Welcome to the fifth installment of the ongoing Date This/Date That series in which I take all of your feelings of self worth, your character traits, add in your womanly virtues, and negate them one by one with soul crushing honesty. It’s not because I want you to feel bad about yourself. It’s just that if you were more self aware, you would feel bad about yourself. Then you could begin the long, arduous, and impossible task of becoming a better person and eventually living up to my very reasonable yet unattainable standards. Consider me your life coach, love guru, and sex therapist all rolled into one super hot, absurdly intelligent, and brilliantly insightful package that will never be delivered to your door. Don’t get me wrong ladies, I am not trying to change you.

I just need to permanently readjust you.

Before we go on, I offer up the first four installments for your consideration:

Moving on–

in the last blog I wrote this:
“You playing hard to get will make me hard to get in touch with. It’s true, I’m not much for the chase. The only way I’ll pursue you is if you’ve stolen money from me.”

I’m awesome. That has been established and you disagreeing with me just makes you look like a bitter man hater so don’t play yourself. I would detail my awesomeness for you newer readers who may not be aware of it yet, but the sheer volume of data might very well shut down the internet entirely. Anyway, because I am so awesome I don’t feel that I have to go about things the way most guys go about them. This is not because I’m arrogant, but because I know my own value. As such, I believe that I don’t have to subscribe to the traditional paradigms of dating. In fact, I am quite convinced that it is my duty to change many of the common societal models, dating being just one of them. It’s also because I do what suits me and, if you know what’s good for you, you will too.

This suits me. Enthusiasm at it’s finest.

That brings me back to my explanation of the statement from the previous blog. If you think for one minute that I’m going to chase you, you’ve wasted an entire minute of thinking which, since you’re a girl, is a lot of time lost in your pretty little head. The old school method of a guy pursuing a chick while she plays the “I dunno…” game is retarded, and I’m not a Special Olympian any more than Obama at the bowling alley. Look, I’m not going to make things difficult for you by any means. If I like you, however unlikely that might be, I will inform you in no uncertain terms. The proverbial ball, at that point, is in your court (I’d also like to stick my racket in your net). I have opened the door and, should you choose to walk through it, I’ll take it from there. However, if I open the door and you just stand there, or wait for me to pull you in, or hope that I’ll come out and dance on the fucking lawn til you’ve deemed my efforts grand enough to warrant your entry, you’re probably already looking at a closed door and a sign that says, “Kick rocks”. I don’t have tolerance for your nonsense, issues, or desire to play games. I’m not unreasonable. If I like you I’m certainly willing to give you a minute to think about it.

Times up.

If you chose to walk through the open door, your job has just begun. As I mentioned in the last blog, I require an inordinate amount of attention. Not because I am insecure, but because I’m so fucking rad that if you’re not paying me enough attention I question your judgment. Understand however, that the attention alone is not enough. I require a level of enthusiasm rivaling that of a cheerleading squad with a collective love of meth. That’s some rah rah shit right there, believe you me, I’ve seen it (I’ve dated it). I’m a reasonable man, and don’t expect every female to be super psyched about me. It’s understood that a few of you have no sense, no taste, and no intellect to speak of, so how could I blame you? Some of you can be fixed, and I’m trying to give you the tools to accomplish that. Others of you aren’t hot so it doesn’t really matter one way or another how you feel about me. But for those of you who fulfill even a modicum of my criteria, and have the fortitude to throw your hat into the ring for BAF’s heart, you’d better get your pom poms ready. We both know I’m amazing, but I am far too humble to be tooting my own horn, as you can plainly see. You need to do it for me. You need to do it for you. All day, every day, with feeling. When we have contact you should be extremely vocal about the fact that I shit sunshine and fart flowers. If I call you should scream loudly, put down the phone, do a cartwheel, then start singing zippety fucking doo dah. When we’re not in contact, you should be reinforcing to the rest of the world that I am proof of the existence of god because I am, in fact, him. I’m not asking for much really. Just a little maniacal joy. You could go the other route, by the way, and play it cool. I’m all for you playing it cool. In fact, I’ll be happy to stick your ass in the freezer so you can be cool as ice cubes for the duration. By the time I warm up enough to thaw you back out, mankind will be wiping it’s ass with sea shells and dining exclusively at Taco Bell. It’s a brave new world bitches and lovely that you’re no longer cryogenically unavailable.

I’d like you to meet my girlfriend. Her name is “Not You”.

So that’s what I mean when I say I require a little tiny smidgen of enthusiasm. If you can muster the same level of happiness that you’d have if you simultaneously met Santa, won the lottery, cured cancer, and had an orgasm whenever I send you a text message, that will suffice. And you thought I was going to set the bar high.

Next time I’ll explain my thoughts, theories and rules on sex in the early stages of dating. Just so it’s understood, I will not rush you. I will not pressure you. I won’t even make any moves until you express that you feel comfortable. I respect your desire to wait to have sex until we get to know each other better, so I’ll just fuck somebody else until you’re ready. I care about your feelings.

See how understanding and patient I am? Now that’s love.