We hear, “Don’t hate the player, hate the game”……all the time.
Well I have to disagree it should be:
Don’t hate the player, hate the education system** for failing to prepare the vast majority of boys*** for creative communication and management skills that are needed to navigate through life.
** outside education and inside (home) education
*** notice I say boys
SIDEBAR: Yeah I know I didn’t do the follow up post from last monday…I know….
Every Sunday I post my SUNDAY PULL which is a collection of pickup lines, all real, and all used on me.
I’ve said it before but I want to repeat it again is that these pickup lines I have been collecting for eight years. EIGHT! That’s along time. I have three note books / journals filled with these and therefore I have my Sunday posts set for years, even if I have nothing else to say I’ll always have my Sunday post.
I get a lot of messages, twitter replies, and DMs about these incidences. Most people think they happen recently even that week. Although some are recent with many since I’ve been in NYC, most haven’t happened in the last few months.
I have not really been “picked up” “been hit on” or had creepers talk to me in a while. Now one could say it’s cause I’m taken, but then again there is that age old argument that when you are taken is when people show the most interest: and I’m a firm believer in that idea.
So I’m going to tell you why I’m not getting hit on, and it’s very true.
I get hit on far less because I frankly have gotten fat.
Like more then I’ve ever weighed in my life plus 46 pounds.
I am kid of pretty. I mean let’s be honest, I’m not hideous. But I have got fat.
And guys don’t hit on fat girls.
They just don’t.
Now yes yes yes there are those guys that love them some thing to grab onto, I’m not arguing that. But those aren’t the majority.
And yes there are just straight up creepers out there who hit on anything with boobs, but when you are overweight female (especially in NYC) your chances of being picked up go way down. They just do. It has nothing to do with confidence, or how you put yourself out there, or any of those relevant but bullshit answers.
I had this conversation with a bunch of girl friends whose weight has fluctuated, and they all agreed with me. Fat is less desirable. That’s just a fact of life.
Again I’m not saying fat girls don’t get hit on, or shouldn’t get hit on. We’re all deserving of love, but some just aren’t shown it as much as others.
But then again, maybe they should, wouldn’t some say they are an easy target?
I’m the same person I’ve always been just with a bigger waistline, and guys don’t hit on me as much as they have in the past.
And I’ve become highly suspicious of any “fat girl” who claims to be hit on all the time.
What say you?
So I’m out at lunch with a friend I haven’t seen in almost a year since she’s been out of the city for work. I telling my friend about my boy, my guy, dare I say it: my boyfriend.
And I’m telling his “story” the details, you know how girl-friends talk.
I’m not talking very loud, as I tend to be soft spoken, if you can imagine that!
We’re chatting away about “baby boy” and all of a sudden this girl from the table next to me leans over.
SIDEBAR: tables in NY tend to be very close together, and sometimes you feel like you are dinning with strangers.
“Are you talking about “baby boy”?”
“Yes” I say with my mouth, but my eyes were totally saying “nosey bitch”
She gives me this look and says with some terrible white girl attitude, “Good luck with that.”
My friend of course jumps in “what the fuck bitch…first off you’re the one in need of luck that we don’t…”
I of course can only giggle at the situation, as my friend is ripping this chick a new one.
She trails off as the girl and her friend sign their cheque and exit.
I could let this situation run for hours in my head, and I’d probably be lying if I said I didn’t want to know what that lanky bad nose, bad teeth chick was talking about, but more likely I just kind of laugh at the ridiculousness that is life, and more likely women…we are crazy sometimes!
Who does things like that?
I get asked a lot about what was the worst date I ever went on. Or what are your dating horror stories. And like everyone, I’ve had my share of bad dates, and even my share of really bad dates. I usually go with telling about this date, but then there was the blind date I’m about to tell you about. It was bad, but then again it was more just a date with a bad person.
A friend of mine was in the city filming a movie. She and I aren’t as close as we used to be, and don’t talk all that often, but we had done dinner one night, and talked about being single (she had just broke up with her boyfriend and I was as always single).
Two days later she called me. She had met this guy who worked in locations on her set. She thought he seemed nice, and he was single, and she was setting us up on a blind date.
Now I’ve never had the best luck on blind dates, they usually make me question my friendships…basically I would sit there looking at some guy wondering how what I thought was a good friend would think anything about this person was “right” for me.
But against my better judgment I agreed to meet this guy for a drink. He and I exchanged a few phone calls, and had our after work drinks planed with the option of seeing how it goes and maybe grabbing dinner. He actually said that which I thought was a huge turn off, but I let it go.
He picked this very posh cocktail lounge in Lower Manhattan, which frankly was alittle to stylish for my liking on a first date. He sent me a text saying he would be about 10 minutes late, I was surprising on time, so I texted back saying no worries I’d wait at the bar. I settled into the bar and ordered my very delicious but completely over priced drink.
Upon his arrival he seemed normal. Tall and in a business suit, dark featured, but nothing really to write home about, just seemingly normal. He smiled, I smiled, and we started into the usual blind date get to know you banter.
And then about 10 or 15 minutes into our seemingly ok date (there was nothing really there but the company was nice and the drinks were delicious) He says the following to me, “ I’m glad you sat at the bar and not at a table” “ Why is that” I asked him. And then he said the following as if it was second nature to him,
“ Cause at least at the bar we only have to deal with the one black bartender.”
I gave him a questionable look, in which he then proceeded to rant about how people of pretty much every race but ‘white’ were terrible serves in restaurant, and how he had no idea this place started hiring so many ‘black’ people since he had last been.
I sat there with what was most likely the blankest of blank stares on my face. My jaw may have actually hit the bar. I see from the corner of my eye, the two bartenders frozen where they were staring at us. I feel embarrassed to be with this guy, and sad for him at the same time.
Are these words really leaving his mouth? Is he really in the middle of this bar going on a rant about how he hates black people? And why am I not wearing my Obama T-shirt when I need it?
As he proceeded to continue on some racist banter about something I interrupted him in the only way I could think of at the moment.
“I think I should just let you know that my Dad is black”.
He looked at me as if a bus had just hit him.
“ But you’re white.”
“ I know. I look white, my brother looks black, that is how it works.”
Silence fell. It felt like every eye within a 4-foot vicinity of us had stopped what they were doing and watching the tale I was telling him unravel.
“So you could have a baby that looks black?” He asked me still looking at my ivory white skin in total shock.
“ Oh yeah of course, I could pop out babies black as night.”
This look of terror came over his face, as what I can only described as this fear that he could have gambled with having sex with me and never would have know what he was sticking his penis in unless I had said something.
“ I’m going to go use the ladies room, and when I’m get back I assume you aren’t going to be here” I said as I got up off my chair and walked to the restrooms.
When I returned he was no longer sitting at the bar, and I assume he used what little braincells he had to tell himself leaving was the best option for him.
I on the other hand was greeted by a round of applause from the bartenders and the two people sitting next to us when I returned to the bar area. He apparently had said the following to the one male (‘white’) bartender before leaving: “she’s half black” with a confused look on his face.
I sat down and had another drink on the house, and the bartenders also picked up the tab that my date had so gentlemanly left me with, which included his $40 glass of whisky.
FACT: I might just be the whitest kid you know.
SIDEBAR: This was the last blind date I ever went on, or will ever go one for that matter.
I did something the other day. Something I haven’t done in like 4 years.
I started to clean out my address book on my phone. I began the daunting task of deleting numbers unneeded, adding to those I have further information for, and all the good head scratching that comes from filing through ones address book of 724 contacts.
I have friends, work contacts, old work contacts, restaurants, stores, doctors, old friends, and of course boys.
We all have our own version of the chick-ionary or in my case I guess my dick-ionary. And we live in an age where such books, such contacts are usually on our phones (and consequently our computers).
And in the digital age t has allowed us to gather more information, or a greater vocabulary to add to our dictionaries.
My girl friends always tell me I’m crazy for keeping number of like ever guy I have ever exchanged numbers with in my phone. They never understand why I don’t delete them. My response is always that then I know who is contacting me. The response is always the same “Well I don’t pick up unknown numbers” and the way it is always said is sorta a dig. I’m not sure what type of dig but the tone is always there.
Of course I don’t pick up unknown calls. Who really does?! The real problem is those unknown text messages. Those really throw me for a loop. I am always to intrigued to answer back. Thus knowing and having numbers for almost everyone I have encountered in life is important. Or at least I used to think it was…..maybe that has changed, but then again maybe it hasn’t.
SIDEBAR: I always add little notes to every contact I have to help better recognize or establish who they are. These include “works with so and so” “from Texas” “the boyfriend” “reflexology” “so and so’s bitchy girlfriend” “mommy-moo” “my best Pal” and so on….
Regardless I’ve started deleting numbers. These at the moment are mostly composed of random guys numbers, which I’ve decided I don’t need because I frankly don’t care. But for your reading enjoyment I leave you with 7 favorites of mine thus far.
Dan ( the onion ring guy from bar) yuiy8
Hj ehBehn (guys friend food likes 22 years old)
BJ hater dude (two shirt)
Shawn (not sean! old married guy in pj pants at bar) I am drunk
Aussseeettin ( guyi who knows heather)
Mikee (madeout with at 6th wrad)
Salor Halloween man sexy (matt?)
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