29 April 2011

New Math

I have decided that I’m tired of defending myself to the masses at large because I am 31, not married, don’t have children and don’t want either of these things for my life and would rather come and go as I please and be happy being ‘that girl’ than be the girl that does what I’m ‘supposed’ to do. Apparently, in the eyes of everyone else, there must be something wrong with me because I am as single as a dollar bill. This sentiment usually comes from someone who is unhappily married, burnt out by kids or just not successfully match.com’ing but desperately needs to be defined as a ‘we’ instead of a ‘me.’ So, when I was out this weekend after dealing with the most annoying dipshit in all of 2011 thus far, I decided that the next time someone gives me the sympathetic head nod and tells me to hang in there because love will find me (um, I didn’t know someone had sent the carrier-pigeon out looking for it, but okay). I will inform them of my new math – I am always going to be too young to get married and too old to have kids. Let them ponder that for a while.

Friday night was an odd night, spent the beginning half of it hanging out with my friend and her Mr. Wrong, then tried to redeem the night after they had to retire early for no acceptable reason. After relocating to another part of town, I was content having some cocktails with my partner in crime. Since the first part of the night went bust early, my friend and I got a table where we are never are able to since we arrive as the fun is getting started, not camping out hours ahead of time waiting for it to get under way as we were this time. All was well; we had to discuss this most recent event of bamboozling and figure out how to get the night back on course when over walks cognac-drinking Matt. He sits down next to me. He was a stereotypical sales-douche not used to taking no for an answer but when it comes to entertaining his advances, NO is the only word in my vocab.

He is older than I am and tried lecturing, correcting and yelling at me all during his hot second of first impressions: um, okay loser – there’s the door, go get acquainted with it. He continues to insist we will be going to dinner the following Tuesday and won’t leave until I accept – so I accept (with NO intention of going). I was ever so careful to NOT take my cellular device out of my purse at any time so I could just say I didn’t have my phone to call his phone and store digits. He got a pen from the waitress and I wrote down a series of digits which add up to NONE that I can be reached at and he left his, which are still on the table at the bar unless someone wanted to have some drunk fun. I immediately start bitching to my friend about the ANNOYANCE and disrespect factor of Matt with a side of ‘um, yeah: thanks for helping me out there when I gave you ALL of the SOS codes in the book.’ Had my credit card not been behind the bar, I would have walked out immediately but I had to settle the tab before taking my vodka shower to undo the damage and overwhelming "ick factor" of Matt and his stubby snausage fingers and condescending vocabulary before he decided to drunk drive himself home rather than take a cab like normal people do. About 20 minutes go by and I think the night still has time to improve itself, until Matt actually comes back! I can only assume he tried the fake number and was less than satisfied. He tries to get me to dance with him and I say no and he throws out a few more insulting comments which I ignore and he finally vamooses for the night, I close my tab and force a ‘just in case….’ relocation. Some people and their sense of entitlement make me shake my head, sometimes it makes me laugh but this time was definitely a severe ‘who the fuck does he think he is?!’ case.

In a matter of 5 minutes of conversation, it was overwhelmingly obvious he had control issues, anger issues, on top of being insecure – the list goes on and on. I am not about to be someone’s relationship punching bag just for the sake of having a plus one – that’s what dating in your teens and twenties is for, now it’s time to pull the standard card and accept nothing less than 100% pure awesome. This was one of those reminders that the rumors are usually false - people are NOT like wine, they don’t always improve with age, thank god for vodka!

Point of the conversation: The Pythagorean Theorem teaches us that a2 + b2 = c2. I’m adding an addendum to that for the dater in us all: A series of Bad opposite sex encounters makes me C that single and fabulous is the way to be and the only Squared that matters is the shape of diamond I buy myself for my right hand ring.

- Scarlett


  1. YESSS!!! lol

    "people are NOT like wine, they don’t always improve with age"

    So true! Thoroughly enjoyable read! Yes for New Math!

  2. Thx - it should be taught in high schools pretty much immediately haha


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