and gave me a hug.  I thanked him for dinner, because that is what nice girls do that have good manners.  He said to text him to let him know I made it home all right.  Thoughtful, yes.  I made it home at mach speed because I felt like I was on the show mission impossible and that I may never see my home again.  Naturally he had a wonderful time.

I also recently went to a wedding (imagine that).  Now usually, I am the one in tears though it.  My gaybors made fun of me the last time.  But I know exactly what it is, it is the part when the dad gives the daughter a way.  I guess I feel really sad for the dad, and maybe myself a little too.  I know it is meant to be happy, but I am always a little tearful.  I feel a little of the loss of a close friendship.  However, I am pretty sure my dad would high-five the guy at the alter if I ever got married.  Followed by these exact words, "finally you are taking her off my hands, whoo hoo!!!"  But at this wedding, no tears, nothing.  Perhaps I am becoming my jaded and the sentimental part of me is just over it.   Or maybe the bad date was still too fresh in my mind.

Needless to say, I think I am throwing in the towel.  I decided this the day after this date.  I think I am just done.  If I have to have one more bad date, I might join a convent.  I bet they would let me in if I let them read my blog with all the bad dates.  Sister Princess Diana does have an interesting ring.  Do you think they would make me drop the Princess part? 




Tuesday, November 1, 2011

What Men Think They Want in A Girl...

Once upon a time, dating started to suck in my 30's. Perhaps, I need a break. I can tell you this much, it wears me out. However, I have come to learn a few things. Men will tell you what they want, but in all fairness, it's not what they really want.



Let's review the "leaving things at some one's house."

The Woman's View:
I am pretty sure we are all thrilled if something were to get left at our house, even if by accident (although we can analyze that wasn't an accident). I think it shows, security and stability. The easy tell tale sign is, hey this guy likes me and will be coming back. All of this, we can determine by a t-shirt left or perhaps even as little as a toothbrush.

The Guy's View: (true story)
My BFF Mr. Pacman told his now live in girlfriend, NEVER to leave anything at his house. He said, "don't leave any shampoo or just a toothbrush."  I am guessing that means they feel trapped if something gets left. 


Next item on review:  "I want a smart, independent girl"

The Woman's View:
We are pretty happy if we are viewed as smart and often times stable.  We think this will make us more attractive to the opposite sex.  We are easy to handle and low maintenance. 

SIDEBAR:  This is a TOTAL HORSE SHIT!


The Guy's View:
They want the damsel in distress.  If you don't believe me, talk to the guys I work with.  All of them married one and all of them are miserable.  SIDEBAR:  I am grinning as I write this.  The girl that can't change a tire or can't pay the rent, so they can swoop in and rescue them and pay for it all.  *By the way, if you find this guy, definitely send him my way*  That way, they can exchange those types of good deeds for others.  You know what I am saying.  It's all part of their master plan.  They don't want you to be smarter than them, that is blasphemy.  This also goes along at beating their ass at air hockey or other such games, video games included.  I am just saying.  

EXAMPLE OF THE DAMSEL:
Earlier this year in a cold tundra, I saw the damsel in distress in full effect.  There was a blizzard here in Texas and if you live here you will remember it was right around the Super Bowl.  So, this lady who worked for me, her name was Petunia was terrified of the snow.  Of course she was.  So one day it was snowing pretty good.  She went out to the warehouse and asked one of male employees to come and wipe the snow off her windshield.  I swear to you.  As I live and breathe!!!  I thought I was going to come unglued.  As soon as she pulled out of the parking lot with her clear windshield, I went outside.  I pulled out the most awesome snow window scraper in all the land.  My dad got me one on a business trip via the rental car he had.  I brushed off my window, and the other 2 girls in the office and the 2 guys in the warehouse out of being just plain annoyed that she couldn't just use her mitten like any other normal human being.  That is the day I knew I wasn't the damsel. 

REVELATION / EXCEPTION TO THE RULE:
Now back to the story at hand.  I got a little side-tracked with the damsel in distress story, but it had to be told.  Now, I did meet a fabulous woman who broke this horrid trend of men only like the damsel in distress.  It must have been magic or destiny.  I am still trying to repeat her very story only in my own life.  Her name is Ms Chuck Taylor.  Before she met her beau (who happens to be awesome and younger, and will never get fat - EVER), she was a successful editor in Hollywood.  Her life happens to be fascinating if you ever hear a chapter of it.  She is smart, worked hard, and made so much money she could make it rain.  She met this man on a website, how it turned out as good as it has is beyond me.  He is also smart and hard working.  I am pretty sure he might be the only one left and sadly because I am such good friends with Ms. Chuck Taylor, stealing him would be a deal breaker and could end in my death.  I am pretty sure it would end in the streets ala kickboxing style and with awesome sound effects. 

Next time on review:  "You aren't my type, I prefer brunettes"

LONG SIDEBAR:

Let me just say, if I had $100.00 for every time I heard that line, I would have $200.00.  Yes, I have heard it twice, but what I am is saying is that I also have a type.  A type that I think is ideal that I happen to never date.  Now my dad said blonde's are the  most beautiful and of course he is right, but if Niche ruled the world, I would be here and these schmuck men who said they preferred a brunette would not.  It's not my fault I am a fair maiden and it's not my fault I drank enough milk as a kid so I could be a Sasquatch.  I am healthy and I have good skin, so suck it!

A Woman's View:
I should probably change my hair color because then he will like me and we can live happily ever after.  Now mind you this is the accommodating woman speaking.  I, on the other hand, like who I am.  The End.  Now I am not saying I haven't had brown hair.  There was the breakup of 2008 where I went all Carrie Bradshaw circa Sex in the City Movie 1 where I was heart broken and the only way to feel better was to transform myself into someone I didn't recognize in the mirror.  It worked and my mom hated it.   

The Guy's View:
I am all powerful, and now that she is a brunette, I think I really do prefer blonde's.  Followed by the line of, "can we just be friends?"  Which I will mention is the kiss of death. 

The moral to this story is that men are picky too.  They say they aren't, but that is also HORSE SHIT.  Someone fabulous could be on their door step and until someone whacked them in the head with a wiffle ball bat, they wouldn't know it. 

I have been told I am picky, but guess what, so are men!  

The End.