Showing posts with label dating. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dating. Show all posts

Wednesday, April 10, 2013

A Tale of Two Drag Shows

On Day 10 of my 30 Days of Blogging, I've run across a topic suggested by my friend Phyliss:

Sex Week on Campus

This topic presents a bit of a problem, in that I'm not sure I can write about it. Sex Week, and the last minute decision by the university to remove funding from Sex Week, has generated a fair bit of controversy, and I've been reminded in the past week that all university employees fall under the employee code of conduct, which includes some broadly vague and nebulous language about not giving the appearance of being unsupportive of the university. I am openly supportive of Sex Week, though, and am helping to facilitate the Drag Show tomorrow night.

My record with drag shows is a little mixed. I've been to some that were entertaining, but there was also that one where that drag queen threw a shoe at me from the stage, and that was kind of traumatizing, what with it being my first sober drag show and all.

Thinking about that, though, also reminds me of my very first (unsober) drag show...

The year is 2006. Barry Bonds is breaking Babe Ruth's home run record, President Bush is admitting that the CIA has secret prisons all over the world, "Smallville" is just starting to turn awful while "Superman Returns" hits the theaters and is all the way past awful and into terrible. The breakout radio hit of the summer is "S O S", by a girl named Rihanna that none of us had heard of before even though this is her second album, and I am in a terrible relationship with a guy who is not only fully closeted and will not admit that we are in a relationship or meet any of my friends who don't already know him but who is also kind of a jerk.

He does, however, have fantastic abs.

Since he later decided that he was straight, I will refrain from mentioning his name, although he may have changed his mind again since then. I don't know, because we haven't talked since shortly after I moved here, when I suddenly got tired of returning his calls. I should have known he'd turn out to be a jerk, because the first time we went to lunch (when we were still just friends) he not only made a point of mentioning that he was "mostly straight" (I still have questions about what, exactly, this means; he was unwilling to ever clarify it) but also described me as "cheerfully husky". Bitch. Even worse, since I have low self esteem, I managed to convince myself that "cheerfully husky" was actually a compliment.

This rationlization was really easy, since he had fantastic abs.

In other jerky moments, he once said that I had "a girl brain", in that my emotions were just always hysterical and out of control. Once when I was supposed to bring wine to go with dinner, and actually asked the guy at the liquor store for help, he looked at the bottle I brought and said, "Wow, this was a really good try." He used a handkerchief instead of tissues, which meant that there was perpetually a crusty snot filled cotton rag in one or more pockets. He thought my weekend habit of going to estate sales was "morbid and creepy", and he hated when I sang along to music while driving. Also, he was deeply in love with Audrey Hepburn, and kicked me out of his apartment when I fell asleep during "Roman Holiday". (It's a great movie. I was just tired.) Most egregiously jerky of all, though, is that he bought me something for Christmas that I very specifically said that I did not want. We were at the store, and he pointed it out and was like, "I'm going to buy you that for Christmas," and I was like, "I don't want that. And you know how people say that and don't mean it, like, 'Oh, I don't want a surprise birthday party' but they really do want one? I don't mean it like that. I mean that I really, honestly don't want that," and then he bought it for me anyway and presented it with, "Well, I'd already decided I was going to buy it, so you'll just grow to like it."

Like I said, jerk. But fantastic abs.

I was younger then, and easily mislead.

Anyway, because I was job searching and finishing my masters and in this horribly annoying relationship all at the same time, I was really, really moody a lot, so my friend Franco was like, "Jesus, we have to get you out. You need to socialize with gay people who actually admit to being gay, and aren't jerks. You're miserable all the time."

"But he has these really fantastic abs..."

"Shut up. We're going to the Cinco de Mayo Drag Show at Waterworks."

"Well... ok."

And so we went:

Dana takes the camera

and there was drag. We saw fake Mariah Carey:

Not Mariah Carey

a really terrible Celine Dion, a drag king (the first one I'd ever seen), this girl who won and who didn't seem to be any specific person:

She won

a weird snake lady with thick, heavy eyebrows:

I think she's a Romulan?

and fake Christina Aguilera:

Not Christina Aguilera

Not pictured: the shirtless bar boy with the fantastic abs and the rack of test tube shots. I bought so many test tube shots that I could have gone home and started my own chemistry set. At one point Franco tried to gently dissuade me from talking to him and from buying more test tube shots:

"Every time you point at him, he comes over and sells you another shot."

"But have you seen his abs? Hey, look, he's coming over here again!"

Eyeroll. Sigh so loud you can hear it over Not-Liza Minelli.

Ah, to be younger again.

But maybe to not date so many jerks.

Thursday, November 24, 2011

How To "Score" With "Chicks"

When I was a hall director, we had to go through every room in our building at the end of the year and personally assess it for damages. This included opening the closets, all drawers and doors in the room, lifting mattresses, etc., which meant that we looked into all sorts of spaces that students forgot to look into on their way out of the building, and sometimes found odd (and often disgusting) things. The policy at the school where I worked was that everything left behind was considered abandoned, but sometimes we would call students ("Hey, I found your passport in your desk. Do you want me to mail that to your home address?") and sometimes students would call us, like the time an RA called the office and spoke to my coworker, Leandra, to ask if we had happened to notice a "personal item" in his desk.

"You mean your DVD of 'Big Black Bootie'? Yes, we found that."

I don't remember if we ended up mailing "Big Black Bootie" home to him or not, but I do remember that for about a week there we'd just pass each other in the office and blurt, "Big Black Bootie! 6 hours!" (the only words on the front of the DVD case) and then break down in hysterical giggles.

Most of the stuff we found while searching rooms was pretty harmless ("Six rolls of masking tape! Let's take it to the office!"), occasionally usefull ("Oh, hey, I need a powerstrip!"), and sometimes, like when I found an unopened DVD of "The Lion King", kind of like a nice surprise. Then there were the times that we found things that were just weird, which is how I ended up with a copy of Frank Gray's Scoremanship: The Sensational New Approach to Success with Women. I don't remember who, specifically, worked with me when we found this, but I do remember sitting in the office for a few minutes and laughing while reading the really awful parts to my coworkers.

And let me tell you, this book is filled with really awful parts.

I must have put Scoremanship on my "unread books" pile, and then when I moved here it got packed with all of the other books. Somewhere along the way I kind of forgot about it, but when I was pulling books out of the "unread" pile for travel this year (the fact that a book I found over six years ago is still sitting in the unread pile should give you some idea of the size of the pile, which is stored in stacks beneath both my end tables and my coffee table) I found it and thought, "Hey, I remember that book. I wonder if it's still funny?"

It kind of is.

Published in 1969, this gives a window into a very different world, and not just because I'm not really interested in scoring with chicks. Every page drips with sexism, but also with a little bit of hilarity as you try to imagine someone using a line like, "Your lips are so luscious and tantalizing" (suggested on page 118 in the Words and phrases that emotionally motivate and stimulate section) and having that line actually work. I would ask if Frank Gray, the author, had ever actually had any success with an actual woman using this book, but he does provide six helpful case studies at the end that I'm sure he couldn't possibly have made up. I mean, I'm sure that lots of people have hooked up with a braless divorcee in the office of a furrier that they were watching while the owner was out of town, and scored with a model while on an out of town trip for an unspecified business, and yelled out to some girl on a sidewalk who was charmed into his car and then his hotel room by his smooth patter.

All that's missing is the case study where he was a fireman astronaut secret agent.

Anyway, just in case you're wondering how "you can become irresistible to women by using the tested techniques demonstrated in this detailed handbook", but don't have a copy of your own, I've distilled the finer points out for you, a process that involved reading the book and putting sticky tabs on various pages while my parents watched curiously but didn't ask questions.

1) Never call it "having sex". I'm sure this would also include calling it "hooking up" if that phrase had been invented yet in 1969. Instead, you should call it "having a love affair", because "the term 'love affair' dispels the harsh picture a girl may have about being 'used'." Because, you know, she's going to get used, but you want her to think that there was something special about it, and if you can convince her that it was really romantic, then she won't mind.

Why? Well, because...

2) Women can't think, because they have feelings. The book makes this clear over and over. "A woman will not respond to logic or reason any more than a deisel engine will respond to gas" (page 5, in the Understanding Her chapter), Gray asserts, in a manner that makes me wonder how many women have been unable to resist their emotional urge to slap the hell out of him. Not only are women incapable of decision and thought because they have too many feelings, but the secret to understanding a woman is knowing that she "longs to feel them surging through her", since they "cause her to take action" and she'd be completely unable to function otherwise.

Of course, the only action they really need to take is to submit to a man. After all, "she wants you to run the show, even if she doesn't want you to know it". Your job as the man is to make her feel things, because that's what she needs, and to keep her from having to decide things, because that's what she doesn't need, unless the things she's deciding include whether now is a good time to let you score, because that's what she does need, but she also needs you to call it a love affair, not scoring. Basically, if you treat all women like Ron Burgundy treats women, you'll be fine.

Now, at this point, you may be thinking to yourself, "But I know women, lots of women, and I'm pretty sure that they're not like this." I would say you might even be thinking, "But I'm a woman," but we already know from this book that if you're reading this and you are a woman, then you're probably only thinking about your feelings, or you might even have reached the point where "her mind goes blank, and she reacts only with her feelings". You're so filled with feelings that you may not even be able to read this far, right? Maybe you should go sit down and take your bra off, and I'll do the thinking for you, because that's what you feel like you want, anyway.

Back to the point I was making, this book explains that sure, you know lots of women, but you've probably never realized before that...

3) All women fall into easily defined categories. They are Single girls from sixteen to eighteen, which "are to be avoided on the grounds of moral responsibility"; Single girls from eighteen to twenty-five, which are "a good pond for the married man to fish in" (don't worry that being married will keep you from scoring a love affair; being married is what's known as "playing with a handicap" in the Scoreman game); Single women twenty-five and upward, who have either "had a lot of men or very few - there is no happy medium"; The engaged girl or the girl who is going steady, who "may be in doubt about her feelings" and therefor ripe for you to help her into a love affair; The married woman; The divorced woman, who "can be difficult" and "may resent all men because of her bad experience" or, I'm guessing, because of her experience with men like Frank Gray, the author; The beautiful woman; The swinger; and The mod chick, also known as "the instant score".

Types like The widow, The lesbian, and Girls who are intelligent apparently do not exist in Frank Gray's world.

Once you've understood the various types of chicks, you'll need to understand the most important lesson:

4) "No" doesn't mean "no". Perhaps this book should have been subtitled "The exciting world of date rape", because that's definitely where this point, reiterated over and over, seems to be going. "When a girl says 'no' she means 'maybe' and when she says 'maybe' she means 'yes'," according to Frank Gray. If a girl does tell you "no" and seems to mean it, "You can usually stop her with the simple question, 'Why?'", because "girls seldom are supplied with an answer to this question" and she'll be so confused by the fact that you asked it and the struggle to sort through her feelings enough to find a logical answer that you can just go back to what you were doing and she won't even notice. In fact, "you must never take 'no' for an answer; we know she doesn't actually mean it."

Frank Gray left out the part where later, you go to prison.

Just remember, though, that even though all girls want it, they all fall into specific categories, and their overwhelming feelings leave them powerless to resist, you shouldn't decide this based on what they're wearing. "A girl may be an atomic broad with ninety percent fallout, but still not be a player," (Really? Did people actually talk like this in 1969?) means that she might wear "tight, sexy clothes and low-cut necklines" but somehow still not be interested in having a love affair with a stud like you.

Anyway, now that you understand girls, you need to work on yourself a little (even though you're already halfway to perfect by virtue of not being a girl) so that you can attract the right kind of girl. What Gray says, in no uncertain terms, is that...

5) Guys need an image, and it needs to be one that thinks for the girl. This even works for nerds: "Many a man has talked his way into bed by impressing a girl with his intellect," especially since girls are so filled with feelings that they will hear what they want to hear, no matter what you say. "If you sketch the romantic picture, her excited mind will fill in the details." Just in case, though, you should keep yourself in shape, clean, and well dressed. And if a girl ever does question the decisions you make for her, you should be ready to distract her with complicated questions: Let her know that you'll be cooking dinner for her at your place, then ask "What would you rather have - spaghetti, or lasagna?" Just by picking a food, she will have accidentally agreed to come to your place for dinner. (See page 57 for more examples of The Distraction Techinique.)

And it's not just you and your image that might need fine tuning. You should also spruce up your apartment. "A luxurious sofa, soft cushions, books, add to the general romantic atmosphere, as do conversation pieces and, of course, liquor." Wait, I should decorate my apartment with liquor? Like just the bottles, or should I soak the luxurious sofa in vodka? "Always have a variety of wines and liquor on hand", but be careful: "A girl can become angry and hard to deal with under the effects of liquor, or she may completely fall apart and there is no conquest involved." Having been to a number of weddings with open bars, I kind of have to agree with that last point.

Getting back to my apartment, though, what kind of books? Current novels, of course, and "some books dealing with sex". That way, if she seems nervous, you can page through one of the sex books together and, again, her feelings will overwhelm her tiny female brain. I wish to God I was kidding. Just in case a book is too long, has too many pages, or not enough pictures, you can use "the better men's magazines, such as Playboy and Esquire" for the same purpose.

Now that we understand chicks, we've remade ourselves and our apartments to be irresistable to chicks, and we've practiced our lines and compliments, let's get right to kissing:

6) There are two kinds of kisses: icebreaker kisses and the message kiss. The message being, "Hey, let's have sex now." To be sure the message is properly conveyed, "Your lips have to be working, moving, talking" and you have to make sure you've properly timed the message kiss. Never hurry, because it shows a lack of confidence, but don't wait too long, because it may give her time to think about whether or not she actually wants to do this.

You should also be sure to grab her breasts. "Some girls will stop you when you start toward their breasts", but that's not because you didn't ask or you're violating their boundaries. No, it's because "many girls are unhappy about the size of their breasts".

Yeah, a straight guy totally wrote this book.

So you've gone ahead and scored. Now, how do you get out of this so you can move on to the next victim?

7) Girls will totally understand if you just stop calling. Don't stop right away. Instead, "you should let time lapse between dates and make the intervals successively longer". You might think you're just stringing her along, prolonging her agony, and giving her false hope each time you do call back and agree to go out again, but really "she will be sensitive enough to realize what is happening, and you will be able to leave her with a glowing impression of how lucky you were to have found each other."

I'm pretty sure that's the glow of female rage, Frank Gray, and that the impression will be delivered somewhere between your legs by a boot.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go class up my apartment with some copies of Playboy.

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

"If young love is just a game then I must have missed the kickoff."

I mentioned the other day that I had kind of a dating disaster this weekend with that guy I used to like, and my friend Jackie asked one of two logical questions: "How did you get from 'I need toilet paper REAL BAD' to dinner with the guy?"

The answer to that one is pretty easy: I've run into him a few more times since February, mostly in passing, and we managed to set up a casual dinner last weekend under the guise of, "Hey, you wanna hang out? Maybe get some dinner or something?"

The other logical question, of course, would be: What the hell happened at dinner? Before I answer that, I'm going to go ahead and say right now that I am a difficult person to date, and therefore not without blame, flaws, or dealbreakers. In no particular order:

1) I like to be alone, and guard my personal space to an almost pathological degree. Not counting the maintenace workers at my apartment complex, fewer than ten people have been inside my apartment, ever, in the time that I have lived here. At my old place, my friend Jen knew me for five and a half years before she got inside my apartment, and that was the night I moved out. I'm fine in other people's space, more or less, but having people in mine leaves my nerves completely fried and I become a little bit tense the longer the visit goes on. Just ask my friend Dan, who stayed on my couch once and moved some things on my shelves.

In 1999.

And has never been invited to stay over again.

2) Direct quote from a former boyfriend: "95% of everything you say is a line from a movie or a reference to television." That's totally untrue. I also reference books and comic books, which has also lead to the following complaint: "I asked one question. I didn't need a ten minute lecture on the twenty different colors of kryptonite and what they do."

"There are only 17 different kinds, not twenty."

"YOU'RE JUST PROVING MY POINT, AND..."

3) ...WHENEVER YOU CORRECT SOMEONE, YOU SAY IT IN THAT INCREDIBLY SNOTTY, CONDESCENDING TONE, EVEN WHEN YOU DON'T MEAN TO."

"I'm sorry you feel that way, but you were wrong."

"That's the tone! Right there!"

"I'm sorry."

"And there's the martyr tone."

I actually do try not to have either of those tones, but I'm usually unsuccessful. Sometimes I even feel bad about it, but most of the time I'm not even conscious of it until someone points it out.

4) This complaint has come from friends and loved ones both: The shelves in my apartment are full of creepy staring action figures with their creepy staring beady little eyes, watching you from every corner:

Midnighter and Apollo

Wiccan and Hulkling

Obsidian

I like my figures. Looking at them makes me happy. I'm not apologizing for that. (Side note: All of the figures pictured are of comic characters that are gay. It seemed thematically fitting.)

I'm not apologizing for any of these flaws, actually, or the others that I'm sure I have but don't feel like mentioning or can't think of at the moment. (This is not an invitation for any of my friends to point them out.) I'm just pointing out that I have a lot of quirks that I'm sure other people would consider dealbreakers.

And in that spirit, I'd like to give a few dealbreaker highlights and breakup moments of my own. Again, in no particular order:

1) "I don't mean for this to sound racist or anything, but I really hate working with black people."

Years later, I still have no idea how he intended for that to come out somehow sounding other than racist. This was a blind date that a friend set me up on, with her brother. She looked as mortified as I felt when I explained why he and I would not be dating again.

2) "I think it's so cute how you never outgrew comic books."

Don't patronize me. You don't have to like the things that I like, but you should respect the fact that there are reasons why I like them, and that they mean something to me.

3) This next one happened on a "friends" date, rather than a romantic date, but I had kind of a little bit started thinking of my friend as maybe a possibility and this totally killed it. We were watching the first Harry Potter movie, and Oliver Wood (played by Sean Biggerstaff) came onscreen.

"Wow, he's hot!"

"He's twelve."

"Yeah, but a hot twelve."

There is no hot twelve. That's gross, especially if you're in your twenties. It's as creepy as those "Twilight Moms" lusting after seventeen year old werewolves.

These stories are fun and all, but they still don't answer the question no one asked, which was "What the hell happened at dinner?"

In short, that guy I liked was only likeable when I talked to him for less than a minute at a time. As I mentioned, he considers blogging and all other forms of social media to be a complete waste of time that keeps people from reaching their full potential by "distracting them with meaningless trash, just like TV!"

"You... don't watch TV? Like, any TV at all?"

"I don't even have a TV. I read books and better myself."

Well.

You are officially a better person than me, I guess. Like Veronica Sawyer tells country-club Courtney in "Heathers", in her bitchiest and most sarcastic tone, "You're beautiful."