After a short, but awful period of being courted exclusively by Golden Buckeye Card carriers, it was time to focus on guys closer to my own age. I figured that chances were good that we’d have more in common....like, both being born after the Korean War, for example. It wasn’t long before I realized there was a trick to attracting guys my age—show up to a bar you completely hate and start acting totally, utterly, falling-down drunk.
Of course I didn’t actually do this. But those are the girls I would be contending with for someone’s attention. And while I’m pretty sure I could beat them in a Spelling Bee or even a Who-Can-Stand-Up Contest, they seem to be the first ones to go in the bar hookup draft. And my cynical and sarcastic and “watch me drink you under the table, prissy boy” nature guarantees that I get picked up in the 6th round, right before the girls with missing teeth and the ladies wearing Tazmanian Devil-emblazoned leather bomber jackets.
But Tom Brady (dry heave) was a sixth-round draft pick (dry heave) and look how he turned out (Oh God, I think I’m going to barf, I just compared myself to Tom Brady). So yea, I managed to meet some men my age. A few of them were awesome guys who I now consider good friends. And a few of them were huge, unholy douches (HUD’s).
However, the purpose of this blog isn’t to publicly slander anyone (calling this ‘public’ is a stretch, mind you), even the most vile of HUD’s. No, I’m choosing to use this blog for good. And with a year of the ridiculousness known as dating under my belt, I am simply offering up a few observations, so you can determine if you or someone you know is an HUD—or worse, is dating an HUD.
He wears a wifebeater under everything.
Maybe he has scary salami nipples that require him to clothe himself with at least three layers at all times, or maybe he just likes the way wifebeaters look. Either way it’s cause for concern. He may keep it concealed for while, but you’ll soon realize that the exposed wifebeater is his go-to uniform for barbecues, family reunions, outdoor weddings and those times when the bar gets too hot. And you do not want to be there when that happens.
He owns one of these. With a picture of himself etched in it. That lights up and rotates.
People, I wish I was joking. Imagine being given a tour of someone’s place, and setting your eyes on a luminescent graven image displayed with such hubris that it’s amazing that God himself hasn’t sent all ten plagues to his apartment complex. I mean, honestly? A laser-etched picture of yourself? BY YOURSELF? “Girls think it’s creepy, but I think it’s awesome,” he said after noticing the absolute horror in my eyes. No kidding, I thought. The only thing creepier would be a bloody woodchipper in your living room, guy.
He has no qualms about posing totally inappropriate questions like “What’s it going to take to get you to touch it?”
I don’t think this one needs to be explored any further. Gross.
He refers to you his girlfriend after one date…while talking to his mom.
There are a handful of truly genuine, emotional, sweet guys out there. And chances are you won’t ever see me dating one of them, because frankly—they scare the living bejesus out of me. Blech. He says “I can really see myself getting serious about you.” I hear “You should come over and see the doll I’m making out of your hair.” He says “I can’t wait for you to meet my mom.” I hear “Ever see Misery? Yea, it’s like that.” He says “I can’t get enough of you.” I hear “I don’t care what the judge said about the whole 500 feet away thing.”
Well, that about wraps it up. One full year of singlehood behind me, and what do you know—it’s Valentine’s Day. And even though I might snap and brutally murder a handful of people the next time I hear the words “He went to Jared”, I think I’m handling it pretty well. Because, to be totally honest, this year has been fun as hell. Thank God for all of my friends, who always help me look at everything with a sense of humor.
So to everyone, a very happy Valentine’s Day. And to those of you in relationships: turn on the romantic music, pour the champagne, curl up next to the one you love and picture me making throw up faces at you.
XOXO
Steph
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