Bitch Slap

"I wish I could just meet a nice guy."

Dear Dategirl,

If I hear the "I wish I could just meet a nice guy" rap one more time....A woman friend I trusted set me up with one of her girlfriends—we'll call her Sally. Our crowd is single, 40-ish, with dough and good jobs, and fairly hip.

My friend insisted she had prescreened "Sally" and that we would be good for each other. Sally had been divorced for about six months and was "finally" ready to meet a nice guy. Hmmm.

I called Sally, and we swapped e-mail photos and made a connection.

We agreed to meet for lunch, no pressure. Sally was pretty hot—nice hair, heels, tight jeans, rhinestone sandals, toe rings, the "look"...everything but a smile.

From the very start, I could not engage her. I tried everything, even humor. Nada. She wouldn't even look at me.

She whined, complained, and bitched about her job, her mother, her "ex–old man," and her life, which apparently sucked big time. After about 15 minutes of internal bleeding, I told her I had to go. I walked her to her car. She seemed miffed.

I guess I'm supposed to die of a hard-on for the privilege of buying Miss Glamour-Puss lunch.

So much for Mr. Nice Guy—maybe I should have dragged her off, broke her like a shotgun, and horse-fucked her. Maybe that's what she really wanted.

Anyway, meeting a witch like this can screw with a guy's mind. Not calling again.


OMG, I totally know what you mean! I once went out with this guy I'd heard was really great and looking for a girlfriend. But when we met, all he did was talk about himself—his hedge fund (what's that?), his car, this great new shampoo he'd just tried, his anal fissure and assorted allergies...he barely looked at me and never once asked me a question! Wah!

So naturally, my mind went exactly where yours did: I'd wasted 30 minutes of my life with this chucklehead—I saw red. I immediately imagined violating his fissure with a broken bottle! Eviscerating his abs of steel! Chopping his head off and using it as a bowling ball! Because, after all, he either didn't like me or had his head too far up his own ass to notice what a prize I was! For that, he should definitely face felonious assault.

Or not, jackass.

Jesus, you go out with one annoying broad and are ready to haul off and "break her like a shotgun and horse-fuck her"? Um, what?!? Not only that, but you think you deserve kudos because you resisted the urge? What kind of maladjusted mental case thinks like that?

Do you have any idea how many irritating, self-absorbed, narcissistic basket cases the average person—male or female—has to go out with before they meet someone they click with? If my love life is any indicator, that number is in the high hundreds—and the number only gets higher as you get older. If I'd assaulted every guy who ever got on my nerves, I would've spent most of my teens and 20s rinsing out hair nets in lockup.

You had one date with an annoying knockout. Did she punch you? Steal your stash? Vomit on your favorite sweater? No. All she did was gas on about her boring, dreary life. You got off easy. She wasn't even mean—just disinterested and self-absorbed. Welcome to the wonderful world of dating. If you're not man enough to handle the occasional loudmouth, the intermittent twit, and the sporadic just-plain-bitchy broad, I suggest you do the single ladies of Seattle a favor and get out of the game. Because the world doesn't owe you a girlfriend, and refraining from rape doesn't make you a catch.

Your e-mail address looked familiar, so I paged through my mailbox and saw that the last time you wrote (Nov. 29, 2006), you were complaining about some girlfriend who wanted loud, sweaty sex, while you preferred more of a slow-groove approach. My guess is your wild little cowgirl dumped you and you're still cranky about it. I suggest you take some time to heal those wounds before inflicting yourself on anyone else.

Dating dilemmas? Write Dategirl at or c/o Seattle Weekly, 1008 Western Ave., Ste. 300, Seattle, WA 98104.

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