Family issues have prevented me from attending to the blog. Now that the dust has settled and I have some breathing room, let me tell you of an early dating experience that you, dear readers, might find amusing.
I’ve mentioned before that my Myers-Briggs type is INTP. In short, this means that I’m prone to be introverted, work alone, stuck in my head, and drawn towards science and philosophy, among other intellectual pursuits. It also means that I value logic and clarity quite highly, and have little patience with people who lack these qualities. Especially “chick logic” that’s based in feelings and Rollo’s Feminine Imperative, and that has no qualms in bending reality to its own ends. I’ve met many women who fit into this mold, but have banged on a few of them because they were pleasant enough where I could stand them and then get their panties off.
Here’s one of them . . .
She was an Asian-Hispanic mix. Nice and exotic-looking, but enough of an Americhick where she could get pop culture references. (The “true Asian,” in my experience lately, is too groupthink and socially awkward to be more forthcoming, as well as hindered by her own awful English conversational skills. Bad memories of my time in Asia teaching them always resurface . . . ugh.)
She was 28 years old when I met her, on OKC. Quick emails, then to the phone, then Facebook friending. That was beneficial for me because she had bikini pics (N.B. she was a big attention whore) so I could see more recent pics to decide whether she was worth meeting or not. She was. In my book, a solid 7. Nice little body and her face lit up when she smiled.
At this time, I had learned enough Game to be successful. Of course, I think I caught her eye in the beginning, anyway.
We agreed to meet for drinks at a local lounge I like to visit now and again. Quiet, sophisticated, and close. No loud thumping and douchebaggery at this place, thank the gods.
I got there early and took a seat at the back. I put my chair against the wall so that I could see the front door. She arrived and I waved to her in the back. She looked like her pics and was affable enough. We each had two drinks apiece and I paid for them. I kept to the Leykis 101 rule of “no more than $40 on the first date” successfully.
She talked about herself, reiterated some of the things she told me on the phone. A native of Cincinnati, she graduated in pre-law from Miami University of Ohio, then attended some kind of law/social work combo program at the University of Cincinnati. She was working at a non-profit outside the city and did more social work for substance abusers and general n’er-do-wells than she was doing law. She wanted to get into child advocacy law. But, her current job paid the bills.
(N.B. Miami University of Ohio has, for many years, been labeled as a “prep school,” where the rich kids go. It’s been listed as a “public Ivy” and thinks itself thus, because Ohio residents can pay in-state tuition and get an “Ivy League education.” In recent years, Miami U. has also gained a reputation as a hotbed of feminist indoctrination.)
As I said, she seemed affable enough, and was giving me some strong IOIs during the conversation, hinting that she might be DTF. I kept the focus on her and she dropped me the following clear indicators about herself and where I fit into her picture:
1. She complained about the local guys her age, how they were douches and, in her words, “hard to talk to.” Apparently, they weren’t intellectually stimulating enough for her. I, on the other hand, seemed to be, what with my interests in classical music, literature, science, and other more “worldly” things.
2. She told me, outright, “you’re much better looking in person than your pictures.”
3. She mentioned that she had been dating a guy not too far away from the city for about a year and then broke up with him. The reason? He didn’t want kids.
My deduction = she was DTF, needed that boost to swing that way, and was certainly hubby- (or at least baby-daddy) hunting for the long term. After all, she was 28 years old. The clock was ticking.
We finished our drinks and appetizers at the lounge and I proposed a venue change. A pub up the street where we could get a beer and watch the douchebags mingle. Her turn for drinks, since I got the wine and cocktails for us at the lounge. I got one beer on tap, and she strategically ground her ass gently into my crotch as I reached for the beer at the bar. A clear sign for DTF.
From the bar, we moved over to one of the couches where we talked some more. Halfway through my beer, I leaned over to kiss her after getting the “go ahead” signals. She was ready for it. We then started making out there on the couches, me groping her stomach and tits through her bra, before one of the pub dudes came and shone a flashlight in our faces with a “cut that shit out!” movement. We agreed to ditch the pub, pile into her Toyota Yaris, and drive back to my place. Wine and warm sheets were waiting for her.
Suffice to say, she was a loud one (and a tight one). Once was enough for me and she got herself off again manually. Later, she left.
I banged her a few more times after that. Once, without a condom, and her being slightly annoyed. I didn’t gush warm life into her that night and held back, but it proved to me that she was being a typical Americhick and foregoing protection. (Probably that subconscious wish in her hindbrain to get the seed of an older, more mature, and more sophisticated gentleman like myself, as opposed to her douchebag cohort. Older dick = better dick. Older also means better magic fingers, which I know how to use.)
Eventually, this chick stormed out of a local bar where I was meeting my friends. Dunno, really, what happened to her, but it was clear that she was a bit mentally unstable. Enough for a pump-and-dump, but in no way for something long-term.
She was also intellectually offensive. Though she claimed to like some classical music and had a piano in her apartment, she said that Baroque music was “just one big math problem.” (Obviously, she never listened to some of Bach’s and Handel’s vocal works.) She also couldn’t reconcile how someone could be in the military and have studied philosophy, like a friend of mine has done in his life. (I told her that he majored in philosophy and then wanted to do something different.) She thought that all philosophers were pacifists. She obviously wasn’t aware of just war theory or that someone like Wittgenstein, who served in World War I and was a POW in Italy, could have done what he did. Uh-huh . . .
She also had two yappy chihuahas. I like cats better.
Good riddance. Too bad, because I could have banged her one or two more times.
Moral of the story = oh, how the intellectual deficit has increased in the succeeding generation. On the other hand, as an older woman once told me, “if you want higher-quality pussy, then you’ll have to give up on the brains.” She was right.