You Know What, I Think I Will Just Be A Jerk

One of my friends pointed out last fall that I was a complete jerk, especially to women. Just to see what would happen, I decided to not be a dick on a first date. I opened doors, I paid for stuff, I was generally nice and sweet, and I noticed and pointed out how pretty my date was that night. We went to nice restaurants in nice neighborhoods, and I was a complete gentleman.

Four first dates, four dead ends.

I think I will go back to being a jackass. Bees like honey, women like vinegar.

Interclass Dating

A while ago, I mentioned an article in this space talking about the growing acceptance of interracial dating. If television is any guide, the relationships you see on Fox's "24," the interracial petting you see on SpikeTV's "MANswers," and the black-asian relationship on that doctor show I am now sick of illustrates how far race relations in romance have come. Of course, I still stand by maxim, that the real race issues come out when one's daughter is involved.



The real difficulty, however, is in interclass relationships. The issue reminds me of a Thursday night last year at Laseter's - a dive bar just north of me here in Atlanta. I was out of work that summer and took advantage by starting Happy Hour at 4pm and finishing up right around 2am. It was one of those nights that I met a sultry white brunette who worked for the city. We were flirty right away; I was bored and horny, and she was drunk and loved my aftershave. Our conversation turned from me getting her out of the bar to her work with the downtrodden and how the capitalists are screwing everybody. She probably assumed since I spoke in complete sentences (the best way to exude intelligence) that I actually was interested - and she went on and on about there not being enough social services. I tried to make a cogent argument against her reasoning, and she countered that I wouldn't understand because I am part of the "upper echelon" - whatever that is. She even revealed she makes about $32K a year with few benefits. She was also unimpressed with my rejoinder that I was currently making absolutely nothing.

So here I am in a bar, with a woman who makes less money than I did when I first left school - and I am using the fact that I am unemployed as a selling point? Maybe this interclass thing really isn't a good idea.

Life's Little Metaphors

This past weekend I helped referree a tournament for the Georgia High School Fencing League. Mostly this involved wearing a jacket and tie in a hot and humid gym, and looking mean and cross as I directed bouts. That was pretty easy because I was wearing a jacket and tie in a hot and humid gym. During the DEs one thing I noticed that pained me was how a lot of the kids seemed to give up in the third period when they were only down a few touches. It's one thing to get murdered, or to try something and fail. It is quite another to give up hope. I firmly believe if you give up hope in sports, you will give up hope in real life. Even if you know you can't win, you play for pride - just so your psyche remembers to hold on when it really counts.

It reminds me of my first official date in Indianapolis, back in 2001. She was a pretty petite blonde, who was introduced to me by her identical twin sister. I was excited about our date, but I also didn't want to screw up the golden opportunity to tell the story of the genesis of our relationship six years later. The plan was for her to meet me at my place, and I would drive us downtown to Palamino's in the Indy Circle Center.

Things got hairy when I was looking for street parking for about five minutes, and Ginger got tired of waiting. Just at that moment, I saw a space right across the street from the restaurant. I eased in front of the space, and as I prepared to back up to execute the perfect parallel park - Jerry Seinfeld started directing. Yes, a late model yellow Corvette pulls halfway into the space, just stopping where I am halfway in. Sonofabitch.

I make motions telling him to move on, and he flips me off. Personally, I was ready to just give in - I was hungry too - but then I heard Ginger speak. "You aren't seriously gonna let this guy have this space, ARE YOU?" You see, this is why women are responsible for all the violence in the world. If one of my guy friends said that, I might brush him off. But on a first date with a hot girl who wants a manly man, there is no way I am giving in to some douchebag in a penis car. So I start honking, a lot. Then I flip him the bird - with both hands. And for good measure, I back into the space at speed, at the same time. He is driving a brand new sports car, I am driving a company car that I was gonna wreck sometime anyway. Guess who got the space?

She smiled lovingly and tossled her hair when I executed the best parallel parking job of my life. Honestly, the rest of the date was wrought with bullshit (racist waitress who kept giving her wine in a soiled glass, neighbors who ambushed Ginger when she got back to my place - eliminating any chance of a "nightcap") - but I doubt I would have dated her for a year if I gave into that yellow Corvette.

Sometimes you gotta know when to fold them; but if it is time to hold 'em, you fight to the very end.

Genie In A Bottle

How much do I have to drink before she comes out?

Until one of my buddies offered me a ticket to the Falcons preseason game, I was considering crawling inside a bottle for the whole weekend. It's been a hot and rough summer - and nothing cures summer blues like being blitzed in the Hotlanta heat. If I had more of an addictive personality and enough time in a given week, I could be a full fledged alcoholic. Ah, to dream...

In any case - my friends and I ended up heading to Atlanta Brewing Company before the game, drank at the Georgia Dome, then at a friend's suite at Dragon*Con, and finally ended up at Twisted Taco where I ran into a friend and her cute and adorable girlfriend... and their respective boyfriends. I always liked CAAGirl, and I think my hands may have expressed my affection more than I intentioned. Thankfully, the boyfriend didn't notice or didn't mind. Who is to say these days.

Twisted Taco is interesting like that. I have met a huge number of girls there, and made out with not a few of them... and a good amount of them were attached in some way. Hell, I remember one Labor Day weekend I was there with a big group of folks and this hot blonde in her thirties with cute fake boobs comes up to me, pulls me close, shoves her tongue down my throat - and then stops, saying, "I shouldn't do this, my boyfriend is right behind you." I turn around, and there he is. One look at him told me my nose was going to be just fine. In that case, I pull her back and start kissing her again, passionately, until the boyfriend eventually protests weakly. Of course, the ensuing discussion amongst my friend is the over/under on how many minutes it will take me to go after her again (7, by the way). I didn't get her home with me, but man did I try.

Over the last few years, I've noticed a lot of women who act the same way. I could understand if they are pornstars or swingers or someone who would never promise monogamy or fidelity - but for the rest, playing this game of physical baseball in the bar/club scene is just ridiculous. Especially since someone with enough game can easily get the girl to commit an error and earn an in-field home run and cheat for real. It's been awhile, but I have made that hit plenty of times in the past. Of course, back then I travelled a lot more and had more opportunities; plus I was less willing to listen to words from a girl's mouth, opening me to reading how she acted.

Now, I feel this odd urge to "settle down," and find a "nice" girl. Instead, I find that many of the guys who have settled are dealing with way more bullshit than I could ever stand. If that doesn't make you want to drink, nothing will.

Do You Got That Swing?

Near the close of my sophomore year in college I imfamously dumped a girl because I couldn't stand her walk. Her cadence was fine, but her gait seemed off-beat and shaky. She was cute enough sitting, laying down, or even standing still - but she just seemed 3pts less attractive when she walked. My friends, to this day, think I am insane. But it turns out there is a science behind my madness.

A team of mathematicians at Cambridge have discovered there is an optimal waist to hip ratio that allows women to have the perfect sexy walk. In order to have that perfect feminine swing and bounce to her step - a woman must have a waist to hip ratio as close to 0.7 as possible.

The article lists Jessica Alba as having the perfect proportions to pull off that walk, which is no surprise. I actually polled a girl who has the best walk I have seen in Atlanta thus far, and her ratio is right at 0.71. Marilyn Monroe, her sexy ratio was 0.69 of course.

Looks like I am not so crazy after all.

No Guy Wants to Be A Good Catch

A funny thing happened on my long death march through my mid-twenties. After the wild years of fraternity life, mostly as an alumnus; picking up girls from Indiana to Iceland; breaking up with women for as frivolous a reason as I didn't like how they walked (pre-coitus anyway); going on ten day benders; some how, in spite of all the shit I pulled, I became a "good catch."

No single guy wants to hear something like that from anyone besides his mother. This term signals two important non mutually exclusive things: a) this guy is too "good" for meaningless yet incredibly fun random hookups, and/or b) this guy is a great long term provider and must be isolated and made miserable. Unless you are in a culture that promotes arranged marriages - an indictment of "good catch" means a very frustrating social life.

Honestly, the label does no good at all. No one wants to be the guy she didn't feel comfortable using him like a rag doll until she felt worthy of him. Everyone young guy wants to be the dude a girl will fuck but is too ashamed to talk about with her parents.

In this post-feminist world we live in, parents and families at large don't have much say in who a woman chooses to date, marry, or "fuck and chuck." Without that objective, nuisanced, and wise counsel - many women are destined to make horrible mistakes in romance, and what man doesn't want to be that "mistake?" Good god, O.J. fucking Simpson is still getting strange! (hat tip to Deadspin.)


I get around! Round and Round! Round and Round!

Maybe some killers are great in the sack, who knows. Hell, one of my friends from work saw a bunch of girls in the club hitting on none other than Magic Johnson! I'm still trying to wrap my head around this one - if you are saavy enough to know who he is, how could you not know he has fucking AIDS. Yes, the uncurable and debilitating disease that everyone in the world should know he has. These guys aren't good catches, yet given the circumstances, they are doing amazingly well.

Why even bother with being a "good catch?" Besides alleged killers (who all but admit to the crime in a book) and longtime AIDS victims, here is a short list of "bad catches" who get all kinds of ass.

• Drug dealers - Chicks like the flash
• Drug users - Chicks are cheap
• Alleged rapists - Chicks like experience
• Deadbeat dads - Chicks like drama
• Drunken assholes - Chicks like fun (maybe ending the bender was a bad idea)

With over half of all first time marriages ending in divource, there isn't a lot of hope for guys who want to settle down while they are young, eager, and stupid. If a guy wants to get married in his thirties, being labeled a "good catch" only assures a long, and boring wait.

B-E A-G-G-R-E-S-S-I-V-E, Aggressive, B-E Aggressive!

When Miss Daisy was in town, we checked out one of my standby clubs, CosmoLava. Beside the fact that the place is ten times seedier than when we visited two years ago and no girls were offering MD free drinks, one couldn't help but notice how aggressive the guys were. And I am not including myself. I have a reputation among my friends for being very eager to hit on random women, but to be honest I only react to cues that I receive from them. Even if those cues have no bearing in reality, I am a good enough salesman to turn nothing into something. Absolute naked aggression is actually outside my comfort zone, unless I have an audience.

It's weird - I feel like I am getting older, so I should act more responsibly. Yet even though I am becoming less the aggressor in a drunken social environment, I am still one of the younger guys in the place. Go figure.