Monday, April 18, 2011
I had an interesting Google Chat conversation tonight with a lady who I am soon to meet on a upcoming trip to the East Coast. I'm not sure what exactly put us on this line of conversation, but I felt the drive to share it with you find readers.
My dating rituals haven't changed much over the years, but I've honed some skills that I find make dating more fun, not just for me, but for the lovely ladies I let spend time with me.
One area of dating where I've always found the most success over the schmucks in the market is forcing the issue that dates are for my sake. I don't date a woman for her pleasure, I date her for my pleasure. That's one reason I tend not to date women higher up in financial status than myself, or more popular in terms of society. I'm the one spending my (more valuable) time with her, and my money, so its my way. There's no highway, but they're free to stop seeing me. Few do.
Recently, one of my lovers gave me a wonderful Valentine's Day present: she gave me the phone number of her best friend and said I should ask her out. Her best friend I had only seen in rare pictures, but I had commented on her attractiveness. The friend Facebook stalked me (I later learned) and was curious about me. She's a model, of sorts, but not on the same level as one of the more popular bubble heads you see Photoshopped on the cover of a magazine. Still, she's prettier than most, which makes my internal alarms go off.
As you'll discover through reading my little diary here, I have this bad knack of being an asshole but still providing women what they want the most and understand the least. Kimberly, the best friend of one of my favorite lovers (let's call her Justice), definitely gets hit on too much, so she's used to the attention of schmucks in her life. Little did she know that I have almost zero schmuck genetic material in my cells, thanks to my Casanova father and racist and prejudice mother. Gotta love good genes.
Our first date was uneventful: 45 minutes in a coffee shop. I told her after 45 minutes that I was done. "Done?" she asked. "Yes, done."
"Do you have plans now?" she inquired. "No." I left.
Our second date happened when I called her randomly and told her I was picking her up the next day (Wednesday). I told her to wear a dress, preferably not red. I picked her up at 7 and we went to dinner at a halfway decent restaurant. I had planned on paying, so the date was for my sake.
Sidenote: would you buy a $1000 airplane ticket and let Expedia pick your destination? Would you pay $30 to go to the movie theater and let the theater pick which movie you're seeing? Of course not, unless you're a schmuck. I pay, I choose.
We sat at a table at the restaurant, far from the kitchen as I had requested when I made reservations. The waiter brought us 2 menus and a wine menu. I grabbed Kimberly's menu off the table and handed it back to the waiter, who walked off for a few minutes. Kimberly gave me a stare but said nothing.
The waiter walked up to us and asked if we wanted anything to drink. I ordered a glass of red for myself, and a different glass of red for Kimberly. That's when she asked: "don't I get to pick?" I said "No."
Once the waiter brought our wine, he asked if we were ready to order. I said "Yes" and proceed to order food for Kimberly (a small steak and some veggies) and food for myself (a big steak and no veggies). I ordered hers medium, mine rare. She didn't put two cents in.
"Why don't I get to make a decision, I'm a big girl," she asked, with almost a bitchy attitude.
"I'm paying. You eat what I order or you get dinner after this one. I won't order you something I won't eat myself if you don't like it, and I hate leftovers." End of discussion.
We made small talk when our meals came. The wine was great and she commented as such. I scarfed my steak down (16 ounces) in record time while she was still eating her small order of veggies and 8 ounce steak. I started to eat her veggies and part of her steak without asking. "You're in a rush!" she exclaimed.
"I don't like wasting time." She finished her meal and I chomped down the bits she couldn't. I told her I was done (I didn't ask if she wanted desert), I flipped a few $20s on the table and we left, before the waiter could return with the bill.
Off to a bar we go, with her in her sharp green dress, a color that few women can pull off, and me in my dark green jacket with distressed vintage bootcut jeans and a deep maroon tailored shirt (with black cuff links). The bar wasn't too busy, but busy enough, but the bartender saw me come in and made 2 seats at the bar appear magically. We sat.
He asked what we wanted, and I immediately ordered her a drink (a Moscow Mule) and myself a Scotch neat with a water back. Again she asked if she gets to make a decision, to which I said "You plan the next date, you pick me up, you pay for everything, you can do whatever the fuck you want."
We drank, chatted, had a good time. Her physical contact with me was intense, which was helpful since practically every gal in the bar was jealous of her amazing legs and her gorgeous eyes. If this one is a waste of time, she at least increased the desire of other women towards me 500%. I'd keep her around just as eye candy and a jealousy trigger for the women in the room (90% of which were fat and disgusting).
Kimberly finished her drink before mine was half empty. "Can I get another drink?" she asked. "Sure," I said, and waved down the bartender. "She'll have some tap water," I told him.
"Umm, I was hoping for something...stronger."
"Yeah?" I asked.
"That first drink was tasty," she responded.
I said nothing, just sipped my cocktail. I paid for the first round in cash immediately, and if she had ordered her own cocktail, she'd be footing the bill. From how tight her dress was and how small her purse is, I doubt she brought cash with her anyway.
We had another round of drinks -- on MY schedule -- and I told her I was done. "I'd like to stay out a bit later!" she meowed. "You're welcome to. Cabs are easy to get here," I let her know. "Oh, no I meant with you."
"I'm sure there will be other opportunities."
And that was that. Of course she's seen me since then. Of course she's spent time in my bed. When I buy airfare, I pick the destination. When I go to the movies, I pick the film I'm watching. It's my money, it's my way. I don't really care what other people want -- they're welcome to stop seeing me. Few do, though, and that's a lesson for the guys who read this. Don't be a schmuck. It's your time and your money, and both are valuable to you.
Don't forget to add me to Facebook. I need more "friends" on there.