RAGGED OLD FLAG

I met a couple of friends out last night for some cocktails at our local watering hole. It was fun chatting with the gals until an older gentleman set his sights on us and ruined what would have been a really fun GNO. 

Now when I say "older" I'm not talking about the boy who was a senior when you were a freshman. I'm talking about the guy who's too old to be hitting on anyone outside of the bingo halls. I've had run-ins with this guy before. He not only has a taste for a fresh catch, but thinks he's a pro angler. There is nothing worse than a coffin-dodger with an over-inflated ego!

So, we're sitting there enjoying ourselves when my friends decide to powder their noses just as Rip realizes he needs another drink. There I was, at the bar all by myself, empty bar stools to the right and left, just asking for it! Next thing I know he creeps up next to me, gives me a shove and asks, "So what are the specials tonight?" First off, ladies, let me say that this guy gives new meaning to the term "beer belly." I'd pay this guy to walk into a pub, sport a "belly up to the bar" t-shirt and hoist his stomach up onto the counter just for laughs. If someone would knock him down, I bet he'd flail like a flipped turtle. If he had to reach for a bar napkin, there'd be a lot of lonely bar napkins. You get the idea. So I responded, "Maybe you should ask the bartender," while turning my head in the opposite direction, thinking he'd get the hint that I was not interested in getting to know his distended midsection on a personal level. To my dismay, he decided to move in a little closer. Now, ladies, I am unusually protective of my personal space. My face and body language will scream "NO TRESPASSING" when I'm not interested. That's why I'm baffled when these men ignore the signs and walk all over my grass. So, I shot him a look. He then informed me that he thought I was "grumpy." And it was at this moment that I wished I had the power to make things, or people, spontaneously combust. He would have gone up like paper at a pyro convention. The second look made him stand down. 

Someone once told me that I had "intense" eyebrows. I use them to my advantage in situations like this. I also use them to coerce my dad to wash my car. I guess they are a gift from The Big Man. Anyway! 

My friends thankfully returned and we resumed our giggle session. After a few minutes, I saw a flash of light coming from behind us. This old fart apparently had a new-aged cell phone and was snapping pics of us without our written or verbal consent. At this point, watching him go up in flames wasn't enough. First I'd like for him to be doused in some sort of flesh-eating liquid, THEN set ablaze. 

It was at this point that I realized something. All the guys I have dated, who have done things to send up a flare or signal a flag, will eventually morph into a guy just like this. They will be wobbling into bars, using the same pathetic pick-up lines, holding onto a distorted sense of which fish their beat up bodies can net. I smirked at the thought of "what's-his-nuts" ten years from now, with less hair and muscle tone, standing in that spot at that bar, surrounded by younger versions of himself slowly phasing him out. 

I turned to the has-been, smiled big and said "cheeeeeeese!"

GET A BOY TOY

So we are talking about dating as an adult, right. It's tough out there, ladies! And I know there are a lot of you who are in the same boat. We're all huddled together, cold and trembling, our preservers squeezing the life out of us, waiting for a man to come to our rescue. Well, I've had enough of that! I jumped ship. Yup. Flung that preserver off and launched myself overboard. I'm not waiting to be rescued! You know why? Cuz we don't need to be, we're in shallow water! I walked to shore and ordered myself a Mai Tai. 

After my divorce I was forced to live life for me. The best experience of my life, by far. I wouldn't trade it for anything. Now I know how to sail through life without a Captain. Every self-help book will tell you the same thing, "you won't find The One until you learn how to live your life for you." And, I agree. But it's easy to hop back in that dingy when you're alone at sea, treading water. Sometimes we get tired and want to be rescued. I understand, I've been there. But you no longer have to tighten your bodice and lift your Edwardian gown to step into that rescue boat. You don't need a Captain, ladies. 

Get yourself a Boy Toy! One you can call anytime, day or night to "relieve the pressure" of not having a man in your life. When you feel the need to call "what's-his-nuts," don't. Call your Boy Toy. If you want to give "cry baby" another shot, stop. Text your Boy Toy. Even when you start thinking "hairy balls" isn't all that bad, you're wrong. He is. Drop by your Boy Toy's place.

Ladies, a Boy Toy is easy to find and well worth the effort you put in to finding one. I found mine after my divorce. He was bartending at my local male-bashing-girlie-time watering hole. He thought we were hilarious and after a while, we all treated him like our little pet. Our tall, tan, muscular, dark-haired, drop-dead gorgeous little pet. Then one night, after more than a few tall ones, I ended up getting to know him on a "deeper" level. I told him right away that I wasn't looking for anything serious and since he was 12 years my junior, he didn't seem to have a problem with that. Anytime I need a "why don't I have a man" self-esteem boost, he's my guy. We've developed quite an amazing friendship over the years, too. Which makes calling him drunk at 2 a.m. hilarious instead of pathetic.

I recommend you find a Boy Toy with the following qualities:

• He must understand that this is just a fling and you are free to husband-shop in between your hay-rolling sessions.

• Younger is better. Men peak at age 25, women at age 36. Enough said, ladies.

• Younger is also better because he won't want the hay-rolling to turn into a relationship.

• Younger is also better because neither will you. Trust me, one night out with his friends and you'll see why.

• Younger is also better because he won't know anyone that you know!

• I also recommend that you be insanely attracted to him, and that he be a hay-rolling pro.

BUT! There are two rules you must abide by when dealing with your Boy Toy:

• Don't fall in love with him. Save that for the next Captain of your ship.

• Use protection. You don't want his dirty buoy rubbing against your hull, now do you?

Ahoy, ladies!

A HORSE AND A FUNERAL

So ladies, I have been beating a dead horse. Maybe even bludgeoning it but anyway. Yes, I'm talking about "what's-his-nuts." Again, my apologies to him if he ever gets his meat hooks on this blog.

The thing is, ladies, we believe in these guys. We are there for them. Beside them, behind them, on top of them...you get the idea. We trust in them. We hand over our heart and rely on them to keep it safe. Then it turns into that freaking diner scene from Tommy Boy.

I never uttered a bad word about "what's-his-nuts" before he dumped me for the bar scene*. I actually protected him. His heart, his ego and his reputation. But when these "what's-their-nuts" take care of our hearts the way a high school kid would an "egg baby," we turn rotten. And it's not because we're vengeful or bitter, it's because we told them from day one that our hearts have been broken, cracked, scrambled, poached, sunny-side-upped and even swallowed raw! We ask them to be up front and honest with us to avoid yet another bad egg experience. These "what's-their-nuts" look into our eyes and promise to handle us with care. They tell us they will protect our little Humpty Dumpty asses, and somehow we end up with egg on our face. How can they possibly blame us for retorting? We feel so foolish! I picture him in a recliner with a cooler full of beer; me in a push-up bra and thigh-highs juggling the empties.

So for all of you readers who think I am a "woman scorned" because of my lambaste, well, you're right in a way. But there's reason for it. Now that I've gotten that off my could-be-bigger-in-what's-his-nuts'-opinion chest, I feel like I can finally bury this dead, decomposing carcass.

(cue the bugle)


*The opinion as to why the break up occurred which is represented in this blog is not necessarily the opinion of said "what's-his-nuts."

ONE FOR THE ROAD

Ran into "what's-his-nuts" last night. I ventured into his territory. There he was...at the same bar, standing in the same corner, with the same drink in the same hand. I whizzed right by when I saw that he was there. I was ill-prepared. So later on in the night, after some liver calisthenics, I decided to go over and say hello. 

I said hi and smiled. Not an "it's good to see you" smile. More of a "you're not as cute as I remember" kind of smile. We small-talked. He mumbled something about being miserable with his life right now, blah,blah, blah. He told me he figured I hated him. I assured ole "what's-his-nuts" that I didn't hate him, but firmly stated that we'd never be boyz. I was cordial. I felt good about it.

When I woke up today there were two missed calls from you know who. 1:42 a.m. 2:01 a.m. I tossed around the idea of texting him to see what he wanted. I thought, "What would ____ (insert married friend's name) do?" But I threw the pitch anyway.

Me: "saw u called. is everything ok?"

What's-his-nuts: "ya...my phone called u and my sis in arizona...sorry"

FWEEEEEEEEET!!!!!!!!! (loud whistle noise) Ladies, there's a flag on the play.

NO-NOS

So I've let you in on the weak, pathetic side of myself. I "pitcher" a dumb broad in Rave clothing with an overly dyed head of hair, wearing more make-up than a department store perfume squirter. That's SO not me. And it's a side of myself that I'm not proud of.

Now let's take a gander at my more fickle side. This side would NEVER wear Rave clothing OR dye her own hair. Her make-up is tastefully done, and she gracefully walks into the cloud of her own, personally selected perfume so as not to overwhelm anyone with her scent. She's intelligent and knows what she wants. She's a classy broad. Pardon me, WOMAN. I like her. I wish she would kick "Rave-wearing-dye-job-broad's" ass! 

But they are on opposite ends of the red flag spectrum. Where "Rave-wearing-dye-job-broad" doesn't have much self-respect when it comes to men, "classy-knows-what-she-wants-woman" doesn't have much respect for men.

Here are some of the things that will get an instant "EHHH!!!! (obnoxiously loud buzzer sound)" from me. There is no re-thinking it or getting past it...the following things are just absolute no-nos for me.

No-no #1

If he wears any shiny gold jewelry, I'd rather eat my own hair than even be introduced to this guy.

No-no #2

If his accent is self-inflicted, or acquired by watching movies in his favorite genre, it's an absolute turn-off and I'd rather walk around all day with throw-up all over my clothes than associate with this dude. Yes, I'm THAT turned off by it.

No-no #3

If you're a grown man wearing youth medium shirts adorned with sparkly words that express your state of emotional intensity, you need to take a good hard look at yourself, kid. But don't be distracted by those muscles and all that bling, my friend!

No-no #4

If your voice sounds like you could be a Nickelodeon character, I can't talk to you without wondering if you live in a pineapple under the sea. Deep voice or bust, in my book.

No-no #5

A tan from anything other than a recent vacation or outdoor activity, paired with an addiction to manscaping and high-end hair products is a huge turn-off. I like 'em rough, hairy and smelling like sweat.

No-no #6

Lazy is ugly. I can IMMEDIATELY sniff out a lazy ass. It's a gift. "Couch potato" is not on my "qualities I look for in a man" list.

No-no #7

If you are so thin that I could take you down in a wrestling match, I won't even glance in your undernourished direction. Sorry, I like my men manly.

No-no #8

Conversely, if your lats are so large that you can't put your arms down and look as though you may take flight, I'm not interested. Don't be strutting my way, Mr. Peacock.

So ladies, what are some of your no-nos?

ROSE-COLORED RED FLAGS

I have been getting a lot of feedback from the people who know who I am, who are following this blog. My identity must remain a mystery right now because some of the things I discuss are fresh. Like a lemon straight off the tree. Who’s acidic juices have been squeezed onto my open wounds. But someday you will know who I am, if you don’t already. ANYWHO! 

These people of whom I speak can’t believe that I actually let a guy treat me that way. If you knew me, you’d think the same thing. I am a strong, intelligent woman who has no reason to settle. Again, I’m not trying to be egotistical but you don’t know me so I’m trying to “paint a pitcher” as “good-ole-honky-tonk-boy" used to say. He was a good egg. I liked him. ANYWAY!

I feel the need to defend myself. Yes, the fore-mentioned red flag situations did actually happen to me. And no I didn't break up with these guys right away in some instances. But I was wearing these glasses. They were rose-colored. And red flags were powerless against their tinted lenses. I wore them everywhere and they adjusted to the varying hues of the red flags that were thrown at me...like Ambervisions, but not as cool.

For example, the guy responsible for the Blood Red Red Flag #2 about lying was VERY good at what he did. He actually admitted it to me towards the end, stating, "You know, I'm a great bullshitter." And in the haze of my rosie shades I thought, "What a talent! I'll take him with me the next time I go to buy a car!" 

The guy responsible for Blood Red Red Flag #3 made me feel so guilty about asking him if the Target card was a re-gift, I envisioned myself as a bratty little girl, shaking a huge lollipop at him, stomping my feet yelling, "I didn't waaaaant a Target caaaaaaaaaard!" And he did take me to dinner. I wore a nice pink dress that went perfectly with my glasses!

Blood Red Red Flag #5 guy argued till he was blue in the face that he was just asking a question when he suggested that I consider altering my physique. And since he was also "liar-liar-pants-on-fire," he had me convinced. "I was just making conversation!," he said. Well, why didn't you say so in the first place, silly! "So, how about this weather we've been having? Catch that game last night? Would you ever consider getting a boob job? Why are you wearing those glasses in bed?"

The 40 year old who went to college ID night in Blood-Red Red Flag #8 looked right into my rose colored goggles and told me he wasn't driving that night. So that's why he was forced to go into those dirty meat markets. Three or four times per week. He didn't WANT to go there, but what was he to do!? Poor thing...being dragged in by his hair and hand-cuffed to the pole on the dance floor, drinks being thrown in his face, eyes taped open so he couldn't look away from the 19 year old flesh! Shame on that driver.

So you see, there were reasons I stayed with these boys after these blood drenched red flags were thrown at me. "Pitcher" the end of the the movie Carrie. Even she wouldn't have noticed all that red being poured on her if she were wearing the rose-colored glasses!

HINT OF RED RED FLAGS

You know when you’re on a date, or dating a guy, and something happens that sends up a little flare in your head but you can’t tell if you’re over-reacting or if your feelings are legit? Well, that's what I like to call the hint of red red flags.

This is where it gets tricky, ladies. Are we supposed to trust our guts? Are our guts too critical? Are we being fair to poor mister "I'm late because I had to drop my mom off at Church?" These are up for debate so a penny for your thoughts. Well, I’m not going to pay you but anyway.

Hint of Red Red Flag #1

He was 20 minutes late for our first date. And his hair was wet. Maybe his schedule was hectic that day. Or maybe he wasn’t excited about the date in the first place and waited till the last minute to get his hand out of his pants, hoist himself off the couch and jump into the shower. But the flare went up when he walked in with a lame excuse, sans the apology.

Hint of Red Red Flag #2

He called me at work to say hello. Sweet. Then he called at work again, just because he forgot to tell me he had a really good time last night. Then he called me one last time to see if we were still on for Friday. Was he that "cry-baby-stalker-possessive-jealous guy?" Or was he just a sweetheart who really, really liked me? Not sure but I heard a pop, a sizzle, and saw a red light overhead.

So should a flag be a flag? Or should there be shades of red flagism? You tell me.

MY APOLOGIES TO "WHAT'S-HIS-NUTS"

I'm having a weak moment. Red flags aside. I'm feeling quite guilty about throwing "what's-his-nuts" under the bus o'bitterness in my blog. He's a good guy with a lot going on. Timing was a huge factor and I ended up getting the short end of the schtick, so to speak. There was so much about him that I absolutely loved. I won't get into it but he knows what I mean..there was this connection. I haven't felt that strongly for someone since, well, never. 


So here it goes.


Dear "what's-yer-nuts,"
Yeah, you heard me, "what's-yer-nuts." I'd much rather be laying on your bed right now, eating Italian Ice, watching scary movies, cuddling and laughing. But you chose to break my heart. So now I choose to break your balls.


Yours truly,
"Cutie-patooty-with-the-nice-booty"

CANDY APPLE RED FLAGS

In the beginning, when you first notice or finally meet a guy who makes your boobs throb, it’s hard to ignore those not-so-red red flags. But we have to look at them for what they are. Warnings. I have always said, “trust yer gut,” but I rarely listened. Well, now it’s loud and clear. If the whistle's blowing early on, things are not about to get any better. Here are some of the flags that were hard for me to ignore.

Candy Apple Red Flag #1:

I had a first date at Starbucks on a Sunday afternoon with a funny guy who I could have easily started to like. THEN! Dude put his hands on my chair, uncomfortably close to my ass, pulled it towards him and began rubbing my thighs. Not just a light grazing of the hand kind of rub, but a full blown, I felt like I owed him fifty bucks sort of thing.

Candy Apple Red Flag #2:

Captain Grab-Ass sent me an email the next day at work saying that he googled me and was wondering if I’d like to come over to his house and snuggle later. I didn’t respond. He sent another email a few hours later asking if I got the first email. He also sent multiple emails to my personal account, as well as four or five texts, just in case I didn’t get the “google” email. I told him nicely that I got all of his “reach outs” but I wasn’t sure I wanted to see him again. I then received a six-paragraph psychoanalysis and a closing statement of how fucked up I was for not giving him a shot. It was a red flag fiesta!

Candy Apple Red Flag #3:

This guy stared at me from across the room and I couldn't tell whether the look he was giving me said, “Man, you’re hot,” or “I wonder if your chopped-up body would fit into my gym bag.” I chose to look away.

Candy Apple Red Flag #4:

I spent a first date with a guy who actually cried about his ex-girlfriend when he dropped me off. I stayed and listened for two reasons. One, because I thought he might commit suicide, and two, it was so fucking hilarious I couldn’t resist.

Candy Apple Red Flag #5:

My friends were inebriated when they thought this one guy who drove a Camaro might be a good match for me. Thanks, guys, I love you but please don’t do my any more favors. Not a cool Camaro. A gay Camaro. All night, he went on and on about this "he thought it was cool, I thought it was gay" Camaro. Five minutes in I knew I was out. He ended up getting smashed on gin and tonics, convinced us to peep out his ride, then peeled out with REO Speedwagon blasting out of the t-top. “Keeep! On! Ro-llin'!”

BLOOD-RED RED FLAGS

I’ll share with you some classic warning signs I’ve experienced while dating in my thirties. I am writing these down so that in the future, I will be a little less “blinded by love” and a lot more honest with myself. The next time, I won’t have to worry about being rejected by “what’s-his-nuts,” or stalked by “cry baby” or blown off by “hairy balls.” Because guys like that won’t get my digits, let alone my heart.

These are what I call “spit out my beer, grab my purse, run out the door, flailing my arms, screaming, shoes flying off my feet Red Flags.”

Blood-Red Red Flag #1.

A guy who reads your journal cannot be trusted. A guy who has been warned and continues to read your journal should be shot. This is a total deal breaker for me.

Blood-Red Red Flag #2.

A lie is a lie is a lie, ladies. There is no color wheel or size chart when it comes to lying. A little white lie is a big red flag. He gets my size 5.5 boot.

Blood-Red Red Flag #3.

My birthday matters to me. I let the guys I date know this. A loose, re-gifted gift card is not an appropriate birthday present for your girlfriend. For your garbage man! Especially when it’s from Target. Gee, thanks. Maybe I’ll go buy myself some tampons and a bottle of shampoo. And some condoms for that new guy I’m gonna fuck.

Blood-Red Red Flag #4.

If you have been dating exclusively for seven months and you realize that he “detagged” himself from the one picture that exists of the two of you, you have a shady mofo on your hands. 

Blood-Red Red Flag #5.

When a guy holds you gently after making love to you, tells you he loves you then asks, “did you ever consider getting bigger boobs,” he is an a-hole.

Blood-Red Red Flag #6.

When we are getting into it, and I ask you if you have a condom and you say no, then I’m NOT going to have sex with you. So stop pestering me and trying relentlessly to get down my pants, you disrespectful prick.

Blood-Red Red Flag #7.

If after six months I’m still a secret to someone who means something to you, I’m out.

Blood-Red Red Flag #8.

Any guy I am exclusively dating who is nearing the age of 40 should not be going to “college bars” more than one night per week. I don’t really think that is a lot to ask.

Blood-Red Red Flag #9.

At my age, “date night” should not include any of the following things:

• Bars that offer $2 pitchers of Bud Light.

• Trickery…none of this “I didn’t know all of my friends would happen to be here…at the exact same establishment…at the exact same time” stuff.

• A phone call from another girl...that I can hear b/c you accidentally hit speaker...that when she says hello, you hang up and act like something “weird” just happened with your phone.

Blood-Red Red Flag #10.

When a guy keeps his cell phone on his person at all times, and puts it on the table face down, away from you, and checks it in a way so as not to be too suspicious about looking at his phone suspiciously, he has something to hide. Secrets make me wince. That makes my face hurt. I don’t like that feeling. 

HERE’S THE THING

I’m 37, independent, strong, intelligent and pretty, so they say...my parents and friends, that is. Oh, I guess I’m also hilarious, popular, talented, stable, and I can’t seem to keep a god damned guy to save my otherwise perfect life.

I have a great job that I love. I have no baggage. Ok, I'm divorced but it was so long ago and I’m totally over it. I surround myself with morally-sound, professionally-developed people and have great relationships with each one of them. I have a wonderful, close-knit family. I have a great place downtown that I love. I am an active volunteer and “do my part” in the world. I am a good person and I take care of everyone in my life. I have a cat and a dog, I drive an SUV, which I paid off with my own money and I have a few impressive talents. I am also really funny...and not just “for a girl” funny. I’m very social and make friends quite easily, I am healthy and in shape, and I’m also one tough little cookie. Not to sound egotistical, but I’m what some people would look at on paper and call “a catch.”

So what’s the fucking problem here?

WELL, I’LL TELL YOU.

I was recently dumped. By someone who didn’t deserve to DATE me let alone DUMP me. Now that I have some clarity, I realize that I should have seen this coming like a teenage boy with a Vicky’s catalog. The red flags. They were there right from the beginning, and were thrown at me all the way to the end. So many fucking red flags I could have made a quilt. But I was so excited about this boy that I just totally ignored the “WARNING” sirens in my head. After 7 months of giving 200% of myself to the “relationship” I see where I went wrong. I ignored the red flags.