1). Important Job:
You would like to think that you’re running a multi-million dollar company but in reality you work for a large government contractor (Deloitte, Booze, Boeing, etc.) where you’re just a number. I don’t even know what it is you actually fucking do because I zone out five minutes into your explanation. We met at a dive like The Mighty Pint and you were either tons fun that night or I just happen to be incredibly drunk and was intrigued by you because you were new. Despite having what seems like a job that pays double what I make, I still end up paying for practically everything. You continue to proliferate the boring “puppy dogs and ice cream” line of questioning with strangers by asking everyone the same first two questions when you meet them, “what do you do and where are you from.” After date number two, I’m baffled as to how you’ve managed to figure out how to write your own name despite not having the faintest air of common sense. Who needs GPS to go to the grocery store? You went to a good school for undergrad, you’re closer with your Father over your mom, and you think missionary position is “kinky.” You were somewhat easy going for the first few weeks until you forgot that we weren’t even dating and started to tell me how things were going to be. And Jesus Christ, you’re a terrible fucking driver.
2). Barslut With No Female Friends:
It’s unbelievable that you have more male friends than I do. Most of them are over protective and “one-uppers.” Thanks for bringing your idiot guy friends to the “date” with us… and also thanks for assuming that I was interested in being friends. You’re at A-town on Sundays and somehow I always run into you at the weirdest places when I’m in DC, but we only acknowledge one another in passing. You consistently cancel/flake on me last minute for no reason. I’ve fucking tried to do normal things with you and you can’t manage to squeak out a halfway coherent thought unless there’s a glass of whiskey in your hand. You can drink- impressively; but you have the memory of a gold fish and tend to move onto the next guy so quick that I’m left still trying to figure out if I’m still on your radar.
3). DC Sportfuck:
I’ve seen your type in loud over crowded places like Marvin or Rock and Roll Hotel or maybe some bar whose name I can never seem to remember near H street. But I met you in coffee shop. You look… different. Whether it’s because your hair makes you look like you’re from the future, you have a bunch of very visible artsy tattoos, or maybe there’s just something about your fishnets and daisy dukes that gives me ideas. Whatever the case, I opted to go up and speak to you and you’ve got a dark but surprisingly good sense of humor. Sadly, you think you’ve got the entire male population pegged and just because I live in Arlington you nearly shut me down on the spot. You’ve hooked up with girls before- which is awesome but you will never help make a dream come true and hit on girls with me. You’re fun in bed, have deep seeded burns from an ex boyfriend with a lame name like Brad, Josh, Kevin, or Chris. I’m pretty sure you’re a hair dresser or server/barrista and I don’t know why we really stopped talking, I’m just not up for having to play the cheer-me-up guy every 3-4 days. Get your shit togetherDC Sportfuck girl.
4). Party Nurse:
First- holy shit. I can’t handle all the texts you send me. It’s not that I don’t have the time to get back to you, it’s just there aren’t responses for things you push into my phone. “I got new shoes” or “ugh I’m running a 5k in three weeks” or “a bird almost flew into my car.” After a while I run out of responses to these observational texts so I just write, “OK Thanks.” It’s like having relentless small talk about the weather and we’ve already covered the temperature and amount of cloud cover. You live just outside of an area that could be cool but it’s not really near anything. You have a crazy schedule and I’m not sure what we’ve talked about yet by the end of the night you’ve got me laughing. You’re definitely from the south and seem to be surprised by pretty banal things that most of us take for granted like mobile apps, detour signs, and current events. I never end up actually meeting up with you 99% of the time because you’re always elsewhere when I’m in the city and vise verse. I don’t understand how someone can drunk text for a booty call at 2:00 when they’re not even in town. I know you’re working a rotation of close to half a dozen guys so I’m not really bothered by the fact that we don’t talk but once every few months.
5). I’ve Got Problems Girl:
You put a new profile picture selfie of just your face up on facebook every two days. I get it. We all get it- you have a face. I have a belly button. You have all the potential in the world but you squander it because your last boyfriend with the white BMW mindfucked the shit out of you and now your trust issues have not only ruined your ability to have fun but its clearly effected how you interact with the world. You drive a nicer car than me despite making less money and can’t seem to get out of your own way when it comes to work. Here’s the thing, I’m the fucking idiot that thinks he can “save” or “Fix you.” As if I somehow have the ability to make all your problems go away. How many times have I told you, “you don’t have to do that?” The reality is that you’re secretly lazy as shit. I know you think that all men want to do is fix things but you just simply want to bitch about it and do nothing to change the road your on. Get off the anti-depressants that turn your mind into a gray paste and lock it up. Call me when you’ve pulled out of your imagined-self inflicted tail spin. It must be tough being pretty, I’ve got my own things to deal with.
6). Non-Profit Chick:
You’re incredibly sweet but seemingly always about to fizzle out of existence. We crossed paths at The Big Hunt before it got too packed. You lack confidence but make up for it with your book smarts… different from street smarts. You’ve only had long term boyfriends, therefore you don’t know how to date in a modern society. You laugh at my jokes that aren’t at others expense and have great listening skills but you seemingly don’t know how to communicate very well with people that aren’t just like you. You’ve had the same friends that lived in your neighborhood since you were six years old and as a result you find it challenging to put yourself into anything that isn’t familiar.
You’re on tindr, plentyoffish, okcupid, match, eharmony, and jdate. I likely met you off one of those sites and took you to a place that’s just nice enough to not be considered a dive. But with your shitty schedule, you couldn’t hold onto a guy even if you wanted to. I truly believe that you actually know how to manage your time but there’s zero chance I’m putting in the work here to hang out on the fence for a month. My favorite part about you is that you can go an entire date without asking me one fucking question except for, “what else would you like to know about me?” Mind you that the conversation never strays too far from your job or your friends. You’re actually anti-blow job? Oh, so you have to be dating someone in order to blow them… What a treat. You’ve got really strange out-dated rules for dating and your padded bra isn’t fooling anyone. Thanks for talking over me whenever I opened my mouth, not splitting the check, and the fashion advice.
8). The Political Girl:
Let’s be honest, if you’re on the extreme of either side then you’re pretty much all the same. You’re overweight… but not fat- but if you actually worked out as much as you want the world of facebook to think you do, then you’d be quite shapely. That’s where you lose your confidence BTW. I’ve learned to talk about pretty much anything else other than feminism and your job because I know where that goes. The whole idea behind the slutwalk is a fucking joke despite what you say about it. It makes you furious when I point out fat people standing in line for ice cream or cup cakes. You’re incredibly picky when it comes to which bars to meet at. I’ve been to Pour House/My Brother’s Place and it wasn’t anything to write home about… I don’t want to have to go the same places time after time when there are other places just as good closer. Your guy friends are almost entirely made up of fucking pudgy apple-shining douchebag-melvins. Only children and Jack Russel Terriers look good in bowties, sear sucker suits, and wire framed designer glasses. And nobody can prove them wrong because there’s only one correct opinion on everything (theirs). Invariably, there’s always one or two guys in that mix that have already fucked you and that’s always a fun guessing game to play. Despite that you pretend to be the most ambitious girl in the world I’m shocked as to how uncreative you are and how sensitive you are to most anything. You’re sweet at times and surprisingly knowledgeable about a string of things but it doesn’t work out when you decide to try and argue with me about inane things. You push the “what are we talk” way too soon and I distance myself.
9). The Broken-Toy Bartender:
You still haven’t figured out that we have different schedules and I can’t get faced on Wednesday and be functional for Thursday like I’m 21 anymore. You’re not as hot as you constantly seem to have to sell me on. You’ve got some good stories and seem to have your life together -but you’re working at a bar…? I refuse to believe that’s what you actually want to do with your life given all of your aspirations you tell me about. However you’re so far removed from the world of office jobs that you wouldn’t know what to do. I feel like you move every three months and you’re apartment/house/car is always gross. Is that mold, dirt, or poop on the floor of your bathroom? You have a very select number of places that you will go when it comes to hitting the town- I don’t even go out in pentagon city… what the hell would I go there for? Our conversation somehow goes flat if I spend more than an hour with you. And farting in front of me isn’t funny. I don’t even do that crap unless it’s crop dusting a bunch bitchy plastic chicks in Witlow’s on Thursday.
10). Au Pair:
If you haven’t met them when you’re out at the bars, I’m shocked. It’s usually the second question I’ll ask when I suspect I’ve just started chatting with a woman from seemingly an exotic country who is just a little too old to be student but young enough to not be visiting the country on business. There is some difficulty finding a middle ground in conversations with these types. It’s not because they don’t have anything to say, it’s just that the lack of substantive conversation that often takes a back seat to mundane ramblings about television shows they watch too much of while on the job or the dramatics amongst their group of Au Pair friends. Au Pairs have a limited stay; this means they’re either looking for a green card or setting you up to invest in something that’s gone in less than 8 months. Au Pairs usually have lots of Au Pair friends who are very good at being “almost.” They’re almost hot, almost live within a reasonable distance, almost speak enough English, almost normal… Le Sigh… Almost
11). Early Childhood Educators:
Here’s the thing, most of your human interactions throughout the week are with children, therefore the vocabulary, sense of humor, maturity, and even their interests begin to shift to that of a child. Many teachers I’ve met have difficulty understanding this slow shift. It’s like when someone starts to put on weight, the change is so slow they often don’t realize it’s happened unless you’re jumping on the scale each morning. I do get it though, playing to your audience is important especially if you’re trying to maintain the attention of 20 little bastards for 6 hours of each day. But when the work day is over, turning this “child-speak” off isn’t possible. My sense of humor, conversation points, and interpretations of the world are incongruent with what you’ve been doing all day. I’m not a child and therefore I won’t be talked to or with like I am one. Tell me another kickball story. You are also the type that will get the most angry about this type of list and your type will write the most comments calling me an asshole… I don’t quite understand the correlation.
12). Staying IN Girl:
You never go out. You religiously do dinner dates with your girlfriends but you refuse to try out the bar scene more than once a month… and even then you’re drinking chardonnay at Circa. You’re from somewhere else and as a result have almost no friends here. The ones that you do have (if they’re not much older co-workers) are hot. But it’s not like I’m really going to see them because you think mixing your friends with the guys you date is a bad idea. You don’t like having to come to me or staying at my place and you need plans to be made at least 48 hours in advance or you’ll be no part of it. You don’t find the humor in my drunk texts and spontaneity makes you angry. The saddest thing is that you’re actually hot and could be a lot of fun if you weren’t so unreasonably frigid. You realize that you liked the idea of dating more so than the actual act of doing so. Fuck you and your rebox movies, Bachelorette wine nights, and TMZ- live a little. You died at age 21 but probably won’t get buried until age 70. Shirlington doesn’t count as going out by the way.
13). What The Hell Is This… A battle hardened hippy?
You’re probably from or have lived in Florida. You went through a lot of “stages.” You were a tomboy growing up until you discovered cigarettes, alcohol, weed, and cock. You know what cocain smells like. It’s unclear whether you currently have a sugar daddy or are in the process of getting a new one. You’re one of the types that doesn’t meet people in conventional ways and I’m more likely to meet you via flinging dead birds at blind children than in a super market. I don’t think you even eat food quite frankly. The sound of handcuffs clicking behind you has passed through your ear canal a dozen times. That DUI you got when you were a teen isn’t ever fully explained and when you wake up in the middle of the night screaming due to a nightmare, it legitimately freaks me the fuck out. So of course I’m going to bring you to Carpool. You’ll get way too drunk and then emotional, then your room mate will take you home. The sex is great but I haven’t the slightest clue how to get rid of you outside of faking my own death… pretty sure you fucked my room mate or at least tried.