The Action Shot

It's been a while (almost a month!) since I've ventured into a date. So far, the new year has only revealed more douchebags that I really have no desire to go on a date with. I've noticed a growing trend in what I like to call "the action shot." It seems that men think that if they post a clever pose of themselves in some type of action, it will increase their chances with women. I must be the odd woman out since these photos don't pique my intrigue in the least. Observe:

Specimen 1:

Yes. Specimen 1 posted a photograph of himself wandering aimlessly in an aquarium. Is he trying to convey the message of, "Hey, I can appreciate nature! I'm also an intellectual type, since I can learn about these magnificent creatures in an aquarium." It's just an odd photo, and who on earth was taking the picture? A ex-girlfriend? 

On to Specimen 2: 

En garde! He is coming after your heart! Notice that I said your heart, not my heart. Okay, he looks like he could be fun, and that he has a sense of humor, but actually POSTING this photo screams nerd. It might be a cute facebook photo to post, but this does not scream attractive at all. Again, who the hell was photographing this guy? 

Let's move to Specimen 3: 

This picture says to me, "Hey, I might be tatted up, and my room might be super messy, but I am an intellectual. Look at me, I'm in an intellectual pose." This is, no doubt, a selfie designed to raise his image. I give the guy credit for trying. 

Here's a really fun, egotistical guy, Specimen 4: 

This looks like a family member could have snapped this wonderful action pose. He is at some sort of gathering, apparently a barbecue. Oh look! He's in the middle of telling a joke or a funny story! It's as if he's saying in this photo, "Let me tell you about this one!" I'm not impressed. 

Here is the biggest douche out of the bunch, Specimen 5: 

This was probably pulled out of some photographer's website that he spotted himself in. You can see he's holding a drink, and he's in a crowd of people. For him to actually look straight at a camera, smile, and point is the epitome of douchebaggery. It's as if he's saying by posting this photo, "Hey baby, you could be the one for me!" No thanks. I swiped left. If I smell douche, I run the other way. Who has time for that mess? 

So far, the dating prospects of 2017 are not looking so hot.  

No Mistletoe For You

I still had some hope about finding love in 2016. Recently, I started talking to a guy who seemed fun and goofy. I mean, look at this profile picture: 

Adorable, right? He was from the area, had a so-so career (he was in real estate), but overall he seemed to have his life together. Now, you may be thinking, why are you dogging people who work in real estate? 

I'm sure that plenty of people who work in real estate are nice people. From my experience, men who work in this field tend to be douchebags. They are pretentious, haughty, and overall superficial. However, after some criticism from close friends that I should "ease up" on my list of excluding criteria, I decided to give this guy a shot. 

We decided to meet at a Starbucks that was midway between where each of us lived. It was a little bit of a hike, but I thought to myself, this could be worth it if the guy turns out to be nice. 

I got to the shop and peeked inside. There he was, sitting on the couch, with a creepy smile on his face. We greeted each other with a hug, and I felt myself shudder. I felt zero physical attraction. I kept telling myself to stop being so judgmental. So what if the guy felt like a wet noodle? What was on the inside is what matters, right? 

He asked me what I wanted to eat for dinner. 

"Dinner? I thought we were just having coffee, so I ate already, since we were meeting at Starbucks." 

Mind you, this "man" said nothing about meeting at Starbucks first and then going somewhere else for dinner. Everything said let's just meet for a coffee and see where things go. 

"Oh, well, I hadn't eaten, so I wanted to get something to eat." 

"Well, we can go to a restaurant, and I can get a drink if you want to get something." 

"No that's okay, I'll just eat something here." 

Strike 1 - you can't seem to make normal plans. Say what you mean. 

We made our way to the line. Like a gentleman, he allowed me to go first. I ordered a simple tea latte, since I would be sleeping in a few hours and I didn't want to get myself overly caffeinated. I noticed that he didn't stand next to me in line. He stayed behind me. The barista asked if that was all. He didn't order anything. I paid for my tea. 

Strike 2 - if you want to impress a woman, be a man and pay. It's a tea for heaven's sake! 

I was annoyed, but I thought, whatever. While I was waiting for my tea, I snapped a photo of him in line. As you can see, this guy screams wet noodle. 

He ordered a sandwich and a coffee. We sat down at a small table and he started eating. It was like watching a small child - cheese going everywhere. He would wipe his mouth, and he had the creepiest smile ever. It made me wildly uncomfortable.

We chatted and went through the usual "get to know you" topics about family, siblings, job, etc. He asked me about judges and lawyers in the area, and who I hated. When I told him that the attorney ethics code prohibits badmouthing, he scoffed to me, "You are probably the first lawyer I've met that doesn't badmouth!" He pressed me again to badmouth people. I was getting annoyed at him and it left a bad taste in my mouth. Dude, we're on a date. Why do you want to gossip about people you don't even know?

The topic then moved to politics. He told me how he admired that I was not a Trumpster. He revealed to me that he was a Gary Johnson supporter. I joked to him, "So, unlike your candidate, do you know what Aleppo is?" He defended Johnson, saying that he was caught off-guard. I responded that someone running for a position of world leadership should know up-to-the-minute information about world events. Then, this response really left me with a bad taste:
"Well, who really cares about Aleppo. I mean, we're here in a Starbucks. It doesn't affect us. The city sounds like a brand of dog food anyway."

I was disgusted. What I really wanted to do was tell him to have a nice night, get up, and walk out, but I have more class than that.

We talked about other topics, like favorite writers, books, and music. He mentioned a couple of American classics, like Emerson and Hemingway. You know, the stuff everyone reads in high school. When I threw out a few other names like Gabriel Garcia Marquez and Isabel Allende, he was clueless. It became painfully obvious that he was extremely uncultured, uneducated, and, frankly, he was nothing more than a bumpkin attempting to make himself up to be more than what he was - an insensitive, unrefined Wet Noodle.

Strike 3 - you have no decency or intelligence when it comes to topics concerning current events or culture. Being painfully insensitive to world tragedies is a huge turn-off.

He asked me what my dating life was like. He started to air his complaints about how women ghost him after dates. Gee, I wonder why. He admitted he was guilty of ghosting a few himself, but that usually, when he gets home and he wants to message the person he went out with, *poof!* she's gone.

I finished my tea, and I didn't want to spend another minute with the Wet Noodle with the creepy smile and lack of human decency. I announced that I finished my tea and had to get going to complete a few errands. I bid him goodbye.

Once I was in my car, the first thing I did was ghost him completely. It seemed like an appropriate remedy to a terrible date with the Wet Noodle. If he didn't have a shred of decency to pay for a lady's tea or have any sympathy for people getting executed in the streets, I certainly wasn't going to give him the benefit of any decency or sympathy in telling him that "things just aren't going to work out."

So much for the final hopes of love in 2016.

A Very Botox Christmas

I love this time of year. Holiday parties galore, where the foods are a'plenty, the wine is flowing, and music is going. I've been hitting party after party every weekend. Last Friday, my friend "Patty" invited me to a party at a home of a friend of hers. I gladly accepted the invitation, thinking that interacting with a whole new circle of people would enrich my own social circles.

Patty texted me the party information. I was intrigued by the address, as it was located in an older part of town. As I pulled up, I thought I was driving into a magazine photo shoot. What I thought were two houses was actually one house that connected two seemingly distinct buildings. The outside was immaculately decorated with a large horseshoe driveway. Large wreaths adorned the door. I double-checked the address. "Holy shit," I thought to myself. 

I rang the doorbell. I heard voices within, but nobody came to the door. I thought perhaps I was at the wrong address. I texted my friend and rang the doorbell again. 

Out popped my friend. "You're at the right house!" she chirped. I walked inside the magazine house. 

The beauty outside the home was no match for the beauty inside the home. The fireplace was roaring. The home was decorated with poinsettas, pine, candles, and other miscellaneous holiday adornments placed everywhere. It seemed that not even a speck of dust had dared settle anywhere. Holiday music was softly playing. I was amazed. 

"Make yourself comfortable!" my friend said. I set my purse down. I took a moment to walk around the living room which was larger than my one-bedroom apartment. I looked at the photos on one of the mantles. The couple who owned the home was picture-perfect. They were young. The woman was pretty, blonde, and had an excellent body, and the husband was very handsome with a body to match hers. Another photograph showed the couple with their two young daughters. The girls appeared to be in elementary school. "This is what everybody wants - wealth, a banging body after two kids, and a hot husband," I thought to myself. 

Moments later, the husband emerged. He appeared slightly older than the photograph. He was very tall, about three heads higher than me. Like any good host, he offered to get us some drinks. "We have a homemade pineapple vodka if you would like to try that!" I accepted. It tasted like the vodka went to the Caribbean and became a citizen. It was delicious. Recognizing the danger in such a delicious drink, I limited myself to one glass of it. 

More guests began streaming in, each one a character that was distinct from the next, but I noticed there was some commonalities among them all. The wife came down the stairs, breasts tastefully showing. She greeted us and began darting about the home, making sure that everything was perfect. If something was even a centimeter out of place, she adjusted it. She, too, was slightly older than the photograph. I noticed that her face appeared to have had some work done to it. I also noticed that her breasts were amazingly perky. Upon a closer look, I concluded that they, too, may have had some work done to them. 

Every woman at the party looked like she had botox injected in her face. I had never seen so much botox in one room, complete with a pair of operated breasts. It was amazing. I observed the guests and the hosts, laughing, joking, and reveling in the gossip of the day. The women, who all appeared to be in their 40s, were dressed sexy - some in short dresses, some in tight jeans with low-cut sweaters, and all with their men following after them. The men all had the same patterns - they looked like normal men who had spent a lot of time at the gym staying fit, probably to keep up with the botox. 

The only women who did not display such work were the younger couples who looked like they were in their 30s. I wondered to myself whether they would ever enter this metamorphosis of botox. I concluded that they likely would within the next 10-15 years, based on the patterns I observed among their older friends. 

I kept an eye out for any single men at the party, but there were none to be found. I noticed that a few of the men shot quick look-overs at me, but none dared speak to me. The women were obviously territorial, keeping their drinks close to them and their men even closer. I noticed that not many of the couples ever separated during the evening, each couple staying within a 4-foot radius of one another. 

The daughters of the house later paraded through with their friends. They were not the sweet, young girls that were in the photographs I saw. They were teenagers that looked like they were working their way up to the Red Light District in Amsterdam. Their faces were painted heavily with makeup. All of them had red lipstick that was so deep and so bright that I think a clown would have been jealous. Their skirts were skin-tight and short enough to be confused with shorts. One of the girls wore shorts that were so short her butt was exposed. I wondered to myself why she just didn't walk out in her underwear and call it a day. Their tops were low-cut, exposing their still-developing breasts as far down as probably what would have been the beginning of their tits. Their heels were high, fitting for adult hookers, but not quite for such young girls. I was appalled. I thought that maybe a parent or grandparent would reprimand them. Not at all. "Oh you look so beautiful!" commented the adults to the girls. My father would have had my head on a platter before I even attempted to walk out in public dressed like that, or even wear that much makeup at that age. These girls appeared to be fifteen and sixteen years old. I could only think two words about these girls, "Jail bait." 

It occurred to me that this house was just a sample of what was wrong with our society as a whole - it was focused on the artificial and keeping up appearances and had no problem with over-sexing the young. It was a house full of people who had a fear of aging and was doing everything medically possible to prevent the appearance of age. Nobody wanted to look their age. 

I heard a disturbance in another room. A few of the party-goers had gotten into an argument that turned physical. Some shoving was happening. The host husband whizzed by me with a smile saying, "Never a dull moment!" I felt like Alice in Wonderland. What is this place? The men who were fighting separated. I saw one of them storm out of the room. The party went on as if nothing occurred. The host walked past me again with the same, bright smile. 

Patty and I chatted throughout the night, with her telling me a few stories about some of the guests. One of the highlights was a woman who, upon first meeting Patty, recommended that she get botox on her eyes. Another story included a couple who was there with their young son. Patty was babysitting for them one day, and she found a small baggie of cocaine in the cupboard. She had never gone back.

After a few hours, Patty and I, along with a couple of Patty's other normal friends that I had spent the night socializing with, decided to leave. I had enough of the weird house. 

As I got in my car and took one last look at the house from the outside, I realized that the house wasn't perfect at all. The house itself looked physically perfect, but it was filled with people who couldn't handle reality, including the owners. It made me thankful that I didn't have these problems. To feel the need to keep up appearances that much meant that there was perpetual unhappiness or dissatisfaction with oneself. 

When I turned my car on, the engine started making some weird noises. I chuckled to myself. I can take the flaws in my life, only because I'm happy with it. 

Seeing the Girl My Ex Cheated With

Saturday mornings are my happy place. I attend a barbell strength-training class at the gym. After my break-up, I joined the gym and created a new routine for myself - running and the gym. There was something therapeutic about taking out all my frustrations through lifting weights or speeding through paths in a park.

Last Saturday, however, turned out to be a little different. Gyms become little towns. You tend to get to know who is who at the hours you go to the gym. Why is this? Because people are creatures of habit. As such, they will go to the gym around the same times usually on the same days. On this particular day, I noticed two new women walking in. One of them held the door open for me as I walked in. She looked at me as she held the door open, and she froze.

Initially, I didn't pay much mind to her and said a simple "Thanks" after she held the door open for me. Then, it hit me. It was HER!

It was one of the girls that my ex had been running around with behind my back. He had a hidden social media account. This was one of the girls from that account. No wonder her face froze. The bitch knew exactly who I was.

She and her friend walked towards a different section of the gym, towards the cross-fit area. I felt slight relief. Even though it's been two years, I didn't really want to see her face. I went to the room where the class was being held and started to set up my area. I was happy that I had arrived early and could have my choice of equipment as well as space.

After I had set up my space and started stretching, she came in with her friend. They looked around, and unfortunately, the only two spaces available were in the area in front me. They set up. I took the opportunity to look at her. She was shorter than I was, much shorter. She was also a little chubbier than I was. She also appeared to be younger - maybe mid-twenties.

As the class began, I must admit - I made sure to outdo her on every freaking exercise. Even when I thought my legs, arms, or abs were about to explode from burning, I kept pushing myself.

She was high maintenance - she was constantly texting on her phone throughout the exercises. What on earth was so important that she had to text in the middle of weight lifting?

As the class went on, the less I cared about her. I was fascinated to see the person that my ex ran around with, but today, does it matter? It really didn't.

As I drove home, I recalled all of the hurt I went through back then. I remembered screaming at my ex, "You will never touch me again!" I remember thinking that all the dreams I had for us were shattered. She knew exactly who I was when it was happening. This made her behavior just as bad, but it's not up to me to get back at her for what she and my ex did.

That's Karma's job.

Blast from the Past

Facebook did it again. Periodically, Facebook displays "People You May Know." For those not familiar, it's people that Facebook has identified as someone you might know based on common acquaintances, phone numbers, or any other things on Facebook algorithm. This time, it identified what I initially thought was my ex from law school's wife. Observe: 

Complete with baby. I was disgusted initially, but happy to see him happy. He and I had always been friends. We dated, it didn't work out, and then he got engaged years later to someone else who could give him what he wanted. After his engagement, he stopped calling, and I stopped calling. It just made sense. Then I get the friend request: 

Same name, different Facebook profile picture. I was appalled. Why would she send me a friend request? I decided to go into stalker mode. I learned that the profile name was actually their baby's name. After reading some comments, I discovered that it was actually my ex using his son's name. I had to admit, the baby was pretty cute. The wife seemed like a nice person. Wasn't I supposed to be hate-mode? Nah. 

The thing is this - we didn't end on bad terms. We used to be best friends. Of all of the relationships I had, he was the one I wanted to work out most. It didn't because of one thing: religion. He was Muslim, and I was Catholic. He went out of state for medical school. I just started my first job out of law school. He wanted me to move with him and take the next step. I wanted to take the next step, too, but he wanted the next step with one condition: conversion. When I refused to convert, then we talked about how we could raise our future kids. He was adamant about blocking out Catholic teaching and making it only Muslim teaching. In religion, there was no middle ground with him. I wasn't opposed to introducing Muslim teaching, but I was adamant about including Catholic teaching. These were issues that didn't come up until our relationship hit this breaking point. Everything we had ever talked about and agreed upon had changed. When our foundation changed, the relationship crumbled. 

We didn't speak for months. I was upset because I felt like he went back on his word - he was supposed to accept me "as is," beliefs and all. There were a few other issues that were associated with a long-distance relationship that I held against him - like forgetting to call me on my birthday. Eventually, I forgave him. When he called me again to see how I was, our friendship came back. 

We stayed friends until he got engaged. We haven't spoken in two years. Here he is again, with a friend request, masquerading as a 1 year old baby. 

Confirm or Delete? 

A Scary Halloween Haunt

Facebook has a magical way of bringing people you thought you had put behind in your life to creep right back. Such was the case with a guy from college who attempted to sexually assault me (below). 

He then sent me a message saying, "It's been a long time. How have you been?" 

It's been a long time because I didn't want anything to do with him. 

I'm not even sure why I'm writing about this tonight. It just bothers me that he had the balls to message me again after so many years. I thought that with college graduation, I could just lay him to rest in the graveyard of unpleasant experiences and memories from that time period. 

We used to be friends. What had happened was this - I was in undergrad, and he was a graduate student. I went to his apartment to pick up a sweater I left behind at a house party. His roommates were home. He asked me to follow him to his room, as my sweater was there. I didn't think twice about it because I was 19, shy, naive, and had no expectation that anything foul was going to happen. 

His room was dimly lit. He locked the door behind us. He then said he had downloaded some new Arabic music and asked me if I would like to hear it. I thought that the lighting was odd, but again, I didn't think anything of it. He told me to sit down. I sat down on the edge of his bed. He started the music. It was a slow song. At the time, I was studying Arabic. I was listening closely to the words of the song to see how much I could understand. 

He sat down next to me, really close to me. I started to feel uncomfortable, but I kept my cool thinking that nothing would happen. Stuff like that only happened to other people. He started to scoot closer to me. He got close to my neck. I'll never forget the smell of his breath in that moment.  

"I think you're really hot." 

I scooted away and said that I just wanted to finish listening to the song. He moved in again, this time grabbing my arm and pulling me towards him. I felt so stunned that I didn't know what to do. I had never been in a situation like that before. I pulled away. 

Then, he scared me. He grabbed me much more forcefully, grabbed me by the face, and said "Kiss me." He then pulled my head to his, and he forced me to have the most disgusting kiss of my life. I still remember what his lips felt like. I hated those lips. 

I pulled away and told him to stop. He grabbed me again, pushed me down on the bed, and got on top of me. He started forcing my legs apart and rubbing himself on me. "Just give this a chance. You'll like it." I started panicking. I couldn't believe this was happening. I didn't scream yet. I just kept saying "No" and tried to wiggle away. He wouldn't listen to me and he grabbed my arms even tighter and pushed my arms down harder into the mattress. He switched his hands and manipulated my arms so that with one hand he was holding both of my arms down and with the other he tried to unbutton my jeans. I raised my voice and yelled "STOP!" One of his roommates knocked and asked if we were okay. He got off of me. He said we were just having an argument. 

I took the opportunity to grab my sweater, dart for the door, unlock the door, and rush out of the apartment. I remember feeling embarrassed when I rushed out of the apartment because I felt that my hair was so messed up and it probably looked like we were messing around. The only time I ever saw him again was at parties or around campus. He would say hello. I usually said hi and then acted like I had to rush to class, answer a friend's phone call, or any other assortment of excuses. 

I didn't call the police. Looking back, I wish I had, but at the time, I didn't think anyone would believe me. I was just a 19 year old undergrad student. I also didn't think it was a big deal because I thought I was partly to blame for what happened. I didn't think that it was sexual assault. 

So here he is, 13 years later, sending me a friend request on Facebook. I didn't respond to his message. I deleted his request. I don't like to remember, and I wish I could forget. 

Parade of Misogyny

It's a fun new trend in the dating world. Misogyny. Donald Trump embraces it and is making a political career out of it, bragging about grabbing women by the pussy.

What is a misogynist? Merriam-Webster defines it simply - "a hatred of women." Dictionary.com defines it as "a hatred, dislike, or mistrust of women, or prejudice against women."

Unfortunately for me, I experienced what was a parade of misogyny. I had a taste of it a couple weekends ago with Trumpster. Apparently, this weekend I was to be treated to a full buffet. 

It started on Friday with a guy from Bumble I was talking to. He is a divorced father of 2. He disclosed to me that he was a father of 2 after reading my profile where I made it abundantly clear that I had reservations about playing stepmom and preferred a man with no kids but wanted to start a family. He was defensive about the issue. I gave him a pass for it. Then came the request for a "current photo." 

At first, my thought was, what a paranoid freak. I then recalled the times that I met a guy in person and he didn't match his photos at all. I obliged and snapped a quick selfie. Now, it was my turn... 

Yeah, you do look bad... 

I loved how he made excuses for looking bad. He didn't look like his photos at all. I stopped talking to him. If he was already suspicious of my profile, this was not going to be the guy for me. 

Fast forward to Saturday night. My friends and I went clubbing in a ritzy part of town. I was wearing a dress that exposed my back and a pair of smoking hot heels. 

Every woman knows that after a while, smoking hot heels means smoking hot feet. I needed to rest. While my friends danced, I sat next to them at the bar. I, being one of the only sober ones in the group, kept an eye out for any pervs nearby. 

Every club has at least one perv. Come on, you know what I mean. There's always at least one creepy guy who lurks in a dark corner, waiting to find one single woman who even temporarily gets separated from her friends so he can try to make a move. 

Unfortunately for me, there were two pervs. The pair was about 50 years old and they were watching me like a lion watches a wounded gazelle. I ignored them, hoping they'd just go away. 

They didn't go away. 

Those assholes had the gall to touch me. One of them extended his creepy finger and ran it up my back. They started to laugh at this violation of my body. I was ignited. I was livid. I immediately turned around and unleashed my street side. 

"WHAT THE F*CK! DO NOT EVER TOUCH ME AGAIN! YOU TOUCH ME AGAIN AND YOU'LL SEE WHAT THE F*CK WILL HAPPEN TO YOU! BACK THE F*CK OFF RIGHT NOW!"

They didn't back off. They moved in. One of them grabbed me around the neck and tried to kiss me. I violently pushed him. 

I raised my voice. "BACK THE F*CK OFF YOU F*CKING ASSWIPE! BACK THE F*CK OFF!" I kept repeating it over and over. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the guys from the group watching in amazement. 

The jackals left. I turned my attention to the guys in my group. 

"What the f*ck? Didn't you see all that?" 

"Yeah! But you looked like you had a handle on things!"

I guess I did, but it would have been nice to have backup. 

As the night flowed on, so did the booze, and so did my female friends' drunkenness. One of them was recently single. She disappeared into the crowd and returned with a guy from a wedding party. I watched the pair because my drunk friend was entertaining and because I was suspicious of men from wedding parties. 

Let's be real here. If you're single, and you go to a wedding, you mostly want to get laid at some point. 

My drunk friend was like a butterfly - beautiful and all over the place. She fluttered between our friends and this wedding party guy. The guy disappeared when my friend fluttered back to us for a while. I looked for him. 

When I finally spotted him, I saw that he was with another woman from the wedding party - a drunk girlfriend? She could barely stand. She had no idea what was happening. After a few moments of the two of them speaking, I saw them kissing. He then sat her down and returned to my friend.

I could not believe my eyes. 

I told my friend's sister who said she would alert my friend. 

I continued to observe this pattern - my friend fluttering between this guy and us, and the guy fluttering between my friend and kissing this other woman. 

The club was closing. I saw my friend's sister confront the guy. I positioned myself so I could hear what was going on. He started to deny everything. Again, I was ignited. 

"You LIAR! You're a freaking liar! I freaking saw you!"

With a straight face, he denied my eyewitness accusation. 

"Why would I lie? And who was I kissing?"
"I'm not going to play these games with you. How old are you? 26?"
"I'm 27."
"You act like you're 12. Get out of here. You know what you did."
Again, he challenged me. "Why would I lie?"
I decided to be crude. I pointed to my friend's vaginal area.
"To get that. That's why. Now get out of here."

At that moment, my friend took off running like Laura Ingalls in the prairie. Her sister ran after her. I walked over to the pair. There was a brief discussion about where everyone was parked. I had enough and told them I was going home.

The drive was long and it gave me time to process everything. Is this the state of men these days? Is this what we have been reduced to? I wanted the days of my father - where men were noble and courtship was authentic. I needed hope.

I said a small prayer to myself, to meet the right man soon, and to never be paired with a cheater or a closet misogynist. I deserve better.

We all do.