How to Spot a Douchebag

It's come to my attention that I have some new readers who I'd like to personally welcome to the blog.  ::waves hello, smile and tips cowboy hat::  I hope you enjoy reading my anonymous stories of hilarity and personal reflections that I have compiled since I decided that life was too short to be anything but happy.  

Since I started dating (and looking back at my dating past) I have had several discussions with my girlfriends about refining our "Douche-dar".  Similar to "Gay-dar", "Jew-dar" and other anecdotally supported yet unreliable radar systems, "Douche-dar" is the ability to spot a douchebag.  

Whereas "Gay-dar" may be tipped off by a jazz-handed, paisley-clad man drinking an apple martini and "Jew-dar" is heightened during conversations about camp, Long Island and Florence-study abroad programs, "Douche-dar" is more difficult to hone.  The difference between these radar systems is that while "Gay-dar" and "Jew-dar" make you aware of people who you want to date (as gays and Jews tend to look for similar individuals when looking for a partner), "Douche-dar" tips you off to those who you don't want to date.  The status of "douchebag" is something that is hidden, rather than placed on the forefront.  As such, it's difficult to spot a douchebag...unless you know what you're looking for.

Below I have compiled a list detailing how to spot a douchebag.  While this is not an exhaustive list, it is a list I have compiled based on personal experiences, or the experiences of my friends.  It is an unapologetically means of ruling out men who are, more than likely, douchebags.  There may be men who fall under some of these criteria who are not douchebags, or douchebags who do not fall anywhere on this list.  As I said, this list isn't exhaustive so please feel free to add to it in the comments section below. 

HOW TO SPOT A DOUCHEBAG

1. He goes by a nickname unrelated to his legal name-- Any man who thinks he's too cool for his real name is a douchebag.  Going by "JJ" instead of James Joseph or "Smitty" when his last name is Smith is ok, but giving himself a nickname like "The Situation" is a sure sign that he's a douchebag.
2. He insults people-- If everyone else is a loser; moron; douchebag or pussy, chances are he's the douchebag.
3. He drives a Hummer-- Unless he's driving it through a foreign desert and shooting at enemy combatants, he's a gas-guzzling, attention-whore who is likely overcompensating for a teeny weenie and, most certainly, a douchebag. 
4. His car is a color that's not available in stock-- Yellow, neon green, electric blue and anything with racing stripes is another sign of an overcompensating attention-whorish douchebag.
5. He drives a new muscle car-- If it's reminiscent of the old muscle cars but was manufactured within the past 20 years, he's a douchebag...unless he's 45 and going through a midlife crisis or over 60 and reliving his youth, neither of which you want to date anyway.
6. He high fives or chest bumps-- Unless you're at a sporting event or mocking people who high five and chest bump, high fives and chest bumps are signs of a douchebag. 
7. He has stupid stickers on his rear windshield-- Including but not limited to the Calvin and Hobbs kid peeing on something, a silhouette of a naked woman and the "shocker".  There's no reason for these stickers other than to publicly display your status as a douchebag.
   
   
   
8. He wears sunglasses at night-- Whether they're on his head or on his face, sunglasses at night are never acceptable and either mean that you're a douchebag or on drugs (and therefore, a douchebag).  The one obvious exception is Corey Hart.
9. He talks about taking naked pictures of his ex-girlfriend-- Bonus douche points if he mentions that he still has the pictures and pushes you to take naked pics for him. This recently happened to me during a third, and final, date with a douchebag.
10. He brags about "cheating the system"-- If he brags about not paying taxes; getting out of every ticket because of his "connections"; hiding his assets by putting them in another person's name or his new motorcycle that he bought instead of paying child support, he's a douchebag.
11. Edited: Douche Face-- After some comments, I realized that I forgot to include one more thing to look for: Douche Face.  Douche Face is the inexplicable look that a douchebag has.  It's not a face they're always wearing though so you have to look closely.  
    Douche Face usually comes out while douchebags are checking their reflection or dancing.  Since douchebags think they're God's gift to women, they can be found checking themselves out in a variety of reflective surfaces, including, but not limited to, the bathroom mirror; rear view mirror of their yellow Hummer or muscle car; window of a sunglass store or even in the reflection of the sunglasses they're wearing at night.  The face takes on a douchy look that's a combination of Blue Steel and Magnum (from Zoolander, of course) with a touch of hatred for all things non-douchy and a pinch of "Oh yeah, baby, you know you want this!"

Have you come across any douchebags lately? 

The Reason that Hindsight is Pretty Funny

Today it's been a year.  A year since I made a decision that would change my life.  A year from what I now joke was the best career move I ever could have made.  A year since I moved back in with my parents and once again heard, "This is the first day of the rest of your life".  Today marks a year since I found myself crying in my divorce attorney's office, check in hand and signing a petition for divorce.

If you don't know the story behind the demise of my marriage, ask someone who knows me in real life because I'm not one to air my dirty, discarded, aging laundry.  It doesn't matter though.  I can say that I married the wrong person, the man I married wasn't the man I dated or that things just didn't work out.  I'm sure if you ask my ex, he will tell you a different story.  But really, it just doesn't matter.

Today I find myself a much stronger woman than I ever imagined possible.  Emotionally, physically and spiritually.  Ask my friends and family who were too afraid to tell me about the shell of a person I had become when I was married and see if they can find that woman today.  I've changed from an unemployed, meek and indecisive person who walked on eggshells and never left the house to a successful, go-getting and independent woman.  Not to mention a whisky-drinking, cowboy-chasing hell of a time!  (It's a song, Mom, I'm not an alcoholic!)

I started this blog as a cathartic release when I realized through my divorce, that there are two options in life: you can laugh or you can cry.  Personally, I think laughing is much better.  Aside from toning your abs and keeping your mascara in check, laughing is way more fun than crying.  I wrote a story to this effect in my "About Me" section.  It's about the day I filed for divorce and I will include it here because it's my blog and I can do whatever I want (ha!) but also because it's the story of what happened a year ago today and is the impetus behind this blog.

My GTFO (Get the Eff Out) Story
Last year on June 6,  I left the divorce attorney's office with my mother and went back to my marital home to collect some belongings of mine.  Time was of the essence so I chose only the most important things and quickly packed up the essentials--a few suitcases of clothes, my passports and birth certificate, the boudoir pics I took for my ex (there was no way I was leaving nudie pics in the custody of a pissed off soon-to-be-ex-husband with access to the internet), the diaper cake I had made for my best friend's baby shower that next weekend (I had spent way too much time to leave that behind) and our two boxers.

We took off with suitcases in the trunk, the dogs in the backseat and my mother in the front.  My mother and I were in shock.  I had just filed for divorce, left my husband without him knowing and escaped to my parents house.  We were both scared and crying.  The stress in the car was palpable and the dogs sensed it.

As I was driving down the highway, the 60 pound boxer could take it no longer.  Shaking, he climbed into my mother's lap for comfort.  For those of you who don't know my mother, suffice it to say that she's not a dog person and a 60 lb boxer sitting in her lap while she was crying about the demise of my marriage and uncertainly about my future, was not exactly ideal.  She tried to get him off and to return to the back seat but he was having none of it.  She pushed and coaxed him, but just he sat there shaking and rooted to her lap.

Never one to be left out on the fun, the 30 pound boxer puppy (that the ex and I had gotten a couple months before) jumped up front as well.  She joined her doggy brother on my mother's lap and my mother, in between sobs, tried to now get both dogs off of her lap and into the back seat.  The bigger of the two dogs decided to reposition himself so his front paws were on the passenger floor, giving the puppy some more room on my mother's lap....and my mother a front row seat to his asshole.

In between hysterical sobs, I looked over to see my mother, buried under 90 pounds of dog, with the "brown starfish" of one pooch sticking up at her face and another pup alternating between licking the ass and her face.  I pulled over to the side of the road in an attempt to move the dogs but it was no use. We looked at each other and lost it.  Our tears turned to laughter.  It was the hysterical honking type of laughter where you sound like a seal and look like there's something wrong with you.  There was nothing else we could do but laugh.

I decided then that when things get tough, you can either dwell on the terrible or find something funny about it.  Rather than crying over my divorce with a face covered in snot and mascara I could laugh at my mother sitting with a dog butt in her face--sorry, Mom.  From that day on, I've always chosen the metaphorical dog butt.  I try to laugh, instead of cry, because to me, Hindsight is Pretty Funny.

Nashville Part 2: Play Something Country

I've been a bad blogger and I'm almost a month behind in posts.  In an effort to keep you entertained and to get back to blogging about my dating life, I will wrap up the remaining 3 days in Nashville with a few pictures and funny stories.  As I might have mentioned, I went to Nashville for a professional conference where I knew no one.  That's right, I decided to go to a conference alone, in a city I'd never been to, assuming that I'd meet some cool people and make some great networking connections...and that's just what I did!

The first thing I learned at my first ABA event was that lawyers love to party!  Seriously.  I had anticipated a few networking events, but nothing to the extent of what the ABA's Young Lawyers Division pulled off.  The first night there was a welcome reception at the Wild Horse Saloon, which was conveniently located next to the store where I bought my 4 pairs of boots earlier in the day.  This of course prompted me to tell everyone I met that night about the amazing sale and I was then branded the crazy girl from New Jersey who bought 4 pairs of boots in Nashville.  Which, I rationalized, is better than being known as just a crazy girl.

The Wild Horse Saloon was a blast and although I wasn't yet comfortable enough with a roomful of strangers to learn how to line dance, I did get dressed to the nines.  I knew going to the conference that the social events were "Country Snappy" attire so I packed to the best of my ability.  Knowing that I would be purchasing cowboy boots, I packed several short dresses that would be no less than freaking adorable paired with my new footwear and prayed that I wouldn't be the only one who took the dress code so seriously.  Thankfully I wasn't the only one dressed up and I found myself sucking back Jack and Cokes with lawyers from all over the country dressed in cowboy boots, cowboy hats, thick belts and plaid shirts.

I sat through some super-exciting Continuing Legal Education seminars on Friday and got done early enough to explore a bit more of Nashville.  I took a walk in my stilettos to check out the pedestrian bridge with a new friend I had made.

After a few pictures of Nashville and the beginning of a blister from my heels, I hightailed it back to the hotel to change into some more appropriate clothes for listening to live music (and cowboy chasing).  My new friend had opted to attend a diversity luncheon, which, regardless of the fact that diversity encompasses all races, I always feel strange going to, so I braved lower Broadway on my own.  I headed over to the legendary Tootsie's Orchid Lounge, where just about every country singer who is anybody has performed.

Inside Tootsie's between sets

I sidled up to the bar, ordered a beer and a pulled pork sandwich and listened to some young girl sing songs I'd never heard of.  Somewhat disappointed that this self-proclaimed country fanatic couldn't sing along, I sat back and soaked up the scene...and my Miller Lite.

It's Miller time

I was enjoying the music and had even made a new friend who was in town from Las Vegas when a fine piece of ass nice looking cowboy walked with his guitar.  I watched, and photographed, as he was setting up to sing because you never know how much US Weekly is going to pay for those "Before They Were Stars: Butt Picture Edition"...and because he had too nice of a tush not to capture.

I'm shameless, I know

The singer's name was Jake something or other.  He had a great voice, a good sense of humor, a nice ass and most importantly, he called me pretty.  This may or may not have had something to do with the fact that I was bearing crazy cleavage and had given him a big tip, but I sat there pretending that he was cursing himself for being married when he could have me on his arm.  Seriously, why are all country singers married?!

You can't see, but he's looking deep into my eyes

Jake the cutie cowboy finished his set and walked around for tips so I did what any sane woman would do.  I tipped him again (with a wink!), we took a picture together and I immediately uploaded to Facebook so my friends and family could appreciate the professional networking I was doing in Nashville.

Friday night was another night of "Country Snappy" attire but this time we had dinner and dancing at the Country Music Hall of Fame.  Naturally I would take a terrible selfie of my outfit in the mirror before dinner and then neglect to take a picture of Elvis' gold Cadillac in the Hall of Fame.  I know, I know.

The Hall of Fame was great!  Before dinner we were able to take a tour of the museum where I saw some amazing collections of costumes, cars and gold and platinum albums from the greatest country legends.  While enjoying our night of dancing, I found out that I passed the New Jersey Bar Exam which made the night even better!

Wall of Records

Saturday marked the end of the conference but not the end of my time in Nashville.  After saying goodbye to new friends and professional acquaintances that I had met, I headed out to brunch for some biscuits and gravy.  I had heard that biscuits and gravy were a southern delicacy and from the moment I had arrived I was salivating over the thought of tasting these treats.  I headed over to Puckett's and took a seat at the bar before helping myself to their buffet brunch.  I gorged myself on biscuits and gravy (to die for!), bacon, sausage and a bunch of other stuff that my mouth literally just watered thinking about (gross)...and a Bloody Mary to cure my hangover.

Hair of the dog...

By the time I finished brunch and got back to the hotel, it was time for the most exciting thing to happen--Greta (from Dating Without a Net) came to party with me!  The two of us had been sending each other excited text messages all week leading up to our meeting (because we're weirdos who met on the internet) so it was super awesome (and a relief) when we discovered that we were both normal (and totally awesome) people!  Then our other internet friend, Jessica, came to party with us and again she was normal and awesome--yay!  Greta's friend came up from Atlanta and the 4 of us hit up the town!

Just a sign, there was no soliciting, discreetly or not, done that night

So as not to incriminate anyone, the main highlights from our crazy night out include Greta kicking her shoe over a balcony at my hotel (causing me to pee in my pants--no joke, I was on the floor laughing and wetting myself), all 4 of us riding a mechanical bull (Greta and I were in skirts because we're classy like that) and a 2am trip to Waffle House where I wanted to smack everyone for being so damn friendly! We were definitely "those girls" at every bar but it was an awesome night in Nashville with great new friends and I can't wait to go back to Music City!