Archive for May, 2012

Smoking hot women are fine. Smoking hot women – less fine. Having quit decades ago, I have no plans to pick up secondhand smoking, nor inflict on someone else the third-hand smoke I expel after breathing in secondhand smoke. Thoughtful, aren’t I?

When daters admit to smoking on their profiles, most check off “trying to quit.” Something tells me they’re blowing smoke somewhere else, if you catch my drift. If they indeed are trying to quit, how can I be sure their mood swings and desire to strangle me are just from the nicotine withdrawal? Meanwhile, I’m trying to quit the blind dating habit. Wonder if there’s a patch for that?

Then there’s physical info. Body Style: “A few extra pounds”. “Body Style” makes it seem like I could’ve ordered the compact. “A few” can mean any number of things: Ten. Twenty. Sixty. Am I getting warm yet?

“Extra” sounds like I’ll be receiving some kind of bonus. Why stop there? Complexion Style: “A few extra zits.” Personality Style: “A few extra demons.”

I don’t know if it’s because I’m hookup, or because I’m a horrible person, but I have a lot of guilt. Most of my guilt comes from the way I feel towards my family. All of those times during my teenage years of never calling my parents and never answering the phone are slowly creeping back to me. I feel guilty that I wasted so much of their money in college. I feel guilty that I’m still not married. I feel guilty that whenever I call them, it’s usually because I need something, and when I call them just to say ‘hi’, it always seems somewhat forced. I feel guilty about that dream I had two nights ago when I forgot to pay them back for the spaceship they lent me money for, so that I could stop global warming and so that the cold-blooded mermaid aliens could visit in order to cure cancer.

My guilt isn’t concentrated only on family, though family is the source. It permeates every aspect of my life. I feel guilty whenever I don’t use a turn signal to change lanes, even though I am the worst, angriest driver of all time. On the rare occasion that I do neglect my turn signal while changing lanes, I have to wave frantically to the car behind me until they see and acknowledge me. If they don’t, I have to change lanes again, drive beside them, honk my horn, turn my head toward them, smile, and give them a ‘thumbs up’. This usually does not produce the positive reaction I hope for. However, at least I can take comfort in the knowledge that not using my turn signal was not the worst mistake I made in this series of events.

At Subway®, I have to make conversation with the Sandwich Artist who I see literally every day, or else I feel like a terrible person. This is despite the fact that this poor woman is so tired of seeing me, and just wants to make my sandwich as quickly as possible so that I can leave. Once I leave and forget to use a turn signal, I have to go through the whole process of making the car recognize that I didn’t mean to make that mistake. Then I have to go back to Subway® because I forgot my drink. It’s a vicious cycle.

Finally, guilt has spread to my personal life. I am always super early to everything because I feel like I’m letting somebody down when I’m late, even though there’s probably always someone counting on me to not show up at all. I am super obsessive about my hygiene. I don’t want anyone to have a bad time whenever they hang out with me because all they can smell is rotting fish, Subway® sandwiches, and smoking brake pads from all of the times I have to brake hard in order to let another driver know that I’m sorry for not using my turn signal.

On dates, my guilt is in full effect. I feel guilty for wasting this poor woman’s Saturday night. I feel guilty that I didn’t stand up when she left the table to use the restroom. I feel guilty that my hairline is receding. I feel guilty that in case this relationship eventually goes anywhere, I have still yet to get my body waxed.

If your on-the-job relationship is like Grey’s Anatomy, where the employees are incestuous and the relationships are literally bleeding into your job, then you may need to rethink dating a co-worker. We all like the idea of being that sweet couple that carpools to work and meets for lunch and steals secret kisses in the hallway, but most of us won’t be in one of those relationships. Spending time with your loved one at home and at work  is overkill and you are going to start getting on each other’s nerves and that will start to affect your work. Alas, if you aren’t in the same department it might work. Or if you’ve been dating long enough that you’re past all of the b.s. and now work in the same office then it might work. But if you see a coworker on 100hookup think about the worst case scenario before you get too excited about the fellow MOT being single. That person may be better as a wingman and bestie. It could be beshert, but just think it through first (and double check your company’s fraternizing rules).

One of my favorite TV shows is Shark Tank, where budding entrepreneurs try to entice multimillionaires to invest in their big idea/product. This one would make a killing, I think…

“Hello sharks. I’m here today to ask for $100,000 in return for 25% equity in my product… I don’t know about you, but I always found chemistry in high school to be anything but enjoyable. The accidental explosions. Mysterious odors. Element charts I could never remember. Well, that’s ancient history, which I also found anything but enjoyable.

From now on, chemistry can be fun at the drop of a… drop. Meet… Bottled Chemistry! Just dab a drop of my exclusive formula on your earlobe and the earlobe of the person you want to engage with, and presto – instant chemistry!

Shark: “I don’t believe a word you’re saying. What are your sales?”

Nothing yet, but…

Shark: “The only zeroes I like are the kind that follow a bunch of non-zeros. You and your product are a big, fat zero, my friend. I’m out.”

Wait! Allow me to dab a little on my earlobe… and your earlobe.

Shark: “… I’m back in. You have lovely eyes.”

When on a strict diet, there are a lot of temptations. Hell, even when off a strict diet, there are a lot of temptations. There are places and foods throughout the day that you begrudgingly have to avoid so that you will eventually have a desirable body even though by the time you eventually get to that point, you’re so frustrated and angry with your life that though your body has become desirable, the rest of you has not.

However, the absolute worst place where you could be stranded, while on a strict diet, is unquestionably McDonalds®. This is true across all cultures and countries. If your car isn’t in good working condition and you’re in the middle of nowhere, and the only place in sight is a McDonalds®, go as fast as you can in any other direction.

Yesterday, while driving to Houston from Austin, my car died. A cop picked me up and took me to the nearest city. I said he could drop me off at the McDonalds® there without really thinking about it. When I walked in, the smell was so familiar, it was like I hadn’t missed a step since I’d been in one over a year ago. Like a pre-programmed robot, I walked to the line, knowing exactly what I was going to get: a number one with no cheese and a chocolate shake. When I got to the front of the line, the guy behind the counter looked at me like he must look at every customer. His facial expressions seemed to say something like, “I have to be here, but you don’t. Why would you come here?” I hung my head in shame and mumbled my order and held out my money while trying not to make any eye contact. When I handed him the money, he could have well said, “I know, bro. I know.”

Once I got my food, I walked to the very back corner of the restaurant so nobody would see me, because I know so many people in Bastrop, TX. I sat by the restroom, which was obviously a bad idea because every time someone opened the door, it smelled like, well, a restroom. Actually, in a weird way, the restroom smell blended well with the smell of the food and kind of made the smell better.

Before I left, a cute girl walked in, but I was unable to impress her because I was drowning in McDonalds® food and sitting by myself in a corner by a restroom. However, she was also at McDonalds®, and I failed to think of this at the time. I could have started a whole new life in Bastrop. Instead, I’m back in Houston, eating food outside of bathrooms.