Every girl has a fantasy she wants to live out with a guy. For some it's places, others it's outfits, and still others it's personas. I'm totally one of those I-want-a-guy-who-does-X girls. And what did I want? A stripper. Oh yeah. I never expected to have a chance to explore said fantasy, but, when I did, I realized the extent to which I hadn't thought this whole fantasy thing through.
Dallas was a nice guy. And yes, I am using his stripper name. (Don't track him down, I doubt you'll find anything based off of that... or at least you won't be able to narrow it down...) He was really a blast to be around and to this day I think he's a riot.
Yet, Dallas wasn't really what we'd call "classy," and certainly not high privileged. Not that he was broke, but that he had a propensity to spend his umm... hard-earned money... very quickly. Wisely though, was a complete other matter.
Dallas liked coupons. And I would have supported certain kinds - food... restaurants... etc. But Dallas liked the "5 for $5" coupons offered by the local thrift store down his street. That's right. He liked to buy used consignment clothes for $1 each. Shirts, jeans, jorts, button downs, ties, shoes, and, not even kidding, suits. He bought a blue zuit suit for $2.
Here's my thing. Thriftiness is a desireable quality. Living beyond one's means is unacceptable, frankly, and reflects poorly on your future abilities to buy me shiny things. So, while I respected Dallas' intentions of saving money, I was distraught that it was at the expense of decent clothing.
Sigh. I guess he was too sexy for his clothes anyway...
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Monday, September 22, 2008
Five. Five Dollar. Five Dollar...Ribs?
Meeting your significant other's parents for the first time totally sucks. Meeting them subsequent times also totally sucks. There is a great deal of pressure to seem responsible, but not controlling. To be polite, but not stuffy. To be fun, but not obnoxious. As if that's not enough, the odds are stacked against you from the beginning because every parent is convinced that no person in the world is worthy of dating their little snowflake.
For guys, there's the added pressure of what to do when the check comes. If you offer to pay, does it look like you're implying that the parents can't afford to? Does it send the message that you are trying to buy their daughter off of them? If you don't offer to pay, do you look cheap? While I would usually advise offering, I would say that depending on the situation, either could be the right answer to the check conundrum.
Then there is that hidden third route which is never the right answer. That is the one which Fred chose to take.
Fred came to visit me at my parents' house. Since he only packed jorts, this limited our dining options, but my parents still wanted to take us out to dinner. So, we went to a casual restaurant which served mainly burgers and such. My parents ordered wraps (they're health-conscious) and I ordered a burger (I am not so health-conscious). Fred decided that he just couldn't resist ordering ribs.
This was a little annoying to me since it is such a fussy and messy meal and no one else was eating it. I was a little shocked that he wanted to eat something that was so sloppy in front of my parents. But, I didn't say anything. I didn't even give him a dirty look when he proceeded to get barbecue sauce and bits of meat all over his face and his ugly ass Hawaiian shirt.
When the check came, Fred decided that he should offer to pay. But rather than offer to split the bill with my parents, he presented them with a barbecue sauce soaked five dollar bill. Why? Because he figured his meal was about five dollars more than everyone else's. I wish I were joking about this.
I can understand that he would not offer to pay for everyone's meal. He was 22 and at 22, taking four people out to dinner, even to a burger joint, is a big investment.
However, given that he had chosen to offer to pay part of the check, I feel like the minimum offer he should have made would have been for his full meal. The preferred would have been to just split the damn check -- maybe offering to throw in a few extra bucks if he were truly concerned about his meal costing more.
But just paying the difference between his meal and the table average? How did this seem like a good idea? I tried to whisper discreetly to him to just not offer at all. This would have been a lot less awkward than offering up five dollars.
My parents were confused and annoyed by the offer and politely refused. But they never let me forget it, despite my attempts to block that night out of my memory.
For guys, there's the added pressure of what to do when the check comes. If you offer to pay, does it look like you're implying that the parents can't afford to? Does it send the message that you are trying to buy their daughter off of them? If you don't offer to pay, do you look cheap? While I would usually advise offering, I would say that depending on the situation, either could be the right answer to the check conundrum.
Then there is that hidden third route which is never the right answer. That is the one which Fred chose to take.
Fred came to visit me at my parents' house. Since he only packed jorts, this limited our dining options, but my parents still wanted to take us out to dinner. So, we went to a casual restaurant which served mainly burgers and such. My parents ordered wraps (they're health-conscious) and I ordered a burger (I am not so health-conscious). Fred decided that he just couldn't resist ordering ribs.
This was a little annoying to me since it is such a fussy and messy meal and no one else was eating it. I was a little shocked that he wanted to eat something that was so sloppy in front of my parents. But, I didn't say anything. I didn't even give him a dirty look when he proceeded to get barbecue sauce and bits of meat all over his face and his ugly ass Hawaiian shirt.
When the check came, Fred decided that he should offer to pay. But rather than offer to split the bill with my parents, he presented them with a barbecue sauce soaked five dollar bill. Why? Because he figured his meal was about five dollars more than everyone else's. I wish I were joking about this.
I can understand that he would not offer to pay for everyone's meal. He was 22 and at 22, taking four people out to dinner, even to a burger joint, is a big investment.
However, given that he had chosen to offer to pay part of the check, I feel like the minimum offer he should have made would have been for his full meal. The preferred would have been to just split the damn check -- maybe offering to throw in a few extra bucks if he were truly concerned about his meal costing more.
But just paying the difference between his meal and the table average? How did this seem like a good idea? I tried to whisper discreetly to him to just not offer at all. This would have been a lot less awkward than offering up five dollars.
My parents were confused and annoyed by the offer and politely refused. But they never let me forget it, despite my attempts to block that night out of my memory.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
He's a Caaaaaniac, CAAAAAANIAC!
It's a little weird how much of my relationship with Fred revolved around chicken.
The night after I had discussed the chicken wings incident with Fred, we went to Raising Canes. Since Fred had already eaten one dinner and I am hardly the type of girl who can pack a continuous stream of chicken wings for three hours (sorry, I love my size 2 ass too much), we decieded to split a Caniac (which I paid for).
For those of you out of the loop, this includes 6 chicken fingers, some fries and two pieces of toast (this is important).
Well, since Fred was too busying blowing on a conch shell (insert phallic reference here), I went ahead and seperated the chicken fingers, removing three for myself. Well, this did not go over well. He threw a hissy fit (seriously, a fucking hissy fit) that I was trying to eat his food.
Um, wow. Didn't know he was so protective over it (just kidding, his fat ass and matching beer gut was a dead giveaway that he never let one morsel of food escape his claws).
Also, as a math major, he really should have realized that removing three chicken fingers from a six chicken finger meal is, in fact, taking half of it. But apparently he was blinded by the idea of being potentially denied a chicken finger.
In his fit, he claimed that I was trying to take his food from him. Apparently he believed this to be an ongoing problem. This was weird to me because we were about the same height, but I was half his weight. He was clearly not missing out on any food.
Anyway, I finally got my act together and and dumped him after this...I just wish I hadn't taken him back a few weeks later. D'oh!
The night after I had discussed the chicken wings incident with Fred, we went to Raising Canes. Since Fred had already eaten one dinner and I am hardly the type of girl who can pack a continuous stream of chicken wings for three hours (sorry, I love my size 2 ass too much), we decieded to split a Caniac (which I paid for).
For those of you out of the loop, this includes 6 chicken fingers, some fries and two pieces of toast (this is important).
Well, since Fred was too busying blowing on a conch shell (insert phallic reference here), I went ahead and seperated the chicken fingers, removing three for myself. Well, this did not go over well. He threw a hissy fit (seriously, a fucking hissy fit) that I was trying to eat his food.
Um, wow. Didn't know he was so protective over it (just kidding, his fat ass and matching beer gut was a dead giveaway that he never let one morsel of food escape his claws).
Also, as a math major, he really should have realized that removing three chicken fingers from a six chicken finger meal is, in fact, taking half of it. But apparently he was blinded by the idea of being potentially denied a chicken finger.
In his fit, he claimed that I was trying to take his food from him. Apparently he believed this to be an ongoing problem. This was weird to me because we were about the same height, but I was half his weight. He was clearly not missing out on any food.
Anyway, I finally got my act together and and dumped him after this...I just wish I hadn't taken him back a few weeks later. D'oh!
Monday, September 08, 2008
Gotta Go Right Now
As a child, I didn't have the best coordination. I never could hold my pencil correctly and I tied my shoes the weird way (two loops instead of one). Not to mention, both my knees are covered in scars from the zillions of nasty spills I took. I'd like to say that this is one of those things that improved with age, but that would be well not true.
I'm as clumsy now as ever and on any given day, I 'm certain to have at least one knee bruised from tripping on the curb (Seriously, its like watching an episode of when curbs attack). I am completely clumsy, uncoordinated and awkward. This is an unchangeable part of who I am and I accept it but it has resulted in some interesting situations.
For example, I was home from college for spring break one year, while Shrek remained at school. I took this opportunity to spend time with my family and my high school friends.
One night, we were playing drinking board games -- girls vs. boys with the girls' team totally dominating at Simpsons Battle of the Sexes but after several beers, I needed a bathroom break.
I was really in a hurry and somehow in the process of trying to get my belt undone, I managed to jam it really badly. It had one of those slidey buckle things like an old boy scout belt and I managed to slip part of it out of where it was supposed to be and I could not get the thing undone. After unsuccessful attempts, I realized I needed assistance.
I snuck back out and pulled my friend to the side to see if she could get it unjammed. After a few minutes of pulling, she was unable to get it to budge. I discreetly pulled another girl to the side who was also unable to get it undone.
At this point I was in pain I gave up and asked a guy. This was incredibly embarrassing and awkward at the time, but he was able to get my belt off.
The next day, Shrek called and I mentioned what I had been up to over the past couple of days including the belt story which after the fact just seemed really funny to me.
Shrek did not see the humor in the situation. In fact, he spent the next 15 minutes screaming into the phone about what a slut I was.
At least that's what I think he screamed about the whole time. I put the phone down after five minutes to go get a drink of water and when I came back, he was still carrying on. I explained that it wasn't like I asked him to take my pants off -- I just needed someone to assist with my belt so I would not have to piss myself. But this point was lost on him.
Apparently not peeing my pants makes me a slut. But, according to him, my Vineyard Vines tote bag, Rainbow flip-flops and hairbands also made me a slut. I don't think that word means what he thinks it means.
I'm as clumsy now as ever and on any given day, I 'm certain to have at least one knee bruised from tripping on the curb (Seriously, its like watching an episode of when curbs attack). I am completely clumsy, uncoordinated and awkward. This is an unchangeable part of who I am and I accept it but it has resulted in some interesting situations.
For example, I was home from college for spring break one year, while Shrek remained at school. I took this opportunity to spend time with my family and my high school friends.
One night, we were playing drinking board games -- girls vs. boys with the girls' team totally dominating at Simpsons Battle of the Sexes but after several beers, I needed a bathroom break.
I was really in a hurry and somehow in the process of trying to get my belt undone, I managed to jam it really badly. It had one of those slidey buckle things like an old boy scout belt and I managed to slip part of it out of where it was supposed to be and I could not get the thing undone. After unsuccessful attempts, I realized I needed assistance.
I snuck back out and pulled my friend to the side to see if she could get it unjammed. After a few minutes of pulling, she was unable to get it to budge. I discreetly pulled another girl to the side who was also unable to get it undone.
At this point I was in pain I gave up and asked a guy. This was incredibly embarrassing and awkward at the time, but he was able to get my belt off.
The next day, Shrek called and I mentioned what I had been up to over the past couple of days including the belt story which after the fact just seemed really funny to me.
Shrek did not see the humor in the situation. In fact, he spent the next 15 minutes screaming into the phone about what a slut I was.
At least that's what I think he screamed about the whole time. I put the phone down after five minutes to go get a drink of water and when I came back, he was still carrying on. I explained that it wasn't like I asked him to take my pants off -- I just needed someone to assist with my belt so I would not have to piss myself. But this point was lost on him.
Apparently not peeing my pants makes me a slut. But, according to him, my Vineyard Vines tote bag, Rainbow flip-flops and hairbands also made me a slut. I don't think that word means what he thinks it means.
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