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Menterventions

“A conversation is a dialogue, not a monologue.” — Truman Capote

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I thought I was turning out to be the only person who thought men were complete and utter asshats UNTIL I WENT TO VEGAS.
(If you don’t want to read about the drunk wisdom I received from a British lad, scroll down — there are some real special OKCupid messages awaiting you. They’ll be the last of the bunch considering I deleted my account last week.)

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While at TAO, a British lad by the name of Stephen approached myself and my two girlfriends and asked us to come to his table. If you’re a woman, you know the number one mission you should have in Vegas is to find hot men with a table of free alcohol to consume. I was patting myself on the back for this mission: accomplished when I started talking to Stephen a bit more and realized this was a divine intervention… or Mentervention, rather.

Were Stephen and I meant to be? DEFINITELY not. He had about six too many buttons unbuttoned on his shirt, I can guarantee you he was just trying to sleep with me (or one of my girlfriends — who knew at that point) and pretty much defined the term “British Playboy.” His friends were pulling the ultimate wingman move by telling all of us he was a royal and went to school with Pippa Middleton and Princess Beatrice. Shamefully, I was pretty close to believing them. Does the normal guy care or even know Princess Beatrice exists? Alas I knew it was all lies — lest any man doubt my knowledge of the royals — but a nice touch nonetheless. Anyway, talking to Stephen, he made a few comments that I found to be unbelievably brilliant. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was his rather charming accent… but it all made so much sense. Don’t even ask me how this got brought up because I don’t remember:

(Please read in a British accent) “Men in America are quite idiotic. I’m serious. They run around and try to get women yet they only ask questions like, ‘What brings you here? Have you been here before?’ Just give it up already man! It’s even worse when they try to talk to other men. (Goes into his American accent) ‘Yo dude! What’s up bro? Yeah man, keep it real.’ What the bloody hell is that? I will tell you why men in America are a turnoff to women: because they don’t know how to hold a decent conversation.”

Now Stephen makes a valid point. I’m not saying this to make myself sound like some woman who is just overloaded with men approaching her — I’m definitely not — but this is a dating blog after all, so sue me. Anyway, just today some rando at Whole Foods came up and said, “You know what’s good?” Me, being oblivious, looked around, and responded, “What?” I thought he was going to tell me what was good. Then he’s like, “No, is there something you like here?” And at this point I’m privy to the fact that he’s just trying to talk to me, but I’m also really annoyed because I’ve been waiting 10 minutes to get a half a pound of sliced turkey. So I kind of just smile and say, “Nope, looks like all my favorites aren’t available today…” and he stands there and stares at me. Like a creeper. So I start to move when he says, “I don’t really care if you like anything, I just wanted an excuse to talk to you.”

Yeah, I couldn’t tell man. Here’s the thing: timing is everything. Read the signs, guys! If I’m on my phone and tapping my foot because the family of four in front of me can’t decide if they want smoked or roasted turkey breast, I am clearly not in the mood to chat. Maybe if you had told me a funny joke or wanted to commiserate with me, I’d be more up for it. But frankly I don’t want to discuss my favorite side dishes that I pick up from Whole Foods. Because really, do you even give a damn? No, you do not. This is what I mean.

If any man would have approached me like Stephen did in Vegas, I’d be excited to talk to him. Sure, the prospect of free alcohol was running through my brain, but his demeanor is what I’m referring to. He didn’t come across too arrogant or goofy or nervous. He wasn’t trying too hard. He was the right combination of confident, friendly and outgoing. He seemed genuinely curious about us and didn’t ask questions where we all were like, “He doesn’t give two shits about that… why is he asking?”

I don’t know if it was because we were American or what (and frankly I don’t care), but his conversation was good enough that all three of us ended up chatting with his group of friends until we (the girlfriends, not us and Stephen… need to clarify that) left the club that night. And sure, maybe his intentions weren’t genuine, but again, I DON’T CARE. It was Vegas. But it would be nice to meet a non-Vegas Stephen one day who wasn’t so into themselves and they actually took some time to create a meaningful conversation with a woman.

By meaningful, I don’t mean contemplating life and love and poetry and symbolism and all of that jazz. I mean, it can be about all that stuff too, but mostly I’m referring to a conversation that we can both relate to and understand at the time. Trying to get philisophical at the gym or the ball park or the grocery store is not appropo. Save it for the first date. But also, think about engaging in conversations that make us empathize or laugh and heck… make us think. Maybe it’s about your favorite band or a hard time you went through or a hilarious story that’s self-deprecating and amazing all at the same time. A conversation that you’re excited to be in and one that I know you’re not rolling your eyes about when I turn my head. A conversation where you not only share your part, but is, in fact, an actual conversation. One where you care about my response and react to it; one where you don’t have ulterior motives (to hit the sack, to build yourself up, to get sympathy, and so on).

I definitely don’t expect you to try to strike up a “What is love?” conversation in the deli meats section at Whole Foods, but please come up with something a little more intriguing than a question about what green I prefer with my steak. You dig? I’m sure the ladies will agree with me on all aforementioned accounts.

To conclude, I’m not saying all men in Vegas give opinions as wise as Stephen’s, either. And to think for a second that Stephen wasn’t a raging douchebag would be remiss on my part. I forgot to mention he was on Night #2 of his EIGHT DAY STAY IN VEGAS. I went for five nights, four days back in 2010 and I truly don’t know how I came out of that one alive. But then again, he put his number in my phone as “Sexy Stephen British.” So we’ll call it a draw when it comes to the “Undesirable Bro” debate. While he was a cheeky lad, he was witty and clever (including the term “British” made it easy to remember who he was the next day). He definitely had some “pros” to balance out his “cons.”

So based on this post, I guess you can either a) get interested  or b) try turning up the charm, guys. Take your pick.

Now on to some riveting messages from OKCupid! Yes, these are the final online dating messages I will post on here unless I decide to invest my love life in eHarmony or Match.com.

This is from some dude I didn’t respond to and it was sent at 1:15 PM. Yes, in the afternoon. So I can assume he wasn’t binge drinking at this point:


Meet up in LA

Fly to Las Vegas

Sex

On Ice

Diamonds

Shine so bright

We dance all night

Roll die

Champagne on me

Pop

Bottles

Step on the throttle

So much fun

So

Hard

You might just waddle home

Since that one clearly needs no comment… on to this guy. I’m leaving out his handle because, apparently, it’s his whole name. But he’s 33 and this is what he thought would “woo” me enough to give a response:

Hello,

How are you?

I have to admit, you are a 9 on a 1-10 scale,

would you like to find out why you didn’t quite make the 10? Regardless, with you being a 9,

that is just perfect.

I want to meet up with you in the near distant future.

I’m not sure how real this is but soon enough we’ll find out.

So many questions here: 1) Where did it say I  gave a shit from shinola about what rating I got from you? Also, why are men obsessed with this rating system? (See here.) I don’t care why I didn’t make a 10 because a) I couldn’t care less about being rated and b) it’s clear from this message the reason you are still single is because you think telling women what they “rate” in your mind is a way to win their heart. You CLOWN. 2) Why is it “just perfect” that I’m a nine? 3) And “near distant?” Like Back to the Future? When you say, “real this is,” do you mean the internet? The connection you’re feeling over OKCupid? 4) What is up with this weird spacing? Okay I’m done.

Until next time…

Menterventions

The narcissist

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Let me tell you all this story. For some reason, initially, I had a slight instinct that this may be something that only women in LA deal with — or Taylor Swift. (Love all the Swifty comparisons?) However, upon venturing to Texas this past weekend and chatting with a friend in Chicago, these types men (narcissists) are wreaking havoc (and hell) all around the U.S. As my friend Shauna puts it, “Good men are a dying breed.”

Don’t get me wrong. I’m still hopeful. Surely Clay Matthews will exceed any expectations I may have. (Sorry, I had to.) But how discouraging is it when you go on date and meet guys and they aren’t able to fulfill your expectations? Not just the “maybe he’ll be a keeper” expectation, but even the “maybe we can be friends” expectation?

Or worse, you have no feeling for them at all. You don’t hate them, but you don’t like them either. It’s disappointing. I get it, you’re not going to have sparks nor get along with everyone, but it would be nice to “feel” something, if that makes any sense. I guess that’s God’s way of weeding out people you’re not supposed to be with?

Back to the Taylor Swift reference. I have a theory regarding Swifty: she only dates gays. She’s the Beard of the Year, my friends, and she will date the gays until the cows come home. This serves her two purposes: she doesn’t have to do jack crap with any of them, and when they break up with her, she can write about what a-holes they all are. I mean, she doesn’t knowingly date them because they’re gay. She just wonders why none of them have attempted to grab her boob in, oh, 10 months. The only person, I believe, wasn’t gay? John Mayer. I think he’s probably a real freak in the sheets and has probably flushed the opposite way (how I feel about most men who have had their pick of way too many women), but he’s mostly all for the ovaries.

SO, what I’m definitely not trying to say here is that I date gay men. Nope. I can confidently (well, 99% sure) say that all of my exes were straight. Unlike Swifty, I have a great gaydar, so I know when a man wants a hug-kiss-kiss routine or wants the horizontal handshake, if you get my drift.

Ed is a dude that saw me doing pilates and cardio kickboxing at the gym. I can’t emphasize how CREEPSTATIC it is when a man approaches a female at the gym. Anything you say is going to be weird. “I saw you breaking a real intense sweat in class!” “You have a great body.” “Let me teach you how to properly lift those dumbbells.” “Is your colon swollen?” Just kidding on the last one, but that definitely made me laugh.

I was racing out to my car (it was starting to rain) and he followed me there. It was real creepster-esque and it made me jump when I turned around and noticed him.

“Hi… I’m Ed. I saw you doing pilates and cardio kickboxing. You have a lot of stamina.” (See what I mean? Awkward.)

“Uh… thanks. Who are you?” (I know, rather bitchy.)

“Haha, you’re fiesty! I’m Ed.” (Being a bitch means fiesty if you say “yall” and have blonde hair.)

“Okay, cool.” Awkward silence.

“So, I saw you and I was wondering, do you come here often? Because I have been wanting to take classes and didn’t know how they were.” (Unlucky for me, I am a talker.)

“Oh yeah, they’re great. They get crowded so come early.” Notice the zero ethusiasm in my punctuation, as depicted in my actual tone at that point.

“Well, you have a great body so I need to do whatever you doing!” At this point, I give him the death glare, which basically insinuates “You’re a creep” or “Go to hell,” when he does something that puts me at ease.

The hand flop.

“OH — no.” Hand flop. Shakes his head.

Do you know the hand flop? It’s basically when you’re holding your forearm up towards your shoulder, elbow bent, while the hand flops like a dead fish. Most commonly seen depicted in the movies to insinuate a male is homosexual.

At this point, I made a schiesty move and gave him my number. I figured having a gay accountability partner would great given it would force me to the gym and since most of the gays I know are super critical of people’s appearances, I would work extra hard to not look like a fatass.

So we hit up a few classes. He asks if I’m going to Zumba. Yes. I am. And let me tell you, his hips don’t lie. No man should be able to move their hips like that. I was confident that I had a single homosexual male on my hands, no questions ask.

Maybe after two classes together, I pretty much drop his calls because a) we wouldn’t talk during class, which was bizarre and b) I have nothing tied to this friendship. Apparently Ed was invested because the weekend my cell phone was stolen, I got my new one and had four voicemails in eight hours from him. Side note: voicmails annoy the crap out of me. Unless you’re confirming an appointment or telling me I won a million dollars, there’s no need to blab for five minutes when I can just call you back.

He’s texting me every other day, and at one point I’m at the gym, on the tred, and he’s texting me:

“Hey Kirbie! I think I saw you walk in to the gym. Come by the weight area and say hi!”

Of course I ignore this and finish up my workouts, then peace out. I have no desire to see this person, nor do I think I could have picked his face out of a crowd at this point.

Then, on a Monday morning, after endless no responses and straight up avoidance, I get this gem at 7:30 in the morning:

 

Things:

  • “Gave” you my number? More like I pitied you.
  • “Must have been attracted or interested…” False. Neither. Way to think too highly of yourself. Also, let’s remind ourselves that I’ve avoided your calls and texts for four weeks straight.

The follows up that text with something along the lines of, “I promise you won’t regret it :)” which really pissed me of because I’m already regretful of giving out my number and I hate it when men use smiley faces. So I respond with with the following, that I wish I had saved:

Hey Ed. Two things: A) It’s a tad inappropriate to be texting at 7:30, especially since I’m pretty much a stranger. B) I am sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, however I have a serious boyfriend that I’m very much in love with and I’m not looking to date anyone else. I stopped responding to your texts and would appreciate if you would stop sending them. Thanks for your understanding.

He wrote back with a “I’m sorry, I had no idea about your relationship. Good luck with that. Also, I didn’t realize 7:30 was too early.”

I had been up since 5:00 to work out, but it doesn’t matter. It’s not kosher to be texting someone you don’t know before normal business hours. Plus, this is LA, ED! Half the people here work nights. I’m semi concerned that this issue was so pressing that you felt the need to hash it out at 7:30 in the morning… Furthermore, “You must have been interested or attracted”? Really now? Instant turn off. Not like I was remotely attracted in the first place.

My point is this: why are men such idiots? When looking for a potentinal mate, I don’t ask for a lot. I’d like for him to be a man’s man, with a good heart, who is witty and intelligent, but not overbearing. I think most women will agree with me when I say I want a man. Someone who is confident in his own right but is always humble and does what is right because, well, it’s right. Not someone who is going to boast about everything, or change who he is for people to like him, or act like a child who has no control over his life. Who stays true to his word, isn’t a flake, and doesn’t play games.

Is that too much to ask?

Ladies, can I get an amen?