I am truly beginning to feel like a broken record. I’m not a hookup chick, you may not wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am with me, and I’m not coming to your house. I don’t care what excuses you try to use, you’re not swaying me. Oh! And if you call me a bitch when you don’t get your way and tell me to lose your number once you finally realize I’m not offering up an all you can eat vaginal buffet: Thank you. I am highly relieved that you eliminated yourself without any exertion on my part.
Thursday night is typically the night I allot as Date Night. I’ve finished my classes for the week, I can take a night off to fully enjoy myself, and it tends to be ladies night in a lot of establishments which saves me money if I’m paying (cha-ching!), and I always presume I’m paying even though I’ve yet to. Knock on wood.
Thursday night also happens to be Thirsty Thursday. In case you’re wondering where this blog is heading, let me clear it up for you. Thirsty Thursdays generally signify a boozefest. I, on the other hand, am using it to signify all those thirsty men out there. You know, too eager, too desperate, trying in vain to get into my pants simply because they can’t desire anything else….dinner and drinks and conversation should all be leading to me naked in their bed by midnight. So I turn on my highly tuned anti-thirst ninja skills and deflect until they get it…or until I have to cut them loose and move on.
Some of my favorite quotes recently are making it into my top five list of All Things Thirsty. I can’t help but wonder how long this list will eventually grow.
*Baby, I just don’t feel like being in a crowd tonight. Why don’t you just come over? We can chill and watch a movie on the couch. This is nothing more than an attempt to have me in close proximity away from other people ready to use whatever couch, bed, table, floor, or sex-swing-contraption in your basement. I know this. You know this. You didn’t get me to agree to a nightcap on the first date, so instead of risking another night ending in you, a bottle of lube, and Redtube, you have decided to up your odds and have me at your residence to begin with so no convincing is needed on your part. And it isn’t happening.
*Text messages that continually swing back to sexually charged comments and refusing to have actual conversations shows exactly where your mindset is. If I ask you how your day is going, and your response is, “It’s okay, but it would be so much better with the two of us naked in a vat of jello,” I will A)know that you are only considering me for sex and nothing beyond that considering I haven’t even told you my last name yet, and B)I have suddenly lost all desire to eat jello ever again.
*If I ask what you want to do for our first date, and you say, “Have you sit on my face,” please don’t be surprised that I’ve added you to my spam folder, and there will never be a first date. It’s happened, and I have no problem with refusing to even respond. I don’t have the time or the energy to explain to you what you just did wrong. NEXT!
*I get out of class. My text messages alert me to 42 new messages in an hour and a half. I open them in a panic thinking my kids tried to make pancakes and burned the house down. Instead, I find a bunch of nonsense from an overeager little boy. Text one: Good morning, sexy 😉 Text Ten: Hey, why aren’t you answering me? Text 20: I’m so confused right now. I thought you liked me! Text thirty: Don’t ever text me again! I don’t have time for your games! You act like a woman who has her shit together, then you ignore a perfectly good man just trying to show you some attention. Text forty: I’m sorry, I didn’t mean any of that. I’m sorry I said I hate girls with freckles anyway. I love freckles. I want to play connect the dot with yours with my tongue. Texts forty-one and forty-two: Hello??? Fine, fuck you, you stupid whore!
*We’re out, and I know my limit on drinks. I stick with water at that limit, and when I tell the server that, you dictate that I simply MUST have some more.You tell the server with a smug little smile to bring me another. My resistance is met with your insistence. You refuse to let me stop drinking. I tell you I’m not okay to drive if I have another; the three I’ve had will be fully out of my system if I stop now. You then tell me you will gladly take me home and help me retrieve my car the next day. You obviously are playing me on multiple levels. First, you’re trying to intentionally get me drunk against my wishes. You know I am not capable of having more, and you are disregarding that. And you are hoping my anticipated intoxicated state will get me into your vehicle. Plus, you aren’t listening to me. Your desires are ranked higher than my needs, and I’m nowhere near okay with that. Check please.
I was supposed to go on a date tonight, and my really bad habit of vocalizing my thoughts and denial of being strong-armed into bending to the will of others ended with being called a bitch within three minutes of being told, “There’s nothing about you that doesn’t turn me on. You’re perfection.” Although, he spelled ‘you’re’ incorrectly (your), so I should have known I was dealing with a troglodyte to begin with.
Guys, if you’re thirsty, I’ll buy you a beer. But I’m totally not falling for your tired, overused games. I’m just too old a cat to be screwed by kittens. So there.