Asking for the father’s permission suggests that the father has control over his daughter’s life and subsequently, the husband will be in control. Fuck that. I don’t want anybody thinking he’s the boss of me and I have no interest in a henpecked little man who thinks he needs to ask permission for anything. Asking for the father’s permission also makes him the boss of his future son-in-law, as exemplified on the finale when Sean Penn’s request was followed by the father’s order that he cut his hair. While I agree that he’d look better with shorter hair, I don’t want my dad thinking he can give style orders to somebody I’ll be appearing in public with.

It’s one thing for a guy to tell the parents (not just the father, you misogynistic bastards), “I’m going to ask your daughter to be my wife and I hope you’re okay with that… but if you’re not, tough shit.” But asking for permission is ridiculous because what if the parents say no? Would the guy back off from the woman he loves? Of course not, which makes it an empty courtesy. Granted, it would never go down like that in my household because if I ever brought a guy home to my parents it would be my dad who would beg the guy to marry me before I could even make the introductions.

© Jenée for Comedian Jenée: People are Idiots, 2008. |
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The first time I ever heard of The Jonas Brothers was on Christmas, when my niece-in-law (is that a term? It’s my brother-in-law’s niece) was bopping around to their music on her mp3 player so I had a listen. They sing that freakishly catchy music that I’ll never seek out but if I ever hear it on the radio I’m sure I’ll find myself singing it for hours afterward. Since then, I’ve come across several pictures of the teenyboppers and I’m afraid to find out how old they are because the future hotness potential of the middle one makes me a little warm. Is it wrong to have impure thoughts about a youngun’ as long as I’ve mentally aged him by 5-10 years? I’ll admit it’s far from a perfect science, a lesson I learned with Prince William (who could have predicted the freckle-faced redhead would turn out to be the sexier one)?

With another birthday tomorrow (the big two five- please, don’t ruin it for me), I should probably be looking for more age-appropriate men but the fact is it’s slightly less depressing to date an immature 21-year-old than to date an immature 41-year-old. But given my intense fear of hearing the term “cougar” being used in reference to me, I decided it’s time for me to set some guidelines so I’ll know when young is too young.

Signs My Date Is Too Young For Me

… He’s proud of himself for identifying AC/DC’s “You Shook Me All Night Long.”
At the chorus.

… He uses the phrase, “Today my professor said…”

… He mentions his three roommates, none of whom he’s obligated by law to support.

… He knows the first name of the Jonas brother I think is hot. (Correction: will be hot)

… He’s not embarrassed to say he can’t buy me a drink because he only has $16 in his bank account. And his ID was confiscated the last time he tried to get into Hyde.

… He says he grew up watching the “Real World,” having seen all the way back to the New York season. You know, the one with Coral and Mike.

… He can’t type to save his life but he can text 75 words per minute.

… He doesn’t think twice about asking me my age.

… We’re on a date and he points out a cast member from “The Hills.”

… He’s watched “The Hills.”

… I joke about someone’s simple chronic halitosis and he thinks I’m referring to weed.

… I mention “The Breakfast Club” and he asks if it’s an after-hours. And if he’ll be able to score X there.

… I feel compelled to calculate how many years it’s been since my first menstrual period.

© Jenée for Comedian Jenée: People are Idiots, 2008. |
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1) Guy threw trash on the floor at a theatre- My first job was working at a movie theatre so I’m not a big fan of the people who leave their cups and boxes on the floor, but I can tolerate it. Well, this guy and I were on a date at the movies and he’d purchased a messy hot dog. As he wiped the ketchup off his face, he threw the napkins on the floor one by one. The way he did it just struck me as completely rude.

2) Guy thought he was Corey Hart- It was a first date at the Dresden Room. I arrived to find the guy wearing sunglasses on top of his head- at night. Lame, right? They were Gucci sunglasses, which made me think he wore them thinking that would impress me. On top of that, he arrived before I did and bought himself a drink. When I came, he offered to buy my drink and pulled out a $100 bill. Now, I guess it’s possible that he brought $108 dollars with him and spent the $8 on his drink but in combination with the Gucci glasses, it seemed to me that he deliberately pulled out the C-note in my presence, again thinking it would somehow impress me. It didn’t.

3) Guy was 30 minutes late for a date- And I didn’t give him a chance to explain, which I probably should have since I didn’t even have a phone at the time.

4) Guy made a homophobic comment- He told some story in which he made an immature “fag” comment. I gave him a chance to explain and he basically said homosexuals freaked him out. I told him I didn’t think it was going to work between us and with wet eyes he told me he loved me! He was my kickboxing instructor and we’d only been on about four dates and they weren’t even romantic ones, they were activities like kickboxing and playing soccer. He was Guatemalan or something and the next time I saw him in class he gave me a beautiful poem he’d written for me in Spanish. At the time, I worked in a restaurant where the Hispanic kitchen guys often listened to Spanish radio. One day I heard a song that sounded familiar and I realized it was the poem he’d supposedly written for me. I guess he didn’t expect me to stumble upon that. For about three years afterward I would get a call from the guy every six months or so. Not a stable person.

© Jenée for Comedian Jenée: People are Idiots, 2007. |
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Darren Sherman

He’s so insane it’s funny.

© Jenée for Comedian Jenée: People are Idiots, 2006. |
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Last fall, it sort of hit me that my “go out and meet dudes” friends had long-ago moved away (or gone into rehab) and great eligible bachelors were not going to magically appear in my apartment so I decided to give Match.com a try. It was actually my second attempt on Match, having tried it for a month several years ago. I picked a really bad time to join- just before the holidays. Who wants to miss the annual airing of “A Year Without A Santa Clause” to meet some freaky chick online?

I wrote a blog for the duration of the membership under the pseudonym “Fifa” (when I did the USO tour in Korea, my friend and I kept seeing “Fifa” signs everywhere and we created a character with that name. It was later we learned that’s the name of the international soccer organization). There were a couple reasons for the fake name. For one thing, I didn’t want people finding me on Match and sending me joke letters. I also thought I might censor myself if my identity was known. Turns out I didn’t and I really didn’t write anything I’d mind anybody knowing came from me.

I’ve decided to share the blog with the readers here. Unlike the poor suckers who faithfully read that blog daily waiting for me to find true love (yeah, that didn’t happen), you get to know the outcome before you get started. In the end, nothing happened. And I don’t mean nothing “much” happened, literally nothing happened. I was more talk than action and got kind of bored with it about three weeks in. So it was basically me ripping on the guys that wrote to me and me offering very little in terms of my own flaws. But it’s my blog; I can do that.

It’s virtually unchanged, though I moved the site and had to remove some polls because of format problems.
For any of you who are interested in reading it, you can find it here: My Online Dating Experience.

Enjoy. Or not. But it’s all you get from me at least until after the Fourth of July.

© Jenée for Comedian Jenée: People are Idiots, 2006. |
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I noticed he wore a wedding band. Not that I was interested, but it told me he’s either Sleazy Cheater Guy or Waste My Time Guy. But I held out hope he was that golden bar creature: Rich Drink Buyer Who Doesn’t Even Make A Pass Guy. So I let him stay.

He then asked me what I do- a question I always dread. Comic and poker player aren’t the kinds of jobs that people just gloss over and move on to a new topic. Both careers invite conversation- something I wasn’t looking for- but I haven’t yet mastered the ability to reply, “I’m an accountant.” Since disclosure of being a comic often entails hearing a horribly unfunny story that the teller insists, “You should use in your act,” I usually go with poker player.

Upon hearing this, the guy surmised I play poker just so I can win at strip poker. He was serious. So I told him that I don’t need to play strip poker; If I want to see a guy naked, all I have to do is ask. He argued that a guy would only abide if he thought he was going to get some sex. I explained that if a woman tells a guy to take his clothes off, he assumes he’s going to get sex. How does a guy reach his age without knowing how it works between men and women? (I’ll add that up to this point, I was giving him half-assed answers while barely glancing up from my tv show- some people really don’t know how to take a hint).

Then for some reason completely unknown to me, the guy asked how much I earned last year!!! Who asks somebody that?? I wouldn’t even ask a spouse that, probably only learning the information when we filed our first joint tax return. When I declined to answer, he made a facial expression that suggested I was being ridiculous for not divulging the sum.

Next the guy told me that poker isn’t a career for me, it’s just a job. He insisted that I don’t have a plan for it (now he thinks he’s psychic). He explained that to consider it a career, I’d be working different angles, like writing books on it, giving speeches, etc. It was the same crap I dealt with for years as a comic, people saying, “To be a successful comic, you have to be an actor or writer or producer.” Nobody seemed to understand I just liked being a comic. I tried to explain to the guy that I do have a plan but he just shook his head. I made a couple more unsuccessful attempts to get a few words out but he kept interrupting me and saying, “Nope, it’s a job, not a career.” Finally I said, “Forget this. You’re annoying.” And I walked away.

The whole conversation lasted only about 10 minutes and as I walked away, I considered the possibility that the entire situation was a prank my friend played on me. Nope- the guy was for real and I realized he was probably Wife Left Him Because He Bugged The Shit Out Of Her Guy.

© Jenée for Comedian Jenée: People are Idiots, 2006. |
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Men are intimidated, research says

(From Chortle)

© Jenée for Comedian Jenée: People are Idiots, 2006. |
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It was actually a second date with a guy I wasn’t sure I wanted to see again. He’s good looking and seemed nice enough but he’s also a bit younger than I like and our conversations in person and on the phone were somewhat of a struggle. But he made a decent offer of dinner and shooting pool so I accepted.

I should have known something was amiss when he offered to pick me up and I said I thought it might be better if I drove myself. He basically told me that was lame and that he wasn’t dangerous or anything. As if I should take his word on that. I’m sure all the really dangerous guys are upfront with their intentions: “I’d like to take you to dinner and dancing and then rape you, torture your body and leave it in a ravine. How does that sound, cupcake?” Seriously, what kind of guy has a problem with a woman not wanting to ride in a car with someone who’s essentially a stranger?

Since we were meeting at the location and since his cell phone wasn’t working, he was somewhat adamant about us both being there at 8:00 on the dot. Normally, I’d try to be about 10-15 minutes late to give the guy a chance to arrive before me, but because of his plea, I arrived only five minutes late. And this meant I had to miss the last- and best- minutes of Sixteen Candles on tv. Even though I’ve seen the movie at least 20 times, I hated missing those last two scenes. When I’m 80 I’ll still be fantasizing about standing in front of that church and having Jake Ryan motion to me. I look around then point to myself, “ME?” and he says, “Yeah you” then we risk serious chest burns for that sweet first kiss. I’m telling you men, if you want to win a woman over, rent an old red Porsche, buy a cake with 16 candles and find a sturdy table. We’re ALL suckers for that. Oh, and it helps if you actually look like Jake Ryan (who am I kidding? If you look like Jake Ryan, you don’t need any of the other stuff).

Anyway, I arrived to find my date wasn’t there yet so I took a seat at the bar and bought myself a drink. Not a problem. He finally showed up about 15 minutes later and we sat down on some couches. He didn’t say anything about dinner and didn’t order a drink for himself. I already knew he doesn’t drink alcohol, which isn’t a big deal, but I do prefer a guy who sometimes likes to toss back a cocktail or six. I don’t want a raging alcoholic but an occasional night of drunkenness is fun. What was a bit of an issue for me was that he didn’t order anything to drink. Between cocktail waitressing, bartending and stand up comedy, most of my adult life has been spent hawking beverages so I’m not too keen on the freeloaders. If you want a night of free entertainment, stay home. If you go out, at least buy a two dollar Coke.

Once again, conversation did not come easily as he asked me a bunch of personal questions. I realize that’s how normal people get to know each other and it’s my own idiosyncracy that makes me not want to answer those questions. I’m the type who’s not interested in someone’s “stats,” I’d rather get to know their personality. But I politely answered some of his questions and asked him a few of the same to which he gave brief answers. That pretty much put the whole weight of talking on me.

We started a game of pool and halfway through he asked what I wanted to do next. What next? I thought pool was the plan. Why did there have to be a “next”? I learned that he had parked somewhere on the street instead of using the valet, which was probably the reason he was so late. Sure, he didn’t mind moving to another location, but I paid to park and I was staying there.

Toward the end of the pool game I was practically waving my empty glass in his face but he didn’t seem to notice. We finished our game and headed back to the couches. As we passed the bar, I said, “I’m getting another drink, do you want anything?” Even though I don’t mind buying a guy a drink, in this situation, if he’d accepted I probably would have ended the date right that moment. But he just said, “No” and left me at the bar to head back to the sofa. I couldn’t believe it. This was the third time in the last few months that a guy asked me out and didn’t even buy me one lousy drink. And one of the previous cheapskates actually had the nerve to invite me on another date. When a guy doesn’t buy me a drink, he’s basically saying to me, “I never want to see you again.” Ok, maybe that’s not what he’s saying, but that’s what I’m hearing and that’s exactly what’s going to happen. In the 15 minutes I’d spent waiting for my date, two guys I’d never met before offered to buy me a drink and my lameass date couldn’t even do the same.

I sat down with him and he finally asked if I was hungry. I was but at that point, I was just looking for a reason to leave. Unfortunately, as a poker player, I can’t use the “I have to get up early” excuse. I really do need to come up with a good one. We actually managed to have a decent conversation, though it was mostly about politics and we disagreed on a lot. Then he said he’s not a registered voter, which voided most of his arguments in my mind. My philosophy is: You don’t vote, you don’t get to complain about anything. Or, at least, I don’t want to listen to your whining.

Somewhere around this time I discovered his refusal to buy me a drink was not due to a lack of interest as he grabbed my chin to kiss me. I said, “Don’t do that.” In fact, I said it in such a forceful way that I busted up laughing. I think he believed it was simply because of the location and had no idea what a crappy date he was.

Then he mentioned something about a shirt he saw that he really wanted. Instead of the “I (heart) New York” design, it was an “I (plane) New York” design. Now, my sense of humor definitely leans toward the dark side. And I’ve laughed at quite a few jokes surrounding 9/11- I even made a few of my own on 9/11. But none of them had the death of innocent people as the sole punch line. There has to be some other element to make it funny. If the plane had been directed at something else, perhaps at a politician, I could see the humor in it. I could even understand why people in Iraq would think it’s funny but as he described it, I didn’t see why an American would. I asked him why he thought it was funny and he said, “None of them were innocent. It hit a few thousand corporate thieves. Big deal.”

As someone who often makes offensive statements in attempts at humor, I give people the benefit of the doubt that they might be making a joke that didn’t really hit its target. So I asked him, “You’re joking right?” He said, “No.” I repeated, “Come on- you must be kidding.” He said, “No I’m not.” I gave him one last chance, “Really, tell me you’re joking.” He wasn’t. So I stood up and said, “I’m going to take off now.” That’s when he said, “Don’t go- I was joking.” I expected him to say that because when guys realize they may have blown their chance to get laid, they’ll say anything. Too late.

Another date, another LA loser. I wouldn’t be the slightest bit surprised if he ended the night thinking, “I can’t believe I wasted a whole 75 cents on her.”

© Jenée for Comedian Jenée: People are Idiots, 2006. |
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Bachelor #1
Bachelor #2
Bachelor #3

© Jenée for Comedian Jenée: People are Idiots, 2006. |
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I said, “OF COURSE it’s true. Who’s going to lie about screwing Robbie Knievel?”

I guess he thought she was attempting to impress the group, as if Robbie Knievel was actually somebody. He’s merely the son of a guy who achieved tv fame at a time when there were only 12 channels (the “u” channel didn’t count) and the other viewing options were a couple of PBS telethons and seven stations of static. I have no idea what the dude even looks like. For all I know, maybe I’VE fucked Robbie Knievel.

There’s nothing to be gained by falsely claiming him as a lover. Dropping the name Robbie Knievel won’t get your script greenlit or move you up on the reservation list at Dolce. I think declaring you’ve had sex with the guy from the Capitol One commercials actually holds more cache.

Believability is all about the fascination vs. shame factor involved. If someone said she screwed People’s “Sexiest Man Alive,” Matthew McConaughey, I’d roll my eyes in disbelief. But if she told me she screwed Gary Goleman, I’d believe her. If someone said she screwed George Clooney, I’d think she’s full of crap. But if she confessed to doing William “She Bangs” Hung, I’d definitely believe her. If someone said she screwed Colin Farrell, well, I might believe her because that guy seems to get around.

The easiest way to determine the validity of a sexual claim is this: if it’s safe to assume a video tape of said encounter could be released to the public and nobody would have any interest in viewing it (beyond the “I had a threeway with Mini-Me and Ron Jeremy” horror/curiosity variety) then the claim is probably true.

© Jenée for Comedian Jenée: People are Idiots, 2006. |
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