Things I'm Terrible At: Understanding What His Job Is

He's explained his job responsibilities to me in detail, but I still have no clue what he does. When he talks about it, he uses words like "product integration", "assessment", and "multi-platform coordination." My eyes glazed over just typing that.

Here's what I do know:

• He works in an office on the outskirts of town
• He has a desk
• He has a boss
• He has meetings
• He attends training sessions every six months
• He has co-workers 
• He wears nice pants to work

I feel like even if I were to shadow him at work for a day, I'd still have no clue what he did. I'd be like, "So, you check your email, refill your coffee constantly, then dick around on messageboards every few hours when you get bored, right?"

And, he'd say, "Yeah, pretty much. And, we have cake about once a week."

Besides those things, I have no idea what else it involves. I couldn't even pinpoint what field he works in. It's seems vaguely medical? Maybe it's tied to Internet commerce? Or maybe it's more in the development field? Is that a thing? I don't even know.

Things I'm Terrible At: Understanding What His Job Is

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Things I'm Terrible At: Remembering Names

There are a ton of things that I'm terrible at, but remembering people's names is pretty much in the Top 3. It's the worst because people get SO OFFENDED that I can't keep names straight.

But, it has nothing to do with them; I can't remember anyone's names! It's not like I made a note in my day planner to forget a person's name. I've never had a conscious thought like: "Lucy can go get fucked because I just don't have enough room in my huge head to keep track of something as useless as her name."

Confession: I especially have a problem telling girls who are 5'7 with brown hair and glasses apart. They all look the same to me. They're all named Jen and they all having boring jobs. Or, at least, that's how it seems.

When it comes to guys, my memory gets hazy sometimes. I know that we've met. Somewhere. Maybe once. Possibly more. I'll squint my eyes. I'll cock my head to the side, studying his face. Yes, we've DEFINITELY met before. I think.

All of a sudden, I start talking like I'm a really bad psychic. "What's your name? No, don't tell me! I'm sensing an "r". Rob? Ryan? No, wait. Richa-"

He starts shaking his head no as I'm sounding out the word.

"Richa-ussel. Richussel. Russel. It's Russel, right?" I let out the stupidest smile as if to say, "Please don't hate me because I can't remember anything. Seriously, I'm terrible at it."

So, guys, go easy on me if I forget your name. I'll take some Ginkgo Biloba or something (no I won't.)

Things I'm Terrible At: Remembering Names

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Things I'm Terrible At: Hovering

I'm leaning against the wall, swizzling the straw around my drink, and trying not to make it super-obvious that I wanna talk to this guy. Here is my internal dialogue:

"Should I say hi? He seems busy. Wait, he's talking to someone. Oh God, I must look like a creep-a-leep just hovering around here.

*sips drink*

"We just made eye contact! Should I wait for him to come over? Maybe I should approach him? Fuck it. This is it. I'm just gonna walk up and say hi."

*stands up, straightens dress, and walks towards him*

"Oh shit. Now he's talking to some other girl. This is the worst. That's it; I'm leaving."

Frankly, I'm terrible at hovering. I would rather shake hands with a poisonous snake than hover around a guy I wanna talk to. Besides, there's no way to look good when you're calculating a window of opportunity to initiate conversation. I look anxious, like a teenybopper in line at a Jonas Brothers meet and greet or Janeane Garofalo awaiting her STD test results in Reality Bites.

I'd rather cut my losses than buzz around a dude like a chatty gnat. Fuck that shit forever.

Things I'm Terrible At: Hovering

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Things I'm Terrible At: Making Any Fucking Sense

Me, extending my hand: "Hi! My name's Anna. What's yours?"

Him: "Hey! I'm Mark."

*the hamster wheel in my head spins* Me: "Oh yeah, like the Mark in--what's that show?--"The Hogan Family"? Weren't there twins on that show? I feel like there were. And, one of them was named Mark, right?

Him: "Wow. I have no idea what you're talking about."

Me: "That show! It was on in the '80s. I think Jason Bateman was on it as the older brother. I think it used to be called "Valerie" but then she left and Sandy Duncan joined the cast. Remember?

Him: "No, man. I honestly have no clue."

Me, undeterred: "Mark! Like, the mark that a pen makes on a piece of paper??"

Him: "Yeah, I guess. Sure."

Then, he walked away.

Apparently, I am terrible at making any sort of fucking sense. HOWEVER, I just googled it and it's a real thing. See?

Booyah!

Mental note: "Hogan Family" jokes are not hot. I should write that down somewhere for future reference.

Things I'm Terrible At: Making Any Fucking Sense

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Things I'm Terrible At: Catching His Eye

"You're out of your element, Anna"

I'm a friendly girl and I love talking to everyone as I bop around town running errands. So when these standoff Stans stonewall me, I flip my lid. They won't even look at me as we're having a transaction! It's madness!

First offender: the cute guy who works at my bank. He's 5'6, slightly balding, and is swimming in his button-up work shirt because it's about two sizes too big. He probably has small hands too but I can't confirm that.

And, he refuses to look at me. I've taken it as a personal challenge to turn his head. I'll wear a low cut dress. I'll smack on some lip gloss. I'll even swipe on my lucky blush. NOTHING!

I feel like even if I walked into the bank dressed in nothing but a bikini, high heels, and a bucket of suds--because I'd just washed my car, naturally--he wouldn't even turn to look. Is he gay? Is he dead? What is going on? At this point, I've resigned myself to the fact that I have a better chance escaping from Alcatraz than catching his eye.

Second offender: the sweet guy who works at the cheese counter at Whole Foods. He refuses to acknowledge my charm. It's outrageous. I'm outraged. I'm putting my best flirt foot forward and he's acting like he's got better shit on his (cheese) plate. He gets really nervous when we talk and refuses to make eye contact with me. He just scoots around behind the cheese counter (like anyone gives a shit about his stinkin' feta.) Arrrrrrgh!

I basically have a Ph.D. in dealing with squirelly guys (it's an honorary degree), but these guys are badgering me with their indifference to my charms. My mojo is like a broken microphone: Is this thing on? *tap tap tap* Maybe they have mojo deflector rings that they've won in a Cracker Jack box? Maybe Mercury is in retrograde and it's making them go haywire? All I know is that this aggression will not stand, man. You hear me? IT WILL NOT STAND!

Things I'm Terrible At: Catching His Eye

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Things I'm Terrible At: Turning Down My Bud Light Dude

From our reader, Tara, who really hates Bud Light. And crummy guys. But not necessarily guys that drink Bud Light. Interesting.

Now THIS was a true party animal

Here are my thoughts about Bud Light: I hate it. It tastes watery and unappealing. I have one bottle once a year when I go to like, a friend's sister's barbecue and it's all normals; the men mill around and gab about sports and the girls mill around and compare engagement rings.

That is when I'll have my annual Bud Light and that is when I'll take one sip, abandon it on a random picnic table and walk away because it tastes like shit.

THAT IS HOW I FEEL ABOUT THIS DUDE. We hook up once a year and it's NEVER GOOD. He gets too drunk and falls asleep every time! I don't know why I keep coming back for more, much less agreeing to it. Is it out of boredom? Familiarity? The hope that maybe this will be the year that he learns how to make out like a pro? I don't know; maybe he bought a book on it? WHO KNOWS?

It's like why I keep watching Entourage: I wonder if it's gonna get better. But it hasn't. And, it won't because Vince is a bore, E is a high-strung munchkin and Turtle is a pussy.

 I don't have anything to add, but I appreciate the opportunity to run a pic of Spuds MacKenzie (RIP).

Things I'm Terrible At: Turning Down My Bud Light Dude

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Things I'm Terrible At: Writing Short Emails To Guys I Like

For some reason, I am physically unable to keep emails under 500 words when I am writing an email to a guy I like. Essentially, I ramble on like Led Zeppelin.

My email is lovingly crafted with all sorts of literary devices sprinkled throughout. I write paragraphs with thematic sentences. I use exclamation points. It's the written equivalent of twirling my hair, batting my eyelashes and doing a tap dance routine. 

It's embarrassing because his emails will convey the minimal amount of information possible. He won't even use proper punctuation. No words are capitalized. His email is basically an electronic grunt. That makes me nervous. And, when I get nervous, I overcompensate which means I write even longer emails in an effort to connect with him.

By the end of the whole exchange if you compare our emails side by side, I've written The Infinite Jest and he's written less text than would appear on a standard greeting card. It's fucktarded.

Things I'm Terrible At: Writing Short Emails To Guys I Like

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Things I'm Terrible At: Remembering That I've Already Hit On You

I must be listening to Skid Row's "I Remember You" and it must be opposite day today, because I honestly do not recognize you. And, here's the embarrassing part: I've hit on you roughly once a season for the past two years. To put it in on a Britney Spears' timeline, I've been consistently hitting on you since she went insane and shaved her head.

For some reason, I never remember that I've already hit on you until you explain to me that we've met before. Then the lightbulb goes off over my head and I remember how you've already rejected me SEVERAL TIMES.

"Ahhhh! Right! We exchanged numbers two winters ago and you blew me off. Did you do something different with your hair? Did you shave your beard off? That must've been why I didn't recognize you. Yes, yes, I remember you now. Nice seeing you again!" Then, I slink off into a corner and crumple into a ball of hot, shameful tears with my fist clenched toward the sky, cursing the Gods of Hooking Up.

Ok, the first four times it happened, it was totally my fault; I'll give you that. But the last three times? That's all on you, Bucko. The more I think about it, the angrier I'm getting. You really need to start differentiating yourself for me. Have a knife fight and get some guy to slash your cheek. Get neon eyeglass frames. Get an earring. I'd totally remember a guy with an earring. Do SOMETHING so that you'll stand out. What, I'm supposed to keep track of which generically good-looking guys I mack on? I don't have time for that. Besides, I always see you in dark places and everyone knows that I have terrible night vision. Your inability to stand out coupled with my optical shortcomings are the real culprits here. 

The only good thing about all of this is that it confirms that I have a specific type because every time I see you out, I kick you game. So, there's that. Yay?

Things I'm Terrible At: Remembering That I've Already Hit On You

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Things I'm Terrible At: Judging What Qualities Are Important In A Male

If Shmitten Kitten were a made-for-television movie on the Hallmark channel, "Things I'm Terrible At: Judging What Qualities Are Important In A Male" would be the name of it. Obviously, as any reader of our site knows, that statement pretty much sums us up. Apparently, it applies to our reader Jocelyn too:

I dated this kid for a year in high school and he wore the same shirt and ripped jeans the entire time. And what shirt was it, do you ask? It was from the band Leftover Crack and it said "Shoot The Kids at School" on it. This was interchangeable every few weeks with his other Leftover Crack shirt that said, "Rock the 40 oz." Regardless, I loved him in all of his punk rock skater glory. He did have a job and a car. Really what more can you ask for in high school?

Which brings me to college where I had a brief fling with a guy from the Southern region. He was gorgeous: long curly locks, bone-thin and draped in a v-neck tee, skinny jeans, and cowboy boots. He was funny and had just gotten a job at American Apparel. He was also homeless. Like, he did not have a home. He crashed on couches--and in my bed--for weeks. I made him food when he stayed over because he was paying back credit card debt that he'd accrued to make it to Philly. I heard that even when he did find a place he was a total freeloader, surprise surprise. As you can see I have really high standards.

Wow. That's pretty funny. Punk rockers and freeloaders? That's like Crummy Guys 101. I could teach a college-level course on that. We've gone out with guys who were waaaaaay more insane. Like the guy who only hooked up with me to steal my friend's number out of my cell phone. Or, the guy who drank up all my vodka at 9am on a Tuesday when I left him at my house to go on a job interview. Or, the guy who claimed that he had to be taken to the hospital because he had alcohol poisoning but when I dropped everything and raced across town to get to him, he said that he didn't really need to go to the hospital; he just wanted to cuddle me. Actually, the last two things happened with the same guy. On the same day. *shakes head*

I'm always terrible at judging what qualities are important in a guy. That's my calling card. What are you terrible at? Write us at hi@shmittenkitten.com and let us know.

Things I'm Terrible At: Judging What Qualities Are Important In A Male

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Things I'm Terrible At: Giving A Fake Phone Number

I continually astound myself with how terrible I am at giving a guy a fake phone number. I am physically unable to do it. I can lie about a myriad of other details: I'll shave off a few years and tell him I'm 24. I'll lie and say that I live in South Philly without batting an eyelash. I'll even make up an occupation just to keep things interesting.

But, as soon as he whips out his phone and says, "Alright, what's your phone number?" I crack like the top of a poorly-made cheesecake. It's like my soul is possessed by George Washington's ghost for the next two minutes and I literally cannot tell a lie. As each number tumbles out of my mouth, I am horrified that it's the right one. 2. 1. 5. (Oh, god! Just make a number up!) 2. 5. 3. (Ugh! What are you doing?) I fidget. What would Keyser Soze do? I look around the room for any other number to give. I can just picture Emilio Estevez from The Breakfast Club on my shoulder, mouthing for me to "Stop!"

But, I don't stop. I keep going. 8. 3. (It's not too late! Just change the last two!) 3 (Seriously, just pick any number but 9. Any number but 9.) 9. Yup. (215) 253-8339, I confirm. I cringe as he saves my information. Frankly, I'm terrible at giving fake phone numbers. Why is it so hard for me to fudge 'em? Do I enjoy receiving text messages from guys I'm not interested in dating that much? Do I really like the pangs of guilt every time my phone rings and his number pops up? Obviously once he calls and we talk for longer than five minutes, he's going to figure out that I'm not a 24 year-old South Philly resident who moonlights as a cat psychiatrist. I've spun a web of lies with a ribbon of truth woven through it. I think I need a life coach or something.

[Update: Our eagle-eyed reader/my best friend since high school, Courtney, has pointed out that it was actually Molly Ringwald/Claire who mouthed "Stop!" to Bender in that infamous scene. Thank you, Courtney! I'm still going to keep the picture of Emilio Estevez up because look at him up there. How can you not smile when you see that picture?]

Things I'm Terrible At: Giving A Fake Phone Number

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Things I'm Terrible At: Telling A Guy That I Don't Like His Underwear

My new dude is hilarious and handsome. But there's one thing I just can't get past: he wears tightie whities. Only Calvin Klein models from the '90s and David Beckham look halfway decent in these cottony nut huggers. Otherwise, tightie whities make me think of what little boys wear when they are just out of diapers but still wet the bed, or old men with skidmarks, or Borat in that hotel scene of his movie. I hate to break it to you, but tighty whities are not sexy on the majority of human males.

No matter how charming he is, I start acting weird as soon as I see that little bit of white elastic fabric peeking out from the top of his jeans. It's there mocking me everytime he bends over to grab a beer out of the fridge or locks up his bike. It actually makes my hands clammy and I get nervous and try to stand behind him so no one else can see it.

But I don't know how to tell him that it's a total turnoff because he's such a sweetheart. I prefer briefs but boxers are fine. I'd even be able to handle the tight little boy underwear if it was in another color, say Midnight Black or Superhero Red. Anything but white. I've tried the subtle gift-giving of briefs, only to be told that his white underwear is the only kind that fits. Really? The ONLY kind? There are like 200 underwear brands out there, I guarantee one of them will fit and not make him look like the man with the old balls from Big Daddy. My friend poked fun at him as he bent over his bar stool last weekend, saying "Awww, how cute! Tightie whities! Ha!" I was secretly cheering her on, but now he just thinks she's a total bitch. *Sigh*

Things I'm Terrible At: Telling A Guy That I Don't Like His Underwear

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As A Head's Up, Here Are Some Dates That I Don't Want To Go On

Listen, it's really sweet that you want to take me out. But, the places you're suggesting we go to are downright fucktarded. Just so we are clear, I do not want to go on the following dates with you:

• To a NASCAR race. I'm sure it could be fun if we went ironically and made fun of the other attendees, but from what I can gather you seem to genuinely enjoy this "sport." Not to be a brat, but I have about zero percent interest in going to this. If this makes me less fun in your eyes, so be it. And when you told me that I should keep an open mind and go with you, I resented it. If opening my mind means going to NASCAR races and fraternizing with mullets in wrap-around shades, then I'm totally happy to be myopic.
  

• To a Jimmy Buffet concert. Um, this is never gonna happen. I don't care how nicely you ask, I will not let you take me to Margaritaville. I don't even feel like I need to explain this to you. Just the fact that you suggested this as a date option makes me depressed. When you asked me why it made me depressed, well, that just made me more depressed.
  

• To KFC. Going to KFC for dinner is not a date. I didn't put on mascara for this. I'm not a snob by any means and no one enjoys a value more than me, but a fast food date at this stage in the game is not only bizarre, but sad. Besides, I only go to fast food restaurants when I'm either on a road trip or am PMS-ing. Just lettin' you know.
  

• To a surprise party at a reptile house. Ok, no one has ever seriously proposed this as a date suggestion, but just so we are all on the same page, I would never go on a date here since I have a reptile phobia. I probably would have a heart attack and die. In essence, this would be a date with death.
  

What's the worst date someone has proposed to you? Leave 'em in the comments.

As A Head's Up, Here Are Some Dates That I Don't Want To Go On

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Things I'm Terrible At: Telling A Guy That I Don't Like His Cologne

I have NEVER told a guy that I didn't like his cologne. I would rather breathe through my mouth for our entire date than confront him about his smell. I mean, he took the time to spray it on his body, obviously he likes it. I can't criticize his scent. It'd be like telling him that I don't like his friends or something.

How would the conversation even go?

"Sweetie, what are you wearing? 'Cause it smells like ass."

"So, I've been thinking about how you smell and I've decided that I don't like it."

"Did a homeless man pass out on your shirt? Because it kinda smells like one did."

See? There's no tactful way to address this issue. I would rather end the relationship than initiate this conversation. I need a tutorial for this. I would pay up to $3 to learn how I can bring this up gracefully. I have Paypal. I'm good for it.

Things I'm Terrible At: Telling A Guy That I Don't Like His Cologne

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Things I've Lost: My Cool

Hey guys! Sorry to bug y'all, but I've misplaced my cool. I've looked under all my couch cushions, under my bed, and combed my car, but I've clearly lost my cool. I swear that I just had it, but ever since I ran into a hot guy at my friend's wedding, I can't seem to find it. I know it's missing because:

• After introducing myself to this dashing gent, I immediately asked if he, "had a girlfriend or what." At least no one could accuse me of not cutting to the chase. *tugs collar*
  

• When he said that the didn't have a girlfriend, I asked him to dance. We slow danced to "Careless Whisper." As he looked into my eyes and smiled, I squeezed the shoulder pad on his blazer then made an awkward joke about it. What was I thinking? Who does that?
  

• After our magical dance, he asked if I wanted to step outside and have a cigarette with him. I agreed even though I don't smoke. I pretended to inhale but it was totally obvious that I'm not a smoker. Who pretends to smoke? That's so weird!
  

• After he asked me a few general questions about my background, I blurted out that I was unable to pay attention to anything he was saying because he was so handsome. Who says that? Our conversation deteriorated after that, surprise surprise.
  

• And, then, the worst part of all, I tracked him down and ADDED HIM ON FACEBOOK THE NEXT DAY. I AM SUCH A CREEP! It was like an out-of-body experience, watching myself crash and burn so hard. My eager friend request exposed my desperation. I was a self-saboteur of the highest order; I could've written a book called Self-Sabotage for Dummies because I was rapidly becoming an expert. I have never, I repeat, NEVER done the day-after friend request. Just as that guy blamed the sun for why he killed the Arab in Camus' The Stranger, I'm going to blame this guy's luminescent smile for my straight-up insane behavior.
  

• And, if I hadn't embarrassed myself enough, I waited two days and then I emailed him asking him out for a drink. Those with a heart condition might want to take a deep breath before they read the rest of this sentence as this might come as a terrible shock, but he has not responded to my emailed drink invitation.
  

I was like a dog at a cocktail party following him around and humping his leg. You know how Cassandra from Wayne's World learned English from watching the Police Academy movies? It's like I had learned how to date solely from watching Sleeping With The Enemy.

Please, if anyone has seen my cool, could you just return it? No questions asked. Girl Scout's honor.

Things I've Lost: My Cool

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Things I’m Terrible At: Knowing When a Guy Likes Me

A while back, our reader Sabrina told us that she’s terrible at acting normal when she finds out guys like her. I stop one step short of that problem—I’m absolutely terrible at knowing when a guy likes me at all.

Despite more than a decade of dating and a subscription to Seventeen in high school, I still can’t detect the “Four Signs a Guy's into You," regardless of the magazine's quizzes, testimonials, and case studies. If he flirts, I just assume he flirts with everyone. If he stares, I think he just has something in his eye or is high. If he touches my arm, I think he’s just very tactile, like one of those people that walk around squeezing a stress ball all day.

It was like this with my first boyfriend and my last. In both cases we were friends first, so I thought nothing of their phone calls or compliments, because, you know, my girlfriends call me and give compliments, too. When they admitted their feelings, I thought they were kidding. I guess the joke’s on me.

Things I’m Terrible At: Knowing When a Guy Likes Me

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Things I’m Terrible At: Talking to Guys in Bars

Why hello there, boy in the striped, buttoned-down shirt chatting me up at the bar. You’re cute enough, you're nice enough, and you even use proper grammar despite being seven Yuenglings deep. But even with all those charms, I’m not going to be able to let you pick me up.

You know why? It's because I'm terrible at talking to guys I meet in bars. Honestly, I have no idea what to say to you. That's great that you're trying to talk to me while a remix of the latest Lady Gaga tune is blaring away in the club, but your approach makes me want to run away. As you lean in shouting your name into my ear, I clam up and smile meekly or defer to my girlfriends.

Maybe it’s because one summer at a Jersey Shore bar, I was really friendly to one of your kind and he proceeded to grope me on the dance floor and lick my face. I’m sorry, I’m scarred. One grabby drunk ruined the lot of you for me. Maybe it’s because despite my confidence, the shy, nerdy grade-schooler in me comes out when you--a stranger who may want to sleep with me--tries to get my attention.

Although I might be wearing a low-cut little number, in reality I'm reserved. I’m more comfortable meeting guys in three circumstances: through work, school or a friend. I’ve dated one person that I met at a bar, and that’s only because we connected over an Old Dirty Bastard song. Come on, an encounter like that deserves some follow-up.

Maybe if you bought me a book instead of a Bud Light, I’d emerge from my shy cocoon and blossom into the outgoing butterfly you want to see. But it usually takes years for that to happen, so you should probably move on to the girl making out with her best friend on the bar stool over yonder.

Things I’m Terrible At: Talking to Guys in Bars

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Things That Make Me a Bad Boyfriend: I Will Hate Your Dog

I'm sorry, but it's true.

I know how much the little guy means to you. He showers you with love and devotion 24 hours a day. He jumps up and down every time you come home from work. He'll cuddle up on your lap when you're watching television. I get it. It doesn't matter what you do, that dog is going to be blindly devoted to you FOR LIFE.

Which, for the record, is also why I hate your dog. Believe me, I've tried to like dogs. I've tried to get past the weird smell, the poor bowel control, and the fact that they like to destroy household items when left alone. I dig loyalty. I support devotion; just not from a dog.

I've done a lot of thinking about where this comes from. I never had a dog growing up, so maybe that is a big part of it. The main issue I have is this: I think a dog's love is cheap. When you come home from work, the dog jumps up and down and freaks out like it's been five years since the last time he saw you. But here's the thing, it does the same thing when I come home. It will do the same thing to the pizza delivery guy. It's bullshit!

Not to make this a cats vs. dogs thing, but when I was growing up, unless you were directly responsible for the feeding and care of the family cat, it did not give a SHIT about you. It barely registered your presence in the room. So when my cat would jump on my lap while I was watching TV, I knew I earned that shit. It was a love based on mutual respect and appreciation: I empty your litter box sometimes, you don't knock over stuff on the kitchen counter. I GET that. It makes sense to me.

So anyway, when we start dating, I will pretend to be cool with your dog. I won't be OVERLY enthusiastic about your canine friend, but I won't let on that I'm not a dog person, because I recognize that could be a pretty big dealbreaker. I will get secretly annoyed when you can't sleep over because you have to walk your dog. I will show the minimum required amount of affection towards your dog when we hang out. I will also wash my hands repeatedly to try to remove the dog smell afterwards. And lastly, I will NEVER, repeat, N-E-V-E-R pick up your dog's shit with my hands--plastic baggy or not.

If you turn out to be a keeper, then we'll just have to weigh the pros and cons: Mindblowingly amazing girl vs. dog who I will have to tolerate possibly for the rest of my life. With the right girl, I'm pretty sure I could learn to survive life as a dog owner. Who knows? Maybe your dog will grow on me. But for now, the cold hard reality of the situation is that I will hate your dog. And that makes me a bad boyfriend.

[After praising Phil for having the most perfect profile picture ever, we lassoed him into being a guest contributor. He loves illegal bonfires, Big Gulps, and Civil War history. Check him out here.]

Things That Make Me a Bad Boyfriend: I Will Hate Your Dog

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Things I’m Terrible At: Turning Down A Date With A Really Nice Guy I Have No Interest In

Normally, I think of myself as a pretty direct and honest lady. For the most part, I know what I want. This decisiveness usually applies where dudes are concerned too. But every now and then, a really nice guy comes along. Not just a nice guy, but a bonafide sweetheart: he opens doors, he pulls out chairs, he magically pops up at your job just to say "hi,” and he even calls his mom on the regular. This guy is a dreamboat of niceness.

But despite his sweet nature, you’re just not attracted to him. When you glance his way, instead of butterflies in your stomach and fireworks going off in your chest, you’re overcome with, well nothing. You just can’t get into Mr. Nice Guy despite your best efforts trying to convince yourself of his desirability. You look like a crazy person as you debate his finer points to yourself. "He's great with kids and he'd make a great dad," you reason. "Yeah, but for someone else's kids," you mutter under your breath.

Aaaaand right around then is when he usually asks me out on a date. Logically, my answer should always be a cut and dry, “No,” a “Sorry, I can’t” or a “Golly, I’m busy forever!” But instead, I panic. How can I turn down someone THAT nice?! Mistakenly, I think, going out with him once won’t do any harm and instead of handing out a short but sweet rejection, I say, “Sure, why not!” I end up regretting it faster than when I chug a city-wide Philly special--PBR and a shot of Jim Beam for all of you out-of-towners--on a Friday night.

Why do I feel compelled to say yes to guys who ask me out simply because they are nice? There must be some part of my brain that agrees with the backwards logic that thinks going out with him once is not leading anybody on; if anything, it's just being courteous. Once the influx of texts, calls, and Facebook messages begins after that “harmless” first (and only, I hope) date, I kick myself. I am not good at turning down dates with nice guys. In fact, I'm terrible at it.

Things I’m Terrible At: Turning Down A Date With A Really Nice Guy I Have No Interest In

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Things I'm Terrible At: Turning Down A Free Drink

Maybe I can't believe that I can get free stuff just for being a girl, but there's something in my DNA that renders me incapable of turning down a free drink, even if I'm uninterested in a guy. It's like there's a disconnect between my brain and my id: my brain knows that if I accept the drink then I'm signaling interest to the drink-buyer. However, my id is on some kind of permanent spring break going, "Hell yeah! Woohoo! FREE DRINKS! Thanks, Guy." *gulp*

I'd chalk it up to naivete, but I can't really claim that at this point. I know what they want when they make the offer, who are we kidding. Irrationally, I just hope that the guy forgets that he wants to make a move as I sip my (free) Fleur de Lehigh. This nonsensical logic has backfired a few times, with some guys becoming more aggressive as I withhold my attention. It's weird. And, I have no one to blame but me and my thirst. Shrug.

I didn't realize that this was a problem until I was out with my friend and she became creeped out when guys we weren't attracted to offered to buy us drinks. I watched in shock as she turned down drink offers left and right, as I sat there with no less than three full pints of beer waiting patiently for me on the bar. That's when I realized that I had a problem: I just can't say no to free drinks! Frankly, I'm terrible at it.

Things I'm Terrible At: Turning Down A Free Drink

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Things I'm Terrible At: Online Dating

If online dating were a subject in high school, we'd fail. We'd have to re-take the class in summer school, but we'd fail that, too. The school would withhold our diploma until we passed the damn class. And, after our third attempt at trying to pass the class, to the dismay of our friends and loved ones, we would drop out of school and get a job at ITT Tech.

The point: we are terrible at online dating! We've dipped our toe in almost every dating site, like Goldilocks testing porridge. So far, none have been a good fit. It's ranged from being mildly unpleasant to being downright terrifying (Jdate, we're looking at you.)

We find the whole online dating experience extremely anxiety-inducing. We hate:

• Coming up with witty little answers about our interests.
  
• Uploading photos for strangers to judge.
• Being inadvertently matched up with guys we've already dated.
• When guys contact us incessantly and blow up our inbox demanding to know why we haven't written back.
  
• The stats letting us know who's looked at our profile and it's all hillbilles and divorced dads that live 50 miles away. It's creepy!
  

What the hell? We know it's possible to find true love online, but unfortunately, we don't have the chops to find it. We are obviously terrible at it. What do you guys think? Is it just us? Is there a site that you swear by?

Things I'm Terrible At: Online Dating

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