I was out on a date with this guy from the financial world, and we were having basic first date conversations.
Him: “What do you do for a living?”
Me: “I’m a writer.”
Him: “I know, but like, what do you do for a living?”
Me: "I am a writer.”
Him: “But like, how do you make money?”
Me: “I. Am. A. Writer.”
…is this guy stupid or just that corporate? I pondered on top of how I could end the date faster.
Him: “So how much do you make?”
Me: “Do you want to know how much I weigh, too?”
I told him, a mean estimate of my earnings as it varies month to month. His response …
Him: “That's it?! You could be making twice that if you worked in sales.”
Oh. No. He. Didn’t.
Guys, just to clarify, if you're out walking a dog and you hear a girl go, "Hey cutie!" or "Look how cute you are," chances are, she's talking to the dog, not you. Even if you're cute too ... and that it's abnormal that we baby talk to random animals.
As cute and cuddly as dogs are — they make for great snugglers that don't talk back — they are not fishing lures for women.
When I was a freshman at Virginia Tech, this guy would always bring a little puppy through the girls hall in the dorms so it would run into their rooms. This was a technique for kidnapping women's attention. Again, we like the dog, not you. And we feel bad for it — a dog is not a prop.
Actually, men are more like cats and women are like dogs, if you think about it. To be continued.
My good friend Shana and I were getting our nails done, gossiping about our latest dating ventures, while the nail techs gossiped in another language. Likely making fun of Shana and I — we were referring to our nails as "claws," because, after all, we just might be becoming cougars.
Remember when I told you it was raining men? Well, for a couple of 30-year-olds like us, it's raining 20-somethings.
Shana was juggling two 23-year-olds, one of whom she had a Skype date with that night before we had a home-cooked dinner. After she “hung up” (or shut the computer screen down), she shouted to me in the kitchen. “I’m so torn between my two 23-year-olds!”
"We must be cougars in heat 'cause it really is raining men," I replied. "Hallelujah!" I shouted like I was leading the gospel choir.
We proceeded to start dancing around the kitchen, singing, Hallelujah, it's raining men! Hallelujah, it’s raining men! for a good minute or so until we heard:
“Shana! … Shana! … SHANNNNAAAAAAA!”
She covered my mouth and pulled me down to duck behind the kitchen island.
“Did you hear that?” she asked.
Then her phone, sitting next to her computer, started ringing. She crawled across the carpet to the couch like a sniper crawling through the woods.
It was there that she noticed that her iPod cord had kept her computer from closing entirely. The lovesick puppy had heard everything. She yanked the cord out so her laptop top could shut and ducked back down behind the couch cushions.
And then her phone rang again. And again. And again.
I just looked at her. "Welp, that solves that problem"[her being torn between two 23-year-olds, that is] … “and maybe this is probably why we’re attracting 20-somethings.”
There are better ways of going about getting a woman's attention ... than just walking up and biting her in the shoulder, then as she screams in pain say, "You smell good and look yummy." Such as the guy who did that to me the other night while I was minding my business talking to my girlfriends at the dive Tropicana.
What do I look like, a stack of pancakes?
I felt like slapping Jack, but I didn't. I just swatted my finger in front of his face and said, "No" like he was a dog. He did just bite me after all. Should I maybe get a rabies shot?
What. The. F%$#?
Has the vampire craze in Hollywood got guys acting like vampires? Or do they really exist? Because now I've developed a slight fear of them and have looked into garlic accessories.
What's even weirder about this is the fact this isn't the first time this has happened to me. That said, I feel the need to say that this is not the best way to pick up women. In fact, it may be the worst. Right in front bragging about how much money you have. Both equally annoying.
Make your mark in a better way than leaving teeth marks.
Boy meets girl, boy asks girl out on date, boy pays for first date: That's the typical evolution of a new relationship. But in some cases I've seen, boy starts paying for a lot more than the wining and dining, and this new relationship starts to evolve into a business deal instead.
I know a girl who has a new overpriced designer purse (that is just as functional as my little Target bag, but that's neither here nor there) every time I see her. She also always has her hair freshly done from a salon, a spray tan, a new expensive outfit, and her nails done. And she all of a sudden traded up her 2003 Honda for a brand-new BMW.
Did I mention she's a student and bartender? So what gives? ... she found a new boyfriend, that's what gives. Literally.
A boyfriend who always wants her to look her best, so thus spoils her with the means to so she can, for him. But the kicker is, he shows no real interest in taking their relationship any further. He gives her gifts, and she gives him her gift. The golden booty barter.
"Isn't that just legalized prostitution?" my non-filtered mouth blurted out.
She got defensive, claiming they're in love, but this guy is rarely around, and when she does see him, he just comes over to her place and uses her like a pre-paid booty call. She's never met his friends, and aside from the evidence of material things, he's like an imaginary boyfriend to her friends.
... I wouldn't exactly call that a meaningful relationship.
But I don't carry a gavel to work, so who am I to judge? All I know is that material things or monetary goods given for the exchange of sex is, in fact, prostitution.
She may not realize it, but she has herself a Sugar Daddy. Or as I like to call them, an Artificial Sweetener Daddy.
Last Sunday Funday, I was at the Rusty Rudder after a day out on the lake, when a guy came over and introduced himself. And that introduction included:
"It's so hard being rich and famous. I can't go out and have a good time without people watching me, and wanting to take a picture with me, when I'm just trying to chill."
I looked around to see who was watching us. No one was.
He continued: "I mean, I can't just go to a bar and have a good time. It sucks. I just want to be normal. You don't know how lucky you are."
How does one respond to this?: "I'm sorry ... what did you say your name was?"
Apparently, he was some contending champion in minor league-dirt track-NASCAR. I even work for 3 Wide Life, which covers all forms of racing, and I didn't know who he was. Now I have to ask, why would he do this? Is he paranoid schizophrenic? Or has this pick-up technique worked on women in the past? Even gold-diggers know that actions speak louder than words. All I know is that by trying to validate his coolness, he looked like a complete and utter dork (not to mention douche)
So don't do this guys ... being humble and secure in yourself makes you a lot more attractive to women than trying to sell yourself like a used car salesman.
The only thing worse than bad pick-up lines are my responses to them.
Dude: We should chill sometime.
Me: How does one chill? Do you want to hang out in a walk-in fridge or something?
Dude: Can I text you sometime?
Me: Whatever happened to talking? Like back in school when you use to say you were "talking" to someone. No one talks anymore.
Dude: If you were a booger, I'd pick you.
Me: Oh, do I have a booger? (lean head back) How's the weather — sunny, or cloudy?
Dude (with Coolio): That's my future baby mama! (pointing at me)
Me: Did you just call dibs on my uterus?
Dude: I saw you on Facebook.
Me: And I think I saw you on America's Most Wanted!
... and that is why I'm single.
What are some of the worst pick-up lines (or responses to them) you've heard?
I’m like Tucker Max …
… That’s a line used all too frequently by guys as either a conversation starter, or worse, a pick-up line.
Like the guy who approached me at The Liberty the other night.
Guy: Miss Cason, I’m sorry to interrupt you, but I wanted to introduce myself. I’m like Tucker Max.
Apparently he doesn't have his own name.
There’s somewhat of a burden in being Tucker Max’s protégé. Not the fact that people always assume that we’re sleeping together — because we’re not — but I have to put up with guys who actually use that line … on me. As much as I love Tucker as an author and mentor, I want a guy who is his own person … and especially not my big brother-boss.
This is typically how the conversation goes:
Dude: I’m like Tucker Max
Me: So you graduated Suma Cum Laude from University of Chicago and played basketball with Obama?
Me: So you got an academic scholarship to Duke Law and went on to write two bestselling books?
Me: Soooo, you pretty much just get drunk, fall down, shit on yourself and others, and then sleep with a bunch of women?
Dude: HELL YEAH!
Me: So, you’re just a douchebag?
Or worse … there’s the Tucker posers like this one …
Subject: Milwaukee TM Stop
This mail is sent via contact form on Brittney Cason http://brittneycason.com
I was at the Milwaukee Tucker Max book signing. I got to take my picture with you, which was almost as awesome as TM. I grabbed your ass, which you thought was funny once, but not twice lol. Sorry for pushing it, but I follow Mr. Max’s advice of living in a moment, and I doubt you actually remember this, a tons of guys hit on you every stop I’m sure. Well, just wanted to say hi, I’m a fan of yours now too! E-mail me back if you’d like haha
I showed this e-mail to Tucker …
... is a bottle of conditioner.
I’ve dated all kinds of men, all who had different means of displaying their love and affection.
From the guy who gave me the Sex and the City DVD box set on our third date to whatever Tiffany's jewelry is being advertised for any given holiday. The best gift I’ve ever gotten from a guy, however, was my own toothbrush and bottle of conditioner in his bathroom.
Not only is it a thoughtful, cute gift, but it's a way of showing a girl that he not only wants her around, but that she’s the only girl that he has around. 'Cause not too many guys use conditioner, and having some in the shower is a tell-tale sign that a woman showers there.
Ladies, don’t underestimate the sincerity of toiletries as a gift. Sure, jewelry is nice, but its value is nothing compared to that of true love from a guy. Actions speak louder than words ... and gifts.
A nice gift isn’t a supplement of emotions, and investing in a present will not increase your stock if you're not investing your time. A token of affection isn’t just some generic fancy gift bought because he has a lot of tokens to spend. It’s a thoughtful, meaningful act of love and token of affection. Such as putting conditioner in his shower so you can spend the night there and shower before you go have breakfast together.
I’d rather be taken on vacation than have some shiny necklace that is too nice to wear anyway. And who needs to be wined and dined when you can make homemade dinners together.
Real women don’t want to be spoiled with nice presents if there's no real thought behind it. They want their men to spoil them with adventures and time spent together. What we need from men is not available in stores — you can't put love on a credit card.
If men realized this, they’d save a lot of money and invest in a better class of women. Consider that like an insider trading tip, fellas.
Between the book tour, shooting 3 Wide Life and my career as a professional gypsy in general, I’ve been spending a lot of time on the road — or up in the air, rather. And at airports. Last week, I even had a layover in Charlotte going from Daytona to Austin. I’ve been traveling so much lately, I’m starting to say things like, “What time zone is it?”
… and the most action I’ve gotten is a TSA pat-down.
I am beginning to feel as though I am having a love affair with the TSA. As many of their members who have seen me naked (those in Charlotte, Milwaukee, Denver, Miami, and now, Texas), I kinda feel like a TSA whore, like a girl they just pass around.
Why is it that I have to get a body scan so often when going through airport security? Do I look like a terrorist? Do I walk like I’m smuggling illegal substances in my vagina? I mean, I do confuse people with my ethnicity; I’ve been asked if I was Persian and Cuban before.
On the way home to Charlotte, after stripping down to my bare feet, the guy monitoring the metal detector stopped me from passing and escorted me into the space shuttle-looking contraption where they strip you naked with X-ray vision.
Not again ...
But the thing is, I have the remains of a peace sign vajazzled on me. I couldn’t help but wonder if that’s what made me suspect. And how that is going to look to them on X-ray.
After I collected my bags, and put my clothes back on, I asked the guy running the body scans if I could have a copy of the X-rays to send my Orthopedic doctor. I’m due a round of them with him and I figured this could save money on the medical bill. It was the least they could do for turning me into an X-ray rated Playboy bunny. I wonder how much radiation I’ve had to take in from these photo shoots.
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