Thursday, June 17, 2004
“Have You Gone through A lot of Guys?”
This question was asked of me fairly recently and try to imagine how horrified I was to receive it. Now, granted, the person who asked it had limited social graces and no sort of filter, but it was obviously what he thought or he wouldn’t have asked.
The interesting thing I found about being asked how many guys I’d gone through was the implication that I had slept with everyone I dated. What a typical pig-dog, rat-bastard, misogynistic attitude. Yes, clearly because I’ve gone out on dates with a few different people it means I’m also serving it up to all of them. I’m “the Cold-Sore Queen” you read about on bathroom walls all over.
I guess you could say I’ve dated a lot people. According to some that could make me pretty slutty, according to me it makes me a people person – which could mean slutty without the sex. Some of the people I’ve gone out with were okay, some were horrendous, and some were beige. The beige category applies to the guys who, whenever their names are brought up in conversation, friends will say, “Oh yeah! I totally forgot about him!” To the beige category we add the following: the guy who didn’t laugh at any of my jokes, the tequila boyfriend, and the guy who gave me a Harrison Ford biography when I lent him The Bell Jar.
This is just an aside, but it is a good story. The Sketchiest Boyfriend Ever award goes to my first long distance relationship. He was five hours away, and I was clearly not in a good place judgmentally. How else do you explain dating a guy whose parents ran a church in the basement of their house? He only ate breaded chicken and Alphagetti. He was a big fan of Star Trek and bought himself an eighty dollar plastic model of “the Bridge,” which he set up in my room and played with when he visited. As it turns out he already had an identical one back home, but this was such a good price he couldn’t pass it up. God, that was the longest visit of my life, because I knew as soon as I saw him step off of the train that I had made a rather monumental mistake. I’d like to say that I was possessed or something when I made the decision to actively date this person who, while very nice, was deeply weird.
At the end of my second year of university things were getting a little out of control with the number of boys I had dated, and people were having some trouble keeping track. This resulted in my oldest brother purchasing me a book called How to Dump a Guy: A Coward’s Manual. I was a little offended by that, but his reasoning was, if I was doing so much of it, I might as well get the technique down.
While I haven’t necessarily used the techniques outlined in the book, I did find it an interesting read. There are scenarios for every sort of break up. I think that they even provide the etiquette for dumping via Fax (ie: don’t). Can you imagine? Most of my break ups have been done in person, some over the phone. In one instance I moved to another province, which avoided the issue nicely. There’s one person I am still technically dating, despite the fact that he’s been with someone else for the past ten years (although their relationship ended in recent months). I went to his house to see what would happen to “us” when he moved an hour and a half away, and he said we would “live our lives and just see how it went.” To him that clearly meant an end, but in terms of actual legalities we’re obviously still a couple. He’s really in the doghouse about forgetting our anniversary and my birthday for the past six years. I’m strongly considering not taking him back if I ever see him again.
Logically, thinking about breaking up with people leads us to thoughts of first dates. First dates are always the worst. When you’re single you really look forward to meeting someone and having the first kisses, and the cuddling on couches, but rarely do you look forward to that horror known as the first date. I dread them with relish. So much preparation goes into this event, both mentally and physically. You’ll not have worked out for weeks, but as soon as you know you’re going for coffee with someone you undergo the 24 hour total body overhaul. This involves working out for at least two hours straight (including cardio, weights, and abs) in the hopes that this will transform your body into an entirely different shape before the date. You have to shave your legs and all other areas you’ve neglected. You might wax your eyebrows, and if you’ve left yourself enough time you might also consider a face mask, and painting your nails. Make up is a much more careful affair for the first date, you don’t just slap it on and hope for the best, you actually take the time to try and come up with “a look.” Your hair will also require special attention. Interestingly, it will always look better on days when you don’t have a first date, and when you don’t lavish all sorts of special attention on it. There’s no point even mentioning how long you agonize over it. Whatever you decide on wearing, you’ll regret it for one reason or another, and you’ll also probably get deodorant marks on it. Here’s a handy hint, if you just rub the cloth against itself, where the deodorant is, it’ll go away - maybe.
Mental preparation involves trying to become incredibly fascinating in the shortest amount of time possible. This will involve reading a newspaper, or at least some of it, for the first time in months. You’ll also likely have several imaginary conversations featuring yourself and him in order to feel as prepared as possible for any conversational eventuality. I wonder if boys put themselves through this agony. Maybe they just drive themselves into a frenzy imagining how quickly they’ll be able to get into your pants.
One first date worthy of note took place when I was nineteen or twenty. I started going out, for some reason, with a two-hundred pound bouncer of the club we spent a lot of time at. I had forgotten that I agreed to go and see a movie with him. He showed up at our house with one of his housemates while I was in classic Sunday loungewear. I think I asked him what he was doing there. He looked decidedly taken aback at that question, “you said you wanted to see a movie tonight.” Did I now? There had to have been cocktails involved. Okay then! So I managed to skip out on all of the prep work mentioned previously and just move straight into terror. He asked my housemates if any of them wanted to go with us, and since his friend was there Big M decided to come too.
Try to imagine her surprise when we were dropped off at the theatre and his friend sped off. She was mortified, she still yells at me whenever this comes up in conversation. As we were walking into the theatre he was in front of us, and she and I were whispering frantically back and forth:
“Holy shit! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me this was a date!”
“I didn’t know it was a date! I don’t remember agreeing to this! You can’t leave.”
“Screw that! I’m not staying.”
“Yes you are.”
“No I’m not.”
“Yes you are.”
“Fine, I’ll stay for one movie; then I’m gone. I can’t believe you did this to me…”
We went in to watch the movies, it was a double feature. He sat between me and Big M. At one point, not too far into the first movie, I heard a strange noise and looked over to discover that he was snoring. Yes, my date was asleep. Big M and I exchanged a glance. What a shit show.
True to form, at the end of the first movie she made as graceful a retreat as she could manage and we finished the rest of our date. He even managed to stay awake for the second film.
At the end of the night he walked me home, which took about forty-five minutes. To pass the time he decided that it would be a good idea to tell me stories about his youthful indiscretions. There was the first time he got drunk, which was when he was ten. He spent that afternoon sleeping it off in the gym’s equipment room. The other stories had to do with the times he was almost arrested for public nudity. What is it with boys getting drunk and taking their clothes off in public?
Shockingly we dated for awhile. He cracked me up, I didn’t delude myself too much, though, I knew we wouldn’t be picking out china someday, or anything, but he could always make me laugh. Who else, for Easter, would buy me a hollow chocolate Hercules (from totally heroic Saturday on Global)?
The secret to not ending up with these stories is to not go out with people just because they like YOU but rather because you like them too. It wastes a lot less time to handle it that way. At any rate, happy hunting, and good luck.
This question was asked of me fairly recently and try to imagine how horrified I was to receive it. Now, granted, the person who asked it had limited social graces and no sort of filter, but it was obviously what he thought or he wouldn’t have asked.
The interesting thing I found about being asked how many guys I’d gone through was the implication that I had slept with everyone I dated. What a typical pig-dog, rat-bastard, misogynistic attitude. Yes, clearly because I’ve gone out on dates with a few different people it means I’m also serving it up to all of them. I’m “the Cold-Sore Queen” you read about on bathroom walls all over.
I guess you could say I’ve dated a lot people. According to some that could make me pretty slutty, according to me it makes me a people person – which could mean slutty without the sex. Some of the people I’ve gone out with were okay, some were horrendous, and some were beige. The beige category applies to the guys who, whenever their names are brought up in conversation, friends will say, “Oh yeah! I totally forgot about him!” To the beige category we add the following: the guy who didn’t laugh at any of my jokes, the tequila boyfriend, and the guy who gave me a Harrison Ford biography when I lent him The Bell Jar.
This is just an aside, but it is a good story. The Sketchiest Boyfriend Ever award goes to my first long distance relationship. He was five hours away, and I was clearly not in a good place judgmentally. How else do you explain dating a guy whose parents ran a church in the basement of their house? He only ate breaded chicken and Alphagetti. He was a big fan of Star Trek and bought himself an eighty dollar plastic model of “the Bridge,” which he set up in my room and played with when he visited. As it turns out he already had an identical one back home, but this was such a good price he couldn’t pass it up. God, that was the longest visit of my life, because I knew as soon as I saw him step off of the train that I had made a rather monumental mistake. I’d like to say that I was possessed or something when I made the decision to actively date this person who, while very nice, was deeply weird.
At the end of my second year of university things were getting a little out of control with the number of boys I had dated, and people were having some trouble keeping track. This resulted in my oldest brother purchasing me a book called How to Dump a Guy: A Coward’s Manual. I was a little offended by that, but his reasoning was, if I was doing so much of it, I might as well get the technique down.
While I haven’t necessarily used the techniques outlined in the book, I did find it an interesting read. There are scenarios for every sort of break up. I think that they even provide the etiquette for dumping via Fax (ie: don’t). Can you imagine? Most of my break ups have been done in person, some over the phone. In one instance I moved to another province, which avoided the issue nicely. There’s one person I am still technically dating, despite the fact that he’s been with someone else for the past ten years (although their relationship ended in recent months). I went to his house to see what would happen to “us” when he moved an hour and a half away, and he said we would “live our lives and just see how it went.” To him that clearly meant an end, but in terms of actual legalities we’re obviously still a couple. He’s really in the doghouse about forgetting our anniversary and my birthday for the past six years. I’m strongly considering not taking him back if I ever see him again.
Logically, thinking about breaking up with people leads us to thoughts of first dates. First dates are always the worst. When you’re single you really look forward to meeting someone and having the first kisses, and the cuddling on couches, but rarely do you look forward to that horror known as the first date. I dread them with relish. So much preparation goes into this event, both mentally and physically. You’ll not have worked out for weeks, but as soon as you know you’re going for coffee with someone you undergo the 24 hour total body overhaul. This involves working out for at least two hours straight (including cardio, weights, and abs) in the hopes that this will transform your body into an entirely different shape before the date. You have to shave your legs and all other areas you’ve neglected. You might wax your eyebrows, and if you’ve left yourself enough time you might also consider a face mask, and painting your nails. Make up is a much more careful affair for the first date, you don’t just slap it on and hope for the best, you actually take the time to try and come up with “a look.” Your hair will also require special attention. Interestingly, it will always look better on days when you don’t have a first date, and when you don’t lavish all sorts of special attention on it. There’s no point even mentioning how long you agonize over it. Whatever you decide on wearing, you’ll regret it for one reason or another, and you’ll also probably get deodorant marks on it. Here’s a handy hint, if you just rub the cloth against itself, where the deodorant is, it’ll go away - maybe.
Mental preparation involves trying to become incredibly fascinating in the shortest amount of time possible. This will involve reading a newspaper, or at least some of it, for the first time in months. You’ll also likely have several imaginary conversations featuring yourself and him in order to feel as prepared as possible for any conversational eventuality. I wonder if boys put themselves through this agony. Maybe they just drive themselves into a frenzy imagining how quickly they’ll be able to get into your pants.
One first date worthy of note took place when I was nineteen or twenty. I started going out, for some reason, with a two-hundred pound bouncer of the club we spent a lot of time at. I had forgotten that I agreed to go and see a movie with him. He showed up at our house with one of his housemates while I was in classic Sunday loungewear. I think I asked him what he was doing there. He looked decidedly taken aback at that question, “you said you wanted to see a movie tonight.” Did I now? There had to have been cocktails involved. Okay then! So I managed to skip out on all of the prep work mentioned previously and just move straight into terror. He asked my housemates if any of them wanted to go with us, and since his friend was there Big M decided to come too.
Try to imagine her surprise when we were dropped off at the theatre and his friend sped off. She was mortified, she still yells at me whenever this comes up in conversation. As we were walking into the theatre he was in front of us, and she and I were whispering frantically back and forth:
“Holy shit! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me this was a date!”
“I didn’t know it was a date! I don’t remember agreeing to this! You can’t leave.”
“Screw that! I’m not staying.”
“Yes you are.”
“No I’m not.”
“Yes you are.”
“Fine, I’ll stay for one movie; then I’m gone. I can’t believe you did this to me…”
We went in to watch the movies, it was a double feature. He sat between me and Big M. At one point, not too far into the first movie, I heard a strange noise and looked over to discover that he was snoring. Yes, my date was asleep. Big M and I exchanged a glance. What a shit show.
True to form, at the end of the first movie she made as graceful a retreat as she could manage and we finished the rest of our date. He even managed to stay awake for the second film.
At the end of the night he walked me home, which took about forty-five minutes. To pass the time he decided that it would be a good idea to tell me stories about his youthful indiscretions. There was the first time he got drunk, which was when he was ten. He spent that afternoon sleeping it off in the gym’s equipment room. The other stories had to do with the times he was almost arrested for public nudity. What is it with boys getting drunk and taking their clothes off in public?
Shockingly we dated for awhile. He cracked me up, I didn’t delude myself too much, though, I knew we wouldn’t be picking out china someday, or anything, but he could always make me laugh. Who else, for Easter, would buy me a hollow chocolate Hercules (from totally heroic Saturday on Global)?
The secret to not ending up with these stories is to not go out with people just because they like YOU but rather because you like them too. It wastes a lot less time to handle it that way. At any rate, happy hunting, and good luck.
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