I may be Dutch...but I'm not a fan of going dutch on the first date

See this? It's not rocket science, fellas.

There have been countless articles, books and debates about guys picking up the tab, particularly on the first date. Uber-traditionalists will tell you that a guy should always pay. Uber-feminists will tell you that it's demeaning for you to let them pay.

I guess my views would be somewhere in the middle. I do expect a guy to pay on the first few dates, but I think it is unfair for them to pay for EVERYTHING. So as I go on more and more dates with a guy, I'll pay my share or even the whole bill. However, I always do the "reach for my wallet grab" or offer to contribute.

Most guys adamantly refuse. One guy was even shocked at my offer and asked if any guy had ever accepted. At the time, none of them had.

But as I get older and go on more and more dates, I'm experiencing more and more categories of men. Many of whom should not even be allowed to date.

When I was back in Richmond over the holidays, I met a guy. A fellow Steelers fan. It was a Thursday night. Pitt was playing Carolina. I dragged my bff, SK, to the bar to cheer on my team. And I was decked out in black and yellow.

So this guy approached me and we start talking. And then we end up at a different bar and numbers were exchanged.

I hung out with him a couple more times while I was in town and he hinted at continuing to see each other.

I didn't take him too seriously, so I was pleasantly surprised when he asked me to come visit a couple weekends later. I decided to drive down for only a night, because we had just started talking or whatever the hell you want to call it, and I thought it would be weird for me to stay with him an entire weekend while we are still seeing where things were going.

So, I got to his house late afternoon and we decided to go out to dinner. I was on the phone when the check came (I promise I'm not a rude phone-talking date...I was touching base with a friend we were meeting up with after dinner) and while I was talking to her, I saw him open up the tab, and place the receipt face up so that I could see it, too. I thought it was weird that he was showing me how much the meal cost, but when I finished my conversation, it was obvious why. He immediately turned to me and said, "Ready to settle up?"

I'm pretty sure my mouth dropped a little. I'd heard of guys doing this, but it had never actually happened to me.

I would like to stay the story ends there, but sadly, it does not.

After dinner, we went to a bar to meet up with some of his friends. I had SK come, too for moral support.

When the time came to close our bar tab, which was sitting in a highball glass right in front of him, he looked at the receipt, pulled a $100 bill out of his wallet, and sat it back on the bar. After a few seconds, he grabbed the $100, shoved it back into his wallet, pulled out a $20 and some ones, and then turned to me and asked if I had a couple bucks.

After telling him that all I had was a $5, he said, "that works," took the last of my cash and we left. (Side note: Thank God SK was there. Not only did she have my back and make a "you have got to be effing kidding me" sound when he asked me for money, but I didn't remember giving him my $5 and had to ask her if she knew what had happened to it the next day.)

As if this doesn't make him look bad enough already, I feel it necessary to breakdown everything that's wrong in this equation.

1. He invited me to spend part of the weekend with him.
2. I drove there - which already cost me $30 in gas and wear and tear/mileage on my car.
3. I don't know his exact age, but he's in his late 30's - early 40's.
4. He owns his own company, so combined with the age difference, he definitely makes more money than me.
5. The drinks he had at the restaurant and the bar were more expensive than mine.
6. He took the last of my cash when he clearly had enough to cover the bill.
7. When you ask a girl out, it's common courtesy to pay for her.

I really didn't think it took a genius to figure this out, but clearly, there are some dense toolbags running around.

So fast forward a few weeks and he's still texting me, and I don't know why, but I'm still responding. He asked me to meet up with him when I was in town a couple weeks ago. I had plans to attend to a friend's birthday party, but I told him he should join. He made it pretty clear he didn't even want to make the effort when he told me to text him if it was fun, and if not, that I should come to wherever he ended up.

Yeah, um...I didn't bother. If you can't drive 15 minutes to see me when I'm in town then you don't deserve to hang out with me. And I'm not desperate - I shouldn't be the one constantly coming to you.

I hadn't heard from him since and thought that was the end of it. But SK ran into him last night so the texts have started up again. The best part of all this is he told her that he thought because the Steelers lost the Super Bowl I was upset and needed some time.

Um...did you just pee your pants laughing? Because I sure as hell did when SK told me that.

Either that is the lamest guy excuse in the world for going MIA on a girl for a few weeks or he is just the biggest dumbass EVER.

You know, if anything - these schmucks are providing some laughs and some damn good blog fodder.

Bermuda (aka Paradise)

I didn’t realize this post would be so depressing to write. Maybe it’s because instead of being surrounded by crystal blue water and foreign waiters who bring you drinks on demand, I’m drinking hot chocolate to try and stay warm in my sub-zero degree office and squinting from the blinding flourescent light. Why, oh why, can’t I be by a window so I can watch the squirrels play? (Quick! Name that movie.)

Anyway, here's a smattering of pics from the trip. We were at Bermuda during their 400th anniversary celebration and the annual cricket tournament (basically their version of the World Cup.) Kinda cool, except that the bars close wayyy early those days. Maybe because they serve FREE beer at the cricket match.

Approaching Bermuda. See that small opening between the two pieces of land ahead? Yeah, the cruise ship had to fit through that. (That's what she said...)

Right after arriving in St. George, Bermuda. That's the cruise ship in the background.

Walking around the town of St. George, where our boat docked the first day. Virtually no clouds in the sky, but there was still a rainbow.

I went on the cruise with my parents, little brother, and some family friends who have a daughter my age and a son my bro's age. Luckily, the "parents" wanted to drink just as much as we did. I found this sign at the first bar we went to. Note that Michael Douglas made the list, along with other fine citizens such as "White Rat" and "Sambuca." I'm sure Catherine Zeta-Jones is thrilled...
They have Michael Jackson-themed snow cones! Of course, I had to try one out. I got the "Beat It" flavor, which consisted of strawberry, blackberry and gingerbeer. AMAZING!!

Day 2 in Bermuda-Horseshoe Bay. By far the most beautiful beach I've ever seen. The sand is pink (I ended up getting a handmade pendant that holds some of the sand) and the water is so clear it's like being in a swimming pool. You also get to see really pretty fish swim right past you.

More of Horseshoe Bay. They had these really tall, rocky cliffs surrounding the water. I decided to climb to the top for some photo opps. Kinda hard to see, but on the a ledge of the rocks below, some guys were jumping off into the water. I'm definitely not brave/crazy enough to try that stunt-I kinda wanted to live to see more of Bermuda.

Martini bar we stopped at after a day on the beach. I got a yummy blue raspberry concoction.

The cruise ship had an on-board art auction that I only went to because they were promising free champagne. Unfortunately, I never got my champagne, but I did stumble upon the best football jersey EVER. If only I had a spare $1100, this baby would be MINE.

I Heart Football (And I have the bruises to prove it)

It's no secret to my family and friends, so I guess I shouldn't keep it from the blogging world either...I am a football fanatic. I guess it has something to do with having a father who eats, sleeps and breathes football. My dad played football in high school and college, and every Sunday from late August-early February, you can find him stationed in front of the t.v., screaming for his favorite team. I learned very quickly not to even attempt having a conversation with him on game day. It was useless...he wouldn't remember anything you said anyway.

Me, being the daddy's girl that I am, decided that I too would dedicate my Sundays to football. Just so I could hang with Pops. Now, I think my love of the game may have surpassed his. It's not often I have a voice left after watching my college team or the Steelers play. The boyfriend, who I'll refer to as, The Hoff, is convinced that I'm going to have a heart attack at the age of 24. Like I said, I love football. And if high blood pressure and strained vocal chords don't say love, I don't know what does.

Anyway, so this weekend, like many of my fall weekends, consisted of football. There was a slight interlude on Friday night where I grabbed drinks with my gay BFF, Just Jack, at his fav. bar. Love going to his bar with him. I can go there looking like poo and not worry about it, they play better music than any straight bar I've been to, and to top it off, we get free drinks! Of course, when Just Jack came by to pick me up, I left him patiently waiting for a good 30 minutes. I thought I made pretty good time considering I had to shower, pack and make pasta salad for a tailgate on Saturday. He thought otherwise, and made it known with his trademark sarcastic quips. Nonetheless, we finally made it to the 'mo bar and I helped him scope out some attractive men while getting a lil' tipsy in the process.

Saturday was game day. And a game face was definitely needed for this particular football game. The high for Saturday was low-mid 30s with a wind chill in the 20s. Probably not a big deal for New Englanders, but for a Southern girl like myself, that is downright brutal. I even used every secret pocket I could find in my ski jacket and hoodie to smuggle beer into the stadium in effort to keep warm. By the third quarter, I couldn't take it any longer. It was obvious my team was going to win, so I ducked out early and spent the remainder of the afternoon defrosting. (Please note: I know leaving a game early does not reflect a true, hardcore fan. This is the only time I have done this and will hopefully be the last.)

Sunday, I obliged The Hoff by going to a sports bar to watch his team play. (The game wasn't being broadcast at his house.) The Hoff is from New England, and hence, he is a Patriots fan...one of his many flaws. The Pats slaughtered the Steelers last season-I shouldn't be at a bar watching, let alone cheering for them. But I decided to swallow my pride, hoping it would earn me girlfriend brownie points. (In actuality, I heart watching the Pats play this season. I'll take any opportunity I can to watch Matt Cassel run around in tight pants...but The Hoff doesn't need to know that.)

So anyway, a good five beers later, we head back, arm-in-arm, to The Hoff's car. Between the beer and my shoes-these cute, brown flats from Nine West with absolutely NO grip to them-gravity was not in my favor. I'm rambling, as I tend to do after five beers, and mid-sentence, my feet completely slip out from under me. I try grabbing The Hoff, hoping he'd catch me like a good knight in shining armor should. I guess my killer grip was too much for him, because I sent him stumbling forward, flinging our to-go box of wings out in front of him. It must have looked something like this:

I just wanted to watch football, not experience the injuries first-hand. Nonetheless, I'm left with a wounded foot, a bruised ass and a ruined pair of flats. Obviously, my biggest concern was the flats. The Hoff redeemed himself by taking me straight to the mall so I could look for a new pair. No new flats, but I did get ice cream out of the trip.

The things we go through for love...