You guys, I got triple texted. It wasn’t cute, wasn’t charming; it was fucking annoying. I legit did one of these with my phone. I didn’t like it. Some girls would have been like “Aw! He just wants to talk to me so bad he can’t wait!” but I was just wondering why he didn’t have more of a life and was really annoyed that the new Kendrick Lamar album kept getting paused when my phone would go off.
Being too available is not sexy. It’s even less sexy when we’re a nothing yet. Not labeled, barely know each other. Ugh, no thank you.
So what did I do? I went to a happy hour and drank a pitcher of beer to myself and shot the shit with one of my favorite bartenders about all the things that annoy me about guys. Shout out to Ryan for getting me drunk on a budget and putting up with me being annoying. You rule, dude.
I get it, I’m easily irritated. I’m kind of a handful. I have never claimed to be a simple chick to get along with. I also get that as this list gets longer my likelihood of finding a boyfriend is getting smaller. Meh, I’ll take my chances. Worst case scenario I end up in a house on a couple acres with an army of French Bulldogs. Wouldn’t hate it; I’d have a bitchin’ Instagram account for the fleet of Frenchies.
So without further ado, here’s some more shit about the opposite sex I can’t deal with.
He sleeps on a mattress on the floor.
What the fuck? Are you 20 and you lied about your age? Are you an ad for a really terrible, old episode of MTV’s Room Raiders? Am I actually ON Room Raiders and no one told me? Are you allergic to Ikea? I mean, I get it I guess Ikea can be pretty overwhelming but the café makes up for it. And even then, have you never heard of Amazon? What the actual fuck?
A mattress on the floor is code for “I eat dry cereal for most meals and can’t tell you the last time I washed these sheets.” It means he will literally never bring beer over to your place and on the off chance he proves me wrong it’s absolutely Natty Ice. It’s acceptable through 22 because hey, being gross is what college is for. But Post Grad? Get it together. Bribe one of your girlfriends to help you get through that Ikea as painlessly as possible and find yourself sleeping a whole 3 feet above from the laundry you refuse to put away. It’s a whole new world, pal.
He gets on his high horse about music.
I like everything from Dixie Chicks, to Drake, to Lady Gaga, to bands you have never heard of. I don’t discriminate. I listen, if I don’t like it I don’t listen again. If I do like it said music goes on the “Jamz” Spotify playlist and I rock out to it on my commute whenever it comes on shuffle.
I don’t care if you make fun of the fact that I’m going to One Direction in July. I’m going to wear my 1D pullover, mourn the fact that we’ll be one man short (Bye, Zayn. See you in 10 years at the inevitable VMAs reunion) and have a baller time drinking beer with some of my best friends to some really catchy-ass boyband music. Make fun of me all you want. This is how I feel about your opinion.
Don’t be a brat and a music elitist. Don’t tell me how stupid the bands I like are or how they aren’t “progressive” and are doing “nothing for the industry.” Don’t try to show me the error of my ways and introduce me to more complex artists. Guess what, son? I’m just going to slam my drink, march over to the jukebox, and play Beyoncé just to piss you off.
His favorite movie or book is Fight Club.
I’m poking the bear here; I realize this. I’m ready guys, do your worst.
Something about Fight Club just feels so predictable. I hear the mention of it and my eyes just start rolling. I GET it. Tyler Durden is your spirit animal. It was the first book you read after AP English that you weren’t forced to get through. Young Brad Pitt is everything you’ve always wanted to be. I get it.
But something about a Fight Club obsession or quote coming from a dude is like “If you can’t handle me at my worst, you don’t deserve me at my best” coming from a girl. I just know we aren’t going to get along.
He doesn’t drink beer.
It’s really awkward when we’re on a date and the waitress comes over with a IPA and something with cranberry juice in it, sets the cocktail in front of me and the beer in front of the dude, and then I have to do the uncomfortable “Nope! Haha…” switcheroo. First and foremost, vodka cran? What do you have a UTI or something you need to take care of? Second of all it makes me feel like I’m slowly reducing your testosterone level with each sip.
We all know I am very opinionated when it comes to drinking on a date. This is not a secret. But there’s something about Team “I don’t like beer” that I just cannot wrap my brain around. If we can’t go to Brewfest and have a good time what am I supposed to look forward to in October? Who’s going to help me see over the crowds in the Beer Garden at the Block Party in July? What about brewery tours!?
What about beer pong? Hmmm!? Yeah. Can’t do it.
He tries to nickname me.
If you call me Ken it’s fucking over.