Friday, December 30, 2011

What A Way To End the Year

I would like to pretend that it was the universe preparing me for my chance (albeit brief) meeting with CK, but the truth is, I overslept. And being too late and too lazy to iron anything, I threw on a cute dress.

And because my extra dorky glasses didn’t go with my cute dress, I put in my contacts. Because it was Thursday, I grabbed my make-up bag as I knew the odds were good that someone would want to do happy hour.

It came as no shock that that someone was Marie.

So there we were, sitting at a local wine bar, enjoying a very generous happy hour special when CK walked in.

Literally my breath caught.

Marie (who was getting up to use the lady's room) asked me what was wrong.

"Nothing. I think I know that guy." Now of course I knew it was him. But I thought maybe my eyesight or the three glasses of wine I drank were playing tricks on me.

She turned and looked where CK was standing. "Ding dong. I hope so." (Marie is part of the "you're not really going to be single for the rest of your life tribe.")

Then she walked away.

I watched as he scanned the bar for someone, tried (without looking too desperate) to catch his eye so I could wave, all the while secretly holding out hope that it was me he was looking for (despite not having checked-in to the bar on Facebook). He eventually stopped looking, never made eye contact and took a seat facing the door (and away from me).

When she returned she asked, “Well?”

“I do know him. It’s CK.” And I took a deep breath, ready to explain what that meant.

Marie turned in her chair, “that’s the one?”

I was racking my brain for how she would know him, then I wondered if she was thinking of this blog and confusing CK with The One. I started to respond, but she turned back in her chair.

“The CK? The reason it takes you 45 minutes to get ready to meet for a cup of coffee on Saturday morning because, as you put it, 'what if C-K- is there?'?”

I guess I had mentioned him before. “That’s the one.”

“I guess it is a good thing you didn’t wear your glasses today, huh?”

I nodded.

“Are you going to say ‘hi’ to him?”

“Of course.” I knew even as I said it, it was a lie.

CK’s date finally showed up and Marie and I finally called it a night. As we walked by him, I didn’t say hello (it felt weird interrupting his date) but Marie did trip over his foot and I apologized for her while pretending not to know who he was.

I mean, it wouldn’t be a CK story if I didn’t make a little bit of an ass out of myself. At least this time I was a well-dressed, mostly sober ass.

Wednesday, December 28, 2011

Boy, Oh Boy

Before I start this post, let me get a couple of definitions out of the way so we are all on the same page.
man: noun, the male of the Homosapiens species that has his shit together. Example: Your friend that is funny, and smart, and has a job with a future and a life he enjoys, and that you always describe to all your girlfriends as “a great

over-aged boy: noun, the male of the Homosapiens species that hasn’t grown up. Example: the hot guy that you met at a bar, with an awesome job and a nice car, that isn’t going to tell you about his girlfriend because he subscribes to the philosophy, “what she doesn’t know can’t hurt him.” See also Generation of Guys.

Now that that is all cleared up, I will continue.

When I was still hunting, I would occasionally find myself on the trail (or in the arms) of an over-aged boy. My reasoning was simple. Looking for a mate is exhausting work. Sometimes a woman needs a break; needs to have a little fun. And when she does, over-aged boys are where it’s at – so long as you know what you are in for.

Because, while the differences between men and over-aged boys aren’t always as clear as my above examples, once you know you are with an over-aged boy, you have a choice to make. You can either a) move on, because that is not what you are looking for, or b) hang out, have your fun, and when you are through, move on.

Of course, there is a third option – stick around and hope he grows up. I cannot stress enough how much I don’t recommend this.

However, a couple of weeks ago I posted the notice for single ladies about picking up guys and the next day brought another IM session with the Source.

He was incredulous that I was telling my readers to pick up boys. He wants us out there looking for men.

I argued that, while the goal is a man, sometimes a woman just wants to let her hair down and make-out with someone she shouldn't. And when that time comes, she should take a book to a bar and find herself a boy. If she happens upon a man, super. If not, she has herself a little fun and no one gets hurt.

The source countered that the huntress is hurting herself by being distracted by the boy. His words:
As a huntress your goal is to bag a long term mate, a boy is like a rabbit running across your path, distracting you from the main game.
He isn’t wrong. The main reason for my ending the text relationship with the Republican was that I found it was just enough of a relationship to keep me content. It distracted me from my actual hunt.

But if the Republican was only a one night thing, would it really have been so detrimental?

Only you can answer this for yourself. I will say, I know from experience it is a slippery slope. Boys are a lot of fun and they out-number men by a lot. But if you find yourself getting too comfortable, blowing off dates with potential men to spend time with your boy-friend, day-dreaming of long-term plans, or (gasp) thinking that maybe he will change, get out as soon as you can.

For my part, now that I am resigned to being single for life, I am looking forward to having fun with over-aged boys again.

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

Where My Girls At?

Guys, men, over-aged boys, because I gave the ladies some insider info on how to meet men, I feel I should return the favor and give you guys a tip.

A couple of years ago, Steve Harvey wrote a terrible piece of crap called “Act Like A Lady, Think Like A Man.” Some of the worst dating advice I have ever read (and I have read a lot) but the title is interesting and something I would suggest to all you men that read this blog – in fact, don’t just think like a lady, read like a lady.

How do you read like a lady? Well, next time you are waiting in line at the Whole Paycheck (err, Foods), pick up a magazine that caters to women, skim the table of contents for the “relationship” department, and start reading.

Too manly to be seen reading Women’s Health in public. Okay, I’ll summarize. Every woman’s magazine from the dawn of time has written and rewritten the same advice for women looking to meet men: Get out there ladies. Take a yoga class. Or a cooking class. Visit a museum. Blah. Blah. Blah.

However tired this advice is, the next time a woman receives an invitation to an event at a local museum that sounds interesting, she will sign up, find their cutest outfit (or buy a new one), and head out with the highest of hopes. Of course, when she gets there, it is a sea of well-dressed women looking for the same thing – a man interested in art (or yoga, or cooking).

Why am I telling you all of this? Umm, can you not picture it? I am talking about rooms filled with hot looking women that are interested in art (or yoga, or cooking) and are also interested in meeting someone new. We are talking ratios that seriously favor single dudes; odds that you won’t get at any bar or sporting event (another abused suggestion).

So why aren’t you there?

Monday, December 12, 2011

Attention Huntresses and Single Girls Alike

I have startling news to report – at least it was startling to me: If you are really looking for a guy, you should be going out to bars alone.

If you are anything like I was, you get a girlfriend (not a group of girlfriends because that is just crazy) put on your cutest outfit, sit at a bar and laugh and share stories and smile and wait for the guys to start buying you drinks. After all, what guy wouldn’t want to buy someone as smart and pretty and funny as you are a drink.

And of course they know all of this, because they can see how pretty you are and how funny and interesting your friend finds you.

But here’s the thing. He isn’t likely to think any of that. No, according to my source, instead if he finds you attractive, he is only thinking about how he doesn’t want to interrupt all the fun you and your friend are having.

So, the next time you are in the mood to make-out with a boy, head to the bar by yourself. You won’t look like a desperate drunk (as I always feared) but instead will seem like someone that is open to meeting new people.

Happy hunting.

Thursday, December 8, 2011

The Huntress

After a couple nights out and a few rounds of IM with some friends, I realized (or I was told) I didn’t fully explain why my quest for a boyfriend kept me from blogging.

As plain as I can put it: looking for a boyfriend left me feeling terrible about myself. And all that self-loathing paralyzed me from doing much of anything else – particularly writing. After all it is hard to believe you have any skills or talent when you keep telling yourself that you are a terrible, awful, human being.

Okay, I never said those words, but I may as well have. Looking back on it – this past year or so’s quest for a boyfriend was one of the most self-destructive things I have ever done.
Some of you may be guffawing. “Really, Tati. The most self-destructive thing you have ever done?”

Well, yeah. I’m not a cutter. I don’t have an eating disorder. And besides smoking (not any more) and drinking -- I don’t have any real vices (shoes don’t count).

Plus, think about the whole dating thing:

You meet a guy (or a girl) (either in a bar, or a coffeeshop, or a bar, or in line at the grocery store). You talk. You flirt. You exchange numbers. Maybe you make out (if you are drunk at a bar – not recommend if you are in line at a grocery store). Then you wait for him or her to call.

And you wait.

And then you call your friends who tell you to keep waiting.

So you wait some more.

Then your friends call you back to see if there is any word.

Maybe you cry a little at this point.

Finally, you stop waiting (but not crying) and you start wondering. Why didn’t he call? Was it something you said? Did your breath taste funny? Did you use too much tongue? As you walked away did he see your ass and think “whoa” and not in a good way?

It’s funny. It rarely crosses your mind that he may have lost his cell phone or been in a terrible accident and is now in a coma? (All my years of dating, when a guy called, no friend ever suggested I call around to area hospitals to check if he was admitted) Or is simply a jerk that didn’t call.

For some, this wondering lasts an afternoon. Maybe a weekend if she really liked him. For them, however, it doesn’t compound in their heads’ the way it does for those like me. For simplicity sake, I have decided to break these two groups of women up into Single Ladies and Huntresses.
Single ladies, like my friend Marie, can online date, and get fixed up, and go to mixers, and go to bars and never show the wear and tear because there isn’t any. At no time does she give the rejections any more value than they deserve.

For the huntress, however, dating is a game. A game she can’t lose. And when she does – when a guy doesn’t call or doesn’t show interest – all she does is think about what she did wrong. She analyzes game tape, makes changes to the roster, buys new uniforms, script new plays, and goes at it again.

The more she loses, the more work that needs to get done; the less time she has for anything else – if she wanted to do anything else. If she is like me – she just wants to win again, because she is not used to being a loser.

So this is why I couldn’t write. I didn’t have the time and towards the end I didn't have the belief in myself that I could. This is also why I can’t date anymore. I’m a huntress that has been clean now for almost a month and I don’t want to go back.

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

Moms – Gotta Love ‘Em.

There is one thing I will never grow tired of seeing – the look of shock that is on my mother’s face whenever she tells me I look nice.

Fortunately for me, I got to see a lot of it these past couple of weeks.

Like me, my mother suffers from the antipoker-face face. Every thought and feeling she is having broadcasts across her mug. So, like me, she doesn’t bother lying.

So I know she isn’t lying when she tells me I look nice. But it’s funny to read on her face that it surprises her so much. What’s funnier is that it borders on astonishment.

For Thanksgiving dinner, I was wearing a nice skirt, make-up, and had just finished my hair. She said, “You look nice.” Her face said, “Why are you getting so dressed up? It’s just Daddy and I?”

Last week she was in the city attending a conference. I met her out for dinner. Again she commented on how nice I looked. Again her face told the whole story: “Wow, you almost look as nice as Lana (my older, prettier sister). I really don’t understand why you aren’t dating one of the attorneys you work with.”

But the best face – the face that was so distorted in confusion I actually had to call her out on it – was when I was leaving to meet up with friends on Saturday night (over Thanksgiving weekend). As I came down stairs, her face pulled back in horror, she stared at me, her whole head turning to watch me as I made my way to the couch. I could feel her gaze on the side of my head as I transferred my ID and money from my purse to my clutch. I couldn’t help but smile in anticipation of what face awaited me.

I wasn’t disappointed. Her face was equal parts “you are not my daughter” mixed with “I don’t understand if you can look this nice, why wouldn’t paint you face this way all the time” topped with just a touch of “did my husband and I really manage to produce that?”

And of course it would be flattering, if it didn’t all boil down to the fact that my mother is shocked that I can be pretty.