The Dating Game. It ain’t happening.

I usually engage in pleasantries and such at the beginning of my entries.  Not today, y’all.  Not today.

Apparently, according to the Destroyer, everyone in his grade except him is dating and our policy has made him a pariah.  (Not true, unlike his mother, the Destroyer is popular.)  I think I’ve touched on the whole middle school dating thing in the past, but I’m much too lazy to go back and look it up, much less link it here.  However, the Big Man and I have decided that no one here dates until they are sixteen. Why?  I’m glad you asked  Or didn’t.  Whatever, this is MY blog. Note: this focuses on the Destroyer because that’s who I just argued with.  I’m sure when I fight with Wondergirl  about this it will be entertainment at its finest. And you’ll get to read all about it.

1.) Responsible dating requires good decision making.  Something the Destroyer has a hard time with.  This is a boy who borrowed $190 Beats headphones from a friend and promptly got them stolen because he left them in his open backpack. Like, immediately. He just now requested that we buy him a steel door for his room.  Because we live on the Starship Enterprise.

2.) It also requires trying to keep a 14-year-old girl happy.  Never, ever, in the history of humanity, has there existed a perpetually happy 14-year-old girl.  Never. (We never think about it, but you know that at one point Michelle Obama threw herself  on her bed and cried because she was the only one who could go to a Marvin Gaye concert. YOU KNOW SHE DID.)  Listen, I was a fourteen year old girl. Which means I was the star of my own tragic soap opera. As are most 14-year-old girls.  I absolutely do not want my son to feel responsible for that. (Also, for future reference, I do not want Wondergirl to inflict that on someone’s son.  Although, to be fair, in her case it absolutely would involve bail.)

stocl
So, I know I use Storm a lot, but sometimes she has like, zero chill. 

 

3.)  This may sound a bit callous, but raising kids is an investment.  I mean, food, gas, sports equipment, and–most of all–time.  If I’m putting all that into my son, I expect to see a return on my investment.  I don’t need some girl turning his head, distracting him, and possibly ruining that.  And, I’m about to be real you guys, if some girl does, she’s going to have to pay me back. Oh, y’all think I’m playing?  I’m dead serious.  I will have my hand out and she will have to run me my coins. To the tune of $75, 000. (Figures are approximate.  But I remain dead serious.)  That’s a lot of overtime at Chick-Fil-A or wherever the kids are working these days.

I don’t know.  I know that a lot of parents feel confident in letting their kids make the choice to date in middle school.  I’m probably taking the easy way out.  Which is what I do.  See the above statement about laziness.

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More undateables. Again, not me so stop looking at me.

So um, I was thinking about posting guys who are actually dateable, as opposed to the people I deem undateable.  However, undateable is much, MUCH more fun. Also, I am aware that two out of three of my kids will be undateable.  I’m trying not to tell Mama Prime because I really want Wondergirl and Omega to make us rich get together. (BTW, Wondergirl fully expects to start her own salon and be able to hire her own janitors immediately.  She was looking at me pointedly when she said this.  I guess it depends on how much she pays.  It better be in organs when I’m old and decrepit cause I figure I can use her organs more than she can. Evil people don’t actually use their hearts, since their blood is actually ice and oil and just slides through their veins.)

Prince Harry:  I don’t know, but it seems like he would try to embarrass you at all the palace functions.  Like, he would know you didn’t know anything about the cheese course, but would sit there while you asked for cheddar like an idiot.  Knowing that all they had was Camembert and Brie.  And then laugh and point with his grandma.

Darkseid:  You would forever have in inferiority complex with this guy.  And he’s clearly self-absorbed.   Because he is constantly talking about how he is the one to bring order to the universe and how he should rule the universe. He would never, ever ask about your day. And he would insist on regaling you with his universe-domination schemes.  Even though Superman shuts him down each and every time. He’s like that guy at work who swears he knows how he would change procedure, but management rips up his suggestion emails after printing them out for the sole purpose of passing them around and laughing uproariously at them.  It’s like, “Listen, homebiscuit, all I want to know is if you liked Wu-Tang in high school. We can talk about universal domination after the third date.”

Also, I'm not trying to be racist here, but being death gray is kind of a turn-off.
Also, I’m not trying to be racist here, but being death gray is kind of a turn-off.

Jeff Goldblum:  Not that I think he’s a bad dude.  It just seems like if he opened his eyes at night it would be like the cartoons where you can see the whites and pupils in the dark. Freee-kee.

Mariah Carey:  Listen, she’s beautiful and ultra-talented.  But all of her clothes are too tight. ALL of them. She is definitely Spanxed to death.  Do you know how I treat people after I have had Spanx on for too long?  Like Portlanders treat everyone else: condescending and cranky. And I only wear them on special occasions.  Pretty sure that’s how Mariah is all the time.  Plus, Nick Cannon is her ex.  So there’s that.

Carmen Electra:  Cause she used to be the business.  Have you ever dated anyone who used to be the business? They.  Are.  The.  Worst.  They always want to remind you of those days when they were the business–and you barely cared then.  Now they’re just boring.

Ken:  Blank groin area = dealbreaker.

I miss anyone?

SHALLOW. Like son like mother.

Again, I admit I’m a terrible person.  It’s kind of my running theme.  And I’m passing it on to the next generation.  Thank me later.

So I was talking to The Destroyer about a girl he likes.  Liked.  Here’s the deal:  I try to instill in my children that looks aren’t everything.  I try to tell them that what makes a person special is on the inside.  Stay with me here.

This is how the conversation went:

“Hey, whatever happened to ____?”  (At this stage, I’m not trying to remember their names.)

He shrugs.  “She’s not my type.”

“What does that mean?”

Another shrug.  So, I think, she’s tore up.

“Destroyer, everything can’t be looks.  I mean, is she smart? Funny? Interesting?”

“She’s smart.  I just don’t like her, mom.  Leave it alone.” I wasn’t about to leave it alone.  Me?  Nerd extraordinaire? Raise a shallow kid?  Not gonna happen.  If he can’t see inner beauty, then he’s the same as all those shallow jerks that I went to school with.  You know, the ones who couldn’t see my inner beauty.

“Listen, there’s a such thing as inner beauty.  I mean—wait.  Is that her?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.  Oh, my. WOOF. Jaysus. My goodness, Destroyer. Did—did you know what she looked like?”

“I was trying to tell you.”

“Okay.  Duck.  I’ll peel outta here before she knows you’re here.”

Don’t get mad, you guys.  I really do want my son to be with a woman of substance.  I just don’t want her to be tore-up ugly.  And I don’t mean like a big nose or overweight or a limp.  I mean looking like a Garbage Pail Kid.

Sweartogod, this is HannahMckaylaBrittneyEricaAleshaRenee
Sweartogod, this is HannahMckaylaBrittneyEricaAleshaRenee

And I know there are parents out there who wouldn’t want their son- or daughter-in-law to be fat like me.  I’ve decided not to be mad about that.  (Especially since I know that my mother-in-law wanted her son to marry a pretty, petite, blonde.  Which is the polar opposite of me and I decided not to be mad about that.  Especially since I make the Big Man very happy. Also, I’m sexy-fat.  So there’s that.)

The thing is, men get to be shallow about ALL KINDS OF THINGS. Like if a woman has hammer toes.  So, I feel like I get to be shallow about some things.  And this is one of them.  I get to think that my smart, beautiful son is out of a particular girl’s league.

I happened to marry an attractive man.  And I know that they’re my kids, but my kids are pretty darn good looking.  And I would like to have good looking grandchildren.

I don’t worry about this too much with Wondergirl.  She already has criteria in place for the man she wants to meet in 2026.  (That’s the year she has projected, not me.) She actually said, “He has to be reasonably handsome.  Not way fine, cause I’m not trying to fight over him. ” (This is a lie.  She wants any excuse to fight.) “And rich,” she added. “He has to be rich.”  Of course he does.  How else would she fund her world-dictatorship campaign? (Omega Prime, I’m looking at you, kid.)

Look, I guess it boils down to this:  If a dad can tell his son to date hot chicks, so can a mom.  Also, I hope that she’s kinda dumb. That way, I can trick her into telling the truth about what her and my son have been up to.

Oh, and then, THEN, another girl had the nerve to tell the Destroyer that she didn’t want to talk to him because some kids said that his mother is crazy.  WHAT?!?  Only SOME kids think I’m crazy?  Well, I must be losing my touch.

Undateable. No, not me. I’m pretty great.

Hey folks!  Not much going on here, which is why I jump on the interwebs to look at other people’s lives and judge them.  (Don’t judge me.)  I had a single friend over, and we talked about those people, but we talked about ourselves, as well.  She made me very glad I will never have to date again.  “But Vida,” you ask, “What if something happens to the Big Man?”  Nope.  Not even then.  I am never letting anyone else do this love thing to me again.  Never.

Since I never have to date again, I get to make fun of the whole scene.  Aw, come on.  It’ll be fun.  It’s a list of guys I would never date. FUN, I said.

Skeletor:  One thing Skeletor’s got in his favor is that he’s pretty ripped for a skeleton.  Seriously, check out the quads on this guy.  Also, he’s a homeowner and I like his house.  And even though I’m not really a cat person, I feel like Panthor and I would get along okay. He also has this wicked bad chair made of bones and such.  Which goes perfectly with the theme in my house of whatever-the-Destroyer-hasn’t wrecked-yet chic.

I don’t think that I would like his friends though, Beastman looks like he smells and sheds and I’m pretty sure Evil-Lyn would always be trying to break us up.  Then there’s his obsession with ruling Eternia which means we’d always be dealing with He-Man, who’s smug and insufferable and makes his cat wear a helmet.  Oh, and he has no face, soooo…no kissing.  Deal-breaker.

I could work with this.
I could work with this.

Danzig:  Welp, he’s famous.  He can sing.  Everyone in America and probably Mexico knows the words to “Mother”. (Probably through karaoke, but still.)  Maybe Canada, too, but I doubt it.  He can get into a confrontation for you pretty much anywhere and he’ll totally win.  Or get knocked out.  Oh, and Misfits T-shirts are cool.  Best of all, he was on Aqua Teen Hunger Force as himself.

But his name’s Glenn.  GLENN.  Name the last Glenn you liked.  Or who wasn’t an undercover, if not overt, douchebag.  I’ll wait.  Nope, time’s up and you couldn’t think of one.  Also, who gets punched in the face and tells people they “allowed” said puncher to do the punching?  Someone named Glenn, that’s who.  Guaranteed, if you went on a date with Danzig and then you decided it didn’t work, he’d tell everyone he “allowed” you to say he was a tool.  And who does that? And why, for the love of Batman, won’t he get a haircut and stop dying it Sharpie black?

Wolverine:  He’s good looking.  He’s got great hair.  He has superhuman healing abilities so then only I would have to have health insurance. Since I’m not a mutant, I’m not sure if we could both live at the Xavier Institute, but if we could that would be awesome.

Especially considering that, X-Men stuff aside, I’m pretty sure Wolverine is perpetually unemployed. I know he was a lumberjack in the movie, but that doesn’t count.  Also, he has anger issues that directly correspond with adamantium claws appearing from his knuckles.  That concerns me.  Oh, and he’s like one inch taller than I am, and I am extremely heightist.  And he’s Canadian, so he doesn’tknow the words to “Mother”.

Who did I leave out?  Don’t say Prince.