When I share my glorious tales of dating with friends, they all seem to have their own suggestions or a set of “dating rules”. The following are some rules which I have heard and then promptly ignored. Probably not in my best interest.
“Don’t call him. If he’s interested in you, he’ll call you.”
I’m no feminist, but fuck that noise. If I enjoy some one’s company I am going to call them. Maybe even to the point where they file a restraining order. I dislike rules that make dating seem like a game. Hasbro did not invent dating, guys. If two people like each other and want to talk to each other why must there be rules to define when and how often they speak? And if I am come off as a stage five clinger that’s only because I am and I will facebook stalk you until I find myself a new victim.
“Don’t sleep with him on the first date.”
I am a grown ass woman, I do what I want. If I want to bump uglies and the feeling is mutual I don’t see the harm. My dignity? I left that at home with my panties.
“Don’t let him pay for the date, it makes it seem like you owe them something”
That’s just silly. One of the perks of a vagina is free food and drinks. I intend on exploiting that as long as I can.
“Be mean, guys like when girls are kind of bitchy.”
I refuse to put up any kind of front on dates; not because I feel this is some how morally wrong to trick someone into liking you but rather I am a horrible actor. When I try my best bitch routine, I come off more like a child with Asperger’s syndrome.
“Don’t drink too much on the first date.”
I should actually listen to this one…
Looking back, I have tried to pin-point exactly where my ability to pick proper mates started to fail. When did my picker break? And I have reason to believe it was thanks to Harley: the 25 year old tattoo artist I dated when I was 14 years old. Maybe.
This is not an “OMG I was taken advantage of at such a young age” tale; actually its quite the opposite. I was 14 years old, raging full of hormones, and the chicken nuggets pumped with steroids my mother fed me as a child caused me start developing breasts at the age of 9. I knew what I wanted and that was Harley. I raped him. He did, however, instill that “bad boy with the heart of gold” attraction deep within my psyche and I cannot seem to break it.
Harley lived in the same apartment complex as my best friend and one day we convinced him to show us how to play the guitar. I sat on his bedroom floor gazing up at the most attractive male I had ever seen. He was playing Nirvana and at the age of 14 I thought Stevie Ray Vaughn was sitting in front of me; “he’s such an amazing musician, so talented”. At one point my friend went to use the restroom and that’s when I lept into action. I went to his door, locked it, gave my best seductive smile and jumped him.
I had more confidence at 14 years old than I do ten years later. And it paid off, Harley and I dated for almost two years. It ended, however, when we realized we were two completely different people. I was concerned about my 4th period math exam and he was talking about car insurance and rent. My mother saw him drop me off one day (Harley covered in tattoos was obviously not 16 years old) and all she said was, “I don’t know who that man was, but I never want to see him again. Your father would kill him”. I knew then that it couldn’t work out; I was terrified of my dad and Harley was tired of being called a “cradle robber” by his friends.
I hope I never see Harley again, but I continue my endless search for my own James Dean.
- I could live off of Skittles, Dr Pepper and queso dip.
- I laugh when people are mad at me, not because I find it funny but that is how I deal with being uncomfortable.
- Sometimes I buy more clothing rather than do laundry.
- You can’t sit in the backseat of my car because of the amount of trash piled back there.
- When I get nervous my chest gets red and blotchy. I am nervous a lot.
- When debating about something I am passionate about I don’t let it drop until the other person cries.
- I rant about work a lot.
- I speed, get tickets, don’t go to court and get arrested at least twice a year and my apathy towards this bothers most people. I don’t care.
- I have messy hair that I wash maybe once a week.
- I chain smoke and don’t care where I throw my cigarette butts.
- My idea of having fun on a Friday night involves board games.
- I laugh too loud and I’ve been known to snort.
- I haven’t done my dishes in over a month; I just buy paper plates.
- I could easily sleep or read the entire weekend and be happy.
- I collect animals but have trouble keeping them alive.
- I don’t like people drinking my Dr. Pepper.
- I have a vibrator named Obi Wan and I’m quite fond of him.
- I do not get angry that often but if you start talking after I say “Ooh I love this song” and turn up the volume, I will flip my shit.
- My mind works faster than my mouth so sometimes I don’t make sense when I talk and will stop talking in the middle of a story because I give up.
- I work as a counselor for men who are on probation and are court ordered for group therapy; after spending 4 hours a day with them I come home talking like a gang member.
- I shit at least 3 times a day.
- I have a phobia of shitting anywhere besides my house. Its not that I don’t like to, I literally cannot shit. It hurts.
- I have a 5 year old son but I don’t care for other children. I actually dislike them quite a bit.
- My carpet is covered in burn marks from leaving my hair straightener on.
- But that’s ok because 90% of the burn marks are hidden under the piles of laundry that cover my floor.
Nothing stole my affections as a child more than David Bowie’s crotch in the Labyrinth. I would watch that VHS over and over and over with the volume on mute while I stared at his man bulge in all it’s glory.
If you have never seen The Labyrinth, well first off FOR SHAME, and secondly, I highly suggest you do. The hair on the back of my neck still stands on end when I see muppets.
I went on an awkward “date” with a guy named Brad. It was awkward because 1.) it was at a fucking dog park, 2.) he was dressed like a cowboy. Let me explain, in our conversations via Okcupid, I had learned Brad was a tattoo artist that loved his dog. Awesome, except I love kitties and dogs are gross. So Brad suggested that we meet at a dog park and then if our chemistry was right, go out on an actual date. I should have been offended by this because, well, I am a classy lady and I expect to be wined and dined not test driven first; however I really wanted a free tattoo source so I obliged.
I get to the dog park and he texts that he is in a silver Mercedes. Say what! Nine times out of ten, the winners I pick don’t even pay for the date or have a car, this was a pleasant surprise. Nothing rememberable happened the next hour: I remember being hot, it smelling like shit and having absolutely nothing to talk about. Oh, and he was dressed like a cowboy which I thought was really odd. Like boots, Wranglers, and even a hat. I live in Texas but I was embarrassed for him.
Needless to say the test drive did not go well; I was a Toyota and he was a Mercedes. So imagine my suprise when a year and a half later I am at a bar with my boyfriend when Brad shows up. I peed my pants a little bit and tried my best to hide my face when I realized he was walking in our direction. My heart was pounding and “fight or flight” had kicked in; this had the potential to be a very awkward moment. “Shannon!” Brad called out, and my boyfriend turned around and gave Brad a big, friendly hug. Oh. My. God. THEY KNOW EACH OTHER! Of all my fears with online dating this is in the top five.
Shannon introduces Brad to me and before he can even say anything I scream in a tone-deaf voice “Nice to meet you Brad!!!!” and vigorously shake his hand. Shannon looks at my puzzled like I have lost my mind, but shrugs it off; I have a tendency to make an ass out of myself in front of his friends so this is nothing new. Brad understands my anxiety and like a total dick asks “So how did you kids meet?” to which my boyfriend replies “On okcupid, its an internet dating site”. I have had many a talks with Shannon about this; I have deep rooted shame about online dating. Its funny for those who understand but most do not and I would much rather say “at a funeral” or “at the proctologist”.
Brad gave me a smug smirk and told Shannon it was nice seeing him. As he was leaving, I imagined him texting all of him and Shannon’s mutual friends to share the news. I felt like the biggest internet creepster and wanted to crawl in a hole and die.
Your writing is hilarious, perfectly phrased, and utterly captivating! No question here, just serious props.
Asketh - whufflewhacked
I am addicted to those shows on Discovery Health Network about morbidly obese people; what disappoints me though is all they do is bitch and moan about how big they are. If were 800 pounds, roughly the size of a mattress, I would rent out the smallest apartment I could find—so that I would take up almost the whole apartment—and make people pay $5 to look, $6 to touch, and $8 to feed. I would be marvelous, completely naked except for stick-on stars over my gargantuan nipples. I wonder how big my nipples would be, fuck, I bet about the size of a pizza. Perhaps I will purchase a trailer instead of an apartment, that would give it more of the look I will be aiming for. I would want large metal bowls surrounding me filled with various candies and spiced meats for my pleasure. In the evenings I will have my care taker apply make-up to my swollen face and I will perform for all my admirers.
I would have a whipping boy to do all my bidding, and to oil me up every other hour; I would want to be shiny. I think I would look like Jabba the Hutt, and that’s the way I would want it to be. He will be tall, of Latin decent and call me “mami”. He will not only oil, bathe and dress me, he will be there at my disposal for any sexual favors I may need.
And if people really wanted more bang for their buck, for $20 they could look at my vagina. I would like to see the vagina of an 800-pound woman.
This is totally the type of boy that would have owned my affections in high school. Daaaamn. 24 year old boy in Virgina. Drummer? Check. Nerdy shit? Check. Libertarian Atheist? Check. Long-ish hair? Check.
Favorite food is ALSO breakfast?
Shit, I think we’re soulmates. lololol
I see nothing wrong here, in fact, I swooned a little bit….which might possibly be my problem? D: