Strong women, like espresso and a good stiff drink are not for the faint of heart... and what I am learning is there are a lot of men who are not up to the challenge but profess to be "manly" men. So why, when given the opportunity to be strong, direct and dare I say -- clear -- with these "strong women," do they run away (often screaming in a high pitched voice and flailing their arms)? C'mon -- finally you have someone who can take it (and dish it out)...someone who might even enjoy a good verbal (and perhaps, physical) joust -- what gives?
I'll tell you what gives... and keeps on giving... the "helpless, sexy chick" persona. How do I know this? I did a test (don't try this at home).
Control Group A: Gal dates a guy and behaves her normal, charming, witty, intelligent and wonderful self. They talk, smile and laugh for hours and hours and demonstrate the verbal and physical signs of two humans interested in each other. Political, societal and personal conversation ensues...what doesn't ensue? Dinner and a second date. Sorry, contestant # 1 -- you ARE STRONG, SMART AND SCARE HIM!
Control Group B: Gal dates a guy and behaves in a slightly different mode. Although still her wonderful self, less smarts and more cleavage is exhibited. Laughter abounds, at everything HE SAYS...and she dummies down the conversation to Britney's documentary and challenges of said cleavage when you are trying to do yoga...and "oh yeah -- didn't like Osama just win the election or something?" Angels sing on high, little hearts (and other things) swim around his very being...he is in lust. Add in a couple of suggestive texts and gal is asked out for second date. Success! Actually no -- not success.
This is a little nuts...but it is a social experiment so I justify it in the name of science.That said, the American Journal of Pathetic Dating wants to publish the results of my experiment but I decline...much like I declined Bachelor #2.
I polled some very splendid specimens of the female persuasion who happen to be friends of mine (no bias involved I assure you). Want to know what seems to be a common theme? Perfectly SWELL guys who are totally intimidated by these gals...or maybe just lazy. What is it? Fear of rejection? An aversion to female fabulosity? Love of lonely nights? Or perhaps, she should not have made the first move. Ahhhhh, there's the rub! For when the gal makes the first move she is quickly put into the "strong" category. "Eeeeeek" he cries. "I can take leprosy but not strength!!!!!!" Or is it as simple as, dating takes a lot of work...you need to invest of your time and self -- it is rarely "KAPOW" in your face in the first five minutes...it takes time and energy...and quite often you have to get off the couch (well, sometimes).
Brothers, please take my advice: life is way too short...grab the smart, sexy, strong girl and don't let go...and if you are REALLY lucky...she might even have good cleavage and know the president-elect's actual name and when he takes office. How scary is that?
Strong and (not-so) silently yours,
Andy
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Isn't it ironic?
Yeah sure, I'm not the first to say it...and either is Alanis Morrisette for that matter...but I'll be damned if it ain't true. Life is pretty freakin' ironic. And here are some perfect examples that prove my point...
I along with my fellow forty-something sisters, battle the dating world, which has morphed dramatically in the past couple of decades. Back in the day, the name of the game was "find a husband, have kids or die" -- and now, years later, with our own homes, money, lifestyle, freedom, and babies out of the equation -- the notion of someone to date and "just have fun with" is far more compelling than having a husband. Ironic. Ya know what else is ironic, I think I am thinking like a man. Isn't it ironic? A little too ironic.
Next ironic item. A few months ago I bought the cutest little puppy -- a three-pound Yorkie-poo/would-be-purse-accessory named Allie. I had such visions for Allie. She was going to peek out of her LV carrier wearing a rhinestone collar and cashmere sweater and look all cute and glam. Of slight, Kate Moss-of-the-canine-world-stature, she was to grow to a mere six pounds. Oh the sample sales at which we could score! What happens? My dog is 18 pounds and totally butch. I'd describe her as more NASCAR than Narcisco Rodriguez, more Mets bullpen than Badgley Mischka, more Lee Toughriders than True Religion. Listen -- I love this dog more than you can imagine -- but you have to agree -- it's ironic.
File this under "isn't it ironic" too ... I am not the least bit technically inclined. In fact, I have a hard time opening a lock with a key (I wish this was an exaggeration)... I fight with my BlackBerries (BOTH of them)...I curse my laptops (BOTH of them)...I don't watch DVDs out of principle (plus I can't get the player to work)...and I definitely shun text messaging (which makes dating in 2008 a challenge). Sooooo, what happens? I start my own blog. Ironic, technically speaking.
Let's talk about this irony. I buy a beautiful new car -- shiny, sexy and white -- representative of my fresh start in life...and with this car comes six free months of SIRIUS satellite radio. The very idea of paying for the radio made me laugh out loud (for you texters - that would be"LOL")...anyway, it was free and I wasn't going to use it -- but what the heck. So what happens? I fall in LOVE (for you texters, that would be "LOVE") with channel 37 -- The Strobe -- non-stop disco...DIVINE! I would sing along to the likes of Sylvester and Evelyn Champagne King, and simply daydream about the days of waiting on line to get into clubs, drinking sloe gin fizzes and dancing the night (and morning) away! Pure bliss. So when the six months were up and I was faced with paying for my disco fix, I coughed up the credit card and renewed. Last weekend, I get into the car with my friend and tell her excitedly "you have to listen to this fabulous station -- it's 37." We click through and see 36 and then 38 -- but no 37. Huh? It has fallen off the face of the earth. Yes, as part of the merger with XM (sp?), they'd off'ed 37, insisting that 7 -- "The Best of the 70's" would offer the same music. C'mon -- are they SIRIUS? Apparently yes...and this whole situation -- quite ironic.
Ironically yours,
Andy
I along with my fellow forty-something sisters, battle the dating world, which has morphed dramatically in the past couple of decades. Back in the day, the name of the game was "find a husband, have kids or die" -- and now, years later, with our own homes, money, lifestyle, freedom, and babies out of the equation -- the notion of someone to date and "just have fun with" is far more compelling than having a husband. Ironic. Ya know what else is ironic, I think I am thinking like a man. Isn't it ironic? A little too ironic.
Next ironic item. A few months ago I bought the cutest little puppy -- a three-pound Yorkie-poo/would-be-purse-accessory named Allie. I had such visions for Allie. She was going to peek out of her LV carrier wearing a rhinestone collar and cashmere sweater and look all cute and glam. Of slight, Kate Moss-of-the-canine-world-stature, she was to grow to a mere six pounds. Oh the sample sales at which we could score! What happens? My dog is 18 pounds and totally butch. I'd describe her as more NASCAR than Narcisco Rodriguez, more Mets bullpen than Badgley Mischka, more Lee Toughriders than True Religion. Listen -- I love this dog more than you can imagine -- but you have to agree -- it's ironic.
File this under "isn't it ironic" too ... I am not the least bit technically inclined. In fact, I have a hard time opening a lock with a key (I wish this was an exaggeration)... I fight with my BlackBerries (BOTH of them)...I curse my laptops (BOTH of them)...I don't watch DVDs out of principle (plus I can't get the player to work)...and I definitely shun text messaging (which makes dating in 2008 a challenge). Sooooo, what happens? I start my own blog. Ironic, technically speaking.
Let's talk about this irony. I buy a beautiful new car -- shiny, sexy and white -- representative of my fresh start in life...and with this car comes six free months of SIRIUS satellite radio. The very idea of paying for the radio made me laugh out loud (for you texters - that would be"LOL")...anyway, it was free and I wasn't going to use it -- but what the heck. So what happens? I fall in LOVE (for you texters, that would be "LOVE") with channel 37 -- The Strobe -- non-stop disco...DIVINE! I would sing along to the likes of Sylvester and Evelyn Champagne King, and simply daydream about the days of waiting on line to get into clubs, drinking sloe gin fizzes and dancing the night (and morning) away! Pure bliss. So when the six months were up and I was faced with paying for my disco fix, I coughed up the credit card and renewed. Last weekend, I get into the car with my friend and tell her excitedly "you have to listen to this fabulous station -- it's 37." We click through and see 36 and then 38 -- but no 37. Huh? It has fallen off the face of the earth. Yes, as part of the merger with XM (sp?), they'd off'ed 37, insisting that 7 -- "The Best of the 70's" would offer the same music. C'mon -- are they SIRIUS? Apparently yes...and this whole situation -- quite ironic.
Ironically yours,
Andy
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Sunday...a day of rest?
Monday through Friday I fantasize about the weekend...the very idea of having two days off to do nothing can often get me through the five days of trying to do everything. Here's the rub. The weekend is EXHAUSTING! How can I possibly rest when I have a million things on my "to-do" list -- none of which (sans posting to this blog) I find particularly savory?????
Saturday I run, run, run. Sunday comes. I delude myself into thinking that I am going to sleep late, linger over coffee and the newspaper...and take a nap in the afternoon. Yeah, right. How many of you are actually doing that too? I'd venture to say few to none.
With that in mind...I'll leave that thought on the table, so that I can deal with the bills and other paperwork, laundry, dishes and Hallmark cards waiting to be scribbled in, that are piled high next to it. Gal's gotta do what a gal's gotta do.
Have a restful Sunday...chat later.
Saturday I run, run, run. Sunday comes. I delude myself into thinking that I am going to sleep late, linger over coffee and the newspaper...and take a nap in the afternoon. Yeah, right. How many of you are actually doing that too? I'd venture to say few to none.
With that in mind...I'll leave that thought on the table, so that I can deal with the bills and other paperwork, laundry, dishes and Hallmark cards waiting to be scribbled in, that are piled high next to it. Gal's gotta do what a gal's gotta do.
Have a restful Sunday...chat later.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Welcome to my blahg.
Finally -- a forum for me (Andy) to blather on and on and on (hence the play on "blah blah blah") -- after all, a gal like me has a lot to say. I'll be checking in every now and then with my "comments from the corner," "fashion faux pas and fascinations" and of course, plenty of "blah blah blah" about the dating world (only the truth)...and much more.
Basically, every day brings new (and interesting to me at least) fodder -- and hopefully the chance to get some "blah blah blah" back from you!
Here's to enjoying some seriously hilarious blah blah blah-gging!
Buona notte, Andy
Finally -- a forum for me (Andy) to blather on and on and on (hence the play on "blah blah blah") -- after all, a gal like me has a lot to say. I'll be checking in every now and then with my "comments from the corner," "fashion faux pas and fascinations" and of course, plenty of "blah blah blah" about the dating world (only the truth)...and much more.
Basically, every day brings new (and interesting to me at least) fodder -- and hopefully the chance to get some "blah blah blah" back from you!
Here's to enjoying some seriously hilarious blah blah blah-gging!
Buona notte, Andy
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