Evian is Naive Spelled Backward

Sometimes reality really does bite.

When you're in your early 20s, and fresh out of college, the world is at your feet. Everything is new and exciting. You're ready to take on the world. The thought of starting a career that provides a real paycheck (not just that minimum wage crap you've been used to since you were 16) is a little scary, but at the same time, inspiring. The first real career position offer comes along and you happily accept. For the next few years you trudge through the daily grind of being the peon with a degree, but not enough experience to really matter yet. You put in your time, and learn the ropes, until you've gotten everything you possibly can out of the entry level position. The job has become just that, a job. It's no longer a challenge. It's time to move on to the next level.

Welcome to my life.

As most of you know, I've been looking for a new job (and a move to a new city) for awhile now. I put the search on hold around the first of the year, as most companies don't do a lot of hiring around that time. I started the search again in late February, and it's slowly starting to gain steam. I've had three phone interviews since that time; one of which sounded quite promising. Although, we'll see where they go from here.

Last night I was scouring a website, dedicated to my profession, which posts job openings all over the country. I realized that I've been missing at least one entire industry, that has hundreds of possibilities. I couldn't believe that I wasn't thinking outside of my current industry box. My profession, not unlike HR, is utilized in so many facets and I've been suffering from career tunnel vision. No longer will I be doing that. My eyes have been opened up to a plethora of new opportunities. Here's to hoping it means an express lane to my new challenge. I need it.

Beauty is Only Scalp Deep

The following is an AIM conversation I had this morning with one of my best girls, whom we'll call Aphrodite. Aphrodite is the cosmetologist, fashionista, sex kitten, diva of my friends. Such a trooper, she's always on call to bring her salon to a friend's home in the midst of a fashion or style emergency.


Hera: oh my gawd!
Hera: you have to help me!
Aphrodite: oughto
Aphrodite: what's the problem?
Hera: you know that one grey hair i've had since i was about 18?
Hera: the one we always laughed at?
Aphrodite: yes. what about it?
Hera: it's not so funny anymore
Hera: i was looking in the mirror this morning and i noticed there are more
Hera: i counted; there are 11!
Hera: and most of them aren't even grey. they've passed that right up and are white!
Hera: wtf?!?! i'm only in my mid 20s
Hera: this shit cannot stay
Hera: help me please!
Aphrodite: haha
Ahprodite: calm down
Aphrodite: i'll be over with wine and color after work
Hera: that's why you rock my world!

Hubcaps, Pocket Rockets and Weiners

Ahh, Mardi Gras.

Weekend totals

Girlfriends celebrating together: 6
Bottles of champagne emptied for mimosas: 5
Bottles of rum and vodka consumed: 2
Cans of beer chugged: 35
Buckets of hurricanes drank: Lost count after the 5th round
New friends made: Too many to count
Boobs flashed: 3
Weiners shown: 5
Porta potty stops: At least 7
Persons who puked: 1
Persons having a good time: Everybody

On Deck

Pitchers and catchers report today! WOO-HOO!

T minus 45 days, 8 hours and 44 minutes until the first regular season game!

Negative Ghostrider

February 14th. Ahh, what a lovely day. The birds are chirping, people are happy, florists are busily delivering the arragements so many men agonized over (Roses? Tulips? Lilies? Red? White? A dozen?), love is in the air, it's a happy day. Well, for many people it's a happy day. Looking around the office at the few displays of affection that have already arrived, it just makes me miss the man in my life, henceforth known as Maverick, even more.

For those of you not in the know, our relationship is a long distance one. Yes, it stinks, but that's our situation. We don't know what the future holds (no one does, right?), and we're not focusing on that. Even with the distance, the relationship we have is great. We make it work quite well. But, I freely admit there's not a day that goes by that I don't wish we weren't separated.

About a week ago I was able to spend an extended weekend with Maverick. Everything about that weekend was fabulous. He took me out to incredible dinners (best Coconut Shrimp I've ever tasted). We had ice cream at a great creamery. We curled up with movies, beer, Sangria and Goldfish. He even went shopping with me (Happily, too. Can you believe that?). But, the best part of that weekend was just being able to be together without a care in the world.

I miss him terribly today. It's crazy, and almost sad, that such a commercialized, Hallmark holiday can have that effect, but it's true. I try to get through the days by not thinking about how much I wish we were together, and hearing everyone's date plans for tonight makes that impossible.

Who Does That -- Part XIII

Where - Popular, local sandwich joint.

Who - Hungry, and in a hurry, gal who dines at this particular restaurant at least once a week and obvious new girl working the cash register.

When - Lunch time on a Wednesday.

What - Hungry Gal approaches register, attempts to place her order, but when she gets two words into it is abruptly stopped by New Cash Register Girl who asks "for here or to go?"

Hungry Gal thinks "hmm, since I come here so often I know that you all usually do that at the end of the order placing process, but you're new so I'll humor you" and then experiences the following dialogue.

Hungry Gal: "To go please, and a tur..."

New Cash Register Girl: "What's your name?"

Hungry Gal: "Hera."

New Cash Register Girl: "Lullabelle?"

Hungry Gal: "Hera."

New Cash Register Girl: "Capricorn?"

Hungry Gal (surprised at the level of confusion): "Hera."

New Cash Register Girl: "And how would you spell that?"

Hungry Gal (becoming slightly irritated): "H-e-r-a. I would like a turk..."

New Cash Register Girl: "H-e-r-a?"

Hungry Gal (irritation level rising): "Yes."

New Cash Register Girl: "Okay, what would you like?"

Hungry Gal (growing more and more irritated): "A turkey and roast beef sandwich on wheat with provolone cheese, lettuce and spicy mustard, a side of potato salad and a sweet tea; to go please."

New Cash Register Girl (very slow): "A turkey and roast beef sandwich on wheat with provolone cheese, lettuce and spicy mustard, a side of potato salad and a sweet tea; to go?"

Hungry Gal (definitely irritated at this point): "Yes."

New Cash Register Girl: "Okay, your total is $6.34."

(Hungry Gal hands New Cash Register Girl two five dollar bills)

New Cash Register Girl (very, very confused accepts the currency): "Out of ten dollars?"

Hungry Gal (about to blow a fuse): "Yes, out of ten dollars."

New Cash Register Girl (even more slow): "Your change is threeee dooollllaaarrrss and siiixxxxtttyy siiiixxx cents?"

Hungry Gal (literally fuming): "Yes, honey. That's correct."

Why - Who in the hell knows? New Cash Register Girl took what should have been a forty-five second sandwich ordering process and turned into five minutes of stupidity out of Hungry Gal's life she can never get back. All she wanted was the usual turkey and roast beef sandwich with the stuff on it, some of that excellent house specialty potato salad and a glass of the best sweet tea this side of the Mason-Dixon Line. What she got instead was annoyance and a completely jacked up order; ham is not turkey, mayonnaise is not spicy mustard and cheddar cheese is not provolone.

Who does that?

Burn!

I freaking hate it when your daily website changes the design without any warning. I could go to that damn site and click around with my eyes closed, but no, you just had to go and mess with my mind. Bite me ESPN.com!

Is it time for Thursday evening $10 Martinis and Manicures yet?

Say It, Say We Are Unagi

Five girlfriends got together for dinner and drinks tonight; three hours of laughter and $147.89 worth of sushi, beer and sake later they emerged from the restaurant. A few items overheard from their corner table include:

"Tight jeans fool you everytime; it's like a Jack in the Box."
"Pinch me off some of the green stuff."
"Was it a picture of the whole thing, or just the wiener?"
"I don't give a damn; scabies are just part of the fun."
"Shut your piehole and show me your wiener."

But the best overheard tidbit came from the newbie. Quite happily, it turns out the batteries provided by the vibrator store were just inadequate. She had an epiphany, switched them with some high grade Duracells, there is plenty of power now and all is good.

You're Killing Me Smalls

Apparently, we've hit a major budget deficit here at work. I say apparently, because most of us cannot fathom how a budget surplus, when one president retires, can suddenly turn to a $5 million budget deficit when the new president takes over and "re-analyzes the books". Let's just say there's been an unofficial/curiosity look at the books, amongst a few inside accounting type people, and they strongly disagree, too. To make a long story short it just seems as if the public broadcasting of said financial situation, and continual public use of recently retired president's name as the reason for the "poor financial outlook", just seems like a crappy attempt to drag someone else's name through the mud.

The "budget problems" have caused many changes and cuts. Let's take a moment to talk about a few of them, shall we?

Change # 1:
We received an email from Facilities informing us that the cost of new trash bags is simply too daunting to handle. Therefore, office receptacles will no longer be emptied daily. We are now being asked to not throw any garbage in our office receptacles. Instead, we should carry items to the lone recycle bin within each building, or to the trash barrel located in the only staff workroom of each building. Rest assured those will continue to be emptied every other day.

Hmmmmm. What do I have to say to that? I'll tell you what I have to say to that; "MY ASS!" You really think I'm going to be carrying my garbage all over this freaking place to save the fifty cents one trash bag costs? I don't think so, and if you do think so, well then why don't you pass me the bowl you're smoking from.

Change # 2:
Departmental budgets have been cut, so new office supplies are simply out of the question. Basically, bring your own pen and pad of paper.

Riiiigggghhhhttt. To that one I say, "BITE ME!"

Change # 3:
Staff members are being asked to keep a daily log of their activities; not just a list of tasks they completed, but a minute by minute account of their day. (8:00 to 8:15 - I emailed Stick Up Her Ass in Accounts Receivable, 8:15 to 8:45 - I met with Tells Lame Jokes the Senior Accountant).

What do I think about this change? I think my list will look a little something like the following.

8:15ish - Arrived at work, like every other asshole here does at this time of day.
8:15ish to 8:45ish - Checked email and talked with cubicle mate about cocktails from last night.
8:45ish to 10:45ish - Surfed the web a bit and completed TPS report, but forgot the cover letter.
10:45ish to 10:50ish - Excused myself to the ladies' room as I am on my period and, well, I needed to take care of some female business. Is that okay, or am I supposed to check in and show you my tampon for approval first?
10:50ish-11:50ish - Bitched with co-workers about this fucking kindergarten bullshit and discussed what a fucking dumbass you are for attempting to make us do it.
11:50ish-1:15ish - Took an extended lunch to talk more extensively about what a dumbass you are.
1:15ish-3:30ish - Surfed the web some more, this time looking for a new job, and completed another needless report you requested, that you could've completed yourself, if it weren't for the fact that you're too much of a moron to even email.
3:30ish-3:50ish - Excused myself to the ladies' room again, but remembered that I needed approval first, so I went to your office. I had to wait for you to get your nose out of the president's ass, but was finally able to show you my tampon. Whew! It's a good thing you approve of the Playtex brand.
3:50ish-5:00ish - Packed up my desk because this is bullshit, and I won't be back tomorrow.

Do you think that list will work? Yeah, me neither. Now that the holidays are over, the job search/extreme to desire to move somewhere new is back in full swing. I turn to you, my avid readers, and ask you to help me, please. Here it is; toss your dart and tell me where it lands.

Who Does That -- Parts IX, X, XI and XII

A collection from the last few weeks of blogging absence; everything from moronic drivers to "fashion" choices to horrible attempts to pick up a woman.

Part IX

You're peacefully driving along in your car, enjoying the Top 20 on XM Radio, when suddenly you're greeted by a rogue car entering your lane and coming within about six inches of you and your life. You slam on the brakes, narrowly escaping untimely death, only to realize the reason you almost saw the light was because lady in the lane next to you is reading a book! No, she's not just attempting to glance at a piece of paper for a split second; she's freaking reading a book! Did you hear me? She's reading a book! I'm talking dome light on, book opened up on the steering wheel, flat out, reading a book!

Who does that?

Part X

Excuse me. Little girls. Yes, I'm talking to you three little fourteen year old girls, half dressed in hoochie mama outfits, blocking the walkway in the mall because you're standing there talking quite loudly on the speakerphone about your boy troubles. And I do mean boy. That's right, you all can talk about what little Tommy told Susie you said about liking little Johnny tomorrow in Algebra. Stop acting like little morons, in the middle of the mall, and get out of the way. But before you go, could one of you dial up your mom and hand me the phone so I can ask her what the hell she's doing while you're at the mall advertising your goods for two dollars?

Who does that?

Part XI

Oh look there she is, our own little Pamela Anderson right here in Missouri. How are those new boobs treating you? Really, that good, huh? They upped your take at the strip club every night by that much? Well, who knew? That's so interesting.

Did those new boobs also make you think that I'd really want you, the skank who cheated with my best friend's man while she knew he was in a committed relationship, to come over and say hello to me? Did those new boobs really make you think that I would be okay with that? And did those new boobs really make you think that those fake Birkenstocks worn with black socks was a good fashion statement?

Who does that?

Part XII

You're out enjoying the rare, and beautiful, 70 degree day in the middle of January. You're running your butt off on the nature trail; feeling the burn. You've just finished cranking it up your third steep ass, quarter mile long hill, therefore, you're sweating, red faced, doubled over and really hurting. When all of a sudden, some guy decides he wants to attempt to hit on you. What in the hell?

First of all, I'm not looking. But let me assure you that if I were looking, I certainly wouldn't be doing it while dressed in workout clothes (which includes a ratty t-shirt advertising my uncle's auto repair shop), face as red as a beet, sweating my ass off and doubled over grabbing my thighs and butt. Okay, okay, maybe the grabbing isn't helping you and your dumbness. But, believe me, it's a "holy insanely on fire thighs and sore butt Batman! Wow, that's going to hurt in the morning" grab. It's most definitely not an invitation to "please come and tap it" grab. Do you not see that I'm dying here? Can you not hear me gasping for air and asking my friend to please kill me now?

If a woman is working out, and dying, you're more than welcome to ask her if she would like a drink of water. You can certainly ask if she would like a ride to her car so she doesn't have to walk back. But you cannot attempt to hit on her.

Who does that?

I Love Kung Fu

Do you have someone in your office who just can't seem to shut up? The kind of person who no matter what the situation they always have to say something. Even if it's just to say "cool", they have to say something. Well I do and I can't stand it!

We'll call her Chief Shut the Fuck Up. Chief Shut the Fuck Up is in her mid forties, is a very short and round lady and talks about her nerdy daughter all the live long day. Not only does she talk about her daughter all the time, but she also talks about work all the freaking time. She is also not the kind of person who can just say "I need to finish this report". She must tell you all the details of the last four days worth of conversations regarding the report before she says "I need to finish this report". You know what? I don't give a shit. It's not my work. I don't need to hear all the details, and her trying to take the time to tell me is keeping me from doing my own work.

Chief Shut the Fuck Up doesn't just talk about work when we're working. If we're taking a break, she's talking about work. When we're walking to our cars after work, she's still talking about work. I'm sorry, but at 4:59 I no longer think about work. I think about the beer or glass of wine I want to have, the game I want to watch, the shoes I want to go shopping for, lying on the beach anywhere in the Caribbean, how much I can't wait to talk to the fabulous man in my life, eating some sushi, all sorts of stuff that have diddly to do with work. And I can definitely assure you that I won't be thinking about work again until tomorrow morning at about 8:30. That's right, I won't be back until at least 8:15 and I won't begin working until approximately 8:30. That's just the way we do it around here. I know she's still a little wet behind the ears, but she has been here about three months, surely she has noticed a pattern amongst the thirty other people she sees constantly.

You see, Chief Shut the Fuck Up, it's not that I'm lazy, it's that I just don't care. Mother... shitter... son of an... ass! Shut up for the love of god!

Fat Pants

My bags are packed (more than 20 minutes before I'm scheduled to leave, can you believe it?), I've finally purchased some presents, I've acquired three bottles of wine, I've secured a case of Winter Lager and I've found my fat pants. Yep, I'm ready. Bring on the festivities.

Let me share with you a few wonderful holiday thoughts from the world of Who in the Hell is Eddie.

"There better be some of that beer left for Christmas morning!"
"Feliz Naviblah. ... In American that means Christmas in Mexican."

Even though you won't get the pleasure of sharing it with Elvis like myself, I hope you all have fabulous festivities and may all your holiday wishes come true! :-)

Who Does That -- Part VIII

December 19th and all through the house not a present was bought. Nothing. Nada. Nil. All the creatures of the house were stirring; stirring with a "holy shit, I only have four days to do this!" fear. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, but not even a lump of coal for St. Nick to find when he was there. There were no children snug in their beds (mostly because I have none), no visions of sugar plums dancing in my head and certainly no settling down for a long winter's nap. For I have not purchased one damn present. Did you hear me? It's December 19th and I have not purchased one damn present!

Who Does That?

All the Ladies in the Place

Picture it; Springfield, Saturday night, Buffalo Wild Wings, friends are hanging out, watching basketball, playing video poker, the beer is flowing, the shots are making their rounds, the mood is light, the laugh factor is high, times are good.

Suddenly the conversation amongst the three women turns to sex. It is discovered that one of these women does not currently own, nor has she ever owned, a much needed piece of property in every single gal’s life; the vibrator. Much to the dismay of the other two women she goes on to explain that while she enjoys sex, she has always been too embarrassed and shy to make the purchase. Well, this revelation does not sit well with the non shy women. They know of the vibrator and its wonderment. They insist this simply must not go on and demand to take their friend shopping the next morning for her very first little friend.

The next morning comes and shy woman is overly excited. She texts messages her friend at 10:00 and says “Are you up and ready yet? I am”. Now her friend wants to make sure she discovers the pleasure, but she also loves her hangover sleep. Nevertheless, she rolls out of bed and meets her friend to eat some lunch then hit the vibrator store.

Good thing she agreed to go along, too. Not only was the vibrator virgin scared and embarrassed, but she was also bad with decisions. She was picking up stuff that was too small, not waterproof, had scary animals on it, too hard, etc. However, after a good forty-five minutes she finally made a decent purchase; a nice, tame, starter, not too much, waterproof number. The store even included batteries. How nice of them.

Now, I cannot name names but after all that fretting I hear that she now demands more power. Sounds like she should have been introduced a long time ago.

Moral of the story: Never deny yourself the pleasure of the vibrator.

Purgatory

*Gets up from desk, walks to office white board, uncaps red Dry Erase marker, groans at co-worker making deliberately loud noises while laughing, writes on board.*

I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.
I will no longer participate in free drinks Ladies' Night.

*Replaces cap on marker, returns to desk, groans at co-worker again, pops two more Extra Strength Tylenol, lays head on desk while co-worker points and laughs, gives co-worker the finger.*

High, err I Mean ... Good Times

I'm only as strong as the cocktails I drink, the hairspray I use, and the girlfriends I have.

Tonight begins the three day bon voyage extravaganza for a very dear friend. We've been through everything together. We've survived junior high, high school, broken engagements, hosting parties, close friends being sent off to the military, Bob Ross type activities, snakes getting loose from their cages during Bob Ross type activities and me freaking the hell out about it, cheating boyfriends, being forced to do shots of cheap tequila from measuring cups because we didn't have shot glasses, college, the tragic death of a dear sweet friend, falling off coolers while attempting to dance on them, the horrors of a first skinny dipping experience and even an unplanned pregnancy that turned out to be the greatest thing ever to happen to my friend.

She is moving away to be with her future husband. I'm so happy for her, but I will miss her deeply. We'll still talk and see each other quite often, as she must bring her daughter down to see her daddy, but it won't be the same.

So, here's to you Ms. Best Times of Dana's Lifer. See you tonight at ladies night. ;)

Three Words

"If you love someone you say it, you say it right then, out loud. Otherwise the moment just...passes you by." ~ Dermot Mulroney as Michael O'Neal in My Best Friend's Wedding

Why is it that saying those three little, but all important, words is such a scary prospect? I'm told it's the fear of not hearing them in return. No, I'm not told that; I know that to be true. But, for some reason, that's exactly what I did to someone who means the world to me last night. I feel awful. Not because I don't have the same feelings, but because I do have the same feelings and just freaked out. I was completely taken aback that someone so wonderful would desire to say that to me. I smiled, I told him how unbelievably happy he makes me everyday, I told him how I can't get through the day without hearing his voice, I even cried a few tears of happiness and I smiled some more. But I never said it back!

What is wrong with you, Hera? He's not the past. He's not the two men who hurt you beyond belief. He's not the reason you have built a giant brick wall around your heart; he's the person who has brought that wall crashing down. He's the reason you can't stop smiling every minute of every day. He's the person who makes you feel like you're all that matters; you're his world. He's the person who lets you talk about random nothingness, and finds humor in it. He's the person who leaves you short, and completely sweet, messages just to let you know he's thinking about you. He's the person who puts your happiness before his own. He's the person who gives you reason to get out of bed every morning. What is wrong with you, Dana? You love him too, so why didn't you say it back?

To the light of my days....

You mean everything to me. You bring me more happiness than I ever thought possible. Everyday I find myself asking if I dreamed you up, but much to my delight, you are indeed real. My days don't start until you say good morning and they can't end until you say goodnight. I love you, too. And I can't wait until I can say that in person.

Hello?

Oh my avid readers (I think you exist), I apologize for the weeklong absence of blog entries. It has been a crazy week; everything from insane amounts of work to the flu to the sudden and unexpected passing of a dear friend of the family.

I heard from the potential job and the news was not what I had hoped. For those of you not in the know, it was not so much of a job but more of an internship with a AAA baseball team. In the end, I am actually somewhat flattered by the "too much experience, it's a bit beneath you" reason. I half expected that, but you never know until you try right? What's meant to be will be and I am now shifting my thoughts to other possibilities. The only thing I know for sure is that I am unhappy with the opportunities here and am in dire need of a change in scenery. Where? I'm not sure. I'm not even sure it matters. There's this awesome wall map in the room next to my office; I'm beginning to like the idea of just tossing a dart at the map and moving wherever it lands.

Thank you all again for your well wishes and I'm sure I'll be asking you again when the next interview comes along. And I promise the next blog entry will not be over a week away.

Important Stuff

I don't get serious around here very often (if ever), but today is one of those times I feel it is necessary. So please bear with me.

Today, December 1, is World AIDS Day.

Sadly, my family and I know the misery of HIV/AIDS all too well. One of my favorite uncles was afflicted with the disease. He made it almost 17 years after his diagnosis. It was beyond great to have him around for that much longer, but at the same time it was very painful. The last six years of his life were in the AIDS stage, and they were spent not living, but surviving. It was hands down the worst thing I have ever witnessed. I hope that none of you ever have to watch someone you love and care for slowly wilt away, knowing there is absolutely nothing you, or anyone else, can do.

One of the most disheartening things I have noticed is the complacency our society seems to have developed to such a horrific epidemic. With that, I challenge you (almost beg of you) to educate yourself. If you are educated, then pass the information and challenge along to someone who might not be educated. If you're so inclined, please donate some time or money to an organization or two. Wear a red ribbon, get tested, simply talk about it, do something, do anything; it might make more difference than you could ever imagine.

Who Does That -- Part VII

Note: Sorry for going a little old school on you this time, but I recounted this story over the weekend and decided it would make a perfect Who Does That entry.

A few years ago, a very intriguing man asked if he could take me out on a date. Now I usually have a severe aversion to the pretty boy, but he made me laugh every time we hung out so I thought why not. I said to myself "Dana, why not give this arm candy thing a try? You know he makes you laugh and at the very least it's just dinner and a movie. Put aside his abnormal need to have every hair perfectly gelled and go. Besides a girl's got to eat and what better way than being treated to dinner by someone so easy on the eyes". Gawd was I ever wrong.

The night of the big date rolled around and, like any good woman, I spent at least an hour getting all dolled up. I put on my best sexy jeans, tight little sweater cut just low enough to be sexy but still leaving a little to the imagination (my momma taught me well) and some damn fine heels. Despite the expected first date jitters, at least I was looking good. This is every woman's first date duty, right? Just as it's the man's first date duty to have some chivalry, right?

7:30 rolls around; it's go time. Surprisingly I'm ready to go. (Shock, I know). Now one detail you should know is that this happened to be over Christmas break when I was home from college. That meant I was staying at my parents house. He knew I was staying at my parent’s house. He knew my parents were there. Yet, for some reason, when he got there he just honked! Oh no, I'm not lying. Not only did he not bother to open the door for me, but he never even got out of the truck. He fucking honked!

Here's what worse, despite my dad yelling "Who does that little fucker think he is pulling up here to take my daughter out and just honking?", I actually walked out the door and went on this date. A big Who Does That to me, huh? I was still in my very early 20s, not so much of an independent woman days though. If some man tried that today I would still walk out that door, but just long enough to walk past his truck, stop and remind him what he could have had if only he’d have had a little couth about him. Then I would continue on to a night on the town with my girls. But I digress.

After I got in the truck, that so rudely honked for me to come out and play, we went out to dinner. Now dinner was alright; even with his constant checking out his hair in the reflection on the picture frame above the table. (UGH, pretty boys. I didn't even do that). There was good conversation and he made me laugh, so I thought I could put the honking incident behind me. That was until the check came. No, he didn't make me pay. Actually, I could have dealt with that better. He pulled out a buy one get one half off coupon. What kind of cheap ass thing to do is that? If you don't want to pay for my dinner, just tell me. I can afford my own chicken strips at TGI Friday's thank you very much. (Choice of restaurants should have been another tell, I know).

I know you're thinking it can't get worse, but it does. First of all, because I allowed the date to continue. Secondly, because his idea of an interim dinner and movie activity was to stop at a dealership and look at trucks. Thirdly, because after I stuck it out through the random truck shopping he wouldn't let me pick the movie. Lastly, because he paid for the movie with a gift certificate.

Now don't get me wrong, I am by no means saying that a man should have to pay for everything all the time. But he was the one who asked if "he could take me out". Even if he doesn't understand the whoever asks pays concept, all he would have had to do was say let's go dutch, and it would have been perfectly fine. Paying with coupons and gift certificates is certainly not a way to make a girl feel special. If he was broke, but still didn't want me to have to pay, he could have been way more discreet about the coupons. Just flaunting them out there, felt a little like he was saying, "Listen woman, I want to get in your pants but am not willing to make any effort to do that". I sure as hell didn't spend over an hour having my Barbie makeover just to be treated like one of his buddies. His lack of effort certainly got him nothing. Not even a second date.

Who does that?