Want to know my lamest dating strategies? I mean, just in case you’d like to try them yourself and see how truly dumb and dumberer they make you feel. This I promise: My foolproof moves will lower your self esteem faster than an asteroid makes a crater.
I will list them in the order in which I bring them into play in a typical dating situation:
1)When saying “Si” to a potential suitor, I purposely and willfully ignore all red flags, advice of friends, previous mistakes and lessons learned. If someone tries to dissuade me, I cover my ears and shout nonsense like I did as a child to annoy my siblings.
2)During the dating process, I refuse to let conventional standards for a decent man get in my way. Bring me your poor, wretched, misogynistic playuhs trollin’ for hoochie hos. I’ll date ’em, love ’em, bring ’em home to meet my peeps. Is he a liar? Womanizer? Screaming souse? He’s no match for my denial.
3)In my hot pursuit of sociopaths, weirdos, ho-mongas and creeps, I say to any and all decent men who may try to intercede: Outta My Way Mr. Boring–don’t you DARE open a door for me. You say you’re sincere? I say ZZZZZ Senor Ambien, you’re a snooze. Like cuddling? Please, gag me, already. You’re not a HOTTIE. Want one partner to love for the rest of your life? Ewwwwwww. Wimp alert. I am like incredibly OVER YOU. What a dweebster.
4)After discerning during one or two dates that my new Prince is most def a psycho, even after fleeing and shrieking in horror, I start spinning the whole thing until it smells like a corsage. For instance, I might remember his really cool collection of coasters from Oktoberfest. Or I might think about the nice way his nose looked from one angle, or the cute smile on his face when he said, “I’m gonna handcuff you to my leather lounger while I watch the game”. I might even reassure myself that when he started hollering it wasn’t anything I did but the fact that the waitress forgot to salt his fries. Her oversight was the reason he screamed, stood on the banquette and pelted me with sugar packets.
5)Finally, the ne plus ultra, my absolute guaranteed lamest move of all: The day after the heinous tryst, I wake up and immediately check my email, texts, voicemail, twitter, face book, front porch, local billboards and skywriting to see if he CONTACTED ME. Almost invariably, the answer is NO. Though I despise him, I am devastated. For hours, I wonder obsessively what he didn’t like. Finally, having listened to Vikki Carr’s grovelling lament, “It Must Be Him”, at least 100 times, I dial his number to ask him why he hasn’t called me. Of course he doesn’t pick up.
Options exhausted, I sink into the couch, sobbing, and turn on Vikki again, really really loud: