Even though we don't always act like it, women are a gift. After all, didn't God give the woman to Adam?
Don't treat women like they are a thorn in your flesh, pain in your side, nuisance. Don't speak to them like they exist solely for your pleasure. Don't toss them around like disposable napkins.
How do you speak to the women in your life? Are you respectful and kind or are you cavalier and obscene? How do you speak about them?
Even though we don't always act like it, we're listening. And if you're running your mouth and treating women in a way that is anything other than respectfully - we notice and we won't be inclined to let you lead us.
You might wanna think about that.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Tip #37
Here's a Tip:
If she doesn't respond when you text her, it probably means:
1. She doesn't want you to text her.
2. She has nothing to say to you. Ever. Again.
3. If you're lucky, it means she doesn't have anything nice to say so she's not saying anything at all.
What it does NOT mean is:
1. She wants you to keep texting her.
2. You should blow up her phone with texts until she responds.
3. She's away from her phone and doesn't know you sent her a text. (ok. this one could be true. but let's face it: if she wants to hear from you, she's gonna have her phone close by in case you do text her. I promise. that's how it works.)
If she doesn't respond - don't keep texting. Just don't. Don't wait until the next day and text again. Just stop.
Or I will break your face with my phone.
If she doesn't respond when you text her, it probably means:
1. She doesn't want you to text her.
2. She has nothing to say to you. Ever. Again.
3. If you're lucky, it means she doesn't have anything nice to say so she's not saying anything at all.
What it does NOT mean is:
1. She wants you to keep texting her.
2. You should blow up her phone with texts until she responds.
3. She's away from her phone and doesn't know you sent her a text. (ok. this one could be true. but let's face it: if she wants to hear from you, she's gonna have her phone close by in case you do text her. I promise. that's how it works.)
If she doesn't respond - don't keep texting. Just don't. Don't wait until the next day and text again. Just stop.
Or I will break your face with my phone.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Soooo Not a Date
I had an outing last night. While some may confuse a guy asking a girl to hang out one on one as a date, this was not in fact, a date; just a couple of friends hanging out. But this turned out to be an outing with too many entertaining aspects to just let it slide by without making an appearance here. Refer to the previous post, T-Shirts and Twilight and you'll get a preview, as I spent my evening with the very same Dick.
Bless his heart.
He's trying really hard to make some improvements in his life, and so I was very pleasantly pleased when he text me early in the week asking if he could please reserve an evening of my time this week. I fully expected him to be a half hour early, in a tuxedo t-shirt, and wearing crocs, but he had done so well in politely asking to hang out with me so many days in advance that I had to agree (not to mention the fact that the other two contributors to this blog and I made a deal to never turn down a potential Weebles entry experience).
I suggested we go to a movie. In conjunction with being highly inappropriate 75% of the time, Richard has a knack for being kinda grabby, so I felt like a movie was a safe outing for us. We wouldn't have to talk, but we'd still be hanging out. But Richard wasn't gonna let that fly; much to my hesitation, I agreed to go to a bar that's down the road from my house for a few drinks with him. He had offered to come to my side of town - so again, I had to agree.
Bless his heart.
He was half an hour late, but we eventually made it to the place. Relatively early for a Thursday night, it was more or less empty when we walked in. We were making our way to a couple of stools at the bar when all of the sudden someone starts yelling my name. I mean, yelling my name. I weirdly start looking around the dark room - who on earth would yell in a place like this? - when a man at a table on the opposite side stands up, holds his arms out, and starts walking towards me. Good 'ol Dick left me standing awkwardly in the middle of the bar and made his way without me to his seat, while this stranger yelling my name continued towards me.
Thankfully, I did know this guy (and only figured it out when he said his name in my ear while he was hugging me. That was fun). He turned out to be, not a stalker, but my former boss; a very kind man who always thought very highly of me but is just old enough and has just enough of a creeper inebriate thing going for him that he can make a single girl feel oogey. I kept looking over at Richard in hopes that he'd rescue me, but he was preoccupied with the new friend he was making - the guy sitting at the bar next to him.
I escaped and finally grabbed a seat next to Richard, who'd already ordered a drink for himself (really, this wasn't a date), and he introduced me to his new Padna' - Mr. Richard Glasscock (it's probably not cool for me to use this guy's real name, but that was his REAL NAME so, I just have to). There I was, sitting in between the Dicks, who were swapping stories about some Louisiana delicacy that is known as a slang term that even I won't type out loud.
Bless my heart.
I was sitting there, counting the bottles behind the bar and swirling the ice in my glass trying to figure out how on earth I could find a way to contribute to this conversation, when lo and behold - my dreams came true! In the door came a whole host of Aggies in town for the bowl game lookin for a cool place to grab some libations. (I only hang out at cool places, so clearly they had made a good choice.) It was like a scene in a movie: someone dreamy walks in the door, time slows, the wind blows, a strange light appears, and they suddenly have the need to run their very Texan looking hand through their longish tresses. Through the door walked a guy who looked exactly like my very favorite pretend high school football player. I quickly shot an excited text to erikascrimp who promptly gave me permission to ditch Richard.
Bless my heart!
If only I were a woman without moral scruples, I would have done just that. But alas, I loyally stayed put and lamely attempted to re-engage the Richards - who now, were discussing how adorable my friend Richard & I were together. Why on earth wasn't this a date and why hadn't my Richard made a move yet? Oh Lord. My Richard was LOVING this guy. Coincidentally at that very moment, one of the bartenders came up to me, leaned his elbows on the bar, leaned forward and said, "Hey stranger."
In the dark room, under his dark baseball hat, I realized that this stranger happened to be my very first ever major crush, circa 1996ish. Turns out, he spent so much time hanging out at this particular watering hole, they hired him to bartend (I have very good taste). Ever hour he'd spent in that place showed well on him, and the mullet he now has gave the Dicks quite a bit of ammo for their argument that I should be "with" my Richard. That was fun for me.
We finally got a standing, leaning, slurring goodbye from the other Dick (my Richard informed me that the standing and leaning was so that Dick could get a good look at "the ladies", and then he proceeded to inform me that he too does that from time to time. That was fun for me). And about that time, all the TCU cats were coming out for their Thursday evening shenanigans [side story: this place is very much so a "jeans and t-shirt" kind of place, so imagine my annoyance when all these Phillies show up in cute little dresses and goin' out clothes. One of these said females skips up to the bar right next to me to order a drink and shamelessly squealed to the bartender "I looooooooooooove your shirt!!!!! (which was a black t-shirt that read something like, "I need to find my zombies") Perplexed, I had to ask her what his shirt meant. "Is that a band or something?" Bless her heart. She looked at me like I was out of place and said "I just like zombies." Oh. Well. Obviously]. I finally convinced my friend that it was time.to.leave. His friend had left. My Texan football player had left. And zombies had become a hot topic. (Richard was very excited to tell me the he preferred to fight zombies and not robots in the Apocalypse).
He paid his tab. I paid my tab (not a date). I drove (again, not a date) us back to my house and politely, since it was so cold of course, dropped Richard off at his door before pulling my car into the garage. Hoping I'd escaped an oogey, prolonged goodbye hug, Richard gets out, walks to my side of the car, opens my door and wants a hug. Did I mention it was cold?!
That was fun for me.
Bless his heart.
He's trying really hard to make some improvements in his life, and so I was very pleasantly pleased when he text me early in the week asking if he could please reserve an evening of my time this week. I fully expected him to be a half hour early, in a tuxedo t-shirt, and wearing crocs, but he had done so well in politely asking to hang out with me so many days in advance that I had to agree (not to mention the fact that the other two contributors to this blog and I made a deal to never turn down a potential Weebles entry experience).
I suggested we go to a movie. In conjunction with being highly inappropriate 75% of the time, Richard has a knack for being kinda grabby, so I felt like a movie was a safe outing for us. We wouldn't have to talk, but we'd still be hanging out. But Richard wasn't gonna let that fly; much to my hesitation, I agreed to go to a bar that's down the road from my house for a few drinks with him. He had offered to come to my side of town - so again, I had to agree.
Bless his heart.
He was half an hour late, but we eventually made it to the place. Relatively early for a Thursday night, it was more or less empty when we walked in. We were making our way to a couple of stools at the bar when all of the sudden someone starts yelling my name. I mean, yelling my name. I weirdly start looking around the dark room - who on earth would yell in a place like this? - when a man at a table on the opposite side stands up, holds his arms out, and starts walking towards me. Good 'ol Dick left me standing awkwardly in the middle of the bar and made his way without me to his seat, while this stranger yelling my name continued towards me.
Thankfully, I did know this guy (and only figured it out when he said his name in my ear while he was hugging me. That was fun). He turned out to be, not a stalker, but my former boss; a very kind man who always thought very highly of me but is just old enough and has just enough of a creeper inebriate thing going for him that he can make a single girl feel oogey. I kept looking over at Richard in hopes that he'd rescue me, but he was preoccupied with the new friend he was making - the guy sitting at the bar next to him.
I escaped and finally grabbed a seat next to Richard, who'd already ordered a drink for himself (really, this wasn't a date), and he introduced me to his new Padna' - Mr. Richard Glasscock (it's probably not cool for me to use this guy's real name, but that was his REAL NAME so, I just have to). There I was, sitting in between the Dicks, who were swapping stories about some Louisiana delicacy that is known as a slang term that even I won't type out loud.
Bless my heart.
I was sitting there, counting the bottles behind the bar and swirling the ice in my glass trying to figure out how on earth I could find a way to contribute to this conversation, when lo and behold - my dreams came true! In the door came a whole host of Aggies in town for the bowl game lookin for a cool place to grab some libations. (I only hang out at cool places, so clearly they had made a good choice.) It was like a scene in a movie: someone dreamy walks in the door, time slows, the wind blows, a strange light appears, and they suddenly have the need to run their very Texan looking hand through their longish tresses. Through the door walked a guy who looked exactly like my very favorite pretend high school football player. I quickly shot an excited text to erikascrimp who promptly gave me permission to ditch Richard.
Bless my heart!
If only I were a woman without moral scruples, I would have done just that. But alas, I loyally stayed put and lamely attempted to re-engage the Richards - who now, were discussing how adorable my friend Richard & I were together. Why on earth wasn't this a date and why hadn't my Richard made a move yet? Oh Lord. My Richard was LOVING this guy. Coincidentally at that very moment, one of the bartenders came up to me, leaned his elbows on the bar, leaned forward and said, "Hey stranger."
In the dark room, under his dark baseball hat, I realized that this stranger happened to be my very first ever major crush, circa 1996ish. Turns out, he spent so much time hanging out at this particular watering hole, they hired him to bartend (I have very good taste). Ever hour he'd spent in that place showed well on him, and the mullet he now has gave the Dicks quite a bit of ammo for their argument that I should be "with" my Richard. That was fun for me.
We finally got a standing, leaning, slurring goodbye from the other Dick (my Richard informed me that the standing and leaning was so that Dick could get a good look at "the ladies", and then he proceeded to inform me that he too does that from time to time. That was fun for me). And about that time, all the TCU cats were coming out for their Thursday evening shenanigans [side story: this place is very much so a "jeans and t-shirt" kind of place, so imagine my annoyance when all these Phillies show up in cute little dresses and goin' out clothes. One of these said females skips up to the bar right next to me to order a drink and shamelessly squealed to the bartender "I looooooooooooove your shirt!!!!! (which was a black t-shirt that read something like, "I need to find my zombies") Perplexed, I had to ask her what his shirt meant. "Is that a band or something?" Bless her heart. She looked at me like I was out of place and said "I just like zombies." Oh. Well. Obviously]. I finally convinced my friend that it was time.to.leave. His friend had left. My Texan football player had left. And zombies had become a hot topic. (Richard was very excited to tell me the he preferred to fight zombies and not robots in the Apocalypse).
He paid his tab. I paid my tab (not a date). I drove (again, not a date) us back to my house and politely, since it was so cold of course, dropped Richard off at his door before pulling my car into the garage. Hoping I'd escaped an oogey, prolonged goodbye hug, Richard gets out, walks to my side of the car, opens my door and wants a hug. Did I mention it was cold?!
That was fun for me.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
T-shirts and Twilight
I have this guy-frend. For all intents and puposes, let's call him Richard. Ol' Dick and I tend to spend a great deal of time with one another (few druken marriage proposals from him aside) and I truly tend to enjoy his company. To be honest, I allowed a dangerous flirtation with pseudo-dating, but considering neither of us is seriously interested in the dating business, we continue to pass the time by spontaneous friend dates. This is the kind of friend that I once asked "What would you change about me if you could?" And he answered. And I regretted asking. Figures.
There has been, however, one established date. And this is that story.
Before the Twilight series came to film, I jumped on the book bandwagon at the behest of my friends. I then journeyed on and eventually forced Dick to watch the movie with me (which he fondly entitled "Twister" or "Twizzler"). I then told him a brief synopsis of the rest of the story and he said that when the next movie (which he entitled "Boo Moon") came out, he would take me on a "real date" to see it. Free movie and dinner? Sure. My response: "As long as you pay and bring flowers."
I should mention that we referred back to the coming promise of this date for at least 3 months.
The day comes and we plan to attend with a couple of friends of ours (one a contributor to this blog who can attest to the validity of this story) and he arrives. Let me paint a picture:
1. He is wearing a tuxedo t-shrt, jeans,and sports coat (Really? are you MOCKING me?)
2. His first words are "I was going to stop by and get flowers ay CVS, but I didn't."
3. He has no money to pay for the movie ticket.
There is a phrase, a sort of MO if you will, that I have come to live by.
"I am sorry, but I do not have time to teach you how to be a man."
I do adore Dick; however, I am prepared for next time: I have a bikini t-shirt in my drawer ready and "allowed" him to buy my dinner/drinks at the next druken proposal opportunity. Fair is fair, ya know?
There has been, however, one established date. And this is that story.
Before the Twilight series came to film, I jumped on the book bandwagon at the behest of my friends. I then journeyed on and eventually forced Dick to watch the movie with me (which he fondly entitled "Twister" or "Twizzler"). I then told him a brief synopsis of the rest of the story and he said that when the next movie (which he entitled "Boo Moon") came out, he would take me on a "real date" to see it. Free movie and dinner? Sure. My response: "As long as you pay and bring flowers."
I should mention that we referred back to the coming promise of this date for at least 3 months.
The day comes and we plan to attend with a couple of friends of ours (one a contributor to this blog who can attest to the validity of this story) and he arrives. Let me paint a picture:
1. He is wearing a tuxedo t-shrt, jeans,and sports coat (Really? are you MOCKING me?)
2. His first words are "I was going to stop by and get flowers ay CVS, but I didn't."
3. He has no money to pay for the movie ticket.
There is a phrase, a sort of MO if you will, that I have come to live by.
"I am sorry, but I do not have time to teach you how to be a man."
I do adore Dick; however, I am prepared for next time: I have a bikini t-shirt in my drawer ready and "allowed" him to buy my dinner/drinks at the next druken proposal opportunity. Fair is fair, ya know?
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Did You Get My Message?
There are a lot of awful things a man could say to a woman. Some of the delightful gems I've been told in the past:
Today, I got another delightful little nugget:
"You look nice today. Kinda like the wicked witch."
"She just has the things that you don't... I'm attracted to her."
"You have a terrific personality; you are a great girl... you just aren't pretty enough to actually date."
"Just because he's seeing someone else doesn't mean that you are not a great girl..."
Funny, right?
Right.
Friday, December 3, 2010
The Joke's On Me
I signed in to my "LinkedIn" profile today (something I do about once a month, maybe), and I began browsing the suggested connections they had supplied for me. I noticed a vaguely familiar name, and as I stared at it, the story began rushing back.
I was a 23 year old full-time graduate student and part-time case manager for a local non-profit agency when one of my coworkers began talking to me about her nephew, Bobby. Bobby was a sweet guy, she said. Bobby has a good job, but he stays too busy to date much. Bobby goes to church. Bobby said he'd like to meet you...
Woah! What? Yes, not only had she been talking to me about Bobby, she had been talking to Bobby about me.
Reluctantly, I gave her permission to share my phone number with Bobby, and sure enough, he called. He sounded very normal and polite on the phone and suggested a lunch date the following week. That sounded easy enough.
Clue number one that it wasn't going to work out came about 10 minutes into lunch when Bobby proudly told me that he'd argued with his mother and taken an opposing view in the recent hubbub over a new Hooter's restaurant coming to town. He was all for it! Honestly, it wasn't his stance on Hooter's that bothered me as much as his complete lack of sense that perhaps that wasn't the best conversation for a first date with a woman enrolled in seminary.
At the end of our time together, we walked out to his car, so that he could give me a cd of sermons and music recorded at his church to listen to before our next date. (Yes, I agreed to a second outing. Dinner the following week.)
When I got in my car, I called a friend who was waiting anxiously for a report. She answered the phone sounding out of breath and said, "I'm in a hurry. I want to hear all about it later, but for now, give me two words to describe the date." The first two words that came to mind were: Black Cadillac. The man drove a black Cadillac sedan, and his business card from a local bank said "Vice President of Lending."
I know those should be very attractive things, but I was basically a very young, practically poor, grad student pursuing a career in full time ministry. He was a 32 year old bank executive that drove a black Caddy. I felt no connection to his world.
We went out the following week. I met him (because in my previous job, I'd taught sexual assault prevention classes and knew better than to give a man my home address too quickly) at a very nice restaurant. This was back when wearing clothing and carrying accessories with your first initial bedazzled onto it was popular. I'll never forget how hard I fought the urge to laugh when I took my coat off, and the "K" on my lapel was revealed. Bobby said, "Oooo, that's pretty," just like a little boy.
That night when I called my friend, and she asked for two words, I had them ready: Presidential Memorabilia. And, two more: Homeowner's Association. Bobby had spent nearly three hours over dinner describing for me (the 23 year old girl with the bedazzled 'K' on her lapel) his collection of presidential memorabilia and his epic struggles as president of his homeowner's association. I was bored to tears.
I was very busy the next two times Bobby called, and then he didn't call again. I saw him two years later at a charity event. There were two women standing very close to him, and he smiled and nodded politely across the room.
Today, I curiously clicked on his LinkedIn professional profile. He's with a different bank now, with a different title: President. Perhaps I should have tried a little harder to grow up a little quicker for good ol' Bobby.
I was a 23 year old full-time graduate student and part-time case manager for a local non-profit agency when one of my coworkers began talking to me about her nephew, Bobby. Bobby was a sweet guy, she said. Bobby has a good job, but he stays too busy to date much. Bobby goes to church. Bobby said he'd like to meet you...
Woah! What? Yes, not only had she been talking to me about Bobby, she had been talking to Bobby about me.
Reluctantly, I gave her permission to share my phone number with Bobby, and sure enough, he called. He sounded very normal and polite on the phone and suggested a lunch date the following week. That sounded easy enough.
Clue number one that it wasn't going to work out came about 10 minutes into lunch when Bobby proudly told me that he'd argued with his mother and taken an opposing view in the recent hubbub over a new Hooter's restaurant coming to town. He was all for it! Honestly, it wasn't his stance on Hooter's that bothered me as much as his complete lack of sense that perhaps that wasn't the best conversation for a first date with a woman enrolled in seminary.
At the end of our time together, we walked out to his car, so that he could give me a cd of sermons and music recorded at his church to listen to before our next date. (Yes, I agreed to a second outing. Dinner the following week.)
When I got in my car, I called a friend who was waiting anxiously for a report. She answered the phone sounding out of breath and said, "I'm in a hurry. I want to hear all about it later, but for now, give me two words to describe the date." The first two words that came to mind were: Black Cadillac. The man drove a black Cadillac sedan, and his business card from a local bank said "Vice President of Lending."
I know those should be very attractive things, but I was basically a very young, practically poor, grad student pursuing a career in full time ministry. He was a 32 year old bank executive that drove a black Caddy. I felt no connection to his world.
We went out the following week. I met him (because in my previous job, I'd taught sexual assault prevention classes and knew better than to give a man my home address too quickly) at a very nice restaurant. This was back when wearing clothing and carrying accessories with your first initial bedazzled onto it was popular. I'll never forget how hard I fought the urge to laugh when I took my coat off, and the "K" on my lapel was revealed. Bobby said, "Oooo, that's pretty," just like a little boy.
That night when I called my friend, and she asked for two words, I had them ready: Presidential Memorabilia. And, two more: Homeowner's Association. Bobby had spent nearly three hours over dinner describing for me (the 23 year old girl with the bedazzled 'K' on her lapel) his collection of presidential memorabilia and his epic struggles as president of his homeowner's association. I was bored to tears.
I was very busy the next two times Bobby called, and then he didn't call again. I saw him two years later at a charity event. There were two women standing very close to him, and he smiled and nodded politely across the room.
Today, I curiously clicked on his LinkedIn professional profile. He's with a different bank now, with a different title: President. Perhaps I should have tried a little harder to grow up a little quicker for good ol' Bobby.
Friday, November 19, 2010
Tip O' the Day
In effort to help the guilty be... well, less guilty, it's only fair that we provide tips - hints, if you will - on how not to wobble.
My first tip?
If you want to spend time with me, tell me.
(DISCLAIMER: This is fresh on my mind, so I'm not gonna mince words.) Here's the thing: It doesn't do anything for a girl to feel like you could take or leave her. If you want to hang out with her, not just some random female, tell her! I get that it's cute and flirtatious to be aloof and "breezy" (I am currently guilty of working very hard to maintain "breezy".), but chuck that mindset right out the window and be intentional (do it on purpose; not by accident or because someone "happens to..."). I don't want to hear "If you want to..." or "If you happen to be out you could swing by". Don't ask me if I want to, tell me that you want to and I'll be right over. None of this "happen to" or "want to" or "could". Nothing makes a girl feel replaceable like a haphazard ask like that.
This works: "I would love to see you." or "Haven't seen you in a while... I would love to hang out with you." or for goodness sakes, the direct: "I want to see you." wouldn't hurt either. I don't want to go into a situation feeling like it's got nothing to do with me personally, you'd be happy hanging out with any 'ol girl. I want to know that you are interested in who I personally am. Ask to hang out with me because you want to hang out with me, not because you know I'm a good kisser.
So take a hint and be direct. It'll go a long way, I promise.
My first tip?
If you want to spend time with me, tell me.
(DISCLAIMER: This is fresh on my mind, so I'm not gonna mince words.) Here's the thing: It doesn't do anything for a girl to feel like you could take or leave her. If you want to hang out with her, not just some random female, tell her! I get that it's cute and flirtatious to be aloof and "breezy" (I am currently guilty of working very hard to maintain "breezy".), but chuck that mindset right out the window and be intentional (do it on purpose; not by accident or because someone "happens to..."). I don't want to hear "If you want to..." or "If you happen to be out you could swing by". Don't ask me if I want to, tell me that you want to and I'll be right over. None of this "happen to" or "want to" or "could". Nothing makes a girl feel replaceable like a haphazard ask like that.
This works: "I would love to see you." or "Haven't seen you in a while... I would love to hang out with you." or for goodness sakes, the direct: "I want to see you." wouldn't hurt either. I don't want to go into a situation feeling like it's got nothing to do with me personally, you'd be happy hanging out with any 'ol girl. I want to know that you are interested in who I personally am. Ask to hang out with me because you want to hang out with me, not because you know I'm a good kisser.
So take a hint and be direct. It'll go a long way, I promise.
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