Her recent foray into dating a younger man has made me recount the numerous times I've dated (read: slept with) someone younger. I'm only 29, but have recently concluded that I'm too old to be dating anyone under 27, because... I'm just going to come out and say it... I no longer want to teach men how to locate, utilize, or spell VAGINA.
Alas, this brings me to the general topic of today's blog post. Young men, old men, grandpas... you guys; they are all creepy and immature in some way. I'm convinced that men never really mature past the age of 15; so instead I just focus on finding ones that are hilarious and mildly intelligent or don't live in their cars. One of my favorite little tidbits of advice people give me is "you should date older"; which is a giant crock of shit.
I've gone on one date with one dude over 40; it's safe to say it was the worst night of my entire existence. I feel strongly that this guy could single handedly halt reproduction of mankind in the US by drying up vaginas from New York to L.A.
He said he was 5'10'... this dude was 5'6"... in heels... on a good day. He also said he was 44; false. He was at least 54, or a George Clooney 60. For reference, my Dad is 54. He was wearing one of those awful purplish pink collared paisley shirts with the embroidery on the insides of the collar and cuffs which instantly reminded me of a senior citizen episode of The Jersey Shore.
He definitely had a spray tan a la LC from Laguna Beach circa 2001. He used the "c word" FOUR times during the evening, kept commenting on how fat people were, and eventually asked me if the hand sanitizer on my keychain was lube for later. I would bet my left tit that there literally isn't enough lube in the world to make sex with that guy enjoyable.
At one point he actually said to me "I snuck a peek at your ass when you got up, and crossfit is really working out for you." When he wouldn't stop touching me, I told him I was Mormon. Safe to say, I'm still enduring extensive therapy from that evening.
I love when I meet betches who seriously think they could marry anyone for money or a good pair of Louboutins. I would LOVE to introduce them to LubeDude (now a proper noun) and see if they could endure even two hours in his presence.
More recently, a guy contacted me on Tinder and spelled my name wrong. I mean... my name was literally RIGHT above where he was typing. If you can't spend .358 seconds to review how I spell my name, I'm willing to bet my right tit that you can't find my lady parts with both hands, a flashlight, and the Marauder's Map.
Then there's the young dude who you go home with and his room looks like the DMV and Goodwill had a one night stand, birthed a child who came out of the womb wearing a wifebeater, and then it threw up sugar-free Redbull cans and condom wrappers all over the place. If you can't handle keeping your room clean enough for me to maneuver towards the bed in five inch heels after consuming nine whiskey & diet cokes, I'm going to assume that your mom still pays your phone bill and lets you do your 19 piles of laundry at her house every other weekend. Also, I would really prefer to put on a nice Burberry or Hugo Boss button up after sex, rather than an XXXL Denver Nuggets Jersey that has been steeped in the stench of old socks and beer for weeks. Secret's out... you're white. And poor. And I need higher standards.
So, what have I learned? Poor, rich, young, old, it doesn't f*cking matter - all men are going to be men. I'm just trying to find one with enough redeeming qualities to make me care less when he leaves his socks on during sex.
Hope you have a magical week, betches. And mom - I really hope you didn't read this.
XOXO,
~K~
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