So the Committee was back in town for Labor Day weekend. Five days of going out. Four days of meeting strangers. More specifically, four days of flirting with women. As you can imagine, it was as hilariously awkward, poignant, and infuriating all at the same time. All of the following are actual things said to me during from Thursday to Monday, in no specific order.
“You look rich.”
Listen, I’m not rich. I don’t pretend to be, nor do I care that people subscribe to whatever they believe about my wealth. I don’t want to attract women that are attracted to money. I’m no sugar daddy, at best, I’m a Splenda daddy. That being said, a good first impression means something. I guess I would prefer “charming and witty” as the impression, but I think there’s worse than “rich”. All I’ll say is that spending a little extra money for your haircut and having a great tailor does wonders.
“Are you 35?”
Pretty much after the age of 21, your birthday milestones have diminishing returns. No one really understands the cosmic significance of year 24, but I feel like 30 is a big one. At the tender age of 29, this stung a little. Overshooting a bit to the early 30’s seems fine, but 35 is quite a bit older. I blame my looks. I’ve looked the same since I was 20, and I’ll probably look the same until I’m 50. Problems. The stress lines from a near permanent scowl probably don’t help either. Note to self: Moisturize.
“You look like a relationship type of guy, and a one night stand type of guy.”
Apparently these are the things that women will say to you when they’re a few drinks in. I’m not exactly sure exactly what precipitated those comments, as we were having a relatively normal conversation beforehand, or as much as you can in a bar featuring taxidermy. I wasn’t aware that I gave off a certain vibe trending in either direction, but I guess this is a compliment? She could see both the potential for something long lasting as well as temporary? I could be a mistake, but also possibly a longer mistake!!
“Ohhhh, I wanna dance with somebody!!!”
To be fair, everyone at the club was yelling that. God I love this Whitney Houston song.
“What kind of Asian am I?”
Turns out she was Japanese, but still, that’s kind of a no-win situation there. I mean sure, she asked the question, but stabbing at ethnicities is a sure fire way find yourself in hot water. To add to the awkward, she was super aggressive about me answering. A simple pleading of the Fifth was not going to cut it.
“God, I just like, want to rape you right now.”
This was word for word. The conversation started with her saying to me, “Hey, I love how you dress.” I say thank you, and lean in to introduce myself. She grazes my jacket and asks, “Is that suede?” I say yes, and that gem pops out. To her credit, she immediately slammed her hands over her mouth. I arched my eyebrows, and after about 3 seconds of silence, burst out laughing. I bought her a drink as she eagerly broke down the rest of my outfit. Pretty sure the thing that sealed the deal was the fact that I was wearing a t-shirt made for me by one of the kids that I coach (thanks kiddo).
Shut up. Stop saying that! You are seriously the only person here thinking that!
Okay, this one is a bit of cheat. The Woman said this to me last weekend. I find that self-deprecation is a great ice-breaker, and I was saying something akin to looking like a troll standing next to her. I had been saying this all weekend, and she grabbed me by the arm halfway through the trip, turned me to face her, and said that. She followed that with, “The only thing that people are going to think is that we’re two attractive people having fun.” Self-confidence, especially when it comes to appearance, is something that I’ve always struggled with, and hearing that was assuring in its own way. That’s honestly the one thing I just leaned on this whole weekend, conversation and confidence.
Fuck them, they were bitches.
Everyone has to deal with rejection, and to be frank, the Committee has had to deal with more rejection than most, and pretty humiliating ones at that. The last night we went out, he brought a friend. And that night, it was just spectacular flame out after flame out. It wasn’t just a matter of chemistry not working, it was just a catastrophe, to the point where I would just stop talking and step back to watch the disaster unfold. At the end of it, the Committee’s friend says to us that exact phrases. That’s pretty much when I knew I was done for the night. I understand that he was trying to make everyone feel better, but a few things. First, I don’t give a fuck. Not the first time I’ve been rejected, nor will it be the last, and it’s part of existence. Second, it’s this sort of toxic and casual misogyny that slowly poisons mindsets towards women. I get that you’re trying to make your friend feel better, but in what world is it necessary to insult these women, who have every right to act as they please. At that point, I was pretty much done, so I parted ways.
Honestly, the weekend was fun, but exhausting. I don’t know how people can go out night after night without end. My sleep schedule was destroyed, I had so much fucking club stamp ink on my right wrist it looked like I had actually gotten a tattoo. I have no idea what they make that ink out of, but it is actually impossible to scrub off. The one thing I will say though, is that still, there is never enough dancing in my life, and for some reason I went to not one, but two places where they had taxidermy on display while we were at the bar.
Never again. I don’t need a stuffed monkey judging me for my life decisions.