I have decided there is something in a woman’s DNA that causes in her, an inexplicable and uncontrollable urge to play mind games with unsuspecting members of the opposite sex. Something in her genetic makeup causes this behavior, I’m sure of it.

Last weekend I attended a large social event of hundreds of people. Due to the nature of the event, I observed that there were several women present whom I had at one point or another been on dates with. For whatever reason, none of those dates had materialized to anything more than an evening or two. Some of the girls I had decided weren’t right for me. Others could only be captivated by my charm for so long before they lost interest in my exceptionally clever banter. Fortunately they were all very casual dates, so for the most part, there was no hatred or malice in any of the encounters.

Being women however, all of them took this opportunity to play some type of mind game with my head. One feigned interest before scurrying off prematurely. Another turned inexplicably cold. And then, there was “career girl,” who did what career girl does best.

I had been interested in career girl from the first time I made her acquaintance. She had the intelligence and the class that I find so very attractive in a woman, and which is a real rarity in today’s world of grammatically incorrect text messaging. I would soon discover however, that these qualities did not make her immune to the aforementioned proclivity for mind games.

After a somewhat flirtatious string of interactions I asked her to accompany me for an evening as my date. She complied and I took her to a ballgame, where I feel at home and do all my best dating. Looking back, I remember feeling compelled to NOT wear my genuine authentic team baseball jersey (one of two) because I knew she would be coming from work, and I didn’t want her to feel overdressed. In hindsight, I probably should have taken that as an omen.

Turns out, career girl was reeeeeeaaaaaaaally into her career. I sat there and listened to her tell stories of rubbing shoulders with big executives, politicians, and senators. She casually worked-in that she took a pay-cut to acquire her latest job with a 6-figure income. She used fancy career-oriented phrases like “earning potential.”

…I bought her a hotdog with my meager comic strip money. Most intimidating date ever. That feeling was compounded as we walked back to my car which is literally held together by Shoe-goo and duct tape. No, that’s not an exaggeration even in the slightest. Sadly, my car is really held together by Shoe-goo and duct tape.

Have I painted the picture well enough for you? Let me reiterate: Ridiculously successful girl with ridiculously successful income. Me; the struggling self-employed Jack-of-all-trades. Car glued and taped together. We good? Ok. Moving on.

The date actually went well enough. She was gracious and kind, and held her end of the conversation. My [our] team won, so I was in an exceptionally good mood. But later when I asked her out again she was out of town and made no effort to suggest that she would be available upon her return. She didn’t return phone calls or text messages, so naturally I assumed she didn’t find my witty remarks appealing enough to compensate for my pocketbook (or complete lack thereof), so I left it at that and chose not to pursue any longer.

Now. You would think that a successful confident woman would have no need to play mind games. Well, you’d be wrong. Because it’s in their DNA, and they can’t help but engage in mind games. It’s like a disease. An addiction. Like gambling, alcohol, or my Aunt Kaye’s mint brownies. Those things are like crack.

Months after I stopped talking to her, we both attended a function through one of the local churches in the area. I noticed her there, but didn’t intend to make any effort to talk to her. I figured I had already embarrassed myself adequately by asking for a second date, and I didn’t want her to assume I was still pursuing her when in fact I wasn’t.

Here’s where things got interesting. I was visiting with a few friends when she walked by slowly almost as if trying to get my attention. I pretended not to see her. This girl had turned me down, surely she didn’t really want me to talk with her. But then she walked by again, this time even slower, in the opposite direction. I could feel her eyes watching me as she walked right past me. And then a third time.

Six times. I watched her out of the corner of my eye and kept count. Six times she walked slowly past with her gaze locked on me, hoping that I would break my conversation and notice her. It was so delightfully awkward and seemingly out of character for this woman that I actually started becoming embarrassed for HER. Finally when it appeared to her that my vision really was that bad, she turned, faced me and gave an awkward little wave. So finally I “noticed” her and we had a nice little visit.

What did it all mean? Maybe I’d been wrong! Maybe I had completely misread career girl! Maybe I needed to ask her out again after all!

And so I tried contacting her not long afterwards to see if she would be interested in getting lunch.

I was completely ignored.

Again, let me reiterate: Completely ignored.

Fool. I had been suckered into a mind game of epic proportions despite all my efforts to resist. She had succeeded yet again, and my attention was her prize.

And so I’ve come to the conclusion that all women are subject to these uncontrollable whims of mind games. To them it comes as naturally as breathing. Meanwhile all of us men can only sit and wonder what the heck is going on, as we glue and tape our cars together.

I still run into career girl every so often, although I’m pleased to say I haven’t embarrassed myself by asking her out again. Each time she plays the same little game, doing her best to be noticed before finally walking towards me and engaging in conversation. And each time I watch out of morbid fascination as I try unsuccessfully to analyze the psychology of it all.

Mind games. Now there’s a competitive sport.

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Encounters. There’s an interesting word. I’m not talking about those close ones from the 3rd kind. I’m talking about those dreadfully unpleasant ones. The ones you take all precautions to avoid. Those terribly uncomfortable and awkward ones.

I think we’ve all probably got people in life that we’d love nothing more than to NEVER SEE AGAIN. You know who I’m talking about. Right now at this exact moment you have someone in mind. Maybe it’s a bully from the 3rd grade. Maybe it’s that girl who broke your heart after she told you that she loved you. Maybe it’s that pathetic loser ex-boss of yours who fired you and ushered in an era of living out of your car. Maybe it’s that crazy stalker you had in high school who memorized your class schedule and totally followed you into the library that time, forcing you to hide in a crumpled ball behind the non-fiction section. Maybe your nightmares are still haunted by one or all of these experiences. Maybe you should go create a website and write about it. That’s supposed to be therapeutic. Or something.

So what do you do when the unthinkable occurs and you find yourself in that terrible moment when you realize that you are about to cross paths with one of these…”people?” In preparation for such terrifying and gruesome events, and after much contemplation, I have developed this handy dandy list for you, my faithful and loyal readers, so that should the unthinkable happen and one of these encounters should occur, you will be prepared to handle it with the utmost dignity and grace.

• If you should encounter a former bully you might consider the following prepared statement:

“Hey. Remember back in the 3rd grade when you thought you were cool and you used to kick me in the stomach during recess soccer matches? Haha! Yeah! Isn’t it funny now, how you’re a fat tub of lard, and I have solid abs and can bench almost twice my own weight?? SO funny! Maybe you should get a gym membership. Fatty.”

• If you should encounter a former boss or coworker who you loathe or despise:

“Oh hey. How’s that “career” working out for you? Still single huh? Imagine that. Me? Oh I’m doing great. I draw cartoons and have this totally awesome website that’s probably read by like, at least 7 people. Yup. Totally famous now. I’m in the background of  TV commercials. Very reputable companies go out of their way to contact me because they see  how totally awesome I am and know that I deserve to have a better job than you. I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m on the Tonight Show within the year. Your breath smells.”

• If you should encounter a former love (or loves):

“I’m sorry. Who are you again? Oh…yes. Now I remember you. Yeah, it IS funny running in to you. Especially since I vowed never to return to your town, you black-hearted incarnation of evil. I’m doing great. I’m going on the Tonight Show. I totally date women hotter than you now. Like all the time. You should probably feel bad about that for some reason. Your husband is a tool, by the way. He reminds me of Ben Affleck. That’s not a good thing. At all. And no, we cannot be Facebook friends.”

• If you should encounter a former stalker:

“I’m sorry? No. You must have me mistaken for someone else. I have no idea who you are talking about. That sounds like someone who is dead though. I’m pretty certain that person is dead. You should forget about them and follow someone else into the library. Anyway, I’m kind of busy. I’m about to go on the Tonight Show. But I think I have a former boss you should meet.”

All grace. All class. All dignity. You might want to go ahead and print out that list. Save it in your wallet or something. That way you’ll be prepared at any given moment. Yeah, we are SO ready for this. Bring on the encounters.

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I was actually a waiter once. I worked at a popular grilling establishment which I frequented as a youth. It was one of those jobs that I’m grateful I did, but which I will never do again. As so many servers can attest, you have a lot of interesting experiences when you work in a restaurant. I had people forget what they ordered, people skip out without paying, people yell at me. I also had people love me. The elderly thought I was the BEST oddly enough, although they were usually the poorest tippers. Every now and then a girl would leave me her phone number on a napkin. It was one of my first real jobs, and it was a tremendous learning experience.

Funny thing about that restaurant though…it was EVIL. Yes, that’s right. The restaurant was for lack of a better phrase, PURE EVIL. You’d be moving along all fine and dandy, and then BOOM! The idiot hostess would sit 3 or 4 families in your station all at once. You see, being a server is all about timing. If your tables are staggered you can work all evening without a whole lot of stress. But once you get people sitting down all at the same time, you’re screwed. The delicate timing is disrupted and you are doomed to a night of constant rushing around while that crazy lady with the bug eyes at table 3 is staring you down because you have to greet another party before you get her her refill. Madness I tell you. Madness.

There were some crazy times in that restaurant. We had this manager who was almost never there. He would show up late, and then disappear into this office. He’d stay in there for hours with the door locked and the blinds drawn. No one knew why…and no one really wanted to find out.

I remember soups that got left out for much too long. I remember morning shifts that didn’t end until 45min. after my second shift was supposed to start.I remember really, really, greasy, dirty tortilla chips. Everyone at one time or another burned themselves on the fajita press. It was like a right of passage. It hurt like crazy, and would blister up if it was bad enough. Everyone had at least one scar to show off. Mine is on the back of my right hand.

We were on our own most of the time. Few workers lasted more than a month. I was there about 4 and a half months and in the short time I worked there I became one of the longest tenured employees. Such was the nature of our restaurant.

They must’ve realized they were doing something wrong, because years later, the company that owned the restaurant sent us all checks in the mail. Apparently they were under some kind of labor investigation. The letter listed possible laws that had been broken. Every single infraction on the list was something I had experienced. Up until that moment, my poor naive soul had no idea that it was completely illegal for an 18 yr old kid to work 14 hours straight without a break of any kind. It was my first real job! Who knew?? There were dozens of other misconducts on the list, all of which at one point or another, I had experienced first hand.

The letter explained that they were sending checks to their past employees with prorated amounts based on how long we worked there. They hoped the small gesture would somehow compensate for the injustices committed against us. By cashing the check however, we were effectively giving up our right to sue… Those dirty rotten corporate fat cats with their dirty rotten lawyers! Did they really think we could be bought off with a few bucks??

I was a poor college student at the time. I cashed the check.

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‘Fess up. You’re all a bunch of stalkers. You know it, and I know it. You’re not fooling anybody. You’re sitting there at your little desk, clicking around on all those social networking sites. You’re smiling to yourself because that popular girl from your youth is totally overweight now. Or maybe your ex looks like death incarnate. Or maybe you’re checking out that friend of a friend that you’d sure like to “run into” one of these days. You know the one I’m talking about…the one that you used to stalk on Myspace before there was a Facebook…

Sometimes I wish we all lived in the 1800′s. In the days where the only way you met people or communicated with anyone was if you actually left the house. The days when a guy would walk up to a girl and ask her if he could call on her. And of course the girl would say yes, because we’re all totally polite in the 1800′s.

But if there was no Facebook or internet in the 1800′s, how did people stalk people?? You know they must have had some other methods because those 1800′s people were expert when it came to gossiping. Perhaps if a young woman saw a guy that grabbed her fancy she went outside at opportune moments to churn butter or something. Or maybe the young lads kept going to neighboring villages to dig wells, hoping to catch a glimpse of that sassy farmer’s daughter.

Yeah, that makes sense. I’m sure they stalked somehow. Still, it must’ve been difficult without tagged photos…

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Did you know that we have a totally awesome facebook fan page?!?! How sweet is that?? You should head over there right now and become a fan! It’s a great way to get the latest updates on the site. So what are you waiting for?? Like us. We like you.

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