"I've Named the Puppy"

If you're an attractive, single woman above the age of, oh, say 12, I'm fairly certain you've encountered your fair share of "douche drive-bys." What's a douche drive-by, you might ask? Well it usually looks a little something like this:

http://youtu.be/YXQ2m-rbozk

You know...you've seen it before. Douchy-Mc-Douche, usually accompanied by at least one douchy wingman, rolls up on you and, without warning, let's the full flood of his man-hurricane loose, "accidentally" groping some part of your woman business in the process. 

Now, to be fair, those of you who have seen the movie from which the clip is drawn, The Sweetest Thing, know that Cameron Diaz and Christina Applegate's characters do plenty of their own drive bys. But the point of the movie--and this scene in particular--isn't to make some douchy claim about how one sex is more douchy than the other. The point of this scene is to show how forgettable the man (or woman) behind the drive by really is. Cameron and Christina don't know these guys' names...and they'll never WANT to know these guys' names. These men remain anonymous in the eyes of their prey, permanently filed away and hidden beneath the veil of the douche.

If I were to speculate the number of forgettable drive bys I've experienced in my lifetime and compare them to the number of memorable, interesting guys to whom I've actually wanted to attach a name, I'd say a 10-1 ratio would be an accurate representation. This weekend alone, I've had at least 4 douchy drive by encounters of the worst kind, which I would identify as attempts by completely inappropriate men to hit on me. And sure, I could spend the rest of this blog entry describing those encounters. But why would I spend time describing in any detail what I could describe in one sentence: "This weekend I was douchy-drive by-ed by a man so in love with himself he spent 20 minutes narrating his awesomeness before I got a word in edgewise, a man who cracked his knuckles in my face while he talked, a boy young enough to make Miley Cirus feel like a cougar, and a used car salesman twice my age." Moving on.

Much more interesting to me is the fact that I've named the puppy. Perhaps you remember me introducing to you a man named "Medina," a man so memorable that, when I met him in another city 6 hours from both of our respective home cities, I put him in my phone as "Medina" because I couldn't remember his name. Now this might seem to be the epitome of the douchy-drive-by. Meet in a bar, talk for 5 minutes, receive late night text from him and realize that (IDIOT!) I had given him my number. But despite the fact that I met him in a bit of a drunken stupor after stepping off a party bus I'd been on for hours, despite the fact that I didn't remember his name and we live in different cities, I returned his texts. I made plans to meet him for dinner during an upcoming visit to his hometown (which, ironically, is my REAL hometown). And now I remember why I listened to that gut instinct telling me not to blow this guy off as another Douchy-Mc-Douche.

And just in case you aren't up on your Sweetest Thing references...here's what it means when you "name the puppy":

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VK_49CU65mM&feature=related

I've named the puppy...and his name is not "Medina." He may very well turn out to be another Douchy-Mc-Douche in the world of narcissists and car salesmen...but this time I might be interested enough to take the time to find out. We met for dinner at a trendy bar in a trendy neighborhood outside the city. He picked the place. I walk in, see the ambiance, and expect to see him walk in fully metro-ed out, pink shirt and matching tie included. Instead, I spot him at the bar, already sipping a beer and wearing a black t-shirt and jeans. From just the right side of his profile I spotted 2, possibly 3 tattoos. Buzz cut, sexy facial hair, bedroom eyes. I suddenly felt like a complete tool in my vintage floral dress, nude heels, and trendy new haircut. We talked for 3 hours until I finally had to head home. For 3 hours the rest of the people at the bar disappeared. Cliche, I know...but cliche for a good reason. I learned that he was a marine for 6 years, served in Iraq, has 5 sisters, owns his own business and 3 houses, remodeled one of them completely by himself, and loves dogs. But none of that on-paper stuff has been as memorable to me as the way those eyes looked at me...and none of it has me up wondering the way I've been wondering where those tattoos lead. Now I remember why a guy can hang around for almost 3 months and still qualify as a "douche drive-by," but another can chat you up for 5 minutes in a random bar in a random town on a random night and still have you thinking about him a month later.