A male friend of mine was complaining the other night that he has "no game" with the ladies, all because he couldn't close on some girl that I found a bit "meh" anyway, but that's beside the point.
I find this laughable, noting correctly that he dates plenty of girls, and has had a few long-term relationships, was even engaged once, etc. His argument was that all those relationships ended. But he's still wrong, because not being able to keep a girlfriend isn't "no game," it's just bad luck. Or bad B.O.
"No game" is 30-year old guys living in their parents' basements, "Star Wars" fans, online porn enthusiasts, people who are about to turn 28 with only one long-term relationship under their belt...Oh wait, that's
me (um, just the last bit, not the other stuff...although I did fall asleep on the couch the other night and wake up at 3 in the morning to a program called "Guilty Temptations" or something, it appears that HBO is trying to steal Cinemax's share of the soft-core porn market...not that I sat and watched it for 15 minutes before getting up and going to bed, ahem) (and honestly, what's with soft-core porn? I hope it's not about the "actresses" thinking it makes them less of a cheap ho..."No no no, Dad, it only
looked like he was railing me from behind in the hot tub, really!" I say, if you're going to be a porno actress, at least get yourself laid in the process...)
But it's true: Fu? No game. None! Even when I
have game I have no game.
Exhibit A: The guy from a few months ago. He was unemployed, a chain smoker, had a rather pronounced drinking problem, resorted to selling his personal belongings for beer money, and many other qualities that caused my friend Colleen to say "Um, no.
No." And yet? He's the one that dumped
me. Pathetic! I didn't get it, because he did seem quite sweet on me at first
. He even asked if he could come with me to my friend's wedding ten states away
because the prospect of me being away for a weekend bummed him out so much. And yet? He stopped sleeping with me after a couple weeks, and stopped calling me altogether after I made it clear that continuing to date someone and be all snuggly and affectionate and kissy while refusing to come inside at the end of the evening
ever makes a girl a bit insecure, and makes her friends think you have some sort of hideous dick fungus you're hiding.
Exhibit B: met a guy at the bar the other night; he claims to remember meeting me at a party three months ago, seems really excited to run into me again, asks for my number, and says "I will
definitely be calling you." in a way that was almost creepy in its determination.
So I guess I was not even concerned about whether I'd hear from him, because he was the one who was so interested in me and not vice versa; normally I'm the more aggressive one in these situations (an excellent potential reason for my lack of game--but I can't help that I'm a loudmouth who says whatever's on my mind--it's part of my charm!).
Anyhow, I might still hear from him of course, I'm just hauling out the eye-roll tonight because it's been three days, and the industry standard is two, three tops. And I don't even really care, because I didn't even talk to him for that long; I'm not moping around, just more like, "We define 'definitely' differently where I'm from, pal." (Say
that five times fast!)
Possible Reasons for Fu's Lack of Game (despite the fact that she totally made out with an ADORABLE Canadian guy in Montreal last night; wooooot! Too bad he lives in effing Toronto):
1) Gut -- this is a roadblock, but I'm not sure if I give it more power than I should. I see chicks twice my size walking around hand in hand with men that aren't exactly mutants, so I know it can be done...maybe it's just that the boys I like aren't such progressive thinkers about whether their woman can have a muffin top. But don't I make up for that with my rack, and willingness to wear cleavagecentric shirts?
2) Loudmouth -- this one makes more sense. I am an obnoxious bitch, I dominate conversations without even meaning to, and I'm always right, especially about the Red Sox. I'm also pretty funny, and tend to make fun of people heavily, right to their faces. Some guys don't necessarily enjoy being called a douchebag within five minutes of meeting a chick, I guess.
3) Guy Syndrome - I tend to act dude-ish, no matter how high the pile of boxes on my shoe-wall climbs. I drink to excess, talk nonstop about the Pats and Red Sox, belch profusely (usually while doing the excessive drinking), and loudly question the sexuality of any male friend displaying pussylike tendencies. Maybe they're afraid if they like me it'll make them gay or something.
Hm. That's really all I can come up with at this point. And that list isn't even long, and yet still..no game! It's seems preposterous that anyone wouldn't be clamoring to take me to play fucking mini-golf or some shit, because I'm probably about 100 times more awesome than the last person they went mini-golfing with.
Oh, okay then, there's another thing for the list:
4) Too convinced of own awesomeness.
Must sleep now. I exerted myself in Montreal last night to the extent that my voice is off somewhere doing bong hits with my
New Orleans voice (note to self: when you go places where people speak French, you end up sounding like Bea Arthur the next morning), spent all day crammed into the backseat of a car like I was a seven-foot dude at Fenway, my bed is beckoning. Just have to punt the cats off of it.
I have these shoes.
