Some of you will remember this blog started as a dating blog. It's not that anymore. It's random thoughts of my own on either current subjects or about myself that sometimes has good advice in it. Sometimes it's hilarious; sometimes it's somber. Well, this should be a golden nugget for my readers. It's about a date, about me, and there's probably some underlying advice, while hopefully making you laugh your ass off. So I had a date last night.
My date started with him asking if I knew where the place we were meeting was at. It's a restaurant and bar in the town I live in. That seemed pretty silly. Even if I didn't, there's this really cool thing called Google Maps where I can find out and get directions. So I get there. He looks like his pictures for the most part. He's a little shorter and a lot scrawnier. Okay, admittedly I like buff. But he's supposedly an engineer too, so yea, if you've ever watched Big Bang Theory, the male version of engineer isn't always buff--usually not. So eventually we come to the point in the conversation where we discuss who we are. I'm a quality engineer, mechanical, who started in processing and stamping lead and now I'm working with steel stamping. All pretty mundane at this point. What kind of engineer is he? He asks me if I have heard of AutoCAD. Uh. What the hell? I am a degreed mechanical engineer. The sarcastic side of me came close to mustering the valley girl in me "oh yes, and Catia and Pro-E toooooo". No, I didn't. He's a structural engineer. Really? So was my Dad. That's the end of that conversation from his point. So where was he working now. Oh he's not, but he gives me some song and dance about checking other people's work from home. So, at best he's an unemployed, associates degree in CAD. Again, dude was being so vague, the red flags were flying everywhere. Even for friends that were sitting on the other side of the bar from us. One asked if I needed help when he went to the bathroom or to have a cigarette. I probably would...
He comes back and we're done talking about work. Now, on to the kids. Here he does have some specifics. He has a daughter who just took the bar in Georgia, and unlike his vagueness about himself, he knows where she went to college, where she works and that she gets her bar results in October, if he remembers correctly. At this point, I tell him about my boys. Of course, I'm a doting mom. I brag about the 3 of them. My youngest at Michigan. My middle coming home to go to Clemson after working the pipelines for a stint. (Oh he did that too--again, when asked he was vague. Wouldn't say where or when.) Next, my oldest, who's living with me. I would've bragged on the dog next. He's one of my boys too, but this guy goes into a whole lecture telling me that my boys wouldn't want to live with me. And that normal boys wouldn't want me in their business. And, how they don't need their mother. And, and, and. Now this was the most talking he had done. Hard to do any talking when you're being so damn vague. Thing is I haven't really told him much about me. I haven't told him much about my boys. Just the typical mom bragging stuff. He knows more about my relationship with my boys than I do. According to him, I'm not friends with my boys and he makes me sound like some clingy Southern mother who follows my boys around asking about their sex lives. Uh.....seriously, you just can't make this shit up....
Okay, his next choice of subject is motorcycles. Did I ride mine? I'm in sandals birdbrain. What do you think? No, I didn't say that either. I told him no that I had run some errands and hadn't had the time to get changed to ride. What kind of bike? '09 Fatboy. He has the same bike he bought new in 1998. Softail custom. Okay, I saw this bike when I came in. There were only 3 bikes outside. It was a wide glide, but who am I to tell him the difference? No, didn't say a word. Besides, I don't know. He might have changed out the forks. We talk about bikes. He doesn't like the new Harleys. Apparently not, I thought. Then we talk about choppers briefly. Okay, things seem to be on an uptick. Talk about Bourgets. He doesn't like them...He doesn't really seem to like much. Whip out my brother in law's 1973 Bowling Ball...aka. AMF Harley Davidson Shovelhead Heritage. This bike impresses everyone. Not this guy. Nope, not one bit. WTF??? A Harley dude who isn't impressed by a shovel?? Where the hell did this bozo crawl out of?
Oh no, this date isn't over yet. Sure, this girl should've cut it short at that point, but it's only been 45 minutes. He changes the subject from the shovel to tires. Oh yes boys and girls, let's talk tires. Ah, yes, so that he could introduce that he has a 2016 Mustang. This girl is a HEMI girl, but I suppose a Mustang is impressive too. GT? No, Shelby. Uh, dude, a Shelby is a GT...nevermind. So far, he's pretty much bullshit and when he said shelby he said it under his breath that I had to ask twice to even understand what the hell he was saying. It came with Pirellis. P-Zeros? I asked...He didn't know. What kind of engineer doesn't even know what tires are on his sports car?
So, I go on about having the Pirellis on my car, because I have Pirellis on my bike. I explained the different tires that I've ridden on my bike--the HD Dunlops, Avons and the Night Dragons by Pirelli. Even rode a friend's bike that had the Metzler. I go into the different grip of the 4 brands on the Fatboy...Okay, admittedly I'm a true geeky engineer. But this dude is about as gearhead engineer as I am a brain surgeon. He tells me he's always run the Dunlops. Nothing else. In fact, I have no idea what I'm talking about because rubber compound has nothing to do with tire grip. It's only about the tread. Bwahahahaha.....Nope, if you know anything about tires, then you know this moron knows nothing. Oh, yes, and I still said nothing.
Finally, he begins the next question asking if I'm Italian. No, why? Because I get way too "fired up", and apparently this is a common issue with Italian women. At first, I try to explain that I get nervous and I'm a pretty passionate person. SMH at myself. This bozo isn't worth me trying to explain. Next, he starts patting my shoulder like I'm a dog and telling me to calm down. This is like baptizing a cat asshole. I'm ready to knock him off the bar stool. He's explaining how women like me don't need to get so upset. In my mind I'm thinking, let me get this straight, he has lied about everything about himself, completely misrepresented himself, and I've tried to be entertaining anyway???? He was even patting my leg. I think he thought this was going really well. I turned on him and told him who I actually am. I don't really care. I get "fired up" because I enjoy conversations. I haven't even gotten fired up as far as what he's talking about. And, y'all be proud, this was the cold, drop down the voice because I'm ready to deck him, me, not the giddy "ooo fun intellectual" fired up conversation me. This bozo still thought I was walking out with him....
Let me tell every one of you, I don't care who you are. The one thing I hate is someone who obviously hasn't got a clue who I am telling me who I am. Shut up. Oh, and I don't have to get fired up. I'm a woman!! Of course I do, just like almost every single one of us can. And he's lucky I didn't cuss him out and was still a lady in spite of him patting me like a damn dog. Do I look like a damn labrador retriever to you???? Hell, I don't like people that don't know me that well touching me, let alone this clown who was obviously misrepresenting who he is. Liars are always vague that way they don't commit to something that you can verify and figure out that they are liars. Honest people give you details without even noticing they are doing it. He did give me some details. He lived in Atlanta for over 20 years--makes that pipeline thing unlikely, except that is one of the few things that I think he was actually being honest about. He didn't tell me where he graduated from. Hell, everyone I know that has a bachelors brags about where--even when it isn't really a school anyone knows. It's a proud moment for those of us that have worked hard to earn our degrees, even if it's in basket weaving. We are still proud. We made friends, and the memories are forever.
I had a good night the rest of the night. I went and sat with the friends at the end of the bar. It was fun, and I got to laugh about how full of bullshit this guy was. Oh yes, we were definitely laughing at him, not with him. Lesson? Same I've said for years. Don't bottle up who you are to make other people happy. I bottled up that I knew that he was a lying moron. Perhaps, that was what he perceived as "fired up". But really, I think I was just nervous initially, and when he realized I was smarter, way smarter than he is, he opted to insult me. I am who I am, and if you don't like it, you don't have to. I'm not here for your entertainment. Go entertain yourself.
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