Tag Archives: dudes

MSP Presents: Seriously, (S)He Doesn’t Like You.

On September 7th, 2004, Simon Spotlight Entertainment published a book called “He’s Just Not That Into You: The No-Excuses Truth to Understanding Guys,” authored by two former story line editors of the favored HBO show Sex and the City, Greg Behrendt and Liz Tuccillo. The unique thing about this book is that it is mainly authored by a man. A man who used to be a single guy, out on the prowl for his perfect woman, and who eventually found, pursued, wooed, and married her. This wonderful book came into my life about 6 months later and changed my perspective forever. Never had I read something straight from the horses mouth, if you will, that cut out all the bull and gave the most blatant truth about guys. Not just real men, but all males in general, including high school boys, college dudes, and the real man’s man. It applied to me then, it applies to me now, and it will continue to apply to my life basically until I die.

And so to this day, nearly 6 years later, I am still slightly irritated and bewildered when I hear things like this: “It’s not that he’s not into me, he’s just SO busy with his job right now, so we really don’t have a lot of time for each other. But it’ll calm down once this project is over and we’ll be able to see each other more.” Or this: “Well, his last relationship was pretty terrible and I think scarred him pretty badly. He’s slowly working through it all, it’s just so hard for him. It might seem like he’s not that into me but he totally says he is.” Or, for another age group: “His major is really hard so he studies so much! That’s why we don’t really talk that much during the week. But I see him on weekends and we…you know. So I know he totally likes me.” I think we get the picture. All of these are excuses. He’s busy, he’s got to study (but he’s got time for…you know), he’s got commitment issues, he’s got trust issues, she broke him and now I have to fix him but he’ll come around…all of this = blah blah blah, he’s not that into you. That is basically a summary of the book. Seriously, go buy it, rent it, borrow it from your girlfriend who probably already has a copy and is enlightened.

So in the past when I have written about this particular topic, it has always been to prove that in fact, good ol’ Greg knew what he was talking about! I fully support his theory, but also frequently feel like Miranda in episode 78 (season 6, episode 4) when she realizes the truth and tries to spread it to other women. She is freed by this new knowledge and when trying to spread the revelation, the reaction from other women is not as positive and she ends up offending a woman on the street.

As part of an effort to prove that Greg is right, that I am right, and that everyone who denies the validity of this theory is wrong, we are going to have our first MSP multi-part series. Get excited. I have commissioned real men from the field (field = real life) to give feedback on a number of issues surrounding the ocean of issues that is dating. First we will start out with my own anecdotal evidence that the theory is correct, examine what steps I took to ensure that this man was or was not into me, and hear from our mexperts (men+experts?) their side of the story. We will also examine the reasons that we are all basically cowards when it comes to admitting the truth about our feelings, and perhaps how we can better deal with rejecting or rejection. So tune in every Thursday for the next part of the series. And if anyone else is interested in contributing, do give me a holler at vtsassypants@gmail.com. The more viewpoints, the better to stick it to all the fools in love.

Mr. Too-Many-Text-Messages-Guy

Miss Swan (Raleigh Roomz…great nickname if I do say so myself) had been text chatting with this dude who does not live in R-town. He was all up on the text messaging. Like numerous times per day, numerous topics, far exceeding the 160 character limit, and not waiting for a response before he sends a billion more messages. It’s super cute. JK. It’s super something, but cute it ain’t. It is an excellent indication that he’s super into her, and also it’s an indication that he never got a text message etiquette lesson. I’m not necessarily saying there’s certain rules that you must abide by at all times, but there are just certain rules you must abide by at all times. This is more of a common issue than perhaps you might guess, so we will discuss it.

Dudes. Ya’ll know that girl who texts you 24/7 and is always responding to your texts within 2 seconds of you sending it. You know that one that doesn’t know when to stop. She is always sending something. It can be anything from “hey baby whatcha doin” to “OMG just ran into a friend from middle school at the grocery store, couldn’t remember her name, FML!” And you’re all like, I don’t care, but how do I say that nicely in a text? You can’t, so you don’t respond. It’s ok. We all do it. That’s the standard. Your phone goes off, you are disappointed to see it’s her again. She’s checking on you. Sharing some deep thoughts while you’re out with your boyz. You’re relaxing having a brew and she’s all waxing poetic about the universe and the Moon Lady. You just talked to her a couple times and now she’s all up on you like woah. And who the heck is the Moon Lady?! So you stop responding only she continues to send message after message. SO annoying.

Ladies. Ya’ll know that man be all blowin your phone up like he get paid top dolla to bother you all day. Trife. And you’re so tired. You don’t really like him like that. He’s SO nice and even kind of cute, but you just either a) don’t check your phone often enough to keep up, b) don’t even have time to respond because he’s sending them so frequently, or c) don’t really want to respond for fear of leading him on, because you just don’t think of him like that. But it’s so weird! He won’t stop texting! I mean like all day long! It is so bad in fact, that you begin to wonder if he even has a job or if he was lying to you about being a financial advice giver. How can anyone advise people all day and still have time to send super long texts uber frequently. I hate the word uber and yet I still used it because it is perfect for this situation. It is trife.

So how do we really know when to stop texting? How many is too many? What if some of them didn’t get through and you’re just making sure some of them get through by sending so many?? You just want to share everything with him. You just want her to know you’re thinking about her. Just so much to say. Plus you don’t get to talk on the phone because of your schedules, so what else are you supposed to do?! Here’s a thought: be rational. Technology is pretty advanced these days. Texts “go through.” They work now, pretty consistently. Fine, there’s the occasional delay or failed message. But it’s rare. 99% of the time (not a real statistic but it’s close to accurate I’m sure unless you live in the boonies), that ish gets to the other phone perfectly. Well he must be busy or something. She might be at the gym or washing her hair. OR…$20 to whoever guesses what I’m going to say next. He’s just not that into you! And need I remind us all again that it applies to both genders, so it’s perfectly possible that she’s just not that into you! Not sure if you are the guy who sends too many text messages? Here’s a good test: Scroll through your phone convo and see what the proportion of your texts to hers is. Is she super responsive and sending you long, informative, and cutesy texts? Fine and dandy. Are you seeing way more of your sent messages than her responses? Do you even remember when the last time she responded was? Time to stop and say no to drugs. Miss Swan’s little man needed to perform this test on himself so he could save himself from heartbreak and/or awkwardness when he realizes that he’s been having a text convo with himself.

Seriously, texting is super fun. It has changed the way we communicate with each other, and it has changed the dating game beyond recognition. Plans can be made without the two parties involved even speaking to each other (although MSP does not endorse this practice, despite using it most all the time). One can be in constant contact with numerous other people at one time, including one’s mother. And there’s certainly no rule that says you must take turns sending messages to maintain a 1:1 ratio all the time. But when your ratio is more like 20:1, you should rethink your strategy. Maybe it’s time to actually make a phone call, take her out, let her know you’re not just some lazy bum who can’t muster any more effort than text messages. Or maybe it’s time to re-evaluate the situation. She’s probably not answering you for a reason. And what is that reason? That’s right. She’s just not that into you. So how about you two open the lines of communication, figure out what you feel for each other, and please adjust your text message frequency accordingly. And if you insist that you’re just being friendly and you don’t even like like her, then you’re a) in denial or b) just really weird for sending so many unanswered messages. Seriously, get a hold of yourself and get a hobby and some new friends.

Listen. It’s been real, but I have to go wash my hair now.

Here’s the thing ya’ll. I know last time I wrote about being all googoo for boys and losing my cool and whatnot. It happens to the best of us, and plus we weren’t talking about me, we were talking about you. But today I am lamenting the fact that I sometimes find myself being the dude. Yes, occasionally I get dumped or passed by or whatever, but at least I take a hint. Nothing is less classy than the inability to let go of a relationship, after one party has made it abundantly clear the door is closed. When you are dismissed, nod your head, have a little pity party, get angry for a couple minutes then move forward. And do not go crawling back for your own leftovers. It is not cute. It’s like (warning: unpleasant) how cows chew their food, digest it part way, then re-chew it again. So gross, but it’s a perfectly apt comparison.

So why am I the dude? I think maybe because some dudes need to read He’s Just Not That Into You and realize it works both ways. Is there a version out there for men? She’s Just Not That Into You? There should be. A quick google search tells me it doesn’t exist, so maybe I should partner with the author of the original and crank that out. Anywho. Seems like the stereotype is guy meets girl, guy likes girl for a little bit, girl sees wedding bells and future babies, guy decides he doesn’t like her, moves on, girl is devastated and keeps calling/texting/facebooking/inappropriately being mean and bitter on social media sites, etc. and can’t let go or move on until she finds Mr. Man of Her Dreams, Runner Up. I believe that it is an under-acknowledged happening when the girl moves on and the guy doesn’t. We are not all soft and googoo and wishy-washy wedding wishers all the time. See previous post, but remember most the time we are cool and collected, and know there are sites like match.com should we ever grow weary of meeting guys at bars or become desperate.

The situations can vary, but the best example of this is when you get cast aside. You’re not really dating him, but you go out a couple times maybe, he expresses interest in you, you express interest in him, it’s super fun. Then in pretty short order he changes his mind, for any number of reasons including but not limited to: an ex he can’t get over, he’s just not that into you, different places in life, he’s just not that into you, or perhaps he prefers blonds, which = he’s just not that into you. [It’s a trend because it’s a fact, sorry.] So you think, well that sort of stinks. He was really  nice, and good looking, and you thought you had a lot in common and you saw it possibly progressing nicely. You had a good time. But you know what? Everything happens for a reason. He’s not right for you because he’s not over the moon for you, so you shrug it off, mentally place him in the friend zone and move on. And things are fine for a bit. You still hang out, still get drinks after work, still hang with the same crowd and it’s not awkward for anyone and that’s fab. But he seems to forget sometimes that he said no thanks. He is inconsistently crossing the friend zone border, and your border control is working overtime to keep him behind enemy lines. Not cute ya’ll.

Let’s switch perspectives, since this actually happened to me. It is one thing to flirt and be cute while in the friend zone. That’s fun. And if you are both adults and communicate about where you stand with each other, it’s harmless (which in my opinion makes it more fun). But this is not that kind of friend zone breach. I don’t care if you flirt with me after you dump me. I will flirt back, and you’re welcome. But do not pretend to be my man when we go out. Do not try to be cute and fake-coupley in public. Do not do the possessive guy thing in which you assert yourself on me so other dudes think I’m with you. Please do not block people from talking to me, guys or girls. I will cut you. And lawd, do not make moves on me. Some girls may go for it, but you found out when you first met me what kind of girl I am. If you say no thanks to a relationship with me, you do not get any other goodies on the side. Except my friendship and my presence. And I am not such a pushover that I will acquiesce to your whiles because you think you are smooth. Don’t make me remind you that you had your chance, and now it’s time to let the other little boys have a turn, mmk pumpkin?

If you really and truly have changed your mind (it happens) then win me over the real man way. Take me out. Buy me diamonds and a Lamborghini. Whatever. But do not breach the friend zone without proper consent, because my border control is far better than Arizona’s and you shall not pass.

The Ultimate Cool Head

Lately I have been contemplating a couple things, shockingly relating to boys and dating. I know, something new for once. Don’t lie, you love it, because this jank applies to everyone, even grown-ups. I say that like I’m not a grown-up…I guess the verdict is still out. I do own my own vehicle now though so I think I get points for that. Moving on.

Let’s close our eyes for a minute. Hypothetically I guess, since you can’t close your eyes and read at the same time. So eyes “closed”, picture in your head the ultimate cool single chick. She’s good looking, the kind that’s super hot but also cute and super confident and not trashy. She’s put together, has her life together – good job, pays her own bills, holds her own in the big bad world. She dates and has had boyfriends in the past but nothing has stuck so far, and really she’s not too worried. She lets the  boys come to her, doing minimal work and being the first to call never. She feels good because she knows she’s got it, but she’s also read “He’s Just Not That Into You” so she knows when to let go. [Side note: this is not a self portrait of Miss Sassy, although admittedly there are some common elements.] Got the picture? I bet you can think of at least 3 to 5 ladies in your life (including yourself or not) that fit this general profile. They’re super cool, super collected, and very rational thinkers. Right? Yes. Until…

Now let’s pretend this is you. Because, come one ladies, you are super cool and collected 24/7. Work it. So you’re going on your merry way through life, no cares, no worries, bills paid, friends made (dang, what a rhyme), when you find yourself being pursued by a suitor (yes suitor, go with it). He’s super cute, very smart, gentlemanly, totally your type and excellent on paper. Getting points left and right for all the cute things he’s saying, doing, not doing, etc. etc. making those around you want to vom because it’s so freaking cute. Yeesh. But it’s still new and you’re still feeling each other out (not literally, come on people minds out of the gutter). You think you like him but it’s not love at first sight and you’re totally cool with the casualness, slow-ish pace things are moving. You’re in no hurry, since your friends all around you are dropping like flies to marriage and babies (I swear this is not a self-portrait). And plus, you have the power right now. He’s calling you, asking you out, texting you first, initiating everything. He is seeking you out and this gives you the power to say yes or no. You like it this way. Who doesn’t? I’m old fashioned so I like it this way, and you should too. But…

Then one day you happen to notice, you’ve been the one initiating texts, calling first, asking about plans, etc. Not obsessively of course, but maybe you catch yourself writing a text and realize…this is not the first time you’ve done this. And in fact you can’t remember when the last time he initiated a communique. Hm. What has happened? You send the text anyway. He takes more than 5 seconds to respond so your mind is racing. Why isn’t he answering? Is he seeing someone else?? What did I do?! You try to find your cool head and brush it off, thinking you will start paying more attention. After this, you will go back to the original (and right) way of doing things and let him come to you. If he doesn’t, then you’ll know you can move on. But you can’t! Because now things are inconsistent. He’s busy. You’re busy. He used to text you every day and make at least one phone call and now it’s all weird. You find yourself unable to resist asking him what his plans are, seeing if you can fit yourself in there somewhere. You’re thinking about it all day, it’s distracting you from work, your doubting yourself constantly. YOU, Miss Independent, Miss Hot Confidence, Miss Work-That-Up-Do, has doubts! And you know it’s happened. The power has shifted. You no longer hold the situation in the palm of your hand. You no longer have the freedom to maybe decline one of his invites, knowing he’ll call or ask again. Now, the ball is in his court.

I loathe these situations. Who doesn’t? It can take the most confident and carefree gal and turn her into crock pot of low self confidence, mixed with self-doubt, self-loathing, a side of magnified and exaggerated faults, with mood swings and daily bad hair days on the side. Nothing helps, not even that new hair spray you bought. You get dressed in the morning knowing you look good and ready for the day, then less than an hour later with still no “good morning” flirty text or anything you’re completely miserable. Then by lunch time you’ve written it off and are oh-so-over it, especially because the sandwich guy at Jason’s Deli winked at you and gave you a little boost. Then driving home from work you’re depressed again, wondering what you should do all alone at your apartment. But then he sends a cute text and you’re all googoo again. Ladies, why on EARTH do we let this happen? I have no idea. And it has happened to me plenty-o-times, let me tell you. Or ask Momma Sassy, since she’s my pitying ear 99% of the time. I personally blame hormones, but this is a bad excuse. We should never let ourselves be tricked into begging for time on some dude’s supposedly “busy” calendar. I have said this before a hundred billion times. If he’s worth it, he’ll make the effort. And if he stops making the effort, there is always a reason. And that reason is usually something along the lines of he’s just not that into you. If you disagree, you’re wrong. Dudes? Am I right? Thought so.

Of course as with any situation, there are few exceptions. FEW, meaning, maybe one or two in a lifetime of guys will be the exception to this rule. Men are simple. If they decide they don’t like you, they’ll stop spending lots of time on you. If he was truly a nice guy, you could keep it in the friend zone and add him to the list of good looking men you surround yourself with. If he turned out to be a top notch douche bag, then perhaps it’s time to just say goodbye for realz. I know sometimes it’s hard to tell, but go with your gut. And always keep in mind, when you are feeling especially emotional, consider what time of the month it is before making any decisions. Sometimes you have to step back and tell yourself to put down the phone, and take a nap instead. Because remember, angry/accusatory/passive aggressive texts and irrational behavior are not sassy and are especially not classy. Be cool, calm, classy, and collected and they will come buzzing like bees to honey.  And never forget the dash of sass. Happy Friday!

Big Hat, No Cattle.

Who doesn’t love this phrase I have learned recently?! Big hat, no cattle. It’s gloriously southern, to the point, charming, and seems to me can be used in a wide variety of contexts. I am pretty much in love with this phrase and will probably add it to the list of words that I apparently overuse on the regs. It is especially versatile and I’m really quite excited to put it in practice as often as possible. Since I had to get an explanation, I’ll assume I’m not the only one who’s unsure what it means – especially since I know some of you readers are yanks, I know ya’ll need some extra guidance. Miss Sassy is here to learn you once again, don’t worry.

My favorite and probably the most excellent example of how this phrase can be used is when referencing a big talkin man. You know, the kind with big egos who yack at the mouth about all their crazy skillz with women. Miss Sassy of course knows nothing about any sort of anything about these supposed and rumored skills, however she does have a fantastic BS meter! And this weekend, it was tested and proved to be in good working order.

Friday night, Roomz and I found ourselves with some friends at this cool place in downtown Ralz called Hibernian. It’s the perfect place for seeing, being seen, meeting and mingling. There’s at least 4 different bars, plenty of seating, a cute little outdoor patio perfect for people watching, and the music isn’t too loud. Nothing worse than zero conversation because I can’t even hear myself think. Anywho, so Roomz and I are on our last drink, closing out tabs, beginning to think better of the shots we just took, when Roomz spots a real live cowboy across the bar. She’s from Pennsylvania and has never seen a man in a cowboy hat and boots (and tight jeans and a big belt buckle if you must know) so she wants a picture. I don’t have my camera but we don’t discover that until we’ve already drawn him into conversation. So we’re chatting and then mid-convo, he leans over to me and asks for my number. Oy. Roomz excuses herself thinking she’s doing me a favor, meanwhile in my head I’m screaming please don’t leave me with this tool! Too late. I hesitate, thinking that I’m about to say my usual: no thanks, I don’t give out my number, sorry. But then I say “I’m moving in 3 weeks, does that change your mind?” (cute right!) He says he doesn’t care and I shrug and hear myself say “um, sure.” I know, so enthusiastic. He’s excited, it’s kind of cute. I’m still trying to decide if he’s actually good looking or if it’s just the hat that drew me in. We chat for a couple minutes about standard things. Where do you work? What do you do? Where are you from? I ask a bit more unconventional questions like, “Are you really a cowboy?” and “Why are you wearing that hat here?” dripping with my usual sarcasm. He thinks I’m joking, which is also cute because I’m so not. Then he asks me what my first impression of him was. This kind of question always makes me laugh, because really, it’s like asking “So, you think I’m hot right? I know.” And ya’ll know, I’m not a batting eyelashes while nodding and giggling kind of girl. I will say what I think, especially if I’m on the backside of 5ish drinks. So I gave him a once-over and told him he was wearing that big hat and buckle for a reason, and that his boots were awful fancy (I think they were snake skin. Yuck). He chuckles and asks me what I mean by that. I politely explain that no man in Raleigh, North Carolina wears those big 10 gallon cowboy hats so he must be trying to get noticed with all his Texas finery. He of course denies it and says that he’s been wearing that hat since he was 5 years old. Again, I repeat, this is Raleigh, not a party on your daddy’s ranch. It is at this point that I devise my exit strategy. My future husband is not hiding underneath that hat, and I don’t do snake skin. Next in line please.

Why is it that most men will deny that they are trying to get noticed? I have no problem admitting that when I get dolled up to go out, I am wearing shorts with 4 inch zebra heels to get noticed. I do not wear them for my health or because they help tone my gluts and hamstrings. If I wasn’t trying to get noticed I’d probably wear baggy jeans and a t-shirt. Or I’d stay at home and watch Gilmore Girls instead. Simple. And really, it’s not so bad to just admit it. Why lie? Why try to be all, “Oh I’m just here to hang out with friends and have a few beers.” It’s cute really, but we all know why we are all there. If you only wanted a few beers with friends, you could hit up the Piggly Wiggly and get yourself a case and catch up with friends on your couch. I feel like it’s just human nature. We spend time making ourselves look as not trife as possible and go out to be social because we are social creatures. And there is nothing wrong with admitting that you are proud of your tush and so yeah, you bought those tight jeans specifically to go out in because you heard chicks dig them (fact). And yes, you bought that shirt because it fits better, shows off your pecs and biceps that you work so hard on. Seriously, it’s ok. And yes, we notice. But please, don’t try to be all innocent like it’s an accident that you look so good (or flashy, which does not necessarily equal good). You consciously decided to wear that big buckle, put on your best boots, and wear that hat (indoors even. Rude.) because you know it’ll set you apart from other tight-jean’d dudes. And surprise! It worked, we noticed you. But, surprise! You had nothing behind the hat to back it up except for a feeble and disrespectful attempt to get me to go home with you. Ergo: big hat, no cattle.

Your “Game” is terrible. Try again.

I know many of you are clamoring to hear all about NASCAR adventures, all the hot rugby boys we hung out with, all the beer I drank, the number of hot dogs I ate, the ridiculously fat guy in a speedo that Queenie took a photo with, etc. I promise to get on that as soon as possible. But I must take a timeout and add some thoughts to Tuesday’s post. Thanks to one of my dear friends here in Raleigh, a book has come to my attention which I had never heard of. Correction: I had heard of this kind of  book/tv show/concept but it stayed in that back part of my mind that holds all the irrelevant information. In general I never really thought any of this was actually put in practice, but last Friday I was proven wrong apparently.

The book is called The Game: Penetrating the Secret Society of Pickup Artists. Click the link and read, as I did, the synopsis/editorial review provided by Amazon.com, and you may find some familiar lines in just that one summary paragraph. I must admit I was shocked when I read this. While I do not find it remotely hard to believe that books like this exist, I do find it incredible that guys actually use this jank in public on real live women and think they will get results. Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m too picky, or snobby, or just not as dumb and easy as other chicks are. I don’t know because I’m me. Ladies? Am I wrong? Is this not ridiculous? When I relayed this development to Momma Sassy, we had a good laugh which was followed by her expressing sympathy for these two epic failure pickup artist wannabes. “I actually feel bad for them,” she says, in that motherly-pity-voice that mothers do so well. I am shocked and do not see any room for sympathy or pity in this situation and ask her to explain. “Well, don’t you think it’s just pitiful that they felt the need to read a book to teach them how to just talk to women?” Um, not really. “I just think it’s extremely pitiful.” Ok fine, I agree, it’s pitiful but I feel zero sympathy for a guy who thinks “Do you believe in magic tricks” is a good way to start a conversation at a bar. Or anywhere. Just say no.

Let’s take a step back. I am not so insensitive to think that all men should just know they should just be themselves and be confident enough to talk to a pretty girl/gorgeous cougar at a bar/some other public venue. It’s like Hitch said, a guy wants a plan because he’s worried he might walk up to said lady and have a brain fart (as I referred to them in the past, so ladylike).  But seriously, being yourself and being normal…it works. Even if you are only trying to, as Momma Sassy so delicately put it, “get into someone’s pants” for one night, I’d say you have a better chance of succeeding if you aren’t a super sketch ball right from the start, especially with some kid magic trick my 10 year old cousin can do. How about, show me the magic of your personality and why I should pick you out of every other guy in here? If you start talking and I start wishing I had stayed home to watch Gilmore Girls reruns, it’s not good.

What is super great (and gratifying for gals like me) about this book is that, at the end, the author apparently comes to the same conclusion as I have stated here. The pickup lines and supposed “smoothness” don’t actually work. As the synopsis says: “…he comes to an important realization. His techniques were actually off-putting to the woman he ended up falling in love with. And they never prepared him for actually having a relationship. After a while, he ran out of one-liners and had to have a real conversation.” OMG ya’ll! A real conversation! Who would have guessed that in the end, none of those chicks he “scored” would want to end up with him? Who knew that women like a real guy who knows how to carry on a conversation. We do actually want a man with a brain, in addition to our desire for big biceps and 6-packs. Shocking news. Also I love the part about how it didn’t prepare him for a relationship. Um, ya think?

So I guess, if you would like to have an in general meaningless existence filled with meaningless hookups, dumb chicks, and herpes, read and heed the advice of this book and others like it. If, however, you are on the prowl for a cute chick with a brain, try using “hi” and “my name is …” as your pickup lines and she just might say hi back.

No, I do not want to be your magicians assistant but thanks for asking.

I am very excited to share the myriad of trifeness that occurred this past weekend. It began when Queenie flew down to good old R-town on Friday and we partied like it was 1999 with some pals from work.

So after a lovely dinner just us gals, we ventured to Natty Greene’s, where apparently it was “Be as Trife as Possible Night”. We are sitting at the bar with our friends, I am telling a story about something not important but probably extremely funny, when I hear, “Excuse us, I know you’re in the middle of something but we want to ask you something.” Strike one. Of so many more.

Of course I stop talking and we give these two young men our attention. My first thought is that they are sort of cute but a little skinny for my taste. My second thought (before they started speaking again) was that maybe they could redeem themselves for interrupting me by having something cute or interesting to say.  “My friend here believes in magic,” the taller one says, “like the kind with magicians and rabbits and hats and stuff. I think it’s all bullshit. So we want to know, what do you think? Is magic real?” Strike two. THIS is what you interrupted me for? Oh but wait! It gets better. Queenie and I both agree, magic like that is all BS, all an illusion, and can always be explained. Hearing our answer, the shorter one pipes up and says he can prove that magic is real. At this point I am so tired of these guys I don’t even want to be nice or polite, I just want to walk away but the bar is crowded and I don’t want to give up my seat. He asks us if we have two dollars. We don’t. No one around us does. Shockingly, he finds two dollars in his pocket, shows them to us, and then folds them in fourths in a ball in his hand. Is anyone else cringing? I was, and was not taking pains to hide my displeasure with him and his money trick. He holds his hand out to me and tells me to blow on it. Blow on his hand. Like I am a 5 year old girl at the carnival. Strike three. I give him the not-amused eyebrow raise (not the cute smirky eyebrow raise) and blow because he’s being a pain in my tush. Then he proceeds to futz with the two dollars in his fist until he’s produced a $5 bill. OMG! Magic exists! EXCEPT then the other two dollar bills peek out from behind the $5, thus ruining his trick and his point. Strike four. And hilarious, something we also take to pains to hide. At this point, I deem it appropriate to turn around on my stool putting my back to both of them and continue my conversation with Queenie.

This definitely is in the book of worst pick-up lines/stories ever. I mean I can’t even explain how awkward, not cute, and irritating it was. Dudes: if you are irritating me, it’s not a good sign, and you should probably move on to a more drunk chick who might confuse your annoying-ness for attractiveness. But wait! It’s not over yet. [Right?! Some just don’t know when to call it quits.]

An hour or so and two or three beers later, same bar, same friends, these same two dudes approach us again. AGAIN. And once again interrupt our conversation with other, cuter boys. Strike five. “Hey listen,” says the taller one, “We were totally joking with that magic stuff earlier, we just wanted an excuse to talk to you ladies.” I laughed out loud because a) this is not news and b) it does not matter that they are admitting this now and c) it is just sad and hilarious. They both hold out hands to introduce themselves, trying to be cool in the face of my laughter. Their names might as well have been Dumb and Dumber for all the attention I paid to them and their limpy handshakes. Then the shorter one says, “I mean you two are the prettiest ones in here, of course we wanted to talk to you!” This is just ridiculous. After all of the magic jank, they think they can still charm us into a little flirty convo.  Queenie and I exchange that glance that only girls have that says are-you-freaking-kidding-me-could-this-get-any-worse. Their parting trifeness included using the word “seriously” way too many times, and pointing out their table in case we changed our minds later. Strike six. Sure! If I suddenly get amnesia I’ll let you know. And apparently later in the evening, one of them followed Queenie to the bathroom and waited for her outside the door (creepy and not cute guys, do not follow any girl to the potty, especially if she has shut you down greater than or equal to one time in one evening). When she came out, he asked her about the other boys we were hanging out with. As in, “are you serious with those guys? They’re so not as cool as me.” Strike seven and eight.

Un-freaking-believable and hilarious. Dudes, please read carefully and learn. Luckily, the evening got infinitely better after that trifeness. Stay tuned for more from Nascar-bomb weekend, each day gets better ya’ll!