question
Before I describe my new watering hole, I just have to understand something. I probably know the answer to this, but I will ask it anyway.
I think we would all agree that I'm not an eyesore. I mean, I get mistaken for 22; I run marathons, so my body is in great shape; I get told I look like Nicole Kidman (used to be Kelly McGillis, but no one knows her anymore). I mean, I'm not a dog, ok?
Second, I'm getting my PhD. I have a genius IQ. I speak several languages, including Geekspeak. I love the arts. I love sports. I love beer. Adore wine. I drink vodka on the rocks and whisky when I'm grumpy, and I can hold my liquor. I'm well read, and I write poetry. I can quote movies with the best of them. I love to cook, and I'm a fan of both cats and dogs. I know a little bit about everything and can hold my own in a conversation on just about any topic. OH, and I think Firefly is the best series on TV.
Here's what I don't (or do but hate it) understand. Why is it that I can have phenomenal conversations with men at bars, coffee shops, you name it, and no matter what, they go home with the dingbat horsefaced bimbo at the end of the evening? Doesn't even matter if they don't have a good body. Doesn't matter. Everyone is matched up but me.
Oh and here's the clincher. It's not like I don't get hit on. Oh no. After I have the fabulous conversations with the normal guys, they leave and are replaced by the guys who manhandle me, whip out their goods, ask me to watch them masturbate or lick my face. All of these happened to me in the past 2 weeks. Tonight, for example, a guy grabbed my throat from the front and tried to force me to take a shot I didn't want to take (Rumplemintz--ugh). He literally forced my jaw open with one hand while clinching my throat. I had him thrown out.
And it's not just me. My friend D was with me tonight, and a guy came up and drank her drink right in front of her. It seemed as if we were the only two people left to the dregs. Even the guy who looked like Sloth from the Goonies went home with someone normal.
and if the answer is that I am the beautiful apple on the top of the tree but the rotten apples are easier to get or whatever bullshit that hasn't evolved since high school--here's my plea: guys--stop doing that shit. Go for the brilliant ones. We're a dying breed.
Still I found my new catbirds. Stay tuned tomorrow for tales of hula hoops and hippies.
I think we would all agree that I'm not an eyesore. I mean, I get mistaken for 22; I run marathons, so my body is in great shape; I get told I look like Nicole Kidman (used to be Kelly McGillis, but no one knows her anymore). I mean, I'm not a dog, ok?
Second, I'm getting my PhD. I have a genius IQ. I speak several languages, including Geekspeak. I love the arts. I love sports. I love beer. Adore wine. I drink vodka on the rocks and whisky when I'm grumpy, and I can hold my liquor. I'm well read, and I write poetry. I can quote movies with the best of them. I love to cook, and I'm a fan of both cats and dogs. I know a little bit about everything and can hold my own in a conversation on just about any topic. OH, and I think Firefly is the best series on TV.
Here's what I don't (or do but hate it) understand. Why is it that I can have phenomenal conversations with men at bars, coffee shops, you name it, and no matter what, they go home with the dingbat horsefaced bimbo at the end of the evening? Doesn't even matter if they don't have a good body. Doesn't matter. Everyone is matched up but me.
Oh and here's the clincher. It's not like I don't get hit on. Oh no. After I have the fabulous conversations with the normal guys, they leave and are replaced by the guys who manhandle me, whip out their goods, ask me to watch them masturbate or lick my face. All of these happened to me in the past 2 weeks. Tonight, for example, a guy grabbed my throat from the front and tried to force me to take a shot I didn't want to take (Rumplemintz--ugh). He literally forced my jaw open with one hand while clinching my throat. I had him thrown out.
And it's not just me. My friend D was with me tonight, and a guy came up and drank her drink right in front of her. It seemed as if we were the only two people left to the dregs. Even the guy who looked like Sloth from the Goonies went home with someone normal.
and if the answer is that I am the beautiful apple on the top of the tree but the rotten apples are easier to get or whatever bullshit that hasn't evolved since high school--here's my plea: guys--stop doing that shit. Go for the brilliant ones. We're a dying breed.
Still I found my new catbirds. Stay tuned tomorrow for tales of hula hoops and hippies.
Labels: jackasses
posted by Cranky at 3:07 AM
2 Comments:
Having been on the other end of this many times over the years, I think it's because guys generally think "the smart girls won't go home with me." But, I was usually drunk when I was doing my research, so my perceptions may have been a bit skewed.
Yeah, I guess the older I get, the more I think that mindset will stop. Or perhaps it's that the older I've gotten, the more the mindset bothers me.
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