Friday, April 26, 2013

What's The Point Besides an Excuse to Binge-Eat Ice Cream?

I got a little nervous and excited for my date with Gerard Butler's Body Double Guy... as in, I drank a glass of wine to calm my nerves as I sat on the couch in my pajamas until the last possible moment I could do so.

I pulled out the stops, looks-wise, when I finally made myself get up. I even shaved my legs and put on the magic skirt that does some kind of wondrous thing to my backside, as if God Himself has reached down and given it a smack of approval. Bury me in this skirt.

I aimed for that cute, care-free and low-maintenance look that only takes about three and a half hours (and a serious level of skill) to create. I even strategically left my freckles make-up free, as if I'm just naturally fresh-faced and sun kissed and didn't at all have to wipe the foundation off of them individually. 

And I got to the restaurant only like five minutes late. That is a clear indication of my seriousness. I looked good. I made an entrance. I was fucking prepared for this.

Gerard Butler Body Double Guy had suggested we meet for sushi, which shows he has awesome taste in food and also suggests he probably read in my profile that I love sushi... which shows an ability to read.

I went in for the hug and he went in for the handshake. He was tall and I am not tall, though I wore my hookeryest boots, and the combination of all of this was an incredibly awkward hug where our arms bumped and ricocheted as if our bodies were unconsciously rejecting the embrace.

I just laughed because Awkward Girls don't give a fuck, but he seemed truly horrified.

The date was, for lack of a better description, dull. He was good looking, but on the quiet side. This forced me to carry the conversation which is not something I have any talent in. I will literally just blurt out everything that I'm thinking as fast as possible with no real connection between ideas. I ended up talking about Sharktopus for like twenty minutes.

If you do not love this movie we can't be friends. 

The only part of the evening really worth noting was when the waiter came and asked how we wanted the check. Gerard Butler Guy went super quiet. I waited. And then I waited. And then the waiter looked at me with a sympathetic tear in his eye and I told him to just split it. 

The Rules of Dating (For Men):

    1) If you invite the girl out, pay. 
    2) If you pick the restaurant, pay. 
    3) If you don't plan on paying... do not suggest an expensive meal.
    4) Just fucking pay holy crap.

If I had known I was covering my portion of this, we would have been splitting a bowl of Ramen noodles on a pair of folding chairs in the backyard, and I would not have wasted my time putting on real clothes. 

Psst. Get those, will you?

Yes, yes, equality and whatnot. Listen, I don't care if you don't make a lot of money. I don't mind picking up my half, or trading off... down the road. But the first date is the one where you at least pretend I'm worth putting a few bucks into.

I have officially asked out one guy (who agreed, that is), and as I am poor, we got coffee. I picked up the tab, because I am a gentleman and also I had a coupon for a free coffee. Point is, not paying when you've asked someone out is tacky. 

Possibly he was just not feeling me, although he did seem to appreciate my boobs (who wouldn't?). Maybe talking about a land-walking shark-octopus hybrid developed by the government as a specialized killing machine was not the way to win his heart. He yawned and stretched a lot, and ate every piece of ice in his glass like he would be charged extra if he didn't. I suggested twice that he could go if he needed to be somewhere, but then he would insist he was fine. I supplied the out, so that's his problem.

 Don't rush me when I'm drinking a beer.

He did walk me to my car and mention doing it again sometime, but I've learned that everyone just says that because we're all fucking liars. Sure, call me. Just don't expect me to answer.

I have not heard from him yet, so either he is playing the Game or he was legitimately not interested in me and my fascinating talk about the mucus production of my foster cat. This will make him the first one who hasn't contacted me after a date, so my ego ain't hurting just yet. 

Going out with him and finding it was more or less another dud of a night put me into a weirdly desperate mood. Luckily I gathered a few friends together and over drinks they entertained me with talk about buttholes, and all seemed right with the world again. 

Some days I need to remind myself that there is nothing wrong with being single... and that is in fact pretty awesome. As of next week I officially plummet into my "late" twenties, and I still work at a job where pants are optional. I'm starting to feel the pressure of society, enemies, and ex's thinking I'm "failing" because I'm not in a relationship. My Facebook is blowing up with engagement and marriage announcements and I'm still at that stage in my life where if I manage to brush my teeth I consider the day a success. 

But then I remember that I have total freedom, friends that will take me out for margaritas, and that I'm fucking awesome at arcade games, and I no longer give a crap that my family members think I'm probably a lesbian. 

I'll make some lucky lady very happy one day.

Tomorrow I'll probably get a wave of hormones and decide my life won't be complete until I move into a white house and have four freckled children, but for right now I'll just enjoy. 


Text at midnight: "Maybe we should just get sushi again next week."

... Does that sound incredibly resigned to anyone else?

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