What’s WITH Single 30 year-old women and their dogs? …Says the a##hole
A few weeks ago, I was quenching my alcohol induced thirst at Forest Room 5, one of Denver’s low-key hot spots, located in the trendy trenches west of downtown. If you haven’t been there…imagine a lounge situated in a hip, artificial forest. Think Ikea meets Gnomeworld (the Travelocity dude)…but in a kosher kind of fashion.
Anywho, I was chatting away with my two Denver BFFs (Celeste and Miranda), when a playa’ in his early 40s approached us and negatively said, “What’s WITH single 30 year-old women and their dogs? It’s weird. Single women are obsessed with their dogs. They always have to leave dates early to go let their dogs out. Who wants THAT responsibility?” (In other words, he’s pissed b/c female dog owners won’t shack up with him.)
Clockwatch aside, it only took me about .27 seconds to flick the switch – transforming from lovable, flirty Leaza to beeee-atch on a rampage. I explained to him (in my best calm bitchy voice), “Hey, my dog is loyal and loving, and actually protects me from weirdos.” During my tirade, I whipped out my iPhone, waving pictures of Fluffmuffin (see below) in this divorced dufus’s face – delivering a sermon that would make canines around the world howl with pride.
My dog "Fluffmuffin"
I couldn’t help but defend almost every single woman’s “best friend.” Growing up, I always told my dog “goodnight” before drowsily falling asleep. And a few decades later - Fluffmuffin receives the SAME treatment before I hop under my comfy duvet cover. Yes…families and single men love their dogs, but MAYBE single women cherish them more. And if so, I’m OK with that. (Who else will guard my dirty socks all day?)
I then challenged the bachelor (wearing too much hair gel,) “So, if you don’t like dating women with dogs because there’s TOO much responsibility involved – you REALLY must not like dating women with kids.”
He then sheepily stated, “Well, I have 4 kids.”
Quickly realizing this guy had enough baggage to put Southwest airlines out of business, my BFFs and I turned our heels and left Mr. “Pot Calling the Kettle Black” in the dust, alone in the faux forest.
I went home that night, and let my dog sleep in the bed. Funny thing, I’m sure THAT guy…was sleeping alone.
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All this “dog talk” makes me think about a popular Youtube clip by Wendy Francisco called “GoD and DoG.” Check it out…your dog will appreciate it.
Top 10 WORST Emails from Guys on Match.com
Let’s face it – truth is always stranger than fiction. So, I decided to compile a list of my favorite emails from Denver men on match.com. These are ACTUAL quotes…served up straight. And yes ladies, these men are walking the streets of the mile high city. Try not to fight over them.
10. Annie is my favorite play on Broadway. (You already sound like a child molester.)
9. (from an old 52 year old dude) Did you know that Frances Folsom Cleveland married President Grover Cleveland when she was 21 and he 49? They had a beautiful White House wedding and it was the cheer of the nation back then. (Good to know since I wasn’t paying attention in Mrs. Clark’s 8th grade U.S. History class.)
8. So I’ll get right to it — want to grab a beer? Nome of that “coors light” shit though, a real beer. (What, like a PBR? Or a Natural Light?)
7. I have a picture of Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt on my wall by my work-desk. (Are you flippin’ kidding me???!!!) When I look at their picture, I wonder. When I think of them, I see the idea of “humanitarianism.” We often think of actors as just actors or actresses … but really they are an expression of our best and worse selves. In Harrison Ford, I see the patriot; In Mel Gibson, I see the neurotic; In Nicole Kidman, I see the crusader, and in Demi Moore, I see the iconoclast. What about you? What do you see about the world in certain actor or actresses? (Dude, in your profile pic…I see “America’s Most Wanted” meets “Jersey Shore.”)
6. (from an asian man) I can tell that you’re the type to primarily date cauc-ASIANS b/c you fear that you wont find an Asian that’s taller than you? I have to admit, most are midgets. (Wow, if you were a white man, you would be called a racist! BTW..I’m turning you into the “Little People of America Association.’”)
5. Hey sexy, how was your Monday? I have seen dozens and dozens of women on here and you are far and away one of the hottest ones. (My Monday was great until you emailed me. Don’t ruin my Tuesday please.)
4. Wud up? (Your vocabulary skills clearly scream master’s degree.)
3. That’s what I am like: a heart of compassion – wanting to heal the world and make it a better place. I don’t just want to live; I want to make a difference. All while having fun, smelling the roses … wanting it all… (Do you work for Hallmark? If not I hear Dairy Queen is hiring.)
2. I work for a small up-and-coming terrorist organization in the marketing department. We’re doing great in Wyoming, but we have big hopes and dreams and want to start making a splash on the international circuit. As you can imagine, image is everything with terrorists. So I was thinking about doing a marketing campaign on cable TV, like CNN or maybe the home shopping network, can you help me out? (No, but maybe Suzanne Somers can – or Chuck Norris? Perhaps Sarah Palin when she’s done with her book tour?)
1. My American Dream includes a real life size action and full-of-life Barbie… and you fit the description. (Sorry Ken, get lost. I hear Skipper is single though.)
Feel free to share some of your best and worst…
Writing my Match.com Dissertation
Following “Big Decision for the New Gal in Town….” I attacked my match.com profile with the exuberation of a teenage girl shopping for her first prom dress combined with the writing expertise of an Oxford english PhD student composing a dissertation. This profile HAD to transcend “good”….In southern terms, my mission was to “git ‘er done.” My pale tulle pink manicured fingers started moving at warp speed as I chugged a vodka/cranberry (with extra lime) and set out on my match.com man-finding mission. The words transcended out of my blonde brain into seamless comedic prose on a computer screen. Glancing at my pictures, I made sure to include a wide assortment…close-ups, body shots, me chillin’ on beach chair (bloody mary in hand), moi hiking a 14-er (a must for Denver, Colorado men). After all – I was well-rounded woman, and wanted to secure it was obvious I could tackle outdoor activities in a single bound. I even threw in a photo of my lovely pooch…to prove I could live in peaceful harmony with dog hair…
I typed with a vengeance….the desk light glowing in my corner living room office. If only the neighbors in ritzy Cherry Creek knew little ole’ Leaza was on the brink of something big…something that could change her life — and hopefully someone else’s…completely. If anything, this would at least provide hours of free entertainment giggling with girlfriends. My mouth salivated at the thought of laughing hysterically, comparing horror online dating stories and trying overzealously to outdo each other. Pathetic, yes.
An hour into my pulitzer prize winning challenge, I stared at the giant icon labeled “Profile Complete.” This was THE moment. The moment where my words…and my pictures….transmitted themselves to possibly hundreds of available men in the Denver/Boulder area. I imagined myself…Leaza…as a mass blonde mailing…except instead of ending up in an outdoor mailbox, I would land in someone’s virtual one. I felt as if I was taking a leap of faith…. I giddily scanned my profile for any last minute changes…exhaled, “What the hell?” — then cautiously moved my mouse over “Profile Complete.” Folks…it was time to start this mission. I prepared for the adventure…and clicked…sending my profile to the gods at match.com. I prayed for Zeus to intercede, quickly wondering if I would land in heaven, hell, or god-forbid, gulp, limbo.
Men are like Crockpots, Women like Woks
Cooking — an american institution for the sexes. Who knew the pots and pans of today – could clearly define a generation of men and women? Here’s my theory (after dishing dozens of meals and wandering aimlessly through Williams Sonoma) — Men and women resemble DIFFERENT types of cookware.
A man mirrors a crockpot. He comes in 3 settings: OFF, LOW, and HIGH. Ironically, many guys also share the same stature and physique of the infamous slowcooker — SHORT – STUBBY – and ROUND. Just like a crockpot, men typically can only handle ONE thing (aka dish) at a time, preferring to spend all their energy (aka burner) on one project alone. Keeping the recipe simple makes it easier. Add multiple ingredients to their recipe – even a few extra spices – and men are apt to boil over – sometimes quickly. Many dudes often keep a lid on their anger…or in other words…they simmer! This can go on for HOURS upon HOURS with no warning signs at all. Not even a peep – or an ounce of steam. Then out of nowhere – an overflow of burnt anger!
A woman (unlike their one-dish counterparts) resembles a wok. We can cook 14 varieties of chopped veggies plus tofu in five minutes flat – NO TIMER NEEDED. With the flick of the wrist, we simply handle extreme temperature adjustments without breaking a sweat. At the same time, we somehow talk on our iPhones, update our facebook status, flatiron our hair, and convince our BFFs they don’t need “what’s-his-butt.” Fight a grease fire in our trusty “never-rusty” wok – no problem! We’ve conquered WORSE situations at family reunions in Arkansas. Perhaps our greatest strength – is versatility using the simple asian cookware piece – or in redneck terms, “a deep fryin’ pan.” Sauteing, stir-frying, scrambling, and steaming – all come easy – even with the challenge of keeping our eye on multiple burners.
In the end though, when the dishes are dried, and the leftovers “saran-wrapped” up - women secretly adore America’s most dependable small appliance. We can’t fathom life without our stable, tried-and-true crockpots. Our cabinets would seem empty. And men – we know you love our sizzle and spice, our attempt to keep everything “nice.” Life would be pretty boring AND bland without us.
By the way, can you pass the butter?
Advice to ManLand: Chivalry Will Get You LUCKY
Dudes, listen up…not sure where you mind is at the present moment (besides counting down the days til March Madness)…but I need you to pay attention. Five Rockin Rules…that prove…Chivalry will get you LUCKY (aka laid)…
1. When the check comes — dive for it like a Mexican seagull attacking leftover tortilla chips and salsa on a Cancun beach. Unlike your loaded “Monday Night Football w/ the boys” nachos…, there is NO five second rule! Let there be NO moment of hesitation as soon as you even SEE the waiter coming toward the table with the check. Your hand needs to flutter like “wind beneath my wings”. Bonus points for actually quoting something clever from that cheesy movie.
If you need a visual (which I’m sure you do since you’re a guy)….Imagine Mr. Miyagi in Karate Kid…wax on…wax off…. Grab the check before your date notices. Make it seamless….like one of those iron-on patches your mom put on your jeans as a kid. Your damsel will realize quickly you can do wonder with your hands. Imagine your reflexes are one step ahead of your mind and more importantly — your common sense. Even better…excuse yourself an go to the bathroom…then slip your credit card to the waiter. Get used to the idea that it’s your job to primarily pay the dinner check — at least in the beginning.
If you’re already angry reading my words of wisdom – think about it this way….Women are stuck with childbirth, PMS, and painful periods! Be happy you’re only stuck with the check. Get over it. Move on. Yes, I know women want it all…equality and all that crap. But just suck it up….because you’ll never have to birth a child or wear a maxipad.
Rules 2 through 5 coming soon…
Big Decision for the New Gal in Town…
Being the brand spankin’ new kid in D-town (Denver), I’d thought I’d give online dating a shot. So, on a whim, armed with my credit card digits – a plethora of recent party-girl pics – and multiple images of me conquering the great outdoors, I logged on to several of (what I call) the “me-bay” sites. I felt perfectly fine to take ownership of my singledom and market myself to the millions of morons, mullets, macho-men, and Mr. Rights living in the Denver demographics in hopes of finding one decent dude or hot “dudley do-right.” After all, I’m a hot commodity, so why not market to the masses and put U.S. capitalism to work, right? I remembered the good ole’ lesson of supply and demand from 8th grade economics. Limited supply of awesome, available women (i.e. ME) equates to high demand from rich, hot, down-to-earth bachelors (i.e. THEM). Throw in a ski condo, some fine wine, a labrador mutt who adores hiking…and the deal becomes even better, sweeter, and BEYOND palatable…
Which online dating site would I choose? Hmmmm..did I prefer the open “card catalog” approach of match.com…or the “secret ballot” style of e-harmony? For one brief moment I was sold on eHolyHell.com (a.k.a. eharmony), but ultimately decided those commercials were too darn cheesy for moi to appear during future primetime TV lineups (if AND when I did meet Mr. Hot-Dudley-do-right). Besides, I always wondered….where were the commercials portraying the “not-so-cute” people? Those couples seemed to be missing from the airwaves, as if some rich white old/fat/bald guy in an eharmony sterile board room ironically instilled a “no fat/boring/ugly person rule.” Being a dewey decimal girl at heart (and secretly thinking the card catalog approach would work in my favor), I flippantly decided on the match.com 90-day subscription, figuring that would equal more than enough minutes for all the fab singular D-town dudes to fawn at me virtually, in hopes of rubbing knees with me physically. I was salivating at the anticipation of my first wink, that first email…before I even clicked on the “new user” icon. This my friends….was gonna be fun.
