The Pretender

"What's the story Norm?"

"Boy meets beer. Boy drinks beer. Boy meets another beer."

Women all around the country are pretending. For some reason or another, we have all decided that everything we have ever known about ourselves, and everything we’ve always believed in, should be tossed into a bonfire, until our fragments of personality have been singed beyond recognition. As I watch my own livelihood go up in smoke, and many of my friends, I think what is the purpose for this? Why such great action with the possibility of no reaction?

The reason is simple: Men. We want them. Sometimes, we want them so badly, that we are willing to change ourselves completely, and become the ideal version of who we are. But no, that can’t be true.

My ideal does not pretend to enjoy things that I normally would abhor doing. My ideal enjoys writing and reading, and watching television, and sometimes spending obscene amounts of money on something I most likely will never wear.

Am I describing a stereotype? No, I am describing me. The woman every man hates. The aberrations are false; just like you like beer and sports, most of the time we like our own version of shallow shit.

I suppose it should be simple. We mold to the person we are dating. We want to understand their knowledge, and to understand it we must unearth it for ourselves. But to the degree that I generally run into, it seems to be abnormally high, and the fact is we can only fake it for so long. The things women normally only pretend to care about, luckily have a positive reaction. It creates instant gratification with men, and often, becomes something two people can bond over. The problem is, is it worth bonding over something superficial when it comes to matters of the heart?

Women today have gone too far. We are becoming submissive, and we can’t help ourselves. It’s not about important things anymore. It’s about believing that seeming overly promiscuous and actually, enjoying playing Madden will win over our guy in mind.

Do they win out in the end? Can we stop ourselves before it’s too late? The clock is ticking to just be yourself before we all become fem-bots of men’s idyllic reality.

Example #1: "Johnny Damon is so hot"

Women today love sports. It seems like you see women at sporting games much more often than ever before. My step-dad brought up a point that it’s a great place to meet men. “Men love seeing women at hockey games, the men are drunk, and just go up, chat them up about Ovechkin, and you’re in.”

But I know nothing about Ovechkin. I should pretend? Yes, he says, I should. The reason for this? Because some girl wearing her jersey like a bikini is right behind me with full knowledge of this man. She must have researched right before the game.

Women that get into football or baseball or even hockey, sometimes golf (for that old guy you’re crushing on), and throw it all around their facebooks/myspace/into conversations/wear jerseys at inopportune times to catch attention. Are you really excited for the game today? Thank God you got out of work early to watch Monday Night Football.

The real question is: whom do you want to be reading, hearing, or seeing this? Not me, I assume.

There are some women who actually are sports fanatics. They are not just shooting shit, hoping to catch a number, or to excite some guy for about 60 seconds. They have general smarts when it comes to the games.

You can catch these women fast too. They are the women who ask first. They do not wait to be asked. They are in your face, with statistics, player’s numbers, and quoting games from 1997.

I am in awe of these women and this is mostly, because I will never be one of these women. Not because I can’t watch a Red Sox double header (no idea what that means, faking it right here), and not get excited and scream the f-word and call the players losers, or because I can’t sit through a football game, and really root for someone because honestly, sometimes it feels good to root for someone.

But because they didn’t try for you, they did it for them. And that is something to be admired.

Example #2: “Oh yeah, I’d be down for that”

We are lying. Straight up lying 90% of the time. We are not down for threesomes, girl on girl, one night stands, anal sex, sending you perverted pictures, giving blow jobs, doing the 69 position (it’s not high school), role playing, or doing it in your parent’s house.

None of these at first glance are hot. Women do always say, “Well, maybe with the right person.” That is the first truth. Maybe with the right person we could do all of the above, and not think twice about it.

The chances you are the right person? Getting slimmer every time you ask.

But we will play it up. We will pretend. We will drunk text you, and tell you we were thinking about some raucous, raunchy night with you, and then randomly, pass out after said text. Is this alcohol coming in to save the day? Or are we running scared because we are just messing with your mind, and had no plans of anything we were saying?

I’m going to say a mixture of both.

Although women love to push the limits sexually, we may just be saying it. I can say, firsthand, we do not know why. We know we want you to get excited and want us, but the explanation after we decide it’s a no-go makes it counteract.

Men always love to say I know women who do this though, women that love doing this.

I have heard women say it too. I have heard women say they love giving blowjobs, and prefer it to sex. I have heard women say that they are bisexual, and would definitely allow a woman to come into their relationship. I have heard women say they enjoy anal over vaginal sex.

Never mind the crowd of men behind me salivating, barely catching their breath, as they linger on these women’s every word. Those women are clearly being honest.

Example #3: “I love your friends, they’re so funny”

I have always liked all my ex-boyfriends friends, kind of.

I think between your boyfriend’s friends and you, there is an oath being taken on arrival. We will be cordial, we will find one thing in common with each other, and if we do not get along, we will soak that one thing for all it’s worth.

I had a boyfriend where my best friend and him shared a common bond, which was smoking cigarettes. That was all they liked about each other. Otherwise, they couldn’t stand the sight of each other. But when they wanted a cigarette before bed, they couldn’t wait to see each other, and sit in silence, puffing.

Nothing is more awkward than meeting the friends. The fact is the friends are always going to slightly hate you. You are taking their friend away. And although, they are happy for you, and are grateful that you make their friend happy, you are still the person cockblocking their time with their friend.

That’s why in movies, television, books, any kind of media, when a girlfriend or wife leaves the boys alone, they all sigh, and say, “Thank God she’s gone.”

Did you ever notice they then go back to doing what they really want to do? That they can’t do it while she’s there? Pretending. It’s both sexes.

We all do love to pretend, but I guess I just don’t see the point sometimes. Will it keep me from someone if I’m not a fan of the Knicks, or if I don’t like the taste of beer, or if I can’t see why Tiger Woods is the shit? Will I get in trouble to be honest one day and say his disgusting friend, is indeed disgusting?

If that is a part of who you are, why does it have to be a part of who I am? I don’t really see that as a form of compromise. It seems more like an intense game of arm wrestling.

Perhaps, this is why I’m missing out on finding love. Maybe it should help I know the Phillies won tonight in the end of the 9^th inning. But I don’t think it will, and even if it did, I wouldn’t broadcast it.

I’d just put it in my blog.

The Flasher

"Pour you a beer, Mr. Peterson?"

"Alright, but stop me at one... make that one-thirty."

Location: Fast Eddies, Fairfax, VA (hey, I said I was a person of pattern).

Time: 11:41 pm till closing time.

Situation: My friend Mel and I had set up to go to the bar after work because she never works Mondays, and picked up a shift for our fellow co-worker.

Our other co-worker Keisha “Who gon check me boo?” was suppose to go with us but decided to be MIA for the evening. This greatly saddened us, so to replace our girlfriend I went with the next best choice, Bryan.

We all were just sitting around, having a few beers, shooting the shit, when the talk of flashing people aroused into the conversation.

I talked about how in my day; I have flashed a few people. This would normally embarrass or insinuate that I was some type of floozy, slut, hobag, whore, hussy, bitch stealing boyfriend, but sadly I am none of these things.

I’m just trying to make the men of tomorrow maybe a little happier. There is nothing wrong with an extra kick to someone’s step over a sexual overture.

Some people may think I do it for attention, and attention is great don’t get me wrong, but I can get it many other ways that don’t involve being a total pervert.

Sidebar: This was also in my young years. When kids are still trying to figure out who they are and who they are going to be. By this I mean, don’t judge me. It’s not worth it.

Mel: One time when I was driving home from a game, it was so hot outside my gay friend and I just got completely naked in the backseat.

Kate: What? I don’t even think that would make me any cooler.

Mel: It was okay though; it was just my gay friend and I, and a bunch of our girlfriends. No one looked.

Kate: Yeah right. One time when I was like 20 I was drinking in my car with my friends in the driveway at my house, and I just took my top off, and drank like that for a few hours.

Mel: Now that’s just bizarre. You are such a whore.

All of a sudden, a blonde, pale skinned man approaches me. Bryan had mentioned that he had been checking Mel and I out, but we both didn’t believe him. He was cute in a way. Kind of Fred Durst meets Lord of the Rings and might be a poetry major. Just saying this because he was wearing a beret.

Drew: I was overhearing some of your conversation, and just thought I would come over and say hi.

Kate: Hi.

Bryan: What exactly did you hear?

Mel: You heard us talking about flashing people and getting naked, didn’t you?

Drew: I just heard you all talking, and wanted to come over. Whad does id mattah whad I heard? You guys arrree cool, man.

He was stumbling hard with his words, his body, and definitely was not articulating.

Kate: So, you were listening to our conversation about being naked?

Drew: Yes, sounded awesome! And I have to come talk to these people.

Kate: Well, that’s very nice of you Drew. We were just getting into why Mel was buck-naked in the backseat of a car one time.

Drew: You are a cool girl.

Kate: Yeah, Drew she is cool. She also loves to have sex without a condom.

Drew: Wow, you’re great too and funny.

Bryan: You were checking them out before weren’t you Drew?

Mel: Yeah right, you were only checking Kate out, I saw you Drew. Kate will show you her boobs if you want her to.

Just then Mel grabs my v-neck with her finger, and tries to force it down.

Kate: We are not playing that way tonight, Mel.

Drew: Oh damn, what we got down there? I wouldn't mind taking a peak.

Kate: Okay, let’s go back to what Mel’s sex partner number is.

We continued talking normally, while Drew was standing there. I had to get her back for the drunkard she tried to push me on blogs ago, but it seemed to not be working the way I had hoped.

Finally, I told Drew it was nice to meet him, and he went back to his seat two barstools away.

Bryan: What was wrong with him? Kate, if you go home with him tonight I will be so proud of you.

Mel: Why would you want her to go home with him? I thought she was your friend.

Kate: You should lose respect for me if I did. And I’m only going home with him if Mel comes too.

Mel: Oh yeah, cause Bryan is not giving us the sex sandwich tonight.

Kate: No, he is sadly not. I call the beret.

As we joked about Drew, and saw him dance alone in front of his barstool, I sat thinking maybe I could talk to him. Maybe we could form a relationship, have a long courtship, get engaged, and maybe marriage? We would have little elves running around in no time.

Just as I was debating my case, a girl, a cute girl, walked in, and picked up some balls to play pool with Drew. Drew has a girl? A cute girl? To play pool with?

And just like that, I lost my soul mate.

The Bars

"What's going down, Normie?"

"My butt cheeks on that bar stool."

My efforts to meet men seem to be not as successful as one would have hoped. It could be the bars, the people I go with, the atmosphere, or it could be me. Let’s just pretend for a second, and be in complete denial, that it is not me. That it’s the bars, that it’s them, that maybe I’m sitting too close to my friends and seeming attached, that you can’t make a strong connection next to a pool table. I think that sounds plausible. The fact is, even if I do seem reserved, even if I am talking intensely with my friends, even if I’m not as plowed as the girl sitting next to me spread eagle with a dress on and no underwear, these factors should not affect someone’s cunning prowess of yours truly. I have decided I must decipher these bars with more thought than I have even debated giving them. I need to get to the root of the problem. I need to blame it on the bars, and just go out thinking, it’s not me, it’s definitely you.

I’ll start with Fast Eddies. I do go there regularly. Probably at least once a week, to do research, not just on what type of guy I want, but to witness people’s attempts at getting laid, even if it’s not sadly with me. But the fact remains; do I even want that from any of the people that frequent that joint? I would have to say most likely, not. I realize this is counter-productive for my general cause, but it is a very convenient bar for me to go to. This could be misconstrued as I do not want to find anyone, and that I am not exactly putting myself out there. But my case is this; at least once every few weeks there is one hot guy there. And every time no one is ever hitting on him. Why? He is the untouchable. He reigns so supreme that he becomes almost a figment of my imagination, an image I must have conjured up because I have had one too many beers. He is the enigma, and he’s frightening. Women see him and assume two things, he has a significant other already, or that every bitch is about to pull hair to get to him. Thus, he goes home unsatisfied as well, and we all kick ourselves, and tell our friends, “Oh he’ll be back, next time I’ll go up to him.” But thinking about it now, he’ll never be back. Why would he go back to a place where everyone is looking at him with shocked awe?

Eddies also has a common clientele. The same people, sitting in the same places, talking about the same things, and nothing changes for anyone, thus why people go. It’s my cushion bar. I can look like shit, smell bad, and drink cheap beer, and not have anyone bat an eye. This, of course, is a huge pro for me, but clearly, not great in the scheme of the blog. The blog wants me to be different; it wants me to spread my wings, let loose, and go home with someone that might be unclean. The blog dares me to change, and I stay in my stagnant old pool hall. Eddies must have hot, normal, men lurking in some dark corner. It is flooded with men, because it is suppose to be a cheap, sports, billiard bar, but they are all busy doing other things, whether it be playing pool, playing the fake video bowling game, playing poker in the front room, singing karaoke, or eating pizza, they are all not zoning in on getting tail.

PJ Skidoos is a tiny bit more upscale, and has a variety of different people. Old, young, college, not college, salary earners, and hourly earners, basically there is something for everyone. There is not much more to do then gaze at people, and try to find your prey. You can either talk with friends or hit the dance floor, both of which have greater possibilities. The less activities you can do at a bar, the greater chance for a social connection, basically because you are bored and have no other choice. For women and men, this bar seems to be an easier setup than others for it’s lack of novelties, and it’s smaller bar area.

For the men out there, I know everyone likes going to Hooters but it is mostly pointless for meeting women. I do not mind going to Hooters with people, but the fact remains that very few women do go to Hooters to hang out. And I would say 9 times out of 10, the waitress is not really interested in you. She is working you, she is making her money, and she will give you that fake number that has the recording saying, “This is a fake number because you are a loser and ugly, and she didn’t like you, so fuck off.” Yes, there really is a number that does that. I wish I had it. Hooters is a place to gawk, not to attract and build relationships. If you have found love at Hooters, cheers to you, but don’t tell your friends because you are the exception, and it will never happen for them. You have already become that 1 in 100 people.

Hard Times is a conundrum to me all in itself. Sure, there are a lot of men there. And it is big, and a lot of Mason students do frequent it, and it does have good chili. And there lies the problem. Chili. Who wants to go home with someone who just ate a bowl of chili with cheese, peppers, beans, ground beef, and to top it off, onions? If you have had six beers, a bowl of chili, and a guy wants to take you home? Just go home. What is going to happen in his bathroom after the coitus is just simply not worth it. He will remember you, and not in a good way. I just can’t believe anyone has made a true love connection at Hard Times, but if you have, you know that it’s real. That must be real love to hear someone farting all night, and most likely, all morning, and still wanting to call them again.

Although, I enjoy these bars, and I do go to them regularly, the search for a new, fun, low-key, Fairfax bar is in order. Bars should be like speed dating, and instead they are filled with other attractions such as playing pool and sampling five different types of chili. I’m not saying don’t go to these bars to find your mate, but do be mindful that your odds just skyrocketed. Like I said, it’s got to be the bars, it’s got to be.