Tag Archives: cougars

How To Pick Up a Guy with Questionable Sexual Preferences

Last night Roomz and I ventured out into the wild that is dt Rals. Tuesdays are ON FIRE let me tell you. Just playing. But seriously we did go out, and I’m proud of us because we stayed out until 1am! A record for me of late, as I am fast turning into an old lady who goes to bed no later than 10:30pm. Feisty. Anywho, we met some friends (yes, friends! I found some!) at this cool bar called the Flying Saucer, where they were having weekly Trivia night. Super fun, totally unrelated to the story. So we’re chatting it up and one of my pals brought up Miss Sassy Pants! This here blog loves to be mentioned in everyday convo because it means more readers and typically fuels the fire for some good sassy stories to share (spread the good Sassy news people). Which is exactly what happened here. I was saying that I am sort of boring lately and haven’t had any good stories or triflin messes to share…and my sweet little Roomz reminded me that I haven’t shared the gay waiter story! Oh yes. Now you’re hooked. So now Miss Sassy will commence to explaining How To Pick Up a Guy with Questionable Sexual Preferences. You know, for all those times you just aren’t sure.

Let’s rewind to the first weekend after I moved to the Rals. So picture it: Just met Roomz, know nothing about Raleigh, tired from the first week of work, stressed a bit from all the projects I was assigned, probably feeling a bit overwhelmed, not on my game. So Roomz’ friend GBFF, who we can all infer from his nickname is gay, comes to visit this weekend. We all go out to dinner to PFChangs, and while waiting for our table at the bar, all take notice of a particularly good looking waiter. I mean really good looking. Tall, dark, and handsome, mysterious, cute smile, total package. And he’s not a 50-yarder, which is a plus. So GBFF points him out first, saying that he’s hot stuff, to which Roomz and I instantly agree. BUT is he gay? GBFF thinks yes, I said no, Roomz couldn’t decide. Eventually we’re seated, unfortunately not in his section despite trying our hardest. Throughout dinner we all get our stare on, discreetly of course, and may or may not have drawn attention to ourselves while simultaneously eye-flirting with him throughout our meal. Honestly I don’t remember, but it’s entirely possible and probable. Then the end of dinner roles around and GBFF is stuck on this guy. I mean rage-at-the-machine in love with him because he is so ridiculously good looking. But what to do? It’s not a typical pick-up scene. He’s busy waitering, we’re busy with our teriyaki, would probably be rude to interrupt him taking orders at his table and ask him what sign he is and does he live nearby. Not to mention the fact that we still can’t decide if he’s gay or not. Conflicting gay-dar readings do not a concensus make. So Roomz comes up with a brilliant plan, grabs a cocktail napkin and pen from my mom-bag and writes the following:

Are you gay? If yes: GBFF, 919-555-0000. If no: Roomz, 919-555-0001.

Except she used their real phone numbers, duh. Then, when we had all paid our checks and were ready to leave, she bravely walked up to Mr. Hunky Waiter and presented him with the little note. Ballsy little gal! We walked out of there giggling like fools, vowing to never return to that particular PFChangs if neither of them got a phone call. Which they didn’t. What makes the story even better is that GBFF’s parents visited the next day and wanted to go to PFChangs for lunch. Clearly that didn’t happen.

The moral of this story is that sassiness comes in all shapes and sizes. While Miss Sassy does not personally give out her phone number to strangers or even good looking men in bars or restaurants anymore (unless it says “Mr. Perfect-for-Miss-Sassy” on his forehead), it is sassy to act if you like what you see. Because you never know where the next adventure will start. No, you probably won’t marry Mr. Hunky Waiter, but he might be a nature enthusiast just like you! And maybe he’ll take you out a couple times and you might get some fun flirting in. Why not? Do it while you’re young people because eventually you’ll be a creepy old guy or a wrinkled too-tan cougar. But always always always, as I always say always, maintain the class. Sass – Class = Trash. And trash smells bad, even from 50-yards away.

The 50-yarder gets me every time!

You know when you’re out somewhere, maybe doing something innocent like shopping, and you’re looking around and suddenly you spot a good looking somebody. You are standing just far enough away that you can take a good long look and not get caught. Nice bod, good looking hair, and it’s just far enough away that you’re guessing on facial features but with the lighting and shadows, it looks just right. Now, who really picks up a chick or a dude while shopping…no one. But let’s say you’re in a bar, and add beer to the equation. NOW that person across the bar is smokin’ hot and you can’t take your eyes away. You’re telling all your buddies…”OMG Stacy look at that guy down there! I SO want him, he is the picture of perfection!” [No, I have never used any of those words whilst at a bar, nice try] Or, “Dude, chick is bangin. Check it.” Yeah, clearly I’m not a dude so I have no idea how it really goes. Maybe it’s more like “Yeah, I’d hit that,” which makes what’s about to happen even worse because now what you’re about to hit explodes into ugliness! Because here he/she comes, walking you’re way, maybe being coy and heading for the bathroom or doing a frat lap or something around the bar (in real life, seems like there’s no frat lap anymore which is a shame because I always liked that part of being at TOTS) and he get’s closer…and closer…and BAM. The ugly slaps you in the face! Shit! How did that happen? And now, Stacy and whatever dude you shared your find with is laughing hysterically at you as you both watch in astonishment at how ugly this person is in actuality and up close. I know what you’re thinking now…surely this has never happened to you Miss Sassy Pants! Your radar is so good! False.

Anecdotal proof: Rewind a 5 years. I’ve just graduated from high school and am at the beach with some girl friends for “beach week.” Holler to underage drinking. JK we didn’t drink obvs! So I have this friend, she’s a little hard of hearing and so when we’re sitting on the beach checking out dudes (what else is there to do?) we obviously can’t yell or talk loudly depending on how close they are, so we come up with a code word: Grapefruit. Don’t ask, just go with it. So when you see something worth looking at, as a courtesy to the other ladies, you announce his presence by yelling: “Grapefruit!!” And then indicate his position using the clock system (a tale as old as time…pun intended). So one day I see “red shorts guy” as he was dubbed. He’s about 50 yards away or more, but he looks pretty solidly built, super tan, brown hair with sandy sun-highlighted hair blowing in the wind. Baywatch lifeguard material from afar. So the alert goes out: “Grapefruit! 10:30!” So we’re watching, and he gets a little closer and a little closer still…and he’s not even that close to us, still about 25 yards away when it becomes painfully clear that he is at the very least over 50. Yes. 50-yard extreme foul on my part. Thus, MSP’s grapefruit alerting privileges were revoked and it took a couple years for that joke to go away.  No doubt by resurrecting it here I will catch more flack for it. So I like older dudes, whatev…JK again…I might like my men a bit older but 50+ is so not my scene, unless you own a yacht, then we’ll chat. Digression.

This 50-yard catastrophe continues. Last week I was out with some coworkers again, and there were these two pretty ladies sitting a good distance away. I pointed them out because obviously I have good taste in cougars, but was politely corrected that they were indeed 50-yarders. Upon further examination I accepted the correction as fact and we moved on, a little disappointed. The gym also causes me to be victim to the 50-yarder. Of course there can’t possibly be 50 yards in between me and every dude in a muscle T but the sweat in my eyes (and the sheer determination to get jacked) clouds my vision and so pretty much everyone there except the grandpas looks like a hottie. Tonight at the gym I was sorely disappointed numerous times. As in at least 15 times in a row they’d walk by or I’d walk by and get a closer look (no not on purpose, you judgers) and instantly avert my eyes. It is sad! It is also awkward when Judgement Face comes out of nowhere and they see it when you walk by. Remember when I said the JF cannot be stopped? Still true.

The lesson to be learned here folks is simple. 9 times out of 10, you will not find your happily ever after at a bar. So when you see that cougar or cute boy across the bar, let them stay there. When you walk by the bench press or pull up bar, take in the sights with your peripheral vision, because I’m telling you it looks better from there. Once you focus, the fantasy is shattered an all you’ve got to think about while you’re doing crunches is ugly. And ugly is not nearly as motivating as smokin’ hot, even if it’s an illusion.

My future as a network-fixing, Corona-drinking geek.

Thursdays are the standing night out for everyone on my team. Read: the men in IT who have been working together for 10+ years, who all have a fondness for enjoying Coronas and nachos together. They were gracious enough to invite me to join their weekly soiree and I have taken them up on their offer a few times. And let me tell you it is entertaining to say the least. Picture it: me (small, young, thin, female), and about 5 or 6 middle aged men. And we’re not talking stereotypical IT guys either. In fact none of them look anything like that guy, nor have creepy mustaches or anything gross like that, and only a couple are balding and they manage to do it gracefully; i.e. no comb-over (guys: shave it all or own the bald spot, do NOT comb that ish over! It blows, it’s much too long, it is not meant to be worn that way, and you are not fooling anyone! Ugh). So now for this bar we frequent: it’s a Capital Ale House cousin, in that it is actually called Carolina Ale House, and has similar layout, beer, and clientele. Which means this is not a happenin’ place with hotties. My future husband will not be found in this place, Lord help me. Nor will my pals find themselves a nice young lady to spend the evening with, nor will they find the cougar variety to…do whatever with. Really there are no women worth winking at in this place unless you have consumed every Corona in the bar and can’t see straight. Judgment face on the real, people, and I don’t even hide it most times. Digression.

So I think you have a clear picture now, and really it’s like this every week. We go basically to talk about people from work who don’t show up, discuss the latest network outage, mull over which server we think will go down next, and who’ll be the sorry SOB who’s on call to fix it at 3am. No joke people, this is my future. Oh it’s Friday night? You’re out with your girls showing that mohito who’s boss? Too bad. Get on the conference call and fix that server, biotch! Remotely and drunk if you have too, but you better not mess up business, or profits go down and it’s all your fault. [It’s ok though, the “jobs bill” got passed so you’d find work in no time if they fire you!] Oy. Digression again.

Anywho, the interesting part of these little outings is the dynamic of the group. Something tells me it is vastly – or at least marginally different with me there than before. Here’s some things I’ve noticed. The first time I went, I could tell everyone had their sensors and filters on high alert. The next few times, there are more curse words (gasp!), more judgment of so-called “fat cows” at the bar (yes that’s a quote, and yes I taught them all about the judgment face). They have also started asking my opinion about chicks in the bar. “Is she hot or should I stop drinking?” They’ve started being protective of me, like brothers or dads. Or the Secret Service. “That guy is staring at you, he’s ugly, let me stand in front of him so he can’t see you.” No kidding, this has happened (and honestly most the time I’m thankful…like I said, no future husbands or anyone even close). I also get to hear all about their kids, which is vastly entertaining, especially because in some/most/all cases I am closer to their kids’ ages than I am to their ages. Last week, it was daughters night, and I got to hear all about the daughters’ past dating experiences. “This one time, some punk came to pick up my daughter, and honked his GD horn in my &*^% driveway! She tried to get away but of course I stopped her. Walked out there and I said, Son, you ever honk your horn in my driveway again, you’ll get your #$@ !#$%@#$!#  #@$%^&$! Yeah, never saw his ass again.” Said with chest puffed out, lots of agreement nods, and badass chugging of beer. Of course this is not a new story for me, or likely for anyone in the history of dads and daughters who like boys, but it’s still hilarious to be the only non-dad in the group and watch them get all hackled up just talking about some kid who tried courting their daughter 10 years ago.

The next most hilarious thing is that they also pick out men for me. “What about that guy in the stupid ass shorts?” They were madras, and yes he looked sort of silly in them. “That guy is totally checking you out,” one will say, followed by, “no, he’s just wondering what the hell she’s doing with us!” Which is followed by raucous laughter and probably a spilled Corona. Then my boss will remember he doesn’t want me to make friends or have a life so I can work later and have no excuses, clear his throat and say, “Rusty! They’re no good! Work only!” Which again will be followed by more laughter, as they apparently think I would like to do even more work after hours than I do, on a salary which doesn’t pay overtime. Ahem. I never complain, because I am Miss Sassy Pants, and complaining is not sassy. Own it, work it.

Wait, Rusty? Caught that, did you? Save it for another entry. For now, we’ll focus on the closing point, which is that old men aren’t so awful! Just playing, that’s not the point. Just wanted to share that little cliffhanger concerning my new nickname. And that I am becoming a bigger nerd as each day passes. And that, of the friends I’ve made since moving here, these feisty middle aged men definitely take home the most cool points at the end of the day. Plus I get free beer, and who wants to turn their nose at that? Stay tuned, for I’m sure more hilarity will ensue.

BRNT. What does that even mean?

BRNT. You may have heard Miss Sassy Pants use this..uh, word, many times, and thought to youself, “What the heck does that even mean??” Well pals and gals, I’m here to learn you.

First, I have to give credit where credit is due.  I am not such a pop culture or buzz word genius that I came up with this all on my own.  I’m original maybe about half the time, and the other half I shamelessly copy other people’s originality (typically I get approval for this, provide a verbal bibliography, or wait until they’re not around to witness it, duh).  This I copied from my beautiful sophomore year roommate, Roomz.  She had all these cool words and phrases that she regularly used in her speech and so of course, living with her, I eventually picked up on them, being the good and faithful copycat that I am.  So I start using brnt in sentences regularly with her and with our other roommates, then I start using it with other friends, and before I know it, I’ve practically adopted it as my own thing.  Eventually, I was the only one of all the 6 roommates that still used it, and I was the annoying one.  This is common for me I think, but in the interest of keeping friends, I have slowly and diligently worked on using it less often and in more appropriate instances.  But what is an appropriate instance?  I will tell you my take on it, and hope that Roomz would approve.

Brnt is very versatile and can be used in a variety of situations.  Awkwardness was the original main usage. For example, let’s say you’re walking with a friend around the mall and you pass a couple who is violently arguing in the middle of the sidewalk.  Very awkward situation, no?  You might then turn to your friend and say, “Brnt!”  Or perhaps you’re in a bar and happen to witness a cougar attempting to pick up a young boy less than half her age who is unsuccessfully trying to escape (we’ve all witnessed it, it’s typically not smooth).  This is extremely awkward and it would definitely be appropriate to say to anyone else present, “uh, Brnt,” and even display your judgmental face.  Please note also that it is not “burnt,” as in, “damn, I burnt my pizza!”  However you could use brnt in that situation to express dismay or call yourself out for being clumsy or forgetful: “Brnt, I burned my pizza!”  Nor is brnt meant to refer to someone as “burned,” as in, “you got burnt!”  Alternatively, brnt can be used to convey to someone that you absolutely do not want to do something.  Example: “Miss Sassy Pants, do you want to go to the gym with me at 5:30am tomorrow?”  I would say, “uh, BRNT. That will never happen.”  This not only expresses that, no, I am not available to exercise with you at 5:30am, but also I am never available to do anything ever at 5:30am, and typically I do not exercise.  Other appropriate brnt-worthy situations include, but are not limited to:

  • bad grades
  • bad / awkward meetings at work
  • awkward / inappropriate witnessing or encounters in public places such as the grocery store
  • clumsy personal experiences e.g. tripping in public
  • awkward personal encounters in public places e.g. being on the receiving end of terrible pick-up lines
  • forgetting people’s names
  • bad movies
  • whenever the mood strikes you

Are we beginning to pick up on this? Also of note is the distinction between “brnt,” “BRNT,” and “brrrrrrrrrnt.”  I know, we’re nitpicking now, but the distinction is important. If a situation is only moderately awkward, then you would use the less extreme version of  brnt. Just like if a joke is only chuckle worthy, you would not burst into hilarity because then you would be the only one laughing and people will stare at you and think you’re weird.  And if that ever happens to you, your friends could look at each other and say, “Brnt.”

So I think I have sufficiently cleared the air on this.  The one thing we should all remember when using this word is to always be confident in your usage.  Own it!  Make it yours! And most importantly, be sassy with it…because I sure am.

It’s sassy to LOVE your job. Truly.

Ah working.  Here are some things Miss Sassy Pants dislikes about being a working professional:

  • Wearing a badge around my neck with a hideous picture plastered to it.  I mean it could not be uglier.
  • Worrying about having my lunch / any part of my lunch stolen from the communal refrigerator (yes Mom I put my name on it, no that doesn’t always work).
  • Actually having my lunch / part of my lunch taken from the refrigerator. Bring your own lunch people! There’s a freakin cafe within walking distance! We get an employee discount! Or better yet, buy your own groceries and fix your own mother-loving turkey biscuits! I wake up 5 minutes earlier so I can prepare that. Do not waste my time.
  • People with bad cubicle etiquette.  I think they should offer a class on this.  I would teach it, in fact.  It would go something like this: “Use common sense, have some consideration for other people, think about someone other than yourself while you’re gabbing on the phone to your girlfriend. No one wants to hear that.  Class dismissed.”
  • Having no windows in this flipping building. Oh wait, there are windows?! OMG! There’s one above my cubicle!? Maybe I missed it because there are perma-blinds plastered closed everywhere.  Apparently this department doesn’t like sunlight or nature.  I mean, gosh, don’t you love working in a dim grey box?! I sure do! *thumbs up!*

But of course Miss Sassy Pants is not a pessimist! I like my job. Truly.  And I like to look at the positive side of things, and would like to end this post on a happy note. To prove it, here are some things I like about being a real grown-up with a real-life job:

  • Having a steady paycheck. Nothing better than seeing that dolla-dolla come in. Money in the bank kids! Nothing could be sassier than this.
  • After-work drinks / dinner.  It’s pretty cool to join the work force of young professionals and the occasional cougar (depending which part of Richmond you go to…sometimes it’s cougars and a couple twenty-somethings) for after work victory dance or griping sesh.
  • “Networking Events.” Also known as after work drinks / dinner (see above) but also generally includes more swanky people from the office! Bring on the schmoozing! Miss Sassy Pants loves to schmooze.
  • Accomplishments.  Yes it’s that simple. You can’t say that you enjoy a job where you go in to work and leave at the end of the day with zero product to show for the 8 hours you just sat in your gray *dark* cubicle. Buy a pink lamp like Miss Sassy Pants has, and accomplish something! I like to think that each person at this place contributes to the general success of this great company I work for, including me.  How’s that for positive thinking!
  • Paying bills. Haha! Gosh paying bills is so much fun! Not.  Ok so what I really mean is, it’s great to be able to pay all that stuff all by myself!
  • My new car. Oh what? Oh you didn’t hear? Miss Sassy Pants is the proud owner if a brand new 2009 Mini Cooper S. Darn right. Could she have purchased this vehicle without a job? Negative.  See bullet number 1.

So stay in school kids! Work that resume! Own that up-do! Getchu them flashy kicks, find you a job, make that dolla-dolla, and get that whip! It is not sassy to ask mommy and daddy for money after a certain age. Update: We are past that age, so get on it ladies and gentlemen! Dudes: ladies will not love you if you have no job. Gals: dudes like those independent women – I know this because Destiny’s Child and Mary J. told me so.   Happy Monday.