Online Dating FAIL #4561
So some dude tried propositioning me on an online dating site with a technique straight out of The Game. When I called him on it, he said “LOL” and asked me what women thought of men who use pickup artist tactics and books on the subject. I resisting telling him to go take a long, hard look at himself in the mirror, young man. Instead I wrote back and said that perhaps those men should spend less time studying how to trick women into bed, and more time reading up on what the hell to actually do with her once she’s there.
Heh. I had a guy at a bar walk up to me with his two friends while I was with my two (much hotter) friends. He approached me and said that he needed a woman’s opinion. He spent $20 on some drug store cologne and his buddy there spent $60 on department store cologne…he wanted me to say who smelled the best. I rolled my eyes and said that my bottle cost closer to $90 and I’m sure I smelled much better than the two of them.
Classic approach. I was offended by the whole ordeal as the set-up to that approach is to hit on the least attractive woman in the group first so she likes you and therefore shows approval to your hotter friend, the actual target. Seriously, that “woman’s opinion, random ass question, approach least attractive first” is straight out of the book.
Fact: I am generally disinterested in anyone who approaches me at a bar. If someone hits on me, I get the feeling that he has been around hitting on everyone else at the same bar, and if all of the other girls brushed him aside, I should, too. I much prefer to pick out a guy at a distance and then go hit on him myself. A little neurotic game theory at work…
Another Fact: regardless of what this posts hints at, I actually have very high self esteem. I’m practical and know that several of my friends are hotter than me on a first look, bar scene thing. I also know that I’m cute enough, good in bed, and all around very awesome. Contrary to my general dating approach, on a first look I’m probably more what boys consider marriage material and less what they consider to be a hot one night stand. Whatevs.
All day long I have pretty much been fantasizing about this pj top and warm leggings and lazy Sundays with good Sunday radio and hot tea and a nap and perhaps a boyfriend. In real life I’m wearing a sweater with leggings, watching The Little Princess, making pom poms out of newspaper, drinking iced tea, talking to my parents from time to time, and counting down the minutes to Sunday night tv.
Oh, and for the record, I am freshly showered, both in my fantasy and right now (although in my fantasy I have giant blond curls and left-over eye makeup). I don’t understand how people can think of skipping a shower as a comfortable move. The once a month or so that I withhold my morning shower, I generally feel gross and self conscious all day until I finally work up the nerve to jump in the hot loveliness.
Um…also…hint hint to any readers that are doing X-mas shopping for me. I’ll take a L in the green.
Into the Woods Pt. 2
Now you know what I mean when I tell you that I grew-up in the woods. I lived here from age 6 to age 18. The people who bought my childhood home from my parents (when they moved to St. Louis) happened to sell my childhood home to some rednecks. It was a humble home, 4 bedroom, 2 bath, office area, living room, and eat-in kitchen. Pretty basic and met all of our needs and then some. My dad was fantastic at building up the basement, redoing the deck, playing around with the rock walls and landscaping, and my mom was fantastic at keeping up with the potpourri, decorating all of our rooms, making curtains, and adopting pets against my father’s will. Now it’s turned into a shit hole. They painted a bit of it white, failed to repaint the rest of it, and they let all of our rock work turn into leaf-covered piles of nothing. And they hung a flag from our giant deck (which extends well beyond what the picture shows…the sun room my dad built just blocks it from view). Things look less depressing in the spring when all of those trees green-up.
I just announced to my brothers my newest life goal. I want to make enough money to buy up my childhood home and spruce it up to it’s former greatness. It can become the home for Thanksgivings and Christmases and that’s about it. There’s a lake, but it’s more like a big pond. My hometown doesn’t have much to offer other than high school football and good sweet tea.
Me vs. Them
I was the one that teachers always picked to make sure that everyone in the class remained silent when supervision disappeared. I was to mark on the chalkboard who all talked and how many times they did it. You can’t ask a kid to be a tattler. Being a teacher’s pet isn’t a good thing, so teachers need to not do that. That’s shit teaching. For the record, I often didn’t tell on people even if they did talk. Sometimes I even let the cute boys copy off of my homework.
Yup, that’s right. $700 for 34ft2 of wallpaper of Midsummer Night’s Dream hand sketched (with poor penmanship). $700. Give me $350 and I’ll come over with a few sharpees and do the damn thing myself.
Why hello there, future apartment floor plan. 870ft2, fireplace that connects bedroom and living room, less than $600/month, hill country views, private balcony, washer and dryer connections, breakfast nook AND dining room space, giant tub, and in the correct part of town. I have to go change my panties.
Voice of Reason
I would recommend everyone to get a Batman in their lives. He’s very wise and patient and smart about life stuff. You can’t have mine, though. Perhaps this is why I like older guys — I generally lack direction and am drawn to someone that can give me some. Also, I have a theory that they are over a lot of the immature fuck-ups that young folks get into: bad credit, ass-headed relationshipping, lack of direction, no understanding of what they want, drunken shenanigans, general tomfoolery. These things are all such turn-offs.
While we’re on the topic of Christmas Wish Lists…
I’ll take a pair of these babies. I’m an adult now, so I’m into flashy post earrings instead of flashy danglies like I have been in the past few years. Truth be told, my current earring collection pretty much includes any sort of flashy dangly that I’d ever need.
Oh, and they’re only $38.
SEE YOU JANUARY 10TH
OMGOMGOMGOMG!
Yessss. Last night I caught the end part of Season 2 where Barb crashes her mother’s wedding with the kids, then along comes Bill with Margene (who has to wait in the car). Margene’s heart is broken because she finally has a chance to be on Bill’s arm as his main squeeze (to a business dinner), but Barb’s drama (mom’s wedding) gets in the way, so when Nicky calls, Margene gives her an earful. THEN Nicky storms up in all her compound glory and makes a ruckus at the fancy LDS reception and Barb is all horrified at first but is firm about choosing her new family over her old family and my eyes were as big as saucers…again. And you’re reminded about why this is such a big issue, as there’s that whole Mormon Celestial Family thing and she’s making decisions that last an ETERNITY, people. Amazing television.
Now I’m wasting time until the hour season finale of Curb Your Enthusiasm. Giddy!
Into the Woods
Oh…and I’m crying like a baby to Bridge to Terabithia. I never read the book and this is the first time I’ve watched the movie. Didn’t see that ending coming…well I did, b/c of all of the rain and rushing water and “oh, that’s an old rope” foreshadowing. Maybe it’s just the beer? I should also mention that I spent the majority of my childhood playing in the woods (when I wasn’t playing ball or doing my homework).
We lived on a few acres of nothing but wooded land (and our house, obviously) and the surrounding properties didn’t much mind our roaming around their properties, which were also just a lot of dense Southern woods. SO I spent most of my time just getting bug bites and building forts by myself. Other joys included learning how to kill chiggers, killer cases of poison ivy, brambles in my laundry pile, and strong tie to the spooky woods and privacy and seclusion. In summers I would go with my brother Patrick to go play softball several subdivisions away. The drive to this place was about five miles away, but if you cut (WAY DEEP) into the woods, it was simply a 20 minute hike of sorts. Usually we’d bring our dog along, which I’m sure he loved (all Cesar Milan style) I really need to camp more.
This is also why I am good at killing insects, fail to cringe at spiders, can build a mean ass campfire, and have detailed mountain-home fantasies of life in Appalachia. This is also why I was so impatient with the girl campers I had when I was a camp counselor in the woods here…they would scream at daddy long legs. I can’t comprehend a childhood that is limited to a few neighbor’s yards or parks with mandatory adult supervision.
Self Edit
I just changed my high school’s Wikipedia page to include Debate as one of the organizations and activities offered. It might be a very small “club” (8-10 students out of 1800) but it was life for three years (mainly the last two). In actuality, they just selected some of the smarter, more left-brained cats from the speech team and made us an elite group for debate. Not smarter as in more talented or more book smart but more as in willing to hunker down and do a shit-load of prep and devote our weekends to several 90 minute long debate rounds instead of a few 10 minute long performances.
ANYWHO, the real reason I was checking it out is because I was trying to find a AAAAAAA High School Football State Championship bracket for Arkansas. I’m trying really hard to make it back to Cabot next Friday so I can watch them play, for the first time in 8 years. True story, the biggest pro on my pro-list for going to a big state school was the whole athletics thing, college football mainly. Obviously, the small women’s liberal arts thing won out. That being said, the Cabot Panthers are the only team that I have a true alum allegiance of sorts to. I know it’s only a high school, but fuck you and you obviously aren’t from Cabot.
p.s. What the fuck is the Free-Thinking Student Association? I wasn’t aware that there were enough free thinkers in my home town to make an entire association.
p.p.s. Why are all of our notable alumi simply pageant winners? Probably because the same narcissism required to focus on and subsequently win pageants is the same narcissism often found in self-Wikiers.
p.p.p.s. Becoming an All State Athlete in high school does not make you a notable alum. That makes you a punk.
p.p.p.p.s. JAPANESE CLUB WEBSITE! I didn’t take Japanese, but my BFF/neighbor/partner in crime (not dirty crime)’s mother is the Japanese teacher, and she puts crazy amounts of effort and love and energy into the teaching thing and the website’s URL (yaekosenseisarmy) made me LOL and all warm at the same time. My theory is that the whole Manga thing blow-up has made a very specific sort of student want to eat up all things Japanese.
p.p.p.p.p.s. If it isn’t obvious, I have fond memories of high school. Although my doctor told me I was depressed, I never got in on the boyfriend game, and I worked a lot on both academics and debate, I had a good time. I was slightly awkward, but weren’t we all?
Recycled SNL sketch? Sigh.
I'm Free and Ready...So We Can Go Steady
I finally started to read all of the 1950s jibber jabber written in the covers of the book I bought for 25 cents a few weeks back. There’s a part about Eugene Lawman falling asleep at the wheel in 1954 of his 1940 Chrysler while driving Judith Ruby home. It’s all cryptic and shit and written in the same handwriting as all of the “Mrs. Eugene Lawman,” “Gene and Judith Forever,” “Eugene and Ruby will marry and have two kids,” “no one could ever break us up or come between us,” and that priceless quote: “I’m free and ready, so we can go steady”…so I’m assuming that it was just a fender-bender, but I couldn’t stop singing Pearl Jam. Lovey-dovey high school chicken scratch. I guess back in that day, your high school sweetheart was the most likely candidate for future spouse.
