Dont Mince Words

I had a date Saturday at 3:30 p.m. at Olive Garden.  He called ahead and asked if there was a corkage fee.  I took his bottle home with me instead. You can write the end of  this story.

I make bad decisions when people pressure me for new dating material.

I willingly admit that most women are batshit crazy, men are assholes, and collectively, dating is hard at any age, anywhere.  But I’m telling you, the men outdo themselves in California (legalized marijuana?).  I used to think I was just perimenapausal and I was losing interest in men, but the truth is, each interaction I have with a man reminds me why I have a dog.

My Q1 penis prospect was no different. A week after our first date, we had this transaction via text message

Him:  How’s your week been?  I’m so glad it’s Friday. We should grab a few drinks tonight

Me:  Yes, shit week. Tonight no good but tomorrow is open.

Him:  Sounds good. Let me know if you break free later on

Him (4 hours later):  So bored, out on lame date.

Yes, you read that correctly, he asked me out, then went out with someone else, but texted me to let me know was bored on that date.  Awesome manners.  Obviously, his date didn’t shank him because he reappeared almost a month later telling me we should meet up for a drink to “catch-up”.  On the night he suggested, I had plans, but suggested he swing by and join me with friends.  He didn’t show up.

Three weeks later he appeared again, via text, with the same line.  I played along because, at this point, he’s just a source of entertainment, like a squirrel is to a dog.

Him:  Let’s grab a drink this weekend.

Me: Sounds good. Let me know when.

Him: Tom afternoon/early eve.

Me: French Table happy hour starts at 3.

Him: Haven’t been, but lets plan on it.

Tomorrow came and went and I never heard from him.  More than 24 hours after we were supposed to “grab a drink” he texted with “Hey there. What are you up to?”

There are two pieces of sage advice my mom gave me.  When I was young, I rolled my eyes thinking I had more dating experience than her… what did she know.  But she knew what women before her knew and just passed on good advice.

(1) A man without a plan who doesn’t follow through with actions is just a man wanting sex.

(2) Don’t put a penis in your mouth. That’s too easy and that’s not what you are built for.

So guys, if you want to get “in”, just have a plan and stick to it.  I’m really that easy.  Otherwise, call Domino’s because you are probably bored and stoned and “what are you up to” is the best-of your conversation skills.

It’s that most wonderful time of the year….when single men realize they are alone.  Apparently when you combine that with home for the holidays, you have the formula for hot and horny.

About six months ago I was contacted by “Jack” because he was considering taking a job in Santa Barbara.  He was currently in West Hollywood and wanted to understand the social scene if he were to make the move.  I gave him the grim reality and he decided to take another job in Los Angeles.

I received a checkin email from him on the 23rd asking if I was still single and, if so, would I be interested in going out while he was home visiting his parents 30 miles south of me. I told him I was available and suggested we meet at a brewpub I wanted to try in his parents’ town.

His response is the reason why I stay home with my dog.  “You wouldn’t want to chose a place closer to you, just in case we feel like fooling around?”

While we did meet on a dating website, our communications have been totally career and relocation-related until this point.  Very buddy/platonic.  So, I played it off and told him I was flattered, but we should meet, have a drink and catchup.  As you would expect, I never heard from him to finalize the plan. When I used to go home for Christmas, I always tried to line up activities to get out of the house and away from my mother.  If the internet existed, I probably would have dated to dull the pain of being home too.

I just wish Jack had the balls to take me to his house to show me his trophies, varsity letter jacket, and twin bed.  That’s what I call coming home for the holidays.