Dating Games (Part I)

My friend, Greta, from Dating Without a Net, and I are playing a dating game.  We rationalized that since we keep picking the wrong men for ourselves, we will pick dates for each other via Plenty of Fish.  Figuring that this plan cannot be any worse than the system we currently employ, we provided each other with our zip codes (I live in NJ; Greta lives in TN), dating radius, a few non-negotiable attributes and gave each other free reign.  


The rules were to pick 3 men from our respective geographic locations who fall within the set criteria (who we haven't dated), email, secure a date with at least one and, of course, blog about it.   Greta and I set to work yesterday, but the first task of finding potential dates was more difficult than originally anticipated.  


While I thought that I had a tough time navigating through the hoards of wanna-be-guidos, the dating pool near Greta posed its own challenges.  In her neck of the (back) woods, I found most of the men to be either in the public service or transportation industry (read: cops/security guards and truck drivers) so it was a good thing that education wasn't a deal breaker for Greta (note: education wasn't a criterion of mine either--we tried to make the pool as large as possible).  I found may of the men in her tri-state area of Tennessee, Mississippi and Arkansas to be redneck hillbillies that even this country-lovin' girl wouldn't let buy me a beer um....unimpressive.  


Up here in NJ, I deal with men who swathe themselves in the Italian flag, rock fake tans and faux hawks but these men are no match for Greta's potential suitors.  Between the mullets, missing teeth and hunting prize pictures (I stopped counting after 5 dead animals and one hog-tied pig), I can see why she's having trouble picking the right men.  There were a few attractive men, but they either hadn't been online in months or Greta had already dated them.  Our exchanges went a little something like this:


Me: Here you go--let me know if you've blocked or already talked to them: Johnny, SomeDude, OtherDude.
Greta: I emailed Johnny a while back, wanna switch him out for another?  Here are yours: HotDude, BeachDude, SarcasticDude.
Me: I've already met and um, hung out, with HotDude.  We're good friends.
Greta: No way!  The foot fetish guy?  I thought he was the hottest and totally my type.. you go girl!  I'll pick an alternate for you.
Me: No, the guy with the tiny dog.  Don't know if I told you about him.  He drives that hot truck and is super sweet.  No foot fetish.  Ok, sub BadCop for Johnny---if you haven't already talked to him.
Greta: Good one but BadCop guy hasn't been online since October! #notthatmanyfisharoundhere  Ok, sub this LawyerDude for the HotDude.
Me: Ugh, LawyerDude is "JD" the one who got drunk, said he wanted to swing and tried to get me naked!    I blogged about it here.
Greta: Omg, you have dated every guy in NJ already either that or we totally have the same taste, Let me try one more time...
Me: Ok, so what about Sean? Aside from the weird dog pic, he's pretty cute.  Hamm looks promising too, although I see a radio on his lapel (are you done with dating cops?)
Greta: Sean is the cop I went out with on Friday!!  lol  Ok, last try, have you dated NJman?
Me:   NJman is kind of old but we're running out of options.  Is Sean the cop whose partner got shot while you were on your date?!   What about Tim?  Might be a freak--not a good face pic but his tattoos are kind of sexy.  Or what about Frank?  He kind of looks like a meth head but he has a Masters Degree so it might just be the highlights in his hair that are throwing me off.  OMG we both need to move! 


After way too much time surfing Plenty of Fish, Greta and I have our dates nominated.  I emailed my 3 potentials--BeachDude, SarcasticDude and NJman--and now we wait.  

Food Baby

It's no secret that women are often the objects of unwanted attention.  Since I've been single, I've mistakenly given my number out to men who I have had no intention of talking to or dating, simply because I've been too polite to say "no" when asked.  I'm still trying to determine how to tow the line between respectfully declining attention and being a bitch. 

Case in point:  Over the summer I gave my number to a former NBA non-starter who now coaches at a local college.  While I had no intention of ever getting together, for some reason (either the booze or his ridiculously intimidating height) I gave him my digits.  I ignored his first 5 text messages before telling him that I wasn't interested and apologized for misleading him.  That has not stopped him from texting me an invite to every event he has attended since August.  I consistently ignore his messages, but could have gotten a chance to accompany him to countless collegiate and professional sporting events. I declined every one.   I almost accepted the invite to the Barclay's PGA tour, but I'm holding out for NBA playoff tickets instead. 

My mistake with the NBA retiree taught me that it's ok to be firm and reject someone I meet at a bar...especially the kinds of men who I've met in bars.  Taking my own sage advice, I was out one night with my girl friend Katie at her local watering hole.  I found a seat at the bar (uncommon on a Saturday night) and started talking to a a girl next to me while Katie was gallivanting around. 

A man sidled up next to me and struck up a conversation.  I wasn't interested, but not wanting to give up a seat, I entertained the conversation for a few minutes and hoped he would go away.  I assumed that he'd be smart enough to recognize my curt answers as disinterest...but you know what they say about assumptions.  So there I was, held hostage on a bar stool. 

I had two choices: (1) wait for Katie to come and rescue me or (2) reject the man staring at my breasts and trying to get into my pants.  Since option (1) wasn't going to happen until the either bar closed or the men disappeared, I was stuck coming up with something to say to let the guy know I wasn't interested.  Knowing that a band aid approach is easiest, I simply told him, "I'm not interested." and hoped he would leave me alone. 

But it wasn't enough.  He wanted to know WHY I wasn't interested and complimented some part of my body, presumably as a means of making me change my mind.  I told him, "No trust me, I'm really not interested." but he just kept talking.  At this point it was do or die.  I wasn't about to let some annoying guy who can't take a hint make me give up my chair and so I did something that I'm not proud of...at all...but nevertheless think is genius.

At this point it's important to let you all know that while I might not be terribly large in stature, I possess a strange ability to puff out my midsection, especially after consuming food or drink.  My family and friends lovingly begrudgingly refer to this as my "food baby".  At this point in the night, I had been drinking vodka sodas for a few hours and so my belly was rather full.  Realizing that there was no other way I was going to get this man away from me, save for telling him I had a penis (a close second choice) or leaving my barstool (not a chance), I made a decision. 

I puffed out my stomach and turned toward him.  After swirling my drink and taking a sip, I looked him in the eye, put my hand on my belly and said, "One drink won't hurt the baby, right?  It's just vodka!"  I've never seen a man run away from a woman so fast!

Food baby (watch out, she kicks!)

High Five

I spent the weekend finishing up studying for the New Jersey Bar Exam.  It's been a rough and lonely few months and I desperately missed my friends so I decided to get out of the house yesterday afternoon and met up with my friend, Katie.  Katie is the type of friend who I can always count on to go out and have a good time.  Whether it's taking pictures with vertically challenged diner bus boys or scaring away creepsters at a bar by telling them I'm pregnant, nights with Katie never disappoint.  Not to mention, she shares junky bar food with me.

So, when Katie told me to get my butt invited me to the Brick House yesterday to watch the Daytona 500 with her and a friend, I was happy to take a study break.  Beer and soft pretzels are enticing, but add in an excuse to dress up like white trash and I'm there!   Katie also promised there would be cowboys at the bar--liar!

Disclaimer: I do not actually own a camouflage thong.

While there were no cowboys as promised, there a group of Jersey trash boys to keep us entertained.  Katie knew one of the guys in the group through a former roommate and I can safely say she either does not hang out with these guys or is lying to me so that I don't judge her.  Yes, it was that bad.  I could describe the night as a sequel to Why I Don't Date Men in Their 20's but I'd hate to give the rest of the cohort a bad name because of three specific individuals.  So, who did I meet last night?  Let's call them High Five, Chinstrap and ThugLife.

High Five was the mutual friend of Katie's former roommate and the seemingly most normal out of the bunch.  He was dressed in a non-matching sweatsuit (as opposed to the guy wearing the matching Nautica sweatsuit who bragged that he had spent $150 on the look), had pretty blue eyes that could just be made out through his heavy drunk eyelids and a penchant for high fives.  He and his friends had come from a bachelor party in Atlantic City where the groom-to-be (or someone else, I really have no idea) got arrested the night before.  High Five spent half of his time at the bar telling Katie's friend how he used to be in love with her (she's married now) and how he wishes he could have slept with her before she was betrothed.  Apparently, Katie's friend's breasts are just "too big to be married off".  Charming.  The other half of his time was spent trying to kiss me.  In his defense, at least he asked first.  

High Five: "Can I kiss you?"
Me: "No, thank you."
High Five: "Why?"
Me: "Because you're drunk."
High Five:  ::sips water:: "Can I kiss you now?  I drank some water.  I'm not drunk."
Me: "No, now you just taste like water."
High Five: "That seems fair.  High Five!"


Chinstrap was an um, strapping (?) 26 year old fellow with full arm sleeve tattoos, a fancy shmancy hoodie and of course, a chin strap of facial hair.  He sidled up to our trio of ladies and started talking about something boring or stupid enough for me to have mentally checked out of the conversation from the get go.  After a while he asked what I did and I said I was a non-practicing attorney working in legal recruiting.  This opened a Pandora's box for Chinstrap who proceeded to tell me that he was a teacher who works with "retards" (his words, not mine) but that he is planning on taking the LSATs, going to law school and getting a job as a School Board attorney making $400k a year out of law school.  Awesome, I told him and wished him luck, mentioning that the legal market is pretty tough right now...and that I have a better chance of being a size 0 than him making $400k.  Some people are under the impression that an attorney's billing rate is directly proportionate to their salary.  This is not the case. For the record, billing $400/hour does not mean you will be making $400k a year.

Of course this didn't sit well with Chinstrap who proceeded to berate me loudly in a diatribe of "You don't know me...I'm the most motivated person you'll ever meet...I've got two Masters degrees from University of Phoenix at 26!....I'm gonna get a job as a School Board attorney and make $400k a year because my Dad's friend owns a firm and is holding a spot for me and I will be making that money straight out of the taxpayers pockets...so ha!"  Right.  I smiled, sipped my water and watched as his friends dragged him outside for a breather as I discussed with Katie how "You don't know me" is code for "I'm ignorant and don't listen to what other people have to say."

I gave Chinstrap a few minutes to cool off before going outside to talk to him and clear the air.  Wanting to be the bigger person (and not wanting to get my ass kicked on the way to my car) I told him that it's great that he has delusions of grandeur dreams, wished him luck with his legal career and suggested that some anger control might serve him well with adversaries in the future.  One thing I pride myself on is being able to insult people without them realizing it and so I told Chinstrap, with a smile, that his early success as a teacher (um, he has two Masters degrees from University of Phoenix, yo) has made him very confident but that he is too arrogant and obnoxious and good lawyers don't pick fights with sober women in bars.   He apologized, offered to buy me a shot (I declined) and gave me a high five.

At the conclusion of my makeup session with Chinstrap, ThugLife joined the conversation excitedly, "You're a lawyer?!  I really could have used a lawyer when I was arrested!" Then he told us that he was arrested for beating up the police officers who came to arrest him with a warrant.  He failed to mention what the warrant was for, but justified his actions with the question, "What else was I supposed to do?"  Um, anything but run and beat up the cops would probably suffice.  So I explained that I wasn't a practicing attorney, lest someone give him my name and he asks me to represent him.

During the conversation the group was waiting on the bartender for drinks and ThugLife declared, "If you were a real lawyer you would have been able to get us drinks by now with your sneaky ways."  While I had no idea what that was supposed to mean, I had run out of patience with the crowd of degenerates and snapped, "My chosen profession has little effect on my ability to get a beer for a drunk thug at a crowded bar.  If you want a drink, get it yourself.  I'm drinking water and have little desire to wait on you."  Cue another round of, "You don't know me....I'm more successful than you'll ever be...I even own my own company!"

I smiled, of course, and said, "Good for you for making the best of a situation where you were unemployable." At this point I was getting frustrated and Katie was giving me the don't-poke-the-big-stupid-bear-just-because-you're-smarter-than-him look.  Thankfully, ThugLife had taken anger management courses and took my low blow as a compliment to his resourceful nature....then he looked at my boobs, smiled and offered to buy me a shot, as the bartender had stopped by to see what the ruckus was about.   I respectfully declined, smiled and gave him a high five.