How to date an alien – I mean an extrovert. (A guide for introverts)

He is the thunder to your lightning, the bed to your breakfast, and the macaroni to your cheese. Your romance is the stuff of legends. The spark is an everlasting star, burning brightly in the quiet night while you cuddle in the comfort of your passion.

Until of course, he utters the words: “Do you want to go out?”

“Does it involve other people?” You ask with dread crawling up your spine, the passion sizzling a quick death.

“Of course it does!” he says eagerly and smiles with that adorable tilt to his mouth.

 

“F.U.C.K.”

 

You start to contemplate killing your goldfish just to have an excuse to say no. It is terribly selfish I know, but being an introvert dating an extrovert can be one of the most challenging things one must face when the mere thought of engaging with other people already gives you a headache even though you haven’t actually engaged with anyone – yet. ‘Shudder’

Parties and gathering are an anxiety-laden roller coaster that leaves you gasping for air and wishing for a swift death. Or a cat to pet in the corner while whispering sweet nothings to yourself. They already think you have a few screws loose anyway, might as well add fuel to the already burning pyre.

We, as introverts, understand that you want to include us into your world. You want us to get to know your friends but you have SO MANY OF THEM. I swear, it’s like trying to become friends with everyone on Instagram. I have like 3, you have it easy. Trying to tell your 21 work friends apart from each other is like trying to take a photograph of an invisible object. Impossible.

You give in anyway. You go to that party, even though every voice in your head is screaming “NAY”. You want to be part of his world. You want to make him happy but every time you accompany him to something, it feels like you’re holding him back from having fun because he stays by your side feeling obligated to keep you company while you’re trying your damn best to blend in with the furniture.

Then he feels weird because you’re so quiet around his friends and family and everyone is kind of sneaking a glance at the weirdo sitting in the corner talking to herself. You start to feel guilty because you’re not engaging with his friends but the mere thought of talking to them makes your throat clamp up and your palms grow sweaty. It’s this endless, awkward loop with no end in sight.

Realise that you are not going to change. It is so fundamentally part of you because this is who you are. You are an introvert. A social vegan that avoids meet. You can’t magically change just because it’s important to him that you change. That said, you’ll try. You really will but at some point, he will either just have to accept you for who are you or move on. Being quiet is normal for you. It’s when you’re not quiet that they should start to worry because either a parasite has taken over your brain or you are forcing yourself to be something you’re not. Which is social. It is a swear word in our vocab.

Alas, not all is lost. It is entirely possible to coexist with your extroverted partner in a semi-peaceful manner. There will be times both you want to shake the stuffing out of each other, yelling “What in the blasted name is wrong with you!?” – wondering what the hell you were thinking falling for the other. Do keep in mind that your partner’s differences is exactly what attracted you to him in the first place. That and his butt. Let’s be honest here.

Communication is key and not having a knife nearby helps to alleviate the tension. Mostly. Compromise and meeting each other half way is the only way to make things work. You cannot allow yourself to lose what makes you, you, just to please them. You hate people. Your social batteries last maybe a few hours at most before you have to crawl into your cave and recharge while your partner can party into the wee hours of the night.

Which by the by makes them an alien. I mean seriously, watching them walk into a room and instantly connect with everyone is fucking creeping. Only an alien does that. How is he that fearless?? It takes me 31 one-on-one conversations just to be able to not awkwardly avoid the other person’s eyes every time I am in the same room with them. He, on the other hand, can walk up to a plant and be like “You should totally come to my braai next week” and the plant will be like: “Yeah sure dude, sounds great!”

ALIEN.

Respecting these needs in each other is the first step to finding a balance that works for both of you. Every time he wants to go out it’s like a WHOLE THING. You have to mentally prepare yourself to physically go somewhere and be social for x – amount of hours. It’s horrifying and it takes a lot of internal pep talking just to get out the door. Add strangers to the mix and you have one special, anxious little snowflake, ready to bolt at the first sign of someone looking at them oddly.

This is usually where the bargaining comes in: “I’ll go with you to y event but we only stay for x amount of hours.” Your extroverted partner may become irritated but this is where the consideration and understanding part comes in. You are going out of your way to accompany him to an event that terrifies the living shit out of you just to make him happy. It’s like buying a damn diamond for a girl. It’s that big of an issue.

It sounds ridiculous, you don’t have to convince me, but it’s when he accept this part of you that you start to fall even more in love with him because he is really starting to get you. The majority of people enjoy socializing with other people and it is difficult when you’re an introvert to find someone that really understand your need to be alone sometimes. I am not breaking up with you. I want to go hide in a corner and eat cookies, ALONE, and then, having recharged my batteries I will come back to you and make you a happy human because I am a happy human.

Sometimes it happens that he drags your ass out to a dumb event and you really don’t want to go but you end having you a whole lot of fun. It’s times like these that you realise that this is why you like him.

It’s as simple as that. If you do it right, in the end, you actually appreciate all of the differences because you both balance each other out really well. It may not always be easy, but it definitely is always interesting.

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How to Adult (Part 1)

I is an adult. I is not happy. Adulting is not fun. Adulting can go suck a frog foot. It’s the bills, the rent, the calling the doctor by yourself when you are sick. Doing your own laundry, doing your taxes, being responsible, feeding yourself and all the little things in between.

Being an adult is probably the dumbest thing I have ever done.

There is no manual, no how-to adult book with a definite answer which is handed to you when you turn 18. Hell, there isn’t even an official age when you are considered an adult.  It all depends on your mental age, how many sea monkeys you can juggle at once, the state of the moon in alignment with the tree down the street and your cat’s mood. You could be 40 and still don’t know whether you’re actually considered an adult or not.

Is it when you move out then? Is it when you leave high school? Is it when you make your first doctor’s appointment all by yourself? Or do you still call and beg your mother to do it?

Perhaps Adult isn’t something you are but something you do. A verb and not a noun. You can be a grown ass woman/man and still beat the kids to the ice cream truck when you hear its ever annoying tune blasting down your street. Or ambling rather.

Undoubtedly the most important lesson and the first thing you must learn in order to start adulting properly is:

You are not that special

(But appreciate those who disagree with the above) The world does not revolve around you. Nobody cares about you except your parents, on your good days, and your best friends, maybe that one teacher that let you hide in the classroom during recess that one time as well.

People are too busy with their own problems to care that you accidentally placed the ice cream in the fridge and now it’s melted. Ranting about it on Facebook only serves as temporary 2 second amusement before the 2/1007 friends who bothered to read it, forget about it and move on with their own lives.

This directly ties to: Be okay with being alone

You do not need a girlfriend/boyfriend or an x amount of friends to be happy or fulfilled. Learn that there are going to be times that you’re going to want a watch movie and literally no one has time to accompany you. Eventually, you’re going to swallow your dread and go anyway. You’re going to stand there, alone, by yourself, waiting to enter the movie theatre. People are going to think you’re a loser because you’re standing there all by yourself with no one to talk to.

WRONG.

This is what they’re really thinking in some form or another: “I wonder if toasters are secretly alive and only pretending to be inanimate objects.”

Seriously. They are probably not even going to pay attention to you unless they secretly want to squeeze your marshmallows…

Learn to be domestic

Another moment when you may be jolted into being an adult is the day you run out of toilet paper when you need it the most. When you realise it is NOT an infinite resource and must be monitored like a bloody panda.

Food does not magically appear in your fridge and dust accumulates on every surface possible. You’ll soon be arming yourself with surface cleaner and 3 different colour rags because nothing scares dust more than a well put together grown up that knows how to adult like a pro. You’ll have to start creating grocery lists and forgetting them every time.

No one is going to remove spider bro, casually hanging in the corner of your room. You’ll either have to deal with him or burn down your house/apartment. A friendly neighbourhood lady, whose name you’ll never remember, isn’t going to be knocking on your door and asking you whether you accidentally spilled milk all over yourself and offer to do your laundry.

You are responsible for the dead things your cat brings into your house. In pieces. You are responsible for cleaning your dirty plates before ecosystems form on them and you accidentally breed a new strain of deadly, leg eating bacteria.

Luckily you are not alone. There are billions of people all over the world that have managed to successfully adult and not kill themselves in the process. If they can do it, so can you. Until you accidentally drop a bag of frozen peas on your foot and your world effectively ends in pain and misery.

Learn to cook. At least how to boil water. Learn to do your own laundry. Red and white do not go together unless you really like pink. Google is your friend.

Knowing that mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell, isn’t going to help you change the lightbulb or be a functioning adult.

To be continued…

Seen

“I am happy on my own.”

The moment you utter these words, the world seemingly goes up in flames as people reprimand you, lecture you and give you a serious talking to as to why such a statement is taboo. (I mean seriously if I have to hear one more old person tell me “You’re next.” at a wedding or whatever, I’m getting them back by subtly uttering the words “You’re next.” at someone’s funeral.)

It is impossible to be happy in your singlehood. Absolutely unspeakable. They utter as they give you this look. You have to have a boyfriend to be happy. You have to have a girlfriend to be happy. Anything less and suddenly you’re technically not a person.

Bullshit.

People are marrying their pillows and you’re worried about me being alone for the rest of my life? I think I’m good thanks.

Why is it when people admit that they are single and that they’re happy to be that people stare at them disapprovingly. That they’re lectured and frowned at for daring to utter these words. Why is the notion so taboo? Does happiness not come from the self? Are you not the architect of your own life? So why is it when you express your lack of a relationship that suddenly it’s not okay?

Why are people so concerned about other’s relationship statuses in the first place? I blame Facebook. I think I’m going to write a strongly worded letter. With exclamation marks.

We live in a world where sex has become cheap and divorce the norm. Where the sanctity of marriage is no longer sacred. Finding someone to spend the rest of your life with, that will uplift you and make your happy is more difficult than finding a unicorn riding a unicycle, juggling tubs of ice cream.

They’d rather just bang you.

But you keep on trying because society expects you to. You sign up on dating site x and cast your net and wait. Or you go out, disguised as an outing with friends but secretly you are looking around.  Eventually, after a few weeks, months or even a year, you finally meet someone promising.

You start to chat. Things look really favourable but you tell yourself that it’s only a conversation. You build a fortress around your heart and continuously stomp on the little flame that wants to ignite.

The flame of hope. Hope that you have finally met THE ONE. Hope that they like you just as much you like them. Hope that this thing between you will blossom into something beautiful. Hope that they will accept you for who you are. And help you find your missing screws. I’m pretty sure my imaginary friend hid them somewhere. Damn it Katherine.

You resist and you’re proud of yourself. You’re protecting your heart from breaking. Also your ass. Three words. Chocolate grief eating. Does that sentence even make any sense? Not the point.

As time wears on and you get to know the person on the other side of the screen. You throw everything that you are at this person expecting them to high tail and run but they don’t. They accept you and your toenail collection for who you are. You can no longer snuff the flame, the walls start to crumble and you start to fall, long and hard. You try your utter best to resist the pull but your resolve weakens after each passing day.

“She is so smart.”

“He is so funny.”

“They truly understand me.”

You’re happy, smiling all the time, giggling at your phone at inappropriate moments like an idiot. Life is good. Unicorns are farting rainbows. But this temporary high only lasts a split second. Something changes. It is so minuscule you don’t notice it at first but it’s there.

They start to take longer and longer to reply to your messages. Sometimes days go by before you hear even a peep from them and then it’s some half-baked, half assed excuse. You’re putting in more effort than one person should to keep this thing between you afloat.

Yet, things are still rosy. Or so you tell yourself. You deny that something is wrong. You ignore the signs as best you can but eventually, it starts to wear on you. No amount of blanket forts can protect you now.

They no longer jump at the opportunity to see you. They don’t bother to reply to your messages in a reasonable amount of time. They no longer subtly flirt with you. It feels like work. Like you’re trying to swim through thick sludge.

You become livid.

“How dare he ignores me?”

You stalk them, your anger growing as you realize they are out living their life while you sit here like an idiot pining after them. You contemplate posting passive aggressive statuses on Facebook just to give them a piece of your mind. You remind yourself that you would not look good in orange overalls. As quickly as this fury started… it ends.

You start to bargain with yourself.

“I’ll give her until Friday to call back.”

“I’ll wait until x before I message him.”

They finally call back. They finally reply to your message. Angels sing. Ponies frolic in the sunshine. Everything is right in the world again. After all, your patience paid off, no? The conversation does not go like it did in your head when you were arguing with yourself a while ago.

You deny what is right in front of you. That they’re keeping you on a thread. Perhaps it is because they’re selfish pricks that enjoy making other people miserable pining over them. Perhaps they are truly busy and this just wasn’t the right time to initiate a relationship. Or perhaps it is pure ignorance.

Nevertheless, you are the one sitting with the sputtering flame of hope in your chest. That is the worst part, isn’t it? If they were to just end things, to throw a bucket of ice water out over you, it would snuff the flame completely and ultimately, you’d be free. But they don’t.

You are the one that loses here. Not them. You tried to protect yourself. You tried to resist them. You tried. It was not enough and now here you sit, a cloud of misery hanging over your head.

You feel empty on the inside. It feels like a gigantic sumo wrestler is sitting on your chest, eating cookies. You don’t know what to do with yourself. You wander around work, an empty vessel, trying to find something that will make the pain go away. It feels like it will never end. You cry yourself to sleep at night, wondering: “What did I do wrong? Is there something wrong with me?”

No answer presents itself.

Finally, you accept it. When a man likes a woman, it’s obvious. And vice versa. If you continuously have to ask yourself: “Does, he/she like me?” then you already have your answer.

The moment you realise this, that flame finally, finally dies.

 

The art of being a somewhat lady.

There comes a time in every young female’s life when she must put away her flamethrowers and Barbie dolls and become the badass, totally mannered woman of pure etiquette she is meant to be.

Or at least try not to burn down the kitchen. That works too. Ladies are not born, they are made. That being said what exactly does it mean to be a lady?

Does it mean you speak in old English, thou, art, thee? Does it mean you walk with your nose in the air and your tush tucked in firmly as if you’re holding a credit card between your butt cheeks? Does it mean you hide behind a fan and giggle properly while scalding your enemies with your laser eyes? Perhaps it’s drinking your tea with your pinkie in the air…

No my darlings, it is much more than that.

 

How to be a lady.

 

A lady is groomed.

Presentation is a key part to becoming a respectable woman. Your future depends on you being a sophisticated creature that always has her shit together. Even when you want to crawl into a hole and cry while stuffing chocolate bunnies into your face and making tissue shrines. Make-up is your arsenal. Use it. But not too much. You don’t want it to look like you took a trowel to your face.

Wash your face regularly and apply a good moisturizing cream. Avoid caking your face with powders and creams though. It could lead to acne and everyone knows that those with acne are probably ogres or even worse… Communists.

Care for your hair. Don’t go out if your hair looks like a family of bats made a nest in it and then you tried vacuuming them out. Put some extra effort in to making sure your hair always looks nice or at least presentable. There is nothing a man loves more than running his fingers through a woman’s silky, soft hair while kissing her senseless. Just saying.

When the demons are plaguing you and your evil twin sister is out (#period), be extremely careful for anyone not to see certain items that you require to survive the ordeal. Men don’t need to know you’re human, you are a lady damnit.

 

A lady dresses appropriately at all times.

This does not necessarily mean you wear a blouse that button up to your throat, knickers that make your granny proud or a dress that hide your ankles…. Because you know… nothing riles a man up more than sexy ankles. The shame.  It means you wear the colours that compliment you. Your skirts can be short, but they don’t loving climb up into your butt cheeks. Your blouses don’t show every lump and bump that graces your drop dead gorgeous body. Don’t get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with having a little extra. Blatantly flaunting that “extra” by wearing skint tight clothing that could cause a seizure from tightness however, might just send the men running in the other direction. Wear clothes that compliments your figure and that doesn’t scream “cringe when you see it.”

This applies to all woman. You don’t want your double D’s flopping around possibly hitting innocent passer-by’s in the face. Although I’m sure some men would be more than willing to take the fall for their brothers in arms. Wear a good bra, wear clothes that cover everything appropriately but there is just enough sass to make the men pant behind their cool facades. Underwear is not a misnomer. Exposed things are not glamorous. Men eventually grow up and realise that a lady is a lot more worth than a quick booty call and if your clothing is not on par they will lose interest. Even if they do take a peek. They’re still men.

 

A lady behaves

Ladies do not have one night stands. Ladies do not do booty calls. Ladies behave themselves and is the picture perfect representation of what you probably want in a wife one day if you’re a man. (I can already see the boys cringe in horror. Marriage? Bogwash! Who thinks of such things at this day and age?).

If you as a man wishes to go sow your seeds then do so. Just don’t expect your lady to participate in such unladylike acts. Explore if you must. You will come to your senses eventually. In a decade or so. But don’t expect her to sit and wait for you. She is her own person and a man that actually has come to his senses will appreciate her for her worth.

Being a lady means that you do not sow your wild oats. At all. How can you claim to be respectable woman if you jump in bed with every man that sings pretty poems to you? Now you might argue with me that how dare I be so prudish? Woman should also be allowed these liberties that men seem to have but unfortunately for you we still live in a day and age where it is frowned upon if a woman is “loose.” It is unfortunately our lot in life. If you wish to be a lady you must accept it. If not, that is your choice.

Jumping in bed with a man after only a few dates is wholly untasteful. It’s doubtful he will have much respect for you if you do. He might placate you with pretty words and such but do not be fooled by them. Men might not want to admit it, but they do have a lot more respect for a woman that stands firm by her morals even if it leads to said poor man having an itch that cannot be scratched. Oh the sacrifices the poor souls must make!

It will be worth it in the end. A lady is loyal to a fault and will stand by your side through thick in thin while still looking fabulous.

 

A lady has manners.

Not much needs to be said here. Please and thank you is your bread and butter. Do not talk with your mouth full. Spitting peas all over your date might not be the best way to get the conversation going. You do not curse like a sailor even if that motherfucking bitch sitting a few feet away from your table dared look at your man. Smile politely at his jokes even if you want to roll your eyes so far into your head you might just pass out.

 

A lady knows how to please her man.

Yeah I know. We were all sniggering behind our hands. Get your head out of the gutter. Let me rephrase that. A lady knows how to make her man feel like buffalo wrestling, axe-wielding, female swooning male life form. Better?

Men do so love a damsel in distress that they can sweep off their pretty little feet. Don’t lie to us, you so do. It’s okay, because a lady knows how and when to ask for assistance even if she’s wholly capable of doing it herself. Men love feeling like protectors in the relationship and if you allow him to save you from the invisible woman eating raisin dwarves every now and then he’ll love you more for it. Sure the modern woman needs no man, yada yada yada but this is an inborn instinct and you can only use it to your advantage. But don’t go soft either. You should let him assist you in your endeavors yes, but subtly let him know that you could do it yourself as well.

 

Enjoy the fact that you are a woman and men will enjoy it too. Being a lady is last and foremost carrying yourself with confidence. It is sexier than any low cut dress…

Dating an introvert: the fun, the chicken and the downright scary.

 

Introvert: A social vegan that avoids meet. If you’re dating a creature of this type then kudos to you. Introverts are like cats. We are loyal lovers, tending to be more selective with whom we show our love and affection and we don’t just wag our tails for anyone. We are independent creatures that don’t need a lot of attention and hype to feel good and we have simple needs:

Food + affection + quiet comforts = happy introverts.

That all sounds wonderful to another introvert but what happens when an extrovert dates an introvert? How do you deal with this aloof creature that one seconds wants your undivided attention and then in the next dismisses you with a flourish?

 

Survival tips for courting an introvert:

Getting them to express themselves is like pulling teeth. Painful.

Introverts don’t want to discuss their “feelings” or have a formal conversation about their emotions. They prefer dealing with their bullshit on their own. Unlike most people, introverts don’t need other people to help them cope with their problems. They prefer to slay their demons on their own… with pointy things and lots of crying in the dark. When you just want to make things right or figure out what the heck they want for delivery, you have to coax them into talking or just leave them alone for a few days to just “deal” and then everything will be okay. Trust me, I have a marshmallow.

 

Just as nature detests a vacuum, we detest vacuous small talk.

Translation? Meaningless conversations are a no-no. Our energy is limited, partly because a lot of it is expended by frolicking in our minds and we don’t like wasting it on meaningless activities. Like small talk. Small talk is the bane of our existence. We hate it. We want to throw it into a volcano and watch it burn. If you have a death wish and want to die a slow and painful death then engage in small talk with an introvert. If their stare doesn’t kill you, the vacuum that is formed probably will.

 

Silence is only awkward if you make it awkward.

So you’ve hit a little snag and the conversation has stopped dead. It’s silent. You can hear your own breathing. It’s horrifying. Your toes are starting to twitch. Your palms become sweaty. You don’t have anything to say and the panic starts to claw at you like a rabid bunny with a bow on its head.

 

Chillax brother. While you’re silently freaking out like an introvert that just send a friend request to their crush… Said introvert is perfectly comfortable. Yes cupcake, you read that right. While you slowly slipped into your panic induced state, the introvert of your affections has been arguing with the voices in her head. You only think it’s awkward because silence is not a natural state for you. It’s perfectly natural to us though. In fact, sometimes it’s preferred.

Introverts love cuddling. Instead of you know… freaking out, why don’t you pull your introvert into your arms and enjoy the silence together.

I know right? Madness.

 

We hate the phone. Oh, dear BURRITOS, do we hate the phone.

That “rule” about dating, where you’re supposed to call after three days? Or how people will say that, in dating, calling is preferable to texting because it’s more personal or thoughtful or whatever? Bullshit. Crap. Twak. Nada. Please don’t call us. A phone call is intrusive, it disturbs us and catches us off-guard, and it is often filled with superfluous small talk. Yes – small talk. Ingrain that into your brain if you must.

Also texting. If your instincts are to just send text messages all day all week with no tea breaks, it’s not any better than calling. We can ignore them for a while. Heck we can ignore them for daaaays but that’s not the problem. It’s seeing those notifications pop up just knowing that you’re waiting for a response and that causes uncalled for amounts of anxiety. Nail biting agony. Look don’t get me wrong, we are not completely against conversations on the phone. If it doesn’t happen too often and the conversations are fun, it’s chilled. It’s those conversations that have no value. You know… SMALL TALK. Dum dum duuuuuuuuum. I wouldn’t touch that with a ten foot pole. Small talk in person is bad enough. Small talk over texting is like throwing gasoline over yourself and striking a match while yodelling Justin Bieber.

 

Don’t expect us to be available at a moment’s notice.

“What are you doing tonight?” are the five worst words we can receive in a text message. It’s not that we don’t like going out — we love it! We just have to mentally prepare ourselves for it. If your introverted other has been assuming that he or she will be spending the evening stuffing Oreos in their mouth and playing video games then that is what they are doing. Disrupting that is traumatizing. For them, not for you and you will probably have a very sour, grumpy hoodie glaring at you the entire night if you drag them away from it.

By the by… this is what we mean when we respond with: “Sorry, I already have plans.” We are not making up excuses or going behind your back to do unholy things. We have plans. They don’t involve other people. Respect that. If the need to see your lover is very great and you’re willing just to hold them while they engage in whatever they had planned for the night… then you’d probably score on the brownie points big time. It would mean that you are understanding and totally get that they need their me time… Wink wink, nudge, nudge.

 

Just because we need quiet time doesn’t mean we expect you to do the same.

We understand our need to retreat into a corner and vegate AWAY from other people can be a bummer. There are weekends that we don’t want to leave the house. We want to leave parties early and there are social situations we just blatantly avoid but we’re not unreasonable human beings. If you want to go out and do shit, then go out and do shit. Don’t let us stop you, just don’t try to force us to go with you and don’t make us feel like horrible people that should not walk this earth because of it. We already spend enough time feeling like we’re kicking everyone’s puppies around us.

 

We just want to feel safe and cherished.

We need to know that we can be our natural reclusive selves without worrying about pommeling your feelings into the ground or being judged for who we are. NOTHING will shut us down faster than hearing something like, “C’mon, what’s your deal?” or “Why are you being difficult?” or any other similar nonsense. This is the way we are. This is the way we have always been. This makes us feel deficient and we end up apologizing for ourselves a lot for not being “normal” or “typical.” There’s a reason we can seem guarded with our hearts: because we sure as hell are.

 

We’re loyal, supportive, and uplifting partners who will listen to you and want you to be happy.

If you need constant validation for every minor day-to-day achievement, we might not make good partners. We might just roll our eyes. We are often very independent creatures that don’t require constant love and affection and reassurance and quite often we might seem aloof and uncaring. However, if you’re looking for someone that will always listen (we are very good listeners), that is more than happy to let you shine and take the spotlight, that put things in perspective when the feels get too pressing and can look past your bullshit… Then head on.

Otherwise run in the other direction.

The alpha female and the nice guy

A loooooooooong time ago I did a post about bad boys and why women like them and now to focus on the other side of the rainbow infested spectrum.

Why do women always reject the nice guy?

Now, this is purely from my perspective because I too am one of the culprits of rejecting various young men and most of them are the adorable, marriageable nice kind…

I never went through my bad boy phase. Like ever. Nigel (a.k.a my brain) just decided that our hormones don’t have anything on her and completely obliterated them. Well not completely, she couldn’t fight them off when random bouts of wailing were in order for the day but bad boys she could fend off. Mostly. I still drooled over pictures. I am not perfect and neither is Nigel.

Now a bad boy can be defined as a male life form that doesn’t play by the rules. That don’t follow trends but have trends follow him… Like puppies. Wait…. Puppies are not manly enough. Fine. A half dead buffalo with a missing horn. Yeaaaaaah now that’s badass. That smokes in a non-smoking area (but not rob a bank. That would be a criminal offense. There is a fine line here people.). That is dangerous and make your legs go all wet noodly and of course, there is a sense of danger about him. Like he’s not going pay for his parking ticket because screw that man. So sexy, where did I put my palm leaf?

Anyway, now usually when I was approached by above mentioned male life form my thoughts would generally follow this line:

“Oooh he’s cute.” (Start picturing all kinds of corny scenarios. Us frolicking in a field of flowers, us walking in the rain all romantic and stuff. Us kissing under the moonlight while crickets sing the song of their people…)

“Oh crap, he’s coming this way. What do I do? Oh, I am going to die right here, right now.” (Start looking for a way to escape his penetrating gaze. Nigel fervently tries to wake up noodle legs. Fails.)

At this point, he’s standing in front of me and I freeze on the inside. The fear of talking to another human being taking over me.

And then he opens his mouth and Nigel has a seizure.

Bitch mode initiated. Now starting itching to slap him protocol.

Yes people. I never dated bad boys because Nigel labeled them all juvenile idiots. We’re quite fond of prejudice aren’t we Nigel? We’re bad people. Well, I am a bad person. Nigel is my brain. I should probably stop talking about her as a separate entity… Like now.

But you don’t care about any of this, do you? DO YOU? You just want to know why women don’t want to date your adorable, slappable (no Nigel…) ass.

 

Things that I have noticed about nice guys:

 

Nice Guys Don’t Have Self-Respect

No one respects a doormat. Nice guys don’t set boundaries or make any real demands. My entire dating history followed the same pattern. I was always the alpha male. I made all the decisions and frankly it pissed Nigel off. We have better things to do like frolick in our nothing box than decide on things. A bad boy doesn’t let a woman walk all over him or control him. Women can’t respect a man they can control. Take it from someone who knows. No respect equals no attraction.

 

Nice guys don’t have a lot of self-confidence

Everywhere you look you see magazines of skinny ass women wearing gorgeous clothing that you as an average woman can never have either because you’re broke or your body is just not anorexic enough for it. We are continuously bombarded by the media to always look our best, to barely eat anything or go on this special diet consisting of seaweed and air just so that you can squeeze into a pair of pants that nature never intended for you to squeeze your buttocks into. Women are insecure. Women need to be told that they’re pretty and bad boys are charming and confident enough to achieve this. They make girl feels pretty and that’s why said girls are so attracted to bad boys. Nice guys tend to fumble through their words and don’t always know when to say the right things. Feminism be damned, women don’t want to make the first move. They want YOU to make the first move and don’t let any feminazi tell you otherwise.

 

Nice Guys Are So Predictable

Most people lead boring, predictable lives, (Not me of course. I have a nothing box. What is a predictable life when you have a brain called Nigel?) So naturally they’re attracted to people who are exciting and a bit volatile. Bad boys are like trying to resist that last piece of chocolate lying in your secret stash. Nice guys are never a challenge because they’re so afraid they’re going to say the wrong things or do the wrong things and then you will like hate them forever. By being predictable you’re doing the wrong thing in any case… You simply can’t win. I’m sorry. Predictable + no excitement + no challenge = I prefer bad boy.

 

Women Like To Feel Needed.

Nice guys usually do not need to be fixed. Their mothers did not drop them as babies. Well not enough to rattle all the brain bits into badass mode. Bad boys usually do, so they become a project. Like making a volcano with uhm… I’ve never made a volcano before okay. Things. Some women think if they can fashion the perfect man, he will never ever leave them and they will live happily ever after in a cottage with singing birds and mice that do all the housework. (Yeah no.) If a woman is so busy fixing her brooding boyfriend, she doesn’t have to look at what needs to be fixed in her own life.

 

Bad Boys Are Drop Dead Gorgeous and Strapping

Have you ever seen a bad boy who didn’t make your heart go all fluttery and stupid? I’m sure there are a few, but they wouldn’t be able to get away with half the stuff they did if they didn’t look so damn fine. Looking at our history, men have always protected women, physical and otherwise.

It’s still ingrained in our womanly genes to want the male that can feed you and like kill a buffalo with his bare hands. With nice guys, women are more likely to think that the Buffalo can and will impale him with its horns. Bad boys generally are the muscular kind that spend hours in the gym while nice guys tend to pursue intellectual quests.

As women get older they tend to realize that their bad ass boyfriends cannot provide for them and their bad qualities outweigh their good ones. It’s then that they realize that a good guy is a good choice but usually by then it’s too late and all the good ones have been taken but you know. One for the good guys… Yay? Frankly, if a woman always tends to go for the bad boy then the chances are she will likely never date you or she will and then she will dump your sorry ass for the next asshole that comes walking by. It’s  the ones that stray once or twice you should consider, they’re only going through a hormone invested phase after all…

But most of this is just speculation on my part. I’ve never dated a bad boy and can only draw my conclusion from hearing other women’s stories. But what I do know is that I am quite tired of being the alpha male. Before you go off and tell me all kinds of things I really wouldn’t care to hear. If you can point out a nice guy with a backbone of steel then I will worship the ground you walk on and you can reprimand me all you like. But that’s not how it works, is it? There is no such thing as a strapping young man with confidence and the personality of a saint. You either get one or the other.

All is not lost however. I think the trick is not to be nice but to be kind. A nice person conforms his behaviour to what he believes society sees as “nice”. A “kind” person doesn’t give a damn about what society thinks but acts out of a deep-rooted love for his fellow human beings. Perhaps the solution is not to become a bad boy to get the girl but to rather be a man that shows compassion and mercy and who knows when to take his stand. Someone who is trustworthy but also strong of will. I’d like one order of strong, kind, compassionate and trustworthy. But not nice. Never nice. We’ve seen this doesn’t seem to work very well. Leave that out, please.

I know I am putting in a tall order here but consider it.

Some poetic bullshit for you ponder.

How to totally be a ninja and crawl into a hole to avoid awkward moments…

It can get a teeny tiny bit awkward when you do something a little bit maladroit and then people give you those stares… You know… those kinds of looks that make the blood in your body either freeze and cause popsicles to form in your nose or make your blood boil while a lovely shade of autumn fire hydrant graces your lovely round, paunchy cheeks.

Here are but a few examples and how you can sweep such situations under the rug while still looking like the axe murderer that you are…

Waving at someone you think just waved at you but they were actually waving at the person behind you.

That disapproving frown. That embarrassment that creeps up your neck and gives you creepy little love bites all over your face. That mortification when you realize that you look like a retarded fishcake and probably a red tomato topped with cherry sauce too. Ewwww. The actual recipient of the greeting that caused the destruction of your very life that moment in time, awkwardly brushes by you and greets the enemy. IT. IT CAUSED THIS. How dare they just “wave” like that. How dare they put your life in danger like that. Your grave will read “death by person that waved at you but wasn’t really waving at you and thus you died of embarrassment because the earth couldn’t swallow you whole quickly enough…” It’s that horrible. You should sue them for almost causing your death but you’re not going to. Instead, you will quickly spin around and walk away like a centipede with 98 missing legs. You sad picked onion.

Pulling a door that says “push” and vice-versa.

It. Will. Not. Open. Push damnit. PUSH!!! While you are mercilessly grinding with your shoulder against this door, trying to get it open, someone just casually walks by, taps you on the shoulder and then pulls the door open. I do believe your brain just forgot how to brain. Much intelligence. Well done. Situations like these call for a certain kind of finesse. There is a bush nearby. Gracefully extend your slender leg behind you like a dog at a fire hydrant and… Awkwardly fall into the said bush while flailing wildly like an octopus trying to break dance. You have ineffectively avoided an awkward situation.

When your server says, “Enjoy your meal!” and you reply, “Thanks, you too!”

It’s one of those moments where you slowly want to pick up your spoon and stick it in your ear because you have no idea what else to do. It’s not like you can take it back because you have just inexplicably ruined this person’s life. They’re going to go sit in a corner and rock to and thro because your carelessness has brought back childhood memories from the time when they were 3 months and 16 days old. You may slowly sink from your chair now and become a puddle on the bacteria infested floors.

Telling a joke but then forgetting the punch line halfway through.

“So this Oreo walks into the dentist’s office and it asks the barkeeper for a drink and the zookeeper replies…” Wait what?

“Uhm…”

“The cannibal says…”

Look there is an easy way out of this one. Look everyone dead in the eye or try to… (Make your eyes go in opposite directions dammit, you can do this! You’re a ninja.) Look them in the eye soldier, slowly extend your tongue and… lick your eyebrow. Tiss as simple as that.

Facebook stalking someone and accidentally liking their profile picture from six years ago.

Remember that time I gave advice on how to talk to introverted girls? Well, my dear, this one is dedicated to you. You’ve been stalking this girl for a while now, you know the ins and outs, which books she likes, which carpets she doesn’t like and of course how many bugs she has in her dead bug collection. And then it happens. Just another day of idly going through her Facebook photos and you accidentally push that like button. You think, “Oops, well that’s okay she’ll probably won’t think much about it…” Until you see the date. Your heart stops, your stomach takes a plunge down candy mountain and your eye starts to do that special little twitch of its. You frantically Google for hours on end a way to “take it back” but alas you realize your fate is set and thus you say goodbye to your luxurious life and pack your bags to go live with the hobos under the bridge.

Asking someone at a store for a different size and realizing they don’t work there.

You’re trying on these gorgeous pairs of red shoes with pretty jeweled bows and heels high enough to make a giraffe envious of your awkward stumbling. You realize that they’re not precisely your number so you turn to the lady standing a few feet away and ask her politely yet firmly with a flick of your gorgeous mane of magnificent hair to please be a dear and “go fetch my number.” The arrogant bitch gives you incredulous look and shakes her head. With dawning horror, you realize that this woman does not work here. You swallow nervously and your eyes dart left and right, looking for any indication that there are hidden cameras somewhere…

Yeah, my suggestion?

Yell “I’m a potato!” and take a nose dive behind one of the displays. Belly crawl your way to the lingerie section and high tail it out of there. Change your name to Petunia and book a ticket to Botswana to start your new life as a tomato farmer.

When someone says they’re going to a funeral or a hospital visit and telling them reflexively to “have fun!”

You might as well have dug the grave yourself with a jewel encrusted spoon while listening to Nicky Mi-something. (Word can’t spell her name… Shame on you Microsoft Word. Terms and conditions may apply. Also apricot jam.) You horrible creature. We all know funerals and hospitals don’t have bouncy castles, how could you even suggest such a thing? People can’t have fun without bouncy castles. It’s atrocious. The horror. You must immediately exile yourself to the arctic to go live as an Eskimo and hunt snow balls to further fund the research for bouncy castles made of ice. It’s a thing.

Good day sir.

You sir, are a banana. Or should I say is a banana? Will that satisfy you?

“Why are you so quiet, it’s like you’re not even here.” Look at that, I know the difference between you’re and your. Yes, my English is just fine thank you very much even if I have blubbers from time to time. Did I mention that they only taught us the very basics in school while you can barely speak my native tongue? Just putting out there. Just for funsies. So to say I am infuriated would be putting it mildly. Not only have we just met, but also do you take it upon yourself to comment on my language, my person and the fact that “I’m quiet.” It’s called being an introvert you retarded banana. Not to be confused with retarded fishcakes. They’re cool. Bananas are considered the highest insult in my house. You should be ashamed of yourself.

Let’s start at the beginning, shall we? We went out. As in I left my PC alone for a day and partook in socializing with other people. Well, mostly my friends which are required of me but much to my utmost dismay a stranger approached us. Oh I do recognize you somewhat. You’re that guy thing I have played some games with before. Fun times… What did you say Nigel? (I have decided to name my brain Nigel. I will introduce you guys eventually.) Oh, you’re right, that chair is a funny colour of red. We were a large group of people but most were known to me so I was allowed to frolic in lala land. We split into two groups, they went one way to do things and I and two close friends went another way to do things.

It was nice, while the others did more physical things, I and one of my best friends had deep meaningful conversations and eventually, it happened. My socializing meter reached its max capacity and I was satisfied and Nigel retreated into the nothing box/cave to chase unicorns. The others eventually joined us and conversations started. I of course just sat there, enjoying the sounds of close friends talking around me while Nigel frolicked.

And then “it” opened its mouth. I try to be polite to people I don’t know but it takes a certain kind of person. Look, I don’t generally get this mean but first impressions are kind of a big deal to Nigel and you sir, you well and truly pissed Nigel off.

It went something along the lines of:

Why are you so quiet?” or “Why are you not saying anything?” It’s called being an introvert. Google it. I guess I should be asking you “Why are you talking?” since you insist on asking me brain-dead questions.

Why are you not partaking in the conversations?” Because unlike you retarded banana, these people know me and are used to it and do you see them constantly annoying the living crap out of me to say something? As stated before in an earlier post. I DON’T DO SMALLTALK. Go annoy someone else if you want to talk about utter and complete nonsense.

Since you’re not talking, you’re not really there.” Or “You don’t really count.” What? Did I get up and leave and forgot to take my body? Am I invisible? Why Nigel, swiggly swooty, we’re invisible. Let’s light this bugger’s pants on fire, shall we?

After a while, the prodding and poking turned into a blatant mockery of my person. I did not appreciate it one bit. I don’t mind it at all when my friends poke fun at me, they do it often enough, and I know that they do love me and my quirkiness. However, when retarded bananas that I do not know think it appropriate to attack me like that, Nigel starts to come up with creative ways to murder them. How does nailing spoons into their skull while blasting Justin Bieber to a chorus of wailing white girls sound? Pretty gruesome eh? Nigel has much worse in mind. You barely know me and although I am acting like my usual self it still doesn’t mean you have the right to belittle me like that. My ego is large enough to suffocate a person but even I have my limits and some things do hurt. Hashtag just saying.

Since you possess only a single brain cell, I guess I shouldn’t blame you for shoving an inanimate object in my face because you’re so bored with yourself that you cannot sit still at the table like a reasonable adult.

Oh, now you seem to think I’m utterly and completely deaf too!! It’s called ignoring someone like a stop sign because their opinion is so insignificant you simply cannot be bothered by them.

This right here is a prime example of what introverts like me have to deal with when meeting new people. Seriously, people, I’ve talked about this before. Why do you insist on making our lives so miserable when we dare it out in society? Why can’t we just play nice and accept that people are different? This is why introverts prefer solitude. At least when you’re alone you won’t be constantly asked in some way or another if there is something fundamentally wrong with you.

Get with the program bananas.

How to pick up chicks… Not the edible kind… Well… How not to be creepy. (The introvert version, Part 1)

So we know by now that I am useless. Wait, you don’t know? Shame on you. Let’s narrow down the search and rather focus on the particular attribute of mine that makes me useless. I. Am. Bad. At. Guys. That sounds terrible. I need a waffle. No wait, make that two waffles and an upside-down peanut butter jar. I hate peanuts. Not the point.

Now as stated above, I am terrible at talking to guys I find attractive. I blubber like a retarded fish cake (damn you Mother for bringing this up!!), hide behind my books and of course I can totally do the whole camouflage thing in the tomato garden but recent events have gotten me thinking. There are tips EVERYWHERE on the internet for men on how to pick up women, blah, blah, blah but these generally are aimed at women. Not fish cakes like me.

Let’s call him Fish Paste. Now if you’re a fish cake, you’re useless, if you are a Fish Paste, you are the object of my affection (for the time being. I have the attention span of a brain-dead goldfish.) Or to make things more general, you are the male life form said introvert fancies over her book. Be happy.

Now… On to business. Boys, if you fancy yourself some luscious bookworm, this is the guide for you.


How to approach a female introvert.

(Warning, disclaimer, screw you and so on, this is purely from my point of view. Be warned.)

Know when to approach the matter.

The first hint would probably be the giggling. Even introverts giggle, bloody hell, introverts probably giggle more than most because they don’t know what else to do with themselves. Not to be confused with that annoying OMG you’re so cute giggle normal girls do, nooo, ours is the awkward, shit fuck I’m in trouble giggle. (Excuse my French.) You probably think this is a bad thing and all because awkwardness is never a good thing but trust me on this one, she ain’t never gonna approach you so man up, lick your socks and sweep that lady off her feet. Or try to.

If she looks like she’s about to peg over and die (metaphorically, of course, introverts do not like people.) as in, she looks mightily uncomfortable, now might be the time to swoop in and save her. Be the knight in shining armour. Or makes things more uncomfortable. You know what… scratch that.

Generally, other signs include cough, I totally don’t do this, cough:

  • Peeking at you from underneath her lashes while you’re kind of not looking.
  • Peeking at you from behind her textbook and/or novel she keeps hidden between said textbook’s pages.
  • Biting her lip a lot, playing with her hair or finding something arbitrary to do when in your company because she does not know what else to do with herself.

Try to steer clear if female in question is having an intense moment with her fellow girlfriend, like gushing over a video game, bitching about friends or just cursing life. She needs the therapy, stay well away unless you want to be mauled by stray female emotion.

Approach her with confidence.

Look if you’re going to be a nervous ball of bunny fluff when approaching her then you’re only asking for a train-wreck filled with slimy peaches, blegh. You need to show this girl that you are confident, that things won’t be awkward once you reach her. Ok, she’ll probably be avoiding eye contact at this stage but this is for your own good damnit. Also make sure when nearing her general vicinity that you’ll be able to steer the conversation because honey, I can guarantee she won’t know what to say so be prepared. Relax… take it easy and sing the “Pink, Fluffy, Unicorns dancing on rainbows” song in your head.

Introduce yourself, no wait, don’t introduce yourself. Or maybe you should. Hmmm if she were me and did like you, I, she would probably already have stalked you on Facebook.

………………..

Introduce yourself, it’s safer. Not everyone is a stalker. Tsk, tsk.

Do not, and I repeat, do not use pickup lines. The probability that this girl is a smart-ass in her head and possesses more than one brain cell is quite high. If you’re going to use pick-up lines she’ll probably think:

  1. Dafuq?
  2. What is that smell? (Pickup lines smell bad, didn’t you know that dude?)
  3. Groan inwardly and wish for the earth to swallow her whole.
  4. Mmmm I wonder if I can calculate this guy’s brain cell count.
  5. Shit, fuck X 10834796196
  6. If I run now, will he be able to outrun me?

And finally…

Did the chicken come first or the speckled egg?

Make sure you are a dressed well, women and not just introverts, do appreciate a well-dressed man anytime and make sure you at least look like you showered. We do not live in the Stone Age anymore despite you what you want us to believe at times.

Keep eye contact and give her all your attention. Introverts are very good listeners so if you want to drone on while doing the whole “I like you dance” then please do talk as much as you like, but try to pay attention. Men are multi-threaded beings, they flit through the different tasks so quickly that it actually looks like they’re multitasking. Implement this strategy. She’s making post-in notes and decorating her cave walls while you are talking and your actions will speak for you or rather, her mental post-it notes will. Same thing.

Be direct. BE DIRECT. DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES BEAT AROUND THE BUSH. I REPEAT, BE DIRECT. ONCE MORE, BE DIRECT. Introverts are not equipped to pick up on subtle “Me man, me like” hints. We are social retards and require you to be completely and utterly blunt over the fact that your caveman instincts like what they see.

And lastly, smile. Just smile. Don’t ask any questions, smile troglodyte.

(To be continued)

Introverted Reality

So in light of my most recent post, I am going to extend the theme of being introverted and the hard times that befall me and my fellow awkward pack mates. Katherine agreed that Steve is going crazy and that we should book him into the insane asylum for deranged Jelly Beans which happens to be my cat’s left nostril or was it the hole in my lamp shade? My brain is struggling to brain. Damn you, Nigel, why you no worky? Oooh pretty shiny-thing-lying-on-the-ground-which-happens-to-be-like-really-really-shiny-and-shit…

What?

Problems that only introverts have to deal with.

Practicing conversations with people you will never talk to.

You know that bitch that bumped into you the other day and apologized and like turned around and left? Yeah well, let me tell you something missy, I… We all do it. You have these epic conversations with celebrities, showdowns with your nemesis and of course, the cockroach living underneath your two weeks old sock just told you about this place… It’s called La La land and… Instead of, you know, talking to people, you instead have conversations with people in your head all the time. They have no clue that you’re proclaiming your love, declaring war or reciting a candy wrapper to them because you know… Sound fails to leave your lips and that would just like end the world. Like seriously.

That dreadful feeling that sambas in your stomach when the phone rings and you are not mentally prepared to chat with whoever is calling.

I, in particular, have this problem. It’s always more convenient to either let the phone ring. And ring. And ring.

And ring.

And ring.

And.

Ring.

Ring.

Until someone eventually picks it up or it just… stops. Oopsies I didn’t hear. Or you pick it but instead of answering you run to the nearest relative, make up some halfwit excuse like sorry I’m on the toilet even though I’m not but I am and then make a break for it. Of course, it does happen from year to year, sometimes more, that you are forced to pick up the phone, either by said relative or your brain was just like screw da emotions, pick it up, slave. And then you stand there, gaping like a retarded fish cake while the creature on the other side blabbers on until they realize no sound is coming from your end because hello? It’s impossible to combine retarded fish cake with multitasking even if you’re a woman.

The need to recharge after social situations.

My best friend once told me something interesting about myself. When I go clubbing for a night (if I go clubbing and don’t find some excuse like my non-existent gold fish died or Katherine licked my bras.) I usually need to recover for at least two weeks, if not more, before they can even attempt to ask me again. I don’t know if it’s the same for other people but hell, one night of that and my social meter is like in overload mode.

When you hear the question “Wanna hang out?”, and your palms start to sweat with anxiety.

Oh this is quite horrible, not the sweaty part (which is also very horrible but misses the latter with like a 0.01%) but the coming up with viable excuse part. Like, uhm, I have stuff… Important stuff mind you. What stuff you ask? Uhm… Stuff? Buy yourself a dead fish at the super market and keep it in your fridge until further notice. The moment someone asks you to go out just make up some sob story about how your best friend which happens to be a fish (remind them to ignore that part) has died all of a sudden and you have to like have to create a shrine in its honour and crap like that. Oh and don’t forget to show them the photo you took of you kissing the dead fish. It will help. I think.

Or it will land you in a fluffy white room where you can hit your head against the walls without getting hurt.

Neat eh?

Having visitors stay with you is a nightmare because it means you have to be on at ALL TIMES.

Now as I have explained before, I have a cave. This cave is my escape from life for some periods of time and I visit quite often. The thing is, when you have guests over, you have to pay attention to them and they get quite upset when your eyes glass over when they’re talking which means escaping to one’s cave/box/merry-go-round/hole/fridge/milk carton is a big no no. Which also means that you start to get twitchy because people find it normal to stay at your place for an unholy amount of hours because socializing and shit man. I loathe these people. I loathe a lot of things. I loathe raisins.

When people mistake your thoughtful look for being moody, or worse, scary as hell.

The big daddy of all annoyances. I kid you not. When I am in my cave and deep in thought I get this really angry, pissed off look on my face but really I’m just fantasizing about eating candy floss off a unicorn’s butt and that’s like happy thoughts right? Yet my face fails to register that I am happy and as a result, every man, woman, and child that does not know me personally fears me and usually refuses to even look at me because hello? I eat waffles for dinner and that is wrong. Apparently.

It gets really annoying sometimes because I really do occasionally, as in every 6 months or so maybe a bit more, would like to make a new friend but that’s not going to happen because I am the waffle menace. Fear me.

Begone now.

Damn, Girl. Get Your Shit Together.

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