Love is Cursed By Monogamy

That line says it all.

I find myself, of late, in uncharted waters.

It’s been a long time since I’ve considered having a girlfriend (well, a legitimate one at least, replete with emotions, cuddling, anniversaries, etc) .  I’ve become accustomed to a very particular lifestyle, and, despite my evident (and ardent) feelings for the girl I’ve been seeing, transitioning from “M-” back to [NAME REDACTED] hasn’t been the easiest thing in the world.  Admittedly, I’ve slipped a couple of times.  Nothing major, and, to be fair, we’re not officially in a committed relationship, but it’s merely semantics at this point.  I’m not trying to sabotage myself.  I’m really not.  Especially because I can only imagine how much I’d hate myself if I screwed this up.  And what’s more, while I chose the title to the post because of its poetic lilt, I really don’t find myself dreading the idea of  only being with one person.

Mostly.

M-

The Greatest Guest Post Ever?

I can’t imagine there are many readers left following this blog.  It’s like reading a 9 year old’s diary.

“Dear diary, today I saw a puppy and fell in love with Justin Bieber again. They both have the most beautiful hair in the world…*sigh*…”

With M-‘s constant and progressively more intense droning about a girl he looooves, the latest pair of Chacos, and the appropriate wines for gourmet meals, I suspect ad revenue has dropped proportionally.

But being the business man that he is, M- foresaw an expedited solution to save his entrepreneurial spirit, requesting a guest post by yours truly (TheCobra) to send his numbers to the top of the charts.  From there… stardom.

So let’s get back to what I presumed this entire blog was about: dating.

A little about myself; I have an undergraduate degree, I ran a 10k, play guitar, and have a full time entry level position in a rewarding career path.  These things are ‘adult.’  I tend to be proud, yet humble, of these mediocre achievements.  But despite all of this, I find that there is a disappointing lack of interesting women in my life.  For this article, we’ve got two main issues, employment and the late night social scene.

What I do for a living is less important than the specifics as it relates to interpersonal relationships.  Allow me to provide a brief description, in no particular order, of the type of woman I generally (but not exclusively) meet on the job:

1) Crackwhores

2) Eighty year old grandmothers with dementia

3) The extremely angry

4) Single mothers with six(+) kids

5) Legally insane

6) Again, the disproportionately irate

To some men, those women may be quite tempting.  Unfortunately, they do not meet the minimum standards I have set for myself.  I also believe it would be unethical professionally to foster or maintain relationships with the majority of people I meet.

Now I know what you’re thinking, “Sheesh, this guy is full of himself, he should lower his standards.  I bet the 300lb woman standing on the sidewalk in her bra and hosing off a pit bull has a great personality.”

I’m sure she does, and if not, it may be a result of points 1) thru 6) above.  So here’s the thing;  After I began working full time in the professional world, in my admittedly self chosen career path, I don’t meet (decent) eligible women.  It seems to me that prior to this, in unskilled and high demand labour jobs, it was less of an issue.

Contributing to this dilemma: M and I go to the bar every now and then, I’ll get phone numbers, I’ll call/text her, I’ll get (1) or no response.  This has, in all honesty, happened with the last six phone numbers I have received.  It’s disappointing.  If you’re not interested, don’t patronize.

So, where are these eligible and interesting bachelorettes?  I don’t have the luxury of meeting lovely women on my job like M occasionally chances upon.  My co-workers are all at least 15 years my senior so they know no women my age.  Women at the bars are more often than not aloof, stuck up, and/or fraudulently interested.

I suspect the professional and mutually interested woman I would be attracted to  is engaged in the female and hopefully less nerdy equivalent of designing magnet-induction motors, reading classics i.e. This Side of Paradise, and practicing an instrument out of sheer interest (and potential vanity.)

Next time you hear or say “Where are all the good guys” rest assured there are some whom can power a 1.5volt light bulb with a wind turbine, comment on the cultural significance of Tolstoy’s work, or play your favourite Mumford & Sons song on guitar.  Granted, only the last one is interesting to the majority of people, but I like Dos Equis, hockey, and awkwardfamilyphotos.com too.

Too much angst jump to the link and cheer up,

Cobra Out

(Said the ant to the grasshopper)

Vanity And the Pursuit of Happiness

It was…a weekend, I’ll say that much.

A bit of a lost weekend, truth be told.

Saturday night started off at Republic, one of my favorite Grand Rapids bars, where I enjoyed a few cocktails with some friends of mine (Tanqueray and tonic, of course), including the roommate of a girl I’ve been seeing on and off for the past couple of weeks (the subject of last week’s post, “Be Careful What You Wish For” which you can read here).  As I mentioned in that post, I like this girl.  I like her a lot.  She recently left for a two week stay in Chicago, but has, admittedly, been on my mind ever since.

So you can imagine my disappointment when I found out she’s there with her ex-boyfriend.

In fact, disappointment doesn’t really accurately describe what I felt.  Heartsick is more appripoe, truthfully.  Her roommate told me that just before she left, she told her that she really liked me-that she finally felt like she could move forward and forget about the relationship she’d been in.

Guess not.

I was understandably upset.   I ordered one a few more gin and tonics (which I took right to the head), sent her a text message (something akin to “I’m not sure if I’m supposed to call you, or not call you, or text you, or not text you, but dammit if you’re not on my mind”) and left the bar.  I didn’t want to go home, but I didn’t want to sit in Republic any longer.  I was wallowing in self-pity when a co-worker of mine (I understand he’s affectionately referred to as Big Nasty,  so we’ll let him keep that moniker) called me to see what I was doing.  Before I could proffer an excuse, he told me to meet him and a few friends at Bar Divani (a great wine bar here in GR) and hung up.

And so, I did.

The night got exponentially better from there.

The highlight, perhaps, was when a bachlorette party of about six girls approached us at the bar.  There were from out of town, and wanted to know would it be okay if they came out with us tonight?

Well, I suppose.

They were a lot of fun.  We parted ways around 12:30am, and Big Nasty and I weren’t quite ready to call it quits.  We ended up at the Lower Level, a below-ground dance club,  where the overflow from the Grand Rapids Electronic Music Festival was just starting to get things going.  I was there for maybe ten minutes before a group of girls insisted I join them at their table in the VIP section.  The rest of the night was a blur of red velvet sofas and vodka-tonics.  I left at some point, took a cab home, and collapsed on my sofa, still wearing my gray trilby, and holding a crumpled ten dollar bill in one hand and one of those “Bachlorette Party Dare Cards” in the other.

All in all, not a bad nightt.

The next morning, however, two things were readily apparent:

One, while brown leather sofas my appear comfortable, they are not for sleeping on, and two, the girl I’d fallen for was still in Chicago with her ex-boyfriend.

I tried not to think about it.  The Cobra (my roommate and long-time friend) had been asking me to help him step up his style game for weeks now, and so after breakfast, we headed to the mall and I did just that.  We got back around three, and decided to grab a martini on the patio overlooking the grand river at Mixology at the JW Marriott.  Drinks turned into appetizers, which turned into dinner, which turned into more drinks, and before I knew it, it was just after nine.  As I stood at the bar and ordered (yet another) gin martini, I thumbed through my email on  my phone.  I was, quite honestly, rather drunk at this point, and decided, on a whim, to text “Tina.”

If any of you are long-time readers, you’ll remember “Tina” as the cute hipster girl I met on plentyoffish.com (detailed here, in this post) when I first started this blog.  She lived in Kalamazoo, but didn’t have a car, so we’d never had the chance to meet up.

She responded instantly.  She was in Grand Rapids.  And then, another text.

“Do you want to meet up?”

And so we met for a drink (she was just as cute in person as she was in her pictures).  And we talked.  And she came back to my place for a night cap.  And one thing led to another, and then the inevitable.

I did it, in part, because I thought it would somehow make me feel better.  That I would suddenly not care about the girl in Chicago.

I was wrong.

If anything, I felt emptier.  And more alone.  My intentions were so far misplaced, I’d completely lost sight of them.

But I think, in retrospect, that it had to happen.  That isn’t something that can be explained to you.  You have to experience it, first hand, to understand why something that lacks sincerity done in the pursuit of happiness will so often result in the exact opposite.

I got a text message from the girl in Chicago today.  Unprompted, and just three words:

“I like you.”

If only.

M-

Picture This

With the recent upswing in sext-ing (of which, admittedly, I’ve done my share) and nude picture scandals (just today, it was announced that “Miss Sprint Cup’s (???) title will be revoked due to some nude pictures that have appeared on the internet [they were “only for her boyfriend”of course]), not to mention Brett Farve’s all-too-recent scandal) has got me thinking.  Quite a large number of my friends (both female and male) have sent AND received  similar images (and not just one or two, either; several).

Is this something that’s commonplace?  Is this a new trend, a new facet, in the digital (and non-digital) dating world?

I’ve been dating for near on eight years, and not once, not once, has a woman ever sent me a titillating picture message.

I’m not even saying I want them.  I’m just curious if I’m missing the approach, some how.  To be fair, I’ve never sent any either (the male…anatomy…isn’t something that cries out for amateur photography, if you ask me; not to mention the seemingly-inevitable damage that comes from them when they’re inevitably leaked), and I’ve never blatantly asked for someone to send me some, either (that just seems…strange).

Either I’m A) clueless or B) dating, dare I say it, a classier caliber of women?

I’m anxious to hear a few takes on this.

M-

Be Careful What You Wish For

I’ve recently run into a snag in my well-tailored existence.

(I’m going to give all of you fair warning.  Before you inundate my feed with dozens of angry comments, I want you to know that I understand that the following is a “first world” problem, which is to say, for many of you, not a problem at all.  So if your sole intention is to read this post and then immediately type “I wish I had THOSE kind of problems.  #jackass” let me save you the trouble:  I get it).

That being said, here goes:

Over the last few weeks, I’ve been seeing a girl.  I like her.  I liker her a lot.  And she knows that.  And since she isn’t some dumb bottle blonde bar star, she’s okay with that.  Hell, I think she even likes me a little (okay, a lot).

But there’s a problem.

M-‘s reputation has proceeded itself.

She’s wary of me.  Or, as she put it, “I’m wary of how suave you are.”  She’s pretty sure I have a different girl for every day of the week, and that, if by some slim chance I don’t, I could easily acquire one.  She hates to think of herself as just another one of M- girls.

But here’s the thing, dear readers…

She’s not.

First and foremost because, like it or not, I care about her.  More so than usual.  Like, sent-her-flowers-at-work more so than usual.

I know, I know.

But she is determined to prove I’m a “player,” and her friends, without so much as even meeting me, have told her the same (one said “he’s a male model, you’d better watch out”).

And then, to top it all off, after I thought I’d finally managed to gain a little of her trust,  someone told her they saw me at the bar this weekend making out with another girl, whom, it was hinted, I may have left with.

False, false, false.

Was I at said bar?  Yes.  I went with my roommate and his boss.  We got drunk on cheap beer and whiskey and talked about film.  And then I went home.   With my roommate. Who, I might mention, is a dude.

Yeah.

I told her that if this friend of hers was female, she was either A) drunk or B) crazy, and if this friend of hers was male (like, say, an ex-boyfriend), well…

#Jealousmuchbro?

Luckily, I managed to convince her otherwise.  I think.  I hope.

The worse thing about all this?

I don’t even get to enjoy any of the fun stuff I’m accused of doing.

*Sigh*

M-

In Retrospect

What I want to say:

“You know, for someone who cares a hell of a lot about you, you sure manage to walk all over me whenever you feel like it.  We’ve known each other for almost two years now, and I’ve told you a hundred times over how I feel about you.  And despite you adamantly telling me that the age difference between us insures it will never work out, you continue to call me and text me.  We go for drinks and dinner weekly, and still, still you insist it could never go anywhere.  And part of me accepts that.  But another part of me refuses to stop seeing you altogether, because hope, after all, springs eternal.  And when you need to feel pretty and desirable, we kiss, and it damn near rips my heart out sometimes.   And when you need to feel like what you’re doing is artistically relevant, I tell you.  And when you needed me to pretend to be your boyfriend to impress your old friends from college, I did.  I played the part to a “T”, and ignored the lump of concrete in my throat the entire time.  And never once have I asked for anything in return.  I’ve just been there, exactly when you needed me.  I’ve never felt the same way about any girl I’ve ever met, and I’m not even really sure what that means.  I just know it’s true.

But it doesn’t matter.

And I accept that.  Because that’s just the way life is.

And I realize (and I hope that you do, but that’s asking too much) that the day you walk in and tell me you have a boyfriend, that’s it for us.  I can do a lot of things,  but sitting there and listening to you talk about the guy I’ve always wanted to be isn’t one of them.  We were never just friends, and we never can be.  And so we operate on borrowed time.

And so, when you tell me you forgot you had dinner plans, but could we get a drink after?  Say maybe 10:00pm or so?  And I joke about it being kind of late, and you snap at me and tell me to “just forget it,” because “you had a bad day, and my jokes aren’t helping any,” I get pissed.  Because I’m not a mind reader; I don’t know your days been bad.  And, more importantly, I put up with a hell of a lot when it comes to you.  And when I apologize (even though, even though there’s not a damn thing I have to apologize for) and you just ignore my text message?

Well, that’s about it for me.  Have a great life.”

What I do say:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

M-

5 Style Essentials for Every Man’s Wardrobe

As an excellent post by friend and fellow blogger “T” pointed out earlier this week (dig the link here), it seems like the art of sartorial-ism has vanished into the dark recesses of yesteryear.  What’s more, the new wave of “style” that appears to be permeating every inch of American culture, both here and abroad,  is seemingly composed of bedazzled t-shirts, rhinestone jeans, baggy sweatpants, ill-fitting cargo shorts, rubber sandals with socks, and all sorts of other “Fraternity couture” (and ladies, you aren’t doing much better.  Dig my own post on women’s style [or lack thereof] here).

It is, for lack of a better term, abysmal.

A lot of it is born out of laziness (as “T” pointed out) and a lot of it is born out of sheer ambivalence.  But there are some guys out there who just…don’t get it.  They want to look good.  They really do.

They just don’t know how.

And so, they push onward and spend an inordinate amount of money on blousey, baggy, dress shirts and square-toed dress shoes and come out looking just as bad as their Ed Hardy counterparts.

But there’s hope.

It isn’t to say that this is just a matter of vanity.  As a well-dressed man myself (hey, I never said I was modest), I can attest to the importance of dressing with a sense of personal style (and please note: dressing stylishly and in style are two very different things).  I never set foot outside the house without looking my personal best.  When I know I look good, I make more sales, get more numbers, and have much more confidence in general.  I know this might not appear to be immediately linked to dating, but consider this: while the clothes may not make the man, the man can go a long way in making the clothes.

The following are 5 items every well-dressed man should have in his arsenal.  And, to dispel the myth that dressing with style costs a small fortune, I’ve taken the liberty to include links to the best place to pick each of the items up at a reasonable price.  So, without further ado:

 5 Style Essentials for Every Man’s Wardrobe 

• A Slim, Black Tie:

Take a page from Jay Baruchel’s playbook and pair it with a crisp, white dress shirt and you can’t miss.  5 o’clock shadow and slim-fitting grey suit optional, but recommended.

       Where to Get the Look:

Where else but the one and only Tie Bar?  They handcraft their own ties and produce some of the most stylish, affordable neck-wear in the business.

Solid Black Skinny Tie:  $15.99                                                                                                       (And if you really want to get daring [and channel your inner James Bond], try picking the same tie up in knitted silk.  It goes with everything the solid silk tie does, but has some seriously added flair.  Plus, it’s perfect for summer (and perfect for pairing with our next style essential, which is…)

• A Slim-fitting Two-Button Navy Blazer:

Add a little sprezzatura to your wardrobe with one of the longest standing style staples in history; the navy blazer.  Do like this gentleman and ditch the gold buttons and opt for a form-fitting number that flatters your physique.  Pair it with jeans (a different shade of blue, please) and loafers for an easy, afternoon-in-Milano look, or dress it up with gray trousers and that newly-purchased skinny black tie of yours for the office.

Where to Get the Look:

The home for preppy staples, of course:  J. Crew.                                                                  Ludlow Two-Button Navy Blazer: $365.00

(I know what some of you are thinking; “$365 for a jacket!?” Consider it an investment.  Use it as an anchor for your whole wardrobe.  Wear it year round.  If you take good care of a jacket like this, it will last you as lifetime.  I’ve had mine for four and a half years now, and it’s only gotten better looking with age).

• A Pair of Wayfarer Sunglasses:   

Do like James Franco here and pair your Wayfarers with everything, from a fitted cotton tee and leather jacket in the fall to a seersucker suit in the summer.  Just don’t wear them indoors; you’re not Jay-Z.

Where to Get the Look:

While Ray-Ban did it first, Knockaround does it cheaper.  You can’t go wrong with a pair of the original Wayfarers, but for the budget-conscious gentlemen, the $14.00 Jet Black/Smoke Wayfarers from Knockaround are hard to beat.  Pick up a couple of extra pairs for when you inevitably sit on one.

• Dark Blue Straight Leg Jeans: 

Follow Jake Gyllenhaal’s lead and keep your denim simple, slim, and dark.  No weird washes.  No “distressing.”  No flap-pockets, no stitching, no patterns, and ABSOLUTELY no “bedazzling.”  Pair them with everything, and wear them as much as possible.  Avoid washing them too much; when they start to get a little ripe after three or four wears, turn them inside out and soak them in a bath tub full of cold water with a little baking soda.  Wear them until they’re dry and fit you like a second skin.

Where to Get the Look:

If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.  Levi’s 501’s are the quintessential pair of jeans, and cut exactly how you want them: straight and to the point.  Buy them in the so-blue-it’s-black “Dark-Aged” wash.

Levi’s 501 Original Fit Jeans: $69.50  

• Cartier “Tank” Wristwatch

Sometimes you truly can’t beat the classics.  Cartier’s famous Tank wristwatch (inspired by Renault’s newly-designed tanks in WWII, and worn here by french actor Alain Delon) is easily one of the most versatile timepieces in the world.  With its simple, elegant face and black alligator skin band, it goes just as well with khaki’s and a jean jacket as it does with a tux.  Though the original can be acquired for a princely sum, modern watchmakers have started drawing inspiration from Louis Cartier’s 1917 design, and there are several less expensive versions out there.  I wear a discontinued model by Kenneth Cole (black face, brushed aluminum bezel, black leather strap) as my go-to timepiece, a birthday present I received from my sister about four years ago.  Citizen makes a particularly handsome model, and they’re some of the most reliable time pieces around.

Where to Get the Look:

Eco-Drive Strap by Citizen: $135.00

So there you have it.  Five stylish, affordable pieces that will make you look like a million bucks while spending considerably less.

And remember:

“Never be afraid to be the best dressed man in the room.”

M-

(Enjoy this piece?  Then make sure you stick around for my upcoming downloadable e-book, “The Art of Good Living: How to Dress, Drink, and Date Like a 21st Century Gentlemen”, available at no cost to anyone who subscribes to the blog!)

Comic Con(ned)

I witnessed an interesting phenomenon today.

As per my usual 3:00pm routine (the slowest hour of the day; it’s scientifically proven*),  I was incessantly checking my Facebook.  As I browsed my “Recent News” feed for what seemed like the umpteenth time, I noticed a new status had popped up.  It read:

“This time every year, i wish i was at Comic-con. Le sigh…”

Nothing groundbreaking in itself, but there is, of course, more to the story. A little background info first, though:

For those of you who don’t know, Comic-Con is, in effect, like rolling the Grammy’s, the Oscars, and the Superbowl all into one (and packing it into a sweaty, sweaty convention center in California).

Except, instead of being about football or film, it’s about all things comic book related (movies, cartoons, novels, “collectibles”, etc.  You get the picture).

It is, in effect, a “geek” Mecca (and a predominantly male crowd, save for the droves of costumed women who roam the floor in a variety of scantily-clad comic-inspired costumes, their sole purpose, I assume, to create a near-tangible cloud of pent-up sexual frustration).

The status I mentioned above would be completely unremarkable, save for two things:

1) It was posted by a girl.

2) It was posted by a hot girl.

Or, more appropriately, a gorgeous woman.  A gorgeous, intelligent, artistically-gifted woman.  A gorgeous, intelligent, artistically-gifted single woman.  In her early thirties.

What followed was a twenty-three comment strand of increasingly desperate attempts by men in a wide age range (late twenties to early forties)  to try and convince this girl just how much they, too, wanted to dress up like Power Rangers and stand in line to see the next “Goon” trailer.

Frankly, it made me sick.

Not because they were into comics books.  Oh no.  In fact, had they all been baring their souls to the world, shouting from the treetops their love for “Scud the Disposable Assassin” or Brian Michael Bendis’ groundbreaking “Powers” series, I would have lauded them, because I, too, am a fan of both.  No, instead, these men were suddenly acting like they had a keen interest in something, they, in truth, don’t give a damn about, and all for the bullshit affections of this girl.

Like I said, it made me sick.

What’s more, the guys that were falling all over themselves to see who could Wikipedia “100 Bullets” the fastest were the same guys who, upon seeing someone at the bar in a “Thundercats” t-shirt, would ridicule them relentlessly (I’ve been there when they’ve done it).

These guys wouldn’t be caught dead listing “books”, much less “comic books” under their “Interests” section, and suddenly they’re the biggest fanboys in the world?

Pathetic.

M-

*okay, maybe not.

On Perfection

Despite the inequalities, the supreme indifference of the universe, the ever-present threat of Murphy’s Law, there are times when perfection is encapsulated in a mere moment, a sum of all wholes, an intricately laced set of circumstances that measure up and exceed every expectation we have.

When the night is warm and filled with the slow drone of crickets and the air is heavy and sweet with the scent of summer.

When her hair falls across her face just so and the curve of her hip fits perfectly into your hand and you swear you can smell the flower in her hair and her lips meet yours in such a way that for a moment, you’re damn sure the world can’t get any better.  And so you kiss, and your hand finds the small of her back and she sighs a happy, contented sigh, and the universe resumes its course.  And for those scant few seconds, it’s not about sex or love or relationships.

It’s about a kiss from a beautiful woman on a warm summer night.

It was, in retrospect, a great weekend.

M-

Sorry About the Mess

Gentlemen:

If you leave your sexy, raven-haired girlfriend to stand alone in the middle of the bar in excess of twenty minutes while you wander over to the corner and compare hair-gel brands with the rest of the assholes in bedazzled jeans, do not think, for one second, I’m not going to talk to her.  Especially because, since you’re nowhere in the vicinity, all I see is a very pretty girl who looks like she’s not having a good time.

And when you see me talking to her, yes, she will appear very interested in the conversation.  She may even be smiling and/or laughing.  This is because it has been a long time since you paid any attention to her.

The gentlemanly thing to do would be to walk over, pull up the chair next to her, and join us.  I might even buy the next round, in a show of camaraderie and brotherhood, as a toast to our mutual great taste in the female form.

Or, you could continue to ignore her.  That’s fine too.  We’ll continue our conversation, and eventually, she’ll gracefully bow out because she knows you’re off somewhere feeling inexplicably inadequate.

But do not, under any circumstances, have one of your lackies find my friends at the bar and tell them that, “if I don’t back off, you’re going to kick my ass.”

If the lady wanted me to “back off,” should would have said something, friend. Something like, I don’t know, “I have a boyfriend?”

But alas, no mention of you.  Hm.

I know.  It’s hard being you.  Those hair-gelled dipshits you roll with look up to you.  Their your crew.  You’re their “Vince”.  It’s all very “Entourage”.  You’re being tough for them.

But you shouldn’t let that cloud your judgement.  Because, let’s face it, you know and I know that you’re not going to “kick my ass.”  And when I look over at your table and raise my glass and then go right back to talking to your girlfriend, it makes you look really, really bad.  More so when you come over and march her away from my table without so much as even a glance in my direction.

Nice try.

In other news, it turns out I’ve been working on collaborative piece without even knowing it.  This gentlemen has been taking my blog posts (and hundreds of others) and using his extensive computer skills (re: MS Paint) to write nasty things all over them!  How cool! And original!  He seems like a very hip guy who does not, in any way, shape, or form, live in his mom’s basement!  My favorite part is where he compares me to Biff Loman; I love “Death of a Salesman!”  It sounds like he’s really into Entourage too, so we’d better give him a name…

Johnnie Drama!  That’s it!

So heeeeeeere’s Johnnie:

http://trolltide.wordpress.com/2011/07/15/lord-batman-please-grant-me-the-strength-to-have-an-hbos-entourage/

Make sure to leave him lots of nice comments.  Sounds like he could use them.

M-