Let's keep it real. We have all used this line. We have all been on the receiving end of this line. Either way it is not always a fun conversation to have. About a year ago, I was confronted with redefining this terminology with the Norwegian.
Now the Norwegian, was this dreamboat of a man, whom my friends declared as "too pretty for his own good." When I first met him, my breath literally caught in my throat, in fact I think I even choked on the fruity martini I was drinking (I bring classy to any party!) and it didn't help that his voice was pure manly butter (if you need me to explain this then you have never experienced manly voice butter before, suffice to say its deliciously scrumptious...Odin godlike even). Of course, right off the bat, it was incredibly obvious I was NOT his dreamboat. In fact, if he turned himself anymore in his stool he would have been out the door, and yet for whatever reason, we still seemed to hit it off. Conversationally, that is. Score one for me being a smarty! NERDS UNITE!
So as the night ended, and I was driving home, I realized that I wasn't about to let hunk-a-chunk go without some sort of battle cry, and thus I devised the "let's be friends" war strategy...Which, in most cases, you receive after coming on too strong, or having to let someone down easily, but I figured if this was offered up on the plate from the get go, without the disinterested party preempting it, then I would still have an IN into the batcave. The deliciously Norwegian batcave (where unicorns spawn).
He, in turn, readily accepted (under friendly fire) my invitation. Ensue many hangouts later, under the glorious gaze of his magnetic stare (<~~~someone read way too many romance novels as a child), I realized, one inherent factor, I just literally screwed myself into a broken-hearted corner. I just went to war with myself and it left me wondering if I should have just cut my loses, licked my wounds, and run for the hills. Instead of slowly doing what my friends like to call "the long con" and woe him with my charm, I was stuck pretending to be another one of the guys, listening to stories of him making out with other girls (oh yeah, pure romance here), and texting him like a 19 year old. "Hey dude, whats up? How's it hanging? OMG did you see the new spiderman movie? It's so lame!!!!"
Of course, the messed up thing of it all is that I knew better, in fact I knew so much better that every glass menagerie paraphernalia was mocking my intelligence for falling into such a dumb trap. While part of me gaga-ed, the other part of me wanted to sucker punch my face. And while yes, I learned many many a thing from the Norwegian about the ways of men (and no not kinky ways, dammit), I realized inevitably, the friend "trap" can never work out. There is just too much of a chemical imbalance to immediate physical attraction for it to ever convince your mind or your emotions that things can be anything but. So i had to end it with the Nord. Over rock climbing none the less. As we were bouldering our way to success, I simply told him, "Thanks, Batman", climbed back down, and called it a day. Every now and then I get a text from him wondering about life, and what the hell Batman was all about, and I still get those butterflies from his husky voice, but as I learned, you just can't redecorate the batcave. Not even as catwoman.
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
The "Wrong Type"
Maybe you are dating the "wrong type."
This is something I often hear. That my type is often off-kilter, and perhaps this is true, I have a fascination for creative types with dirty hair and full blown beards. The problem being, most of these creative types are A. moochers B. sycophants C. egomaniacs D. antisocialiates or E. all of the above (I am actually a huge fan of the all of the above, those types are probably the most emotionally satisfying). So needless to say, I tend to get my romantic hopes up and dashed by "my type" more often then I can count.
My dad thinks that I need to stop dating the "artist type" and instead date the "business type":
Dad: "You need a wealthy man."
Me: "I don't really care about that sort of stuff Dad."
Dad: "Well this is why you date moochers, and let me tell you, they will only suck you dry, if not financially, emotionally"
Me: "So you want me in turn to mooch off someone else? I feel like this is a recipe for disaster"
Dad: "Well they could fund your art...you know I have this friend..."
Me: "Is he younger than 40?"
Dad: "58?"
Me: "Dad...wth?"
Dad: "ok, baby steps."
My friends suggest I date a "real" man:
Friend 1: "You date skinny boys, you need a man" (this is usually followed by hand gestures of what muscles might look like)
Friend 2: "You date emotionally immature boys, you need a "real" man who will be there for you when you cry"
Me: "I already have enough gay friends"
Friend 3: "You date such young things, why not a "mature" older man"
Me: "Did you just talk to my dad?"
My mother suggests that I date ugly:
Mom: "You date men who are too good looking, they will cheat on you, you should date someone who is good in their heart, not their looks."
Friend: "Yeah I agree with your mom, ugly guys will adore you."
Me: "...enough with friend/parent dynamic...the world is imploding as we speak..."
So after all of that hoopla of worldly advice I figured fine, instead of staying the course, I will change the course. So off I went, signing up for Match.com, because someone unwisely told me that men who pay for dating sites take dating more seriously than on free sites; Yeah let me be the small granule of wisdom and say that is 100% not true.
First gent, after date 1: "So when can we have sex?"
Second gent, third email: "So when can we have sex?"
Third gent, intro email: "So when can we have sex?"
Second granule of wisdom for said gents: If you have to ask a girl when you can have sex with her, she probably does not want to have sex with you....ever.
I did manage to attract a business/sporty/ex frat-boy Texan, aka someone I would never approach/date/sexually fantasize about in a million years (I mean, Texas, seriously, gross)...but he surprised me with his wit, so I figured, why not. Lets play ball.
Hence our dating story: Interest interest interest. He would send me lovely postcards from the places he was traveling to for business (ROMANTIC), he would write me beautifully thought out long emails (DOUBLE ROMANTIC)....everything was off to a good start; on a foot note, all of this was going on for over three months, our schedules making it near impossible for us to meet, though my mother/friends began to wonder if he had a wife...which was not the case, as he had recently broken up with his ex Brazilian girlfriend of 3 years (oh i know i know i know, warning signs, but he sent me postcards!!! God I am easy). We finally scheduled a time to meet, and it was fireworks, or at least it was fireworks from my end. I was met with hard bodied manliness, beautiful smile, easy conversation, lovely little twang...I was hooked from the hello. I left our date in lalaland thinking wow maybe my familia was right...and that is when everything went straight back to douchville.
Welcome to Douchevilliness.
Suddenly he was too busy to meet up for a second date, which trust me, I know the signs, and in fact I am so good at reading the signs, that I usually meet them at the impasse with, "Hey you know what, no hard feelings, lets be friends"...of course the strange turn of events in this case, is he assures me that that is not the case, that his job is keeping him busy, and he is uncertain of venturing into a new relationship, but that so far he adores me, and blah blah blah blah blah. Still lingering from the postcard bliss, and the euphoric memory of his smile, I figured ok buddy, second chance, but seriously, that was your out. And perhaps, this is where I usually go wrong. I have found that the more truthful I am about a situation, the more that I can call a spade a spade, the more the gent will go out of his way to convince me otherwise. I have found that these "men" just cannot admit defeat unless they are the ones defeating. Which i find very strange, if a girl gives a guy an out, with a pat on the back and a see ya around the bend, that's a good thing, that means there is still a possibility of friendship, if he continues on down the route of deceit, of playing with the possibility of a "what if" romance, that girl will eventually resent the living shit out of him and probably do psychotic things to his person in her head.....but alas...onward I went, thinking, he could not POSSIBLY be as douchetastic as "artist types."
So ensued his checklist of date requests; I did what all my girlfriends, and parents, and male friends recommended, I feigned disinterest. I did not overtly overwhelm him with texts of unicorns and poppies. I did not do overtly romantic things for him (like illustrate him monsters), I kept the weird in check, and above all else I DID NOT contact him for additional dates...no no, I due-diligently waited until he made the move. I allowed him to play that alpha game. Here here lion, I be the fragile gazelle.
Date 2: Scheduled....AND...Cancelled day before because of business meeting.
Date 2: Second Attempt, Scheduled....AND....Cancelled day of because his dog was run over by a car (four days prior, alive, broken leg) and he needed to take it to the vet for a checkup (at 8:00 in the evening). Ok so now my intelligence has just been insulted.
Date 2: Third attempt, Scheduled....AND...Never happens as he just disappears off the face of the planet. Sure I could have called, texted, written, shown up on his door step with a sign that simply said "Really?"...but why bother? He didn't.
Now, this sort of stuff royally irks the alpha female in me. I played the coy part, and had my time wasted. And I began to wonder if the major difference between artist types and business types is the priority to one's time. The artist type will always ALWAYS be neurotically emotional about everything. They will always either get super angry, or super sad, or super bossy, or super quiet, or super super something, so you almost always know something is amiss, and you always leave going, well that was a roller-coaster, thank god THAT is over. And it is an end. With this opposite type, what I just experienced was a complete and utter lack of caring about another persons time. I did not even have a moment to figure out my emotions, because I was so busy trying to figure out how our schedules meshed. And yes, this will probably come off as a huge generalization, because all in all a douche is a douche is a douche, no matter what his attire. Still, life lesson: Never date a Texan. Hook um', my ass.
This is something I often hear. That my type is often off-kilter, and perhaps this is true, I have a fascination for creative types with dirty hair and full blown beards. The problem being, most of these creative types are A. moochers B. sycophants C. egomaniacs D. antisocialiates or E. all of the above (I am actually a huge fan of the all of the above, those types are probably the most emotionally satisfying). So needless to say, I tend to get my romantic hopes up and dashed by "my type" more often then I can count.
My dad thinks that I need to stop dating the "artist type" and instead date the "business type":
Dad: "You need a wealthy man."
Me: "I don't really care about that sort of stuff Dad."
Dad: "Well this is why you date moochers, and let me tell you, they will only suck you dry, if not financially, emotionally"
Me: "So you want me in turn to mooch off someone else? I feel like this is a recipe for disaster"
Dad: "Well they could fund your art...you know I have this friend..."
Me: "Is he younger than 40?"
Dad: "58?"
Me: "Dad...wth?"
Dad: "ok, baby steps."
My friends suggest I date a "real" man:
Friend 1: "You date skinny boys, you need a man" (this is usually followed by hand gestures of what muscles might look like)
Friend 2: "You date emotionally immature boys, you need a "real" man who will be there for you when you cry"
Me: "I already have enough gay friends"
Friend 3: "You date such young things, why not a "mature" older man"
Me: "Did you just talk to my dad?"
My mother suggests that I date ugly:
Mom: "You date men who are too good looking, they will cheat on you, you should date someone who is good in their heart, not their looks."
Friend: "Yeah I agree with your mom, ugly guys will adore you."
Me: "...enough with friend/parent dynamic...the world is imploding as we speak..."
So after all of that hoopla of worldly advice I figured fine, instead of staying the course, I will change the course. So off I went, signing up for Match.com, because someone unwisely told me that men who pay for dating sites take dating more seriously than on free sites; Yeah let me be the small granule of wisdom and say that is 100% not true.
First gent, after date 1: "So when can we have sex?"
Second gent, third email: "So when can we have sex?"
Third gent, intro email: "So when can we have sex?"
Second granule of wisdom for said gents: If you have to ask a girl when you can have sex with her, she probably does not want to have sex with you....ever.
I did manage to attract a business/sporty/ex frat-boy Texan, aka someone I would never approach/date/sexually fantasize about in a million years (I mean, Texas, seriously, gross)...but he surprised me with his wit, so I figured, why not. Lets play ball.
Hence our dating story: Interest interest interest. He would send me lovely postcards from the places he was traveling to for business (ROMANTIC), he would write me beautifully thought out long emails (DOUBLE ROMANTIC)....everything was off to a good start; on a foot note, all of this was going on for over three months, our schedules making it near impossible for us to meet, though my mother/friends began to wonder if he had a wife...which was not the case, as he had recently broken up with his ex Brazilian girlfriend of 3 years (oh i know i know i know, warning signs, but he sent me postcards!!! God I am easy). We finally scheduled a time to meet, and it was fireworks, or at least it was fireworks from my end. I was met with hard bodied manliness, beautiful smile, easy conversation, lovely little twang...I was hooked from the hello. I left our date in lalaland thinking wow maybe my familia was right...and that is when everything went straight back to douchville.
Welcome to Douchevilliness.
Suddenly he was too busy to meet up for a second date, which trust me, I know the signs, and in fact I am so good at reading the signs, that I usually meet them at the impasse with, "Hey you know what, no hard feelings, lets be friends"...of course the strange turn of events in this case, is he assures me that that is not the case, that his job is keeping him busy, and he is uncertain of venturing into a new relationship, but that so far he adores me, and blah blah blah blah blah. Still lingering from the postcard bliss, and the euphoric memory of his smile, I figured ok buddy, second chance, but seriously, that was your out. And perhaps, this is where I usually go wrong. I have found that the more truthful I am about a situation, the more that I can call a spade a spade, the more the gent will go out of his way to convince me otherwise. I have found that these "men" just cannot admit defeat unless they are the ones defeating. Which i find very strange, if a girl gives a guy an out, with a pat on the back and a see ya around the bend, that's a good thing, that means there is still a possibility of friendship, if he continues on down the route of deceit, of playing with the possibility of a "what if" romance, that girl will eventually resent the living shit out of him and probably do psychotic things to his person in her head.....but alas...onward I went, thinking, he could not POSSIBLY be as douchetastic as "artist types."
So ensued his checklist of date requests; I did what all my girlfriends, and parents, and male friends recommended, I feigned disinterest. I did not overtly overwhelm him with texts of unicorns and poppies. I did not do overtly romantic things for him (like illustrate him monsters), I kept the weird in check, and above all else I DID NOT contact him for additional dates...no no, I due-diligently waited until he made the move. I allowed him to play that alpha game. Here here lion, I be the fragile gazelle.
Date 2: Scheduled....AND...Cancelled day before because of business meeting.
Date 2: Second Attempt, Scheduled....AND....Cancelled day of because his dog was run over by a car (four days prior, alive, broken leg) and he needed to take it to the vet for a checkup (at 8:00 in the evening). Ok so now my intelligence has just been insulted.
Date 2: Third attempt, Scheduled....AND...Never happens as he just disappears off the face of the planet. Sure I could have called, texted, written, shown up on his door step with a sign that simply said "Really?"...but why bother? He didn't.
Now, this sort of stuff royally irks the alpha female in me. I played the coy part, and had my time wasted. And I began to wonder if the major difference between artist types and business types is the priority to one's time. The artist type will always ALWAYS be neurotically emotional about everything. They will always either get super angry, or super sad, or super bossy, or super quiet, or super super something, so you almost always know something is amiss, and you always leave going, well that was a roller-coaster, thank god THAT is over. And it is an end. With this opposite type, what I just experienced was a complete and utter lack of caring about another persons time. I did not even have a moment to figure out my emotions, because I was so busy trying to figure out how our schedules meshed. And yes, this will probably come off as a huge generalization, because all in all a douche is a douche is a douche, no matter what his attire. Still, life lesson: Never date a Texan. Hook um', my ass.
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