Smarmy Schmucks Need Not Apply

The men I’m dealing with now, see me completely differently than they did a couple hundred pounds ago. I’m not the massively overweight girl, they can pal around with, take to a hockey game and vent about their girl problems too. Because, really, who doesn’t love that?

There’s nothing like sitting next to a guy you like, while he’s droning on about some girl who broke his heart and he can’t imagine not having her in his life. So like a moron or good friend(it’s all the same thing in this situation) I would sit there, listening, giving him the best advice or properly manufactured nonsense I could think of – while drinking a Guinness, debating about asking the derelict Habs fan sitting next to me for a swig from whatever is in his flask (I would never do it though. The huge herpes sore on his mouth usually screamed – STAY AWAY!) and praying that Shawn Thornton will take a swing at someone and the conversation about Lil’Miss Perfect can stop.

Cut to a couple of years later – there’s ANOTHER NHL Lockout, I’m skinnier and dare I say, looking good(Cocky? WHY YES I AM!)? The whiny guy is married to Lil’Miss Perfect and he’s now banned from talking to the new me. Someone is feeling a little, less confident after popping out a couple of kids and putting on 40 lbs and I’m trying to enter this world a little less cynical. Case in point, I’m trying to stay positive about the whole Disney for buying the Star Wars series. Who knows, maybe this will finally lead to that Boba Fett series I’ve always wanted or at least get them to re-write history. A sarlacc pit, really?

So now I’m putting myself out there and meeting different guys, going out on dates – finding out what I like and what I don’t like. I tend to find more of what I DON’T like, but it’s a learning experience. At least that’s what I tell myself to keep me from banging my head against a brick wall over and over again until I’m numb or stopped by the proper authorities.

The old me would never have participated in any of the nonsense I’m doing now, like giving someone my phone number. But now, if I’m talking to a guy and I’m interested – he’s being slipped my phone number and *fingers crossed* he uses it. Sure he didn’t ask for it, but you never know when they’ll need it and besides, I give great text.

I’m more confident then I’ve even been and hopefully this new found confidence makes me more appealing to the people I’m trying to date and not look like a pompous fool. You need to find that happy medium between confident and smarmy. I went with the word ‘smarmy’ because ‘douchey’ is used to much and ‘smarmy’ just sounds classier. I know I’m all class, just laying in bed with my laptop, wearing my View Askew Vulgarians hockey jersey, argyle socks and a pearl necklace. Emily Post would approve.

Back to the smarminess(if it’s not a word, it is now!) and I am by no means a man hater, I love men. I’ve made many sexual mistakes with men and I would do it again. Most of my friends, when I were fat, were men. I had more in common with them. But now, it’s different. I don’t know if I’m just able to see through their bull shit now or they’re lacking confidence and they feel like they need to put up a front, but please stop. My vagina closes for business when this happens – so you’re out of luck, dudes. Granted there is the mouth. But I’m not getting on my knees, if you’re acting a fool. Listen, I fully admit to performing certain sexual acts to get out of a bad situation or ten. But even I have my limits and I just need to remind myself of the lessons Kenny Rogers once taught us. Know when to hold them, know when to fold them, know when to walk away and know when to run out and pick up some tasty chicken!

What was I saying? Oh yeah – confidence! Of course I want someone who’s confident and assertive, but when confidence crosses that line and it’s suddenly over in cheesy/cringe worthy territory – nobody wins. I’ve been talking to someone and he seemed like a good guy. But recently, I had to shut him down. He’s turned into everything I hate and it would probably be healthier for me to say ‘knock it off’. But instead I write about it. Because that’s mature….and I’m a wuss who hates conflict.

“Are you one of those sexy secretary types in a tight skirts? You know, like in Mad Men?” “Are you wearing something naughty for Halloween? Turn a trick for a treat?” “Why not send me a picture of you enjoying yourself?”

These are some of the text messages I’ve received from the person in question, the douchiness is just raising off the words. It’s like Pig Pen just walked into a scene on Charlie Brown and he’s surrounded by dust, stank lines and flies. Here’s the thing, I don’t mind if you want to ask me questions like that – but it’s so pedestrian and desperate when you do it like that. It’s like he’s trying to fulfill a dream to get a letter into the Penthouse Forum.

“Dear Penthouse, I never thought it would happen to me…”

No chance. If you were low-key and not so obvious, I’d consider it. But when you’re begging for it, I can’t respect that. I always go back to something Janeane Garofalo said when talking about Kevin Smith’s movie, Chasing Amy:

“When Ben Affleck pulls the car over and talks to Joey, and tells her how he feels about her? I was like going ‘That will never happen to me. That will never ever happen to me.’ And by the way honesty does not work except for celluloid so don’t even try that, but to tell people that you like them will only serve to make them not like you. I mean that’s basically that’s all that’s gonna do. No matter how much you liked them, if they’re going to give you a full disclosure, now they’re not cool. ‘You like me? Oh…’ Like that’s–? So even if it did happen to me, it can’t happen to me, because if the cute comic book guy says ‘I love you and I’m better for loving you’ or all this stuff then I would have to go like ‘Well you’re gonna have to take me home because I don’t respect you at all anymore. Be a man! God! Be aloof! What’s your problem? Don’t call- You want me to like you? Don’t pick up that damn phone!”

And this is why I’m still alone. The minute a guy breaks down the wall and shows the slightest bit of interest in me, I shut down. I don’t know why, but I like a challenge. Let me work for it! Don’t make it so easy for me. Where’s the fun in that? I don’t get it either, but that’s how my brain works. Here’s the thing, I’m not looking to rush into anything. If I did that, then I’d end up stuck and miserable, then I end up in jail – because I tried to smother him in his sleep and I look horrible in orange. Spending the rest of your life in that God awful color would be a tragedy. One more reason why a challenge is good.

So I plan on ignoring him and I’m hoping he’ll figured it out on his own. I know it’s not mature, but it’s better than me saying: “I don’t know if you missed a memo, but you’re kind of a schmuck and that has turned my vagina into Death Valley. So I’m going to bail, empty a 100 gallon drum of Astroglide inside of me and see if that helps my snatch situation. Toodle loo, schnookums!”

I don’t think he’d like to hear that. He might find it a tad emasculating or just think I’m a evil wench for saying his piss poor attempts to be sexy has killed whatever living soul that was still inside me. But this has taken it to a whole new level. Cheers to you, sir. So I know there’s a nicer way of saying things and not ruin the moment. But I don’t have the energy to teach a remedial “How to seduce a girl” class. That’s what porn and your mom is for. Wait….what? No…I don’t even know. Yeah. No. Prank Caller!

Cameron Frye is a blogger(who isn’t these days?) from Boston. She’s lost 300 lbs and is less than thrilled with the lack of hockey in her life. You can read more of her ramblings on CameronFrye.com or you can stalk her and ask her out at twitter.com/cameronfrye.

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