Fake tan must kill brain cells

I think I like this blog much more than my old one. The anonymity is nice. I may let a couple friends know about it, but probably not. I'd rather have the space to vent to people that don't know me (or more likely, that no one will ever read and I'll be venting to myself.) Who knows.

I need to meet some people. The last people I hung out all the time with turned out to be so immature that they'd make the teenaged boys I worked with look like dignified citizens. As for dating, I'm on hiatus, indefinitely.

The guys around here are unbelievable. It's a college town, so the imports from downstate NY and Long Island are in vast numbers. The stereotypes of the LI kids aren't all true...but for some reason Gotti Boy syndrome has invaded the area here. Slick, gelled up hair (with the headbands that I wore in the 80's) button-down shirts or t-shirts small enough for a five year-old, and enough fake tans to collectively make this city glow orange. I understand that I don't think I should judge them by what they wear... but I do by what comes out of their mouths. I went out a few months ago and in the long line at the front of the club (3 floors of the drunken 20-something mating dance) I overheard the conversation from the three guys behind me. It was something like this:

Tool #1: *runs his hands through his hair and shakes it into place* "Those bitches we came with already got in. They'd better be waiting, they know better."

Tool #2: *buttons and rebuttons his shirt to show off the designer label* "Yeah, they're waiting. They better have the beers ready. Is it always so fuckin' hard to get in here?"

(NOTE: it is not at all hard to get in there, they just ID tight. The trio behind me just felt that their shiny gorgeousness should allow them a shorter wait.)

Tool #3: "The key is..." *stops to put on chapstick and adjust his pants over his Lugz, to try and make his package look bigger* "...to try and look as GAY as possible. Button your shirts up and laugh like a F**. The bouncers are all gay anyway, so they let all them in easier. So act as gay as you can."

When I *accidentally* stepped on his Lugz, he whined about "stupid bitches." I figured they were underage, but thankfully once I was inside I was spared from sharing air with them. I was irritated with the girls they were with, who had faithfully waited with beers by the doors.

This is what's out there? Homophobe misogynists? I should stick to the parks and museums like usual. I know not all men are like that, I'm not demented...but it seems like it sometimes. And it's not limited to the guys, I spoke to one of my male friends and he was saying how he's tired of going out now because it seems like all the girls have extensions, fake tans, fake boobs and stilettos that they forget they're wearing when they get drunk and step on his feet with. Scary, the idea of the death of the normal person.

I don't think it's too much to ask for, to only date a guy who can hold a decent conversation and keep his eyes off my breasts for at least half of it. But more importantly, I can't take the prospect of dating an idiot with no sense of humor. If it's not possible to find a guy who makes me laugh and laughs at my jokes when they're actually funny... I'll just resign myself to a life of dogs, chocolate and Dr. Phil reruns. Soon or later, ther'll come a man, with more than 4 brain cells dancing around inside his head, raving with tiny little glowsticks, telling each other they love them and staring vacantly at the shiny lightshows coming from behind his eyelids.