exitstrategy

So, as the saying goes, when one door closes another opens.  Reading yesterday’s blogisode, you probably assume I met a new man.  Not yet.  No, the new door is professional.  I have been given an “opportunity.”  What is this opportunity you ask?  Well, on Friday, the day after the break-up, I had my annual review.  In addition to the super inspiring reviews I had last month, the firm gives one final review when 2 partners read all the other partners reviews, distill it into a few themes and then give you information about raises and bonuses.  Last year, my year-end review was pretty lame.  They gave me a raise and a mini-bonus, told me to get more hours, and to be more enthusiastic.  Yeah, sure.  I was expecting bad news this year.  I mean the one bozo said I was incompetent and the others said I was a weeping willow.  Plus, I did not make my hours.  But, I had created a well-papered trail of my attempts to get work and so I felt that I could fight fire with fire, if need be.The review I was prepared for, however, was not the review I got.  So, as I sat down, Big Daddy said “Spinsta, you didn’t even qualify for a bonus because of your hours so lets take that off the table right away.”  Ouch.  ”Spinsta,” continued Big Daddy, “we here at the firm think that you have a real future here and we want you to be here forever, BUT there is something missing.  And that something missing is non-substantive, but you know sometimes non-substantive things can become substantive.  Everyone agrees you do good work, you are smart, efficient, a good writer, good-researcher, good analytically, etc.  But, well people have two main problems with you which are as a I said non-substantive.”  Hmm, I wonder, they all agree I am a good lawyer.  Maybe this review won’t be so bad.  I mean how much can non-substantive comments hurt me?  Even if they somehow transform themselves into substantive criticisms.  ”First, you do not have enough confidence in your presentation.  We all know you are smart, but when you get an assignment, you have this blank stare - some people call it the deer-in-headlights look.  You don’t ask any questions and the partners assume you just don’t understand what they are asking and are totally overwhelmed.”  ”Yeah,” pipes in the second partner, “I mean how would you feel if you gave a 20 minute presentation to Big Daddy and then at the end all he said was ‘ok thanks?’”  Um, relieved, bozo.  Glad that I can leave without getting more work.  ”Yeah, I see what you are saying,” I lie.  Then the two go back and forth about my lack of confidence and how I can change that.  One suggestion - repeat back what the partner asked you to research.  Oh yes, that will definitely make me seem more confident.  Or, maybe the better word is INCOMPETENT.  Another suggestion - ask questions, even if you have to make them up.  Well, that presents a bigger problem than the repeating since I barely pay attention to the assignment.  Formulating a question seems rather lofty of an ambition.  I am going for C student, not A+ (note - this is professionally, not body-grading).  The confidence speech must have taken at least 15 minutes.  I nodded, said “yeah I see” several times.  I even asked a question - “So what does this deer-in-the headlights look look like?”  Um, it looks rightfully like I am sleeping with my eyes open.  Is that wrong?  Now after I got non-substantive substantive criticism number 1, I was ready for number 2.  ”Spinsta,” began Big Daddy, “You are a VERY ATTRACTIVE WOMAN.”  Dead silence.  I look awkwardly at the other partner who looks at his feet.  ”But, you have some annoying habits.  For instance, you twirl your hair and sometimes you chew gum.  And you don’t dress professionally.”  ”Yeah,” said the other guy, “I saw you wear red shoes three times last year.”  ”I did not think my shoes mattered.”  ”Oh yes, everything matters.  You see we work at a firm that is the pinnacle of the legal profession and our clients are very important and we need to dress accordingly.”  Wow, is that guy delusional.  ”If I ruled the world, which I apparently do not, everyone would wear a suit everyday,” said Big Daddy.  Hmm, daddy, then maybe you should change the dress code from business casual to business attire.  Unless secret rules become substantive as well.  The two of them went on and on about how I should dress.  Apparently, the men are uncomfortable around me because I am attractive and I dress well.  I dress more conservatively than the stomper who wears mini dresses and the woman associate who wears t-shirts and leggings or skin tight numbers.  I am just apparently under a microscope.  I mean hey other partner, why are you looking at my feet?  YOU ARE DISGUSTING!  So Big Daddy proposed a solution - I should dress like the female partner.  Now for those of you who don’t remember, she is the woman who I ran into naked in the bathroom.  She is also the one who wears pink and silver sequined sweater suits, or a Joseph-and-the-amazing-technicolor-dream coat with a see-through shirt.  If I dressed like her, well I would hate myself, but I would also probably be sent home.After they gave me these non-substantive substantive comments, they said that I was not getting a raise and was asked to work on these two big issues and we would re-evaluate my progress and raise in 6 months.”Any questions?”  ”No,” I said.  And its true.  I have no questions.  Big Daddy and the other guys are uncomfortable around me.  So, I can take the hint, I will wear all-black.  I even went out during the weekend and got work clothes (much better than the sweater suits).  Of course, in 6 months, Big Daddy will no doubt tell me that I took his advice too far and the partners want to see more leg, or T&A.  ”I mean we work at a serious place, but it is not a funeral home.  Show us what you are working with.”And that was the end of my year.  And the start of my “opportunity” to show them that I am confident and professional.  Of course, if they try to fire me I will remind Big Daddy of the review.  ”I mean you told me I was beautiful Daddy and said I should dress more professionally, which I did, and now you are firing me?  I wonder what the diversity woman would say about that?  Especially when the other women here dress crazy and the majority of partners are physically repulsive.  Do you know notice that Fat Bastard has dirty clothes and white powder on his face every day?  I mean Daddy, don’t hate me because I am beautiful.”

So audience, I will let you know some personal information (since these blogs are so impersonal).  I was not a spinsta for bit, but no worries, I am back.  Although, I am currently not Fat Spinsta since the combination of work stress and boy stress has taken away my appetite (although today I am feeling better and my appetite is back.  Fuck you stress stomach - I thought we were going to be together a while).  But, what is more shocking than the fact that I had a relationship (and completed said relationship) is that GASP the Spinsta is actually rather emotionally healthy.This is a bit of a surprise for me.  See, I am not what you would call warm.  I don’t like to divulge really personal things, I do not embrace (I think all physical contact should consist solely of the high five), and I hate to cry in front of people.  Actually, the reason I became a lawyer is my aversion to human contact.  My mother wanted to have three doctors - I don’t know what went wrong with the first one, the second complied, and me - well the thought of having to touch patients was too much.  So I became a lawyer (ironic since I now need to do much worse than touch people - EWW don’t go there.  I meant kiss a**.  The Spinsta is a lady).So with that glimpse into my sole, you can imagine why it might be unexpected for the Spinsta to be so emotionally mature and healthy.  But I was.  I had grown up conversations, I made grown up requests, and I made grown up decisions.  My therapist could not be prouder of me.  I was dating a guy that albeit a very nice guy was a three-month man.  And, like the song, I don’t want no three month man.  I not only want, but I am capable of having a long-term real relationship.  I know, ladies and gentleman, it is a little off putting for me too.  Oy even my mom is impressed - perhaps this will compensate for her disappointment that I did not become a doctor.  Alas. . .So now what?  Now that I am back to being a Spinsta.  Well, I am moving forward.  2010 is gonna be the Year of The Spinsta.  Mark my words.But what about the next step?  Well, I have never had a relationship before so I have never had to get over one before either.  Since I take all of my cues from television, I thought about what tv characters do to get over a relationship.  Drink?  Did that - I got hammered on Saturday at a Sister Hazel concert (yes I agree, not sure which is worse, that I got drunk or that I went to the concert.  No offense Sister.  Love ya.)  Have random sex?  Well, I figure that is what new years is for.  Oh YES - find a song to get you through it.  Well, I know Dylan and Brenda had Losing My Religion, but that does not really express where I am at now.  Hmm.  Back that A** Up?  Close, but that is more of a prelude to New Years eve as well.  Some Day My Prince Will Come?  I mean kill me if that is my theme song.  Let’s Get Retarded?  Again, New Years is only one night.  I need a song that will take me through the next week and a half (I figure that is my healing time).  I GOT IT - As long as I know how to love I know I will survive, hey heeeeeeeey.  Thank you Gloria Gaynor.

I just got formal rejection letters from jobs I applied to 6 months ago.  It certainly was not a shock, but nevertheless sad.  It is becoming more and more apparent that I will not find a new job and will prob get the boot or die (I think I have developed an ulcer from my new work situation - I billed almost 200 hours last month and my body is giving out).  So, my parents basement really is the only option for me.I was really easing into the idea too.  That was until I remembered that (1) my mom is crazy and (2) we don’t really get along.  See, my mom has her own unique views on giving people space.  Her rule is almost brilliant in its simplicity - give them no space, smother, ask probing questions that are none of your business, etc.  And I also have unique views on space.  My rule is not as simple, but still brilliant (I mean I am my mother’s daughter - maybe. . .)  I get all the space I want but I want to get all up in your business.  To combine these two views would be, well like high school.  I will paint you a picture:  me walking into my room at 16.  I see my mom coming out of my walk-in closet.  I jump.  ”Mawm, WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN HERE?”  ”Is this what I think it is?”  She holds out a lighter.  ”Where did you get that?”  ”In your underwear drawer.  I was putting away your clothes.”  Note - she never put away my clothes.  Then, we would scream for about an hour.  When she read my diary the next week we screamed for two hours.  It is no coincidence that she found my blog.  Mommy be nosy.Most recently, I had called my mom on the way home from the office party.  Feeling depressed, I told my mom a little too much information.  I knew it was a mistake the moment the words left my lips, but it was a moment of weakness.  Now, she won’t stop talking about it.  In fact, she won’t stop talking to others about it.So what do I do?  I guess I could move in with my sister in her McMansion.  Or, I guess I could just grow up and deal with my work situation.  Hmm, no that is pretty much unthinkable.  Off to go pack.

So I know I did not coin that phrase.  Who said it?  I think it was Bette Midler or maybe Elton John?  Either way.  It captures my current sentiment.So I was looking back at my last two blogs.  Even though they have not been regular, I think they are some of my best work.  But, then again, some clown said I was Debbie Downer.  He is mistaken.I am a reporter - I report on the goings on in the world and add my spin.  I mean the world has gone to shit lately so it is only fitting if I am a little Debbie.  I mean Tiger Woods is cheatin’ and fightin’ and stuff.  We are clearly all doomed, so just shut up and listen to Debbie.But that brings me back to my original premise.  See, at first I was all sad about the way I am perceived at work.  You know, a weak little lady who can’t read or write good.  Oh or speak good.  But, that sadness has turned into rage.  Yes, the firm has turned me mean.You remember the Stomper?  Well I have said some real whoppers about her.  See she is a big girl but she wears little girl clothes.  Not like baby-ish clothes, i mean tiny little outfits on her big old frame.  Today she wore a mini dress and tights.  But she was all round and then had purple legs.  So, I said she looked like an M&M.  Bitchy, I know.Or, tonight was our firm holiday party.  They asked that we submit pictures of us from the 80s for some slideshow.  Well, I refused to participate.  Why?  Because the firm is not a fun old cruise-ship.  It is hell.  There is no lido deck.  Only crappy furniture and bad lighting.The list goes on.  I guess this is what they wanted though.  This new hard as nails Spinsta.  Don’t cross me BITCH.  Hey, you think you can push me now?  Whats my name?  WHATS MY NAME.Oy that hit too close to home - I just had a flashback of Big Daddy asking me “Who’s your daddy?  WHO’S YOUR DADDY?”  I threw up a little in my mouth.  But, as an aside, Bid Daddy had some pics in the slideshow of him in the 80s.  He was a bit of a fox.  You are my daddy.  YOU ARE MY DADDY.I don’t know what has possessed me tonight.  I mean this was the first holiday party I went to where I wasn’t even tipsy.  I guess it turned me mad.

How did I make this determination?  Well, I had my final performance review with the man I work for who hates me most.  I was expecting it to be bad.  Him and I do NOT work together well.  But, it was worse than I thought it would be.He started off with his global assessment - I don’t take ownership over my cases.  I should be making opportunities for myself.  I should be “knee deep” in the documents.  I should be coming up with creative ideas for how to “win our cases.”Then, he went into specifics.  ”Your writing is not outstanding.  You are not outstanding in anything you do.  Your writing is average.”  He had complaints about my researching and he said my time management skills suck.  After this point, I kind of zoned out.  I mean there is only so much “constructive criticism” I can take.I was brought back to attention, however, when he said the following:  ”It seems like you are miserable here.  Maybe you have been dealt some tough blows.  I know I had in my career.  But you have two options- you either say fuck this place or you make it work.  I decided I wanted a really important legal career.  And, so I may it work.  I treat all the partners as my clients, since I have no clients of my own.  I spent a lot of time on everything I do.  I care about my clients and I fight for them.”This was shocking to me for a few reasons.  The biggest reason was because I think that this man is below average intelligence (yes sir, it is the pot calling the kettle black).  But, he had actually formed a pretty accurate assessment.  I mean I am miserable.  I walk in to the office every day filled with dread.  I can imagine that would become somewhat obvious, in my attitude and apparently in my work.So, what do I do with this information?  My initial reaction was to cry.  But, that was short lived.  I mean who is this clown anyway?  By his own admission he is a partner who functions (and will continue to do so) as an associate.  He admitted his clients are the partners for whom he works.  He has been doing this shit for probably 13 or 14 years.  And his high-powered legal career - well this joker is forced to work with me.  Bad Mood MgGee.I asked my friends and family for their advice.  Most said what I was hoping to hear - he is a jerk, I am well above average.  Some suggested I ask for clarification.  Some suggested I change my attitude.  I stored those last two views away until next month (when the year starts over).  I think I want to wallow for a bit.But, I clearly have to do a better job at faking it.  I don’t want him to see how absolutely miserable I am.  I mean if he does it will be less of a shock when I leave, and I am going for a big impact moment when I finally make my exit.  I am an actress after all.  This will be my most challenging part to date (for other powerful performances, see Spinsta as caring daughter, woman on diet, and other such feats).So, I have my new role.  And I can give good fake enthusiasm.  We shall see who is just average.I do note as an aside that one of the partners for whom I work thinks he can push me around and the other likes to kick me when I am down.  Surely, I picked an awesome environment to launch my legal career.

So a few days ago I received an email from a concerned fan.  ”Fat Spinsta, where have you been?  I am not above finding you a sugar daddy so that you will have time to blog.”  As suggested by the concerned fan, the Spinsta has been working.  It is actually pretty brilliant on the part of my employer.  So I am in a situation where there are less hours in the month than the hours I need to make my yearly requirement and this is the last month of our billable year.  No matter how much I work I will not be entitled to get a bonus.  And I am working more than I have all year.  I tip my hat to you sweat shop.So I have been toiling away, getting fatter than ever, being a little less Spinestery than ever and just in general hating my job.  As if things weren’t bad enough, this month — in addition to being the month of my demise — is also the month of my performance reviews.I get reviewed by 4 partners - 1 doesn’t know who I am, 1 thinks I am so-so, and 2 hate me.  I have thus had 3 reviews - the 1 who doesnt know me, the one who is ambivalent on me, and the one who hates me least.  I mean I am not a complete sadist.  Convinced that they were going to yell or fire me because of my hours, I was pleasantly surprised.  Well, kinda.So the first two - the non-haters - told me I am smart, good at researching, pretty good at writing (legal writing that is, if they read the prose of this blog they would surely sing another tune) and good analytical skills.  But, then, they both said the same thing.  ”Spinsta, you need to be more assertive.  You do not instill confidence in me.  I would not trust you with a big assignment.”  The one who didn’t know me (but apparently knew all about me) even said “I think I can push you around.”The message for next year was for me to become more assertive, more confident in my legal skills, and all around a pit-bull.  One of the reviewers surmised the reason for my lack of assertiveness - “It almost seems as if you are not engaged in what you are doing, that you do not love the practice here.  I know that is not the case but that is what comes across.”So do I lack the ability to be assertive or do I just hate my job?  Let’s ask my mother.  When there is something I care about (like making sure I get exactly as many gifts as my sisters), I am not only assertive but I am one TOUGH BITCH.  And, to be honest, that one dude wants/needs me to be the kind to be pushed around.  He pushes around all of his employees.  I am pretty sure if I told him I would not do my work (and hence not be pushed around), he would have some pretty nasty things to say.So what do I take away from these reviews?  I got to get the hell out of there?  That is clear.  I do not have the personality to be a litigator?  I have known that since the day I entered the legal profession.  My time is better suited blogging?  The concerned fan confirmed that for me.That leads me to the next question - so what else can I do?  Well, as you can tell I am back blogging and so earning my 1/100th of a cent.  I have asked my mom to prepare the basement bedroom for my return (”do it up nice ma, I am a grown up now.”  ”Sure Spinsta, and then you me and dad can watch Glee together and go to the chabbad!!”).  Any other ideas would be greatly appreciated.We are 30 days and counting until my return to my childhood home.  In the meantime, forgive the Spinsta if her blogs are not as consistent.  They are bleeding me dry.NOTE:  I am actually just billing the amount of hours that most associates typically bill each month.   Whatev…

So it has become painfully clear that there is a major gender divide at my job.  We even had an expert come and gather information to prove it.  The men thought her visit was unnecessary.  They thought she was needlessly drumming up controversy.  I mean why fix something that ain’t broke.  Well, the obvious answer is that it IS broke.  But, these d-bags were threatened.The statistics are pretty bad.  They get better work, more hours, more money, and more respect.  Like last week, this partner asked me to do a super important task.  He asked me to tab stuff.  You know, like how Cher highlighted those phone conversations for her dad?  But, oh yeah she was in high school and I graduated law school.  Why was I tabbing?  Well obviously, that is women’s work.So, what does it take to be successful as a woman?  I am reminded of the conversation I had with Mr. ATD.  He suggested that I dress the part by wearing suits.  In other words, dress more like a man.  But, how far will that really get me?  My suits, like all my clothes, are tight.  Oh and they come with skirts.  So, no one will be fooled by my drag.  What else is there?  Victor/Victoria aint gonna work.There were those broads in my women’s group at the old firm.  Their recipe for success was to mimic the work habits of a man.  So, they got themselves stay at home husbands (or live in nannies who stayed in servants quarters in a closet in their house and refrained from eye contact) and worked all the time.  I mean I have more of a chance of imitating the dress habits of a man than the work habits.  I don’t want to work around the clock.   Those bitches were crazy.So what do I do?  Its not enough to dress like a man and I can’t act like one.  Well, the answer is obvious.  There is really only one way to be taken seriously at this law firm.  You need a penis.  So, I guess that means taking huge doses of testosterone a la the pregnant man.  I can grow a little guy and just sit back while the opportunities for advancement present themselves.  After all, I don’t want to make all those men uncomfortable with my woman parts.  Its a win-win.

The Spinsta was in rare form.  Or, should I say, the Spinsto - the Spinsta’s evil twin.  So this past Friday was a charity event for another of my boards.  The event was long on booze and short on food.  More specifically, it was open bar and with a few dishes of cashews.  As you can imagine, I was blitzed.So there were the stairs - I think I fell down a few.  And there was the delish wine named “truck.”  And then there was more truck.  Oh and then I threw a clip board.  And then there was more truck and then there was the afterparty.  This was where things went seriously awry.Picture this: one cab, two people and one barely coherent Spinsta.  To the left of Spinsta, is a guy.  To the right, a gal.  Spinsta decides to set up the guy’s brother with the gal on the right.  So, she says that the girl will “tap that ass.”  And then apparently she licks the guys face.  Not getting the result she desires regarding the set up, the Spinsta ups the stakes.  ”She likes it up the a**.”  I mean what guy wouldn’t jump at that offer.  Both guy and girl are stunned.  Spinsta licks guys face again.  The cab arrives at the destination.Spinsta and her friends and the guy arrive at a bar where guy’s friend is having her bday.  Spinsta has a small split in her skirt.  Then, Spinsta has a HUGE split in her skirt.  Luckily, Spinsta is wearing tights or else she would have been arrested for public indecency and sent to “dry out” in a cell.  So, Spinsta and her exposed bum go into the bar.  Spinsta says again about the friend and her desire for rear access.  Then, the “friends” leave - I use quotes because who would leave Spinsta alone.  (I am not serious.  I would have ditched me too.)  The Spinsta goes to the dance floor with the guy.  The Spinsta freaks the guy.  Mind you, the bar was playing blues music.  So decent folk were sitting listening to the blues and the Spinsta was there on the dance floor, exposed skirt, and made it clap.Because where do you go from there - I mean clearly one cannot get better, the Spinsta went to some dank area in the back and ordered herself a Shrimp Po’Boy.  Followed by a taco.Note - the above tale is second hand.  To preserve her fragile sanity, the Spinsta’s psyche blacked out the whole sordid affair.  But I did wake up with a head ache as if I had been over by a truck.  A ha - I see where the name comes from.

This blog is no stranger to controversy.  I mean some of my blogisodes have elicited heated responses from all kinds of people - even John McCain not too long ago.  But, I was not prepared for the firestorm that came from Macho Man.  Given that the Spinsta is not one to run away from controversy, I am prepared to address Macho Man’s comments head on.In short, Macho Man you are wrong.  Let’s talk this line by line:33 is too old for group dates period.  If he wanted to go on group dates, then he should meet random tator tots at a bar and ask them to all hang together.  Don’t go on a set up.  Period.Asking a set up to bring “hot chicks” on a group date when you are 33 is even worse.  Whether or not he thought my friend was a hot chick and so hung around with other hot chicks, it is beyond douchey to request she brings along the hot chicks.  And, under NO circumstance, can a 33 year old man use cutesy abbreviations.  LOL is the catch phrase of a douche.  Other forbidden terms:  ttyl and omg.  And don’t get me started on douches who combine the abbreviation with an emoticon - it is too much.Someone with plans who makes exception to go out on a Sunday shows up at 2 on a Bears game.  The cheap skate did not offer to take us to the game.  We were just going to watch it while scrunched together with hot chicks in a booth.  It was clear that whatever goes.And yes, anything did go on that hellish “date.”  I find it hard to believe that the tator tots approached the table of jokers.  Remember, I saw them and Macho Man you did not.  They are not the type of crew that would cause random tator tots to throw themselves at a booth full of dudes.  If he is desired - which is unlikely - he can be desired when he is not expecting a date.  And yes, the group date is all in it together.  No random tator tots for his friends.  Remember, Macho Man, my friend was told to bring her own hot tots.Why did we go to another bar first?  It was a passive agressive move to tell The Douche that these tator tots did not appreciate his other tots.  Maybe it was not the best idea - I grant you that Macho Man.  But, curiosity is a valid reason to go on a date (in fact, it is a great reason) and showing up drunk to meet someone is always a good idea.  The drunks are more interesting and the prospective dates are more attractive.  It is a win - win.Now, clearly I schooled Macho Man.  But, for those of you who are not convinced, here are a few more details that I left off because I did not want to come down too hard on The Douche.  Given that my journalistic integrity is at stake, however, I must divulge:The Douche had injured himself by falling off a go-cartTo deal with the pain, The Douche was taking narcotics.To enjoy the Bears game, The Douche also drank while taking his pain meds.The Douche is renting out his home.  He told us about the tenant who got the “sweet pad.”  ”He was wearing a hooded sweatshirt and was not wearing designer jeans, so I assumed he could not afford my sweet pad.  But, turns out he is will to spend ___ on the place and he has some serious money.”  That phrase needs no explanation - DOUCHE.The Douche took several pictures with the random tator tots.  The Douche flirted with the tator tots, and he got the phone number of one particular tot.Enough said.  The Douche was a real douche and Macho Man is wrong.  The Spinsta is right.  Since I do not want to alienate any readers (I still love you Macho Man, please continue to read), I am going to write about less controversial topics.  I will stop writing about group dates, and instead I will start writing about gay marriage, abortion, and other similar topics.

I don’t know what it is but it has become painfully clear that there are a lot of really awful dudes.  Like more than usual.  I mean I know you are supposed to kiss a lot of frogs - and I have kissed more than a lot of frogs, including one dude who actually was a human frog hybrid and ribbotted at my throughout the date - but I think the numbers are on the rise.  Maybe it’s the economy or the fact that I am getting older, whatever the cause the effect is quite disheartening.  These jokers can be categorized into several groups.  The predominant groups are:1.  The Clueless DudeNow I have dated the clueless dude.  In fact, a few months ago I went on a date with a clueless dude who ordered himself liver and onions and talked about his dog’s loose stools.  I mean really?  Clearly these are bad choices, but the brother did not have a clue.  But my clueless dudes are nothing compared to a clueless dude with whom my friend was going to be set up.  He apparently got her number from his dad who was friendly with her dad.  To arrange the date, this clueless dude sent her an email entitled “Surprise, its me.”  Um, scary.  But it gets worse, much worse.  The email reads as follows:I was told you were expecting this email, so I will try not to be embarrassed (:I was given your email from my dad, and since I am a spontaneous guy, and did not want to let him down, here I am!It’s so great having parents try and set you up isnt it? (:It would be great to chat when you get a chance..I hope all is well, and look forward to hearing from you.How can these jokers not realize that this is not the way to woo a woman?  2.  The Clowny DudeI think the majority of dudes I have come into contact with could be grouped in as Clowny Dudes.  The latest clown was from a month or so ago.  We were supposed to see a movie but Clowny was like an hour late.  When he told me he was going to be late he asked me “Are you cross with me?”  Um I was not “cross” until you invoked my grammy.  Who says cross??  Oh and when he arrived late as the movie was playing he again asked if I was cross.  I think the answer was obvious.3.  The Douchey DudeOf course the worst type of dude is the douchey dude.  Yesterday I met the douchiest of dudes.  Like this guy needs a poster warning women against him.  So, he was being set up with my friend Rose.  Rose’s sister knew (barely) some woman who was going to rent Douche’s home.  She and Douche talked once on the phone and decided to set up a date for last night.  Yesterday morning at brunch she got a text from him asking if she was a Bear’s fan.  ”Sure.”  ”Ok I am going to watch the game with some friends at a bar.  Why don’t you come with some friends.”  Um, a group date?  The guy is 33 years old and had been set up with her - not some random meeting at a bar late night while hammered.  I think drinks (alone) are appropriate.  But she is less devoted to The Rules than I so she said sure.  And, of course, she made me come with.  ”Who are your friends?  Are they single?”  I requested the information - I mean it is already awkward enough to come along on someone else’s date but hanging with married couples might just push me over the edge.  ”Yes.  Bring some cute chicks, besides you of course.  Lol.”  I mean there were so many things wrong with his text.  Starting with the hot chicks comment.  Gross.  And worst of all “LOL.”  Men should not use abbreviations or emoticons.  No exception.  ”Are you sure about this?”  I ask.  ”You never know.”  So, Rose texted “we will be there at 1:30.”  ”You should try to get their earlier.  The game starts at 12.”  Bossy Douche.  Fast forward to 1:25.  Rose and I were in the cab heading towards the bar for our group date.  She texted him that we were on our way.  ”Perfect.  We are sitting in a booth across from the bar and I have on a Yankee’s hat.  There are two girls that sat down at our table.  I will get rid of them.”  WTF??  The Douche invited his own “hot chicks” on our group date?  This is just too much.  ”We are getting a drink somewhere else first,” I demanded.  So we went to a bar down the street.  ”Actually we are going to get a drink first down the street.  See you after.  Hopefully there will be room in the booth for us,” she texted.  ”We may be gone by then,” he responded.  I mean this guy just kept getting douchier.  He may be gone?  You asked her on a date.  You can wait until she arrives or you can meet us at the other bar.  ”I don’t think we should go,” I said.  ”We are a block away.  This way we wont be curious.  We will just get one drink.”  We finished our drink and headed over to the bar with the gang.  Sure enough the “hot chicks” were seated at the table.  This chicks were obviously not hot and they were eating tator tots.  His friends were lame.  We squeezed into the table and talked to the Douche.  The Douche talked exclusively about the Douche.  Oh, until he told me that I should not twirl my hair.  ”Are you nervous?”  Oh yes Douche, being in your presence takes my breath away.  ”No I always do it.  It’s subconscious and I think it’s genetic.  My whole family does it.”  ”Hmm.”  Apparently, the Douche was not convinced because later when I was twirling he hit my hand.  Um, Douche, don’t touch the Spinsta.  I mean I don’t like people who I like touching me.  Oh and at one point, the Douche was telling us his view on life:  ”I know its a cheesy phrase, but I really believe in it.  You know work hard party hard.”  That is NOT the phrase you Douche.  It’s live hard play hard.  And obviously you live by cheesy phrases.  I am sure his home is decorated with Successories posters - you know the pictures of a mountain that say “There is no height you cannot reach” or some other cheesy phrase.  That was the last straw.  2 minutes before the game was over we told him we had to go get lunch and we were free.I don’t understand what is wrong with these dudes.  Is it so much to ask that there be the male equivalent of the Spinsta?  You know, perfect.  Oh, and for those of you wondering if my “friends” are really me - they are actually my friends.  I mean come on - I told the world I had a rash.  Clearly I have no shame nor any problem with telling embarrassing tales about myself.  I guess the message is be warned.