Dear Diary: Hate Your Game, Player

Thursday, December 3, 2015

Dear Diary:

From the time Eve was created from Adam’s rib (Science), it has fallen upon Man to approach Woman if a formal meeting of the minds…and bodies (procreation, people) was to occur.   In order to break the initial awkwardness, Man, who viewed Woman as he did any prey, felt he needed to invent a way to lure her.  Being a part of the species Ragineous Idiotus, Man invented the pickup line.  In fact, the first pickup line ever recorded was used by Adam who, when first attempting to court Eve, uttered the following: “You came from my rib; how would you like to come on my ribbed.”  [Editor’s Note: There are no words…There. Are. No. Wor—“Dear, God, please direct all lightning to...”]  True story. [Was that thunder?]  Old Testament.  Look it up.  [How uncomfortable can Hell be?  Is it like Tucson?]  This led to the phrase “Not if you were the last man on Earth”, the Apple, shame, and, ultimately, banishment.

Why would Adam say such a thing, because he, like all men since, did not fully understand the meaning behind his words.  In fact, it wasn’t until The Age of Enlightenment that men actually started to listen to what they were saying.  How can someone not hear what they are saying?  There are two universal truths: Women are crazy; men are idiots.  The latter, while not excusing the behavior, offers insight into why it occurs.

This entry is a Public Service Announcement that will, hopefully, help this and future generations see the error of their ways and correct / never engage in the type of behavior described herein.

It was Thursday.  I had just completed another long day of work…ing from home followed by a 15-mile, uphill (1% incline) bike ride.  After watching sports talk shows on the ESPN and showering (whore’s bath in the sink), I became aware of two things: 1) It was approaching dinner time, and 2) I had eaten both breakfast and lunch without the accompaniment of boobs in my face.  Being one who likes to kill two birds – serves them right for soiling meine autos – I drove to my local [If you can call a 90-minute drive “local”.] watering hole for good food [boobs] and conversation [they speak to him].

Seated at the bar were the usual cast of characters: that guy, that other guy, and dude.  I made my way to the bar and took my usual seat (i.e. the one that was available…but not too available, if you get my meaning) [Don’t strain yourself.  People rarely get his meaning…he doesn’t like to be flanked by dudes.]  Later that evening, a new guy game sauntering into the bar.  (In reality, he could have sashayed.  I don’t pay much attention to how dudes enter a room.)  He sat three stools from me at the end of the bar in a location I like to call “minimum safe distance”.

As people sitting at a bar, except me, often do, he attempted to strike up a conversation.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” I didn’t actually say that much, rather I briefly turned my head, gave him a nod of acknowledgment, and went back to watching the American Football match.

“You want some of these nachos?  I can’t possibly eat ‘em all.”

“No, thanks.”  Again, I may be exaggerating the breadth of my response.  [Speech mode, Boss.]  I have two rules about sharing nachos and dudes I don’t know: Not, and gunna happen.  Why don’t you just cut out the middle man and stick your fingers directly into my mouth?

During the course of the night, the bartender, who had gone out for a smoke, struck up a conversation with the aforementioned patron.  Seeing that he seemed interested in her cigarettes (not a euphemism…yet) she told them that her boyfriend rolled them and offered him one.  He took it, because…boobs.

As the night dragged on, and his alcohol intake increased, he became more enamored with the bartender.  As his “enamoration” grew so, too, did his bravado.  (Keep in mind that she had mentioned her boyfriend on several occasions.)  Warning: The following events are true and illustrate, in stunning detail, how NOT to spend quality time with a happenin’ lady.

An hour from closing, the patron, decked out in a blue (could’ve been purple. I’m colorblind.) bandanna with matching shirt and pants, started his move.

Dude (roll of bills in his hand): “What time do you get off?”

Bartender: “Midnight”

He puts a $20 bill down in front of her.

Bartender: “What’s that for?”

Dude: “That’s for you…It’s a tip.  What time does this place close?”

Bartender: “Midnight.”

He puts down a $10 and tells her that it, too, is for her. (Not sure what his tipping structure is based on, but seems insulting.)

Bartender: “Thanks.  I’ll put this towards my ‘new coach fund’.”

Dude: “Have a drink with me.”

Bartender: “I can’t drink on the job, and I have to cut you off soon.  I’m working tomorrow, though.  You can come see me then.”

Dude: “I’m leaving town tomorrow.”

FREEZE IT!  Teaching moment.  Rewind it, and play it back with just his parts.

What he probably thinks he’s saying: “I’m a good-looking guy, and you’re a good-looking woman.  I’m only in town for a short time.  What say we get out of here when you get off work and get to know each other?”

What he’s actually saying: “I know you mentioned you have a boyfriend, but I’m hoping you’re a ho.  I’m leaving town tomorrow, but, before I go, I’d like to sleep with you.  I have money and am willing to pay for your time.  Let’s start the bidding at $30.”

Here’s a tip: Asking a woman out while simultaneously handing her money…not a good move.

Unfreeze.  Back to the action.

Though he was unhappy with her initial response to his advances, a man who dresses like an extra from Laurence Fishburne’s “Biker Boyz” (don’t act like you haven’t seen it) is not one to be easily thwarted.  No, Sir!  This minor setback only served to steel his resolve. He was going to claim his prize or go down swinging.  Time to bring out the big gun.

Dude: “Can I have some salt?”

She hands him a salt shaker. He then proceeds to pour salt into his beer, which causes it to bubble.

Bartender: “Be careful.  That’s going to spill all over the bar.”

At no time did even the slightest hint of concern appear on his stoic visage.  Not one drop of sweat appeared on his brow.  Why so confident that his quest to impress would not end in disaster and the ire of the one who would have to clean it up not be raised?  Two words: Science magic.  He had placed a common household drinking straw across the top of the glass.  When the bubbles came into contact with straw, they receded.  As if by magic!  Was he some kind of wizard or man-witch?!?  The bandanna the source of his wizard powers??? The confidence with which he executed this trick exposed a simple truth: this was not his first rodeo.  This was, in fact, his move.  A move that looked a woman straight through her eyes into the very depths of her soul and whispered, “your move…”

To his chagrin, her move was immediate and in the opposite direction.  Fortunately, I was there to offer a comforting word…or run him through with pointed sarcasm.  Either way, I was there.

Me: “I don’t know about her, but I’m wet.”

Dude: “Come again.”

Me: “Easy, Killer.  Save some for later.”

Dude: “What?”

Me: “Look.  Alls I know is that women like two things: money and science-magic.  You put those moves on me…there’d be a goddamn rainforest in my lady region.”

Dude: “Seriously?”

Me: “Hellz yeah!  That charm, that wad o’ cash, that bandanna.  You’re monochromatic up in this bitch!  Throw science-magic into that elixir… Maaaaannnn.  Like the muthaloving Amazon up in this piece.  Not a dry eye in the house…you get it.”

Dude: “I do?”

Me: “Dagum right, ya do.  The problem lies with her. She was obviously leading you on.”

Dude: “Leading me on?”

Me: “Did she offer you a cigarette?”

Dude: “Well, yeah, but –“

Me: “Everyone knows that’s code for ‘I want my hot butt in your mouth.’”

Dude: “Actually, I –“

Me: “Wondering why she mentioned her boyfriend over and over and over and over and over a –“

Dude: “She di—“

Me: “I’m not done yet…and over again.  I’m done now.  You know I’m done when I say ‘again’.  Why?”

Dude nods.

Me: “Two words: Devil’s threesome.”

Dude: “Devil’s threesome?”

Me: “Yeah, you know, a bro-nage-a-trois.  Ménage-a-brah?”

Dude: “Are you screwing with me?”

Me: “I’m the only self-respecting person in this place who would.  Ya feel me?  Yeah, you feel me.”

Look.  Are there women who are willing to cheat on their significant other?  Yep.  Are there women who just want a one-night stand? Sure there are.  In my experience, however, people, of which women are a part, simply want to be treated with respect.  Who knows?  Maybe she just says she has a boyfriend to weed out the jerks, or has a friend she’d be willing to set you up with.  Change your game.  Maybe, you’ll change your luck…and that’s one to grow on.

Cue the rainbow…