Over the last several months of dating, I've been out with a number of guys who work in "finance." Finance is such a loosely used term. I mean, it could mean banking (as in...I'm a teller!), or investments, financial planning, insurance and even real estate. In the realm of *my* dating, when I've met someone in finance, I usually get a guy who is not only full of himself, arrogant and rude, but also incredibly boring and sometimes a little creepy (referencing this post, date #1). It's very hard not to remind some people that everyone's shit stinks.
(I must say though...the one who slipped through my fingers was an investment broker. Its funny because life got in the way of us connecting. His friend committed suicide and he became very introverted afterwards - and it's such a shame, because I think about him from time to time. I may have just peeked at his facebook profile too. Shhhhh....don't tell.)
My last date with a guy in finance didn't go very well.
In fact, my eyes may still have that glassed over look to them because I feel like I'm still recovering.
He was late. STRIKE ONE. He lied about his height. STRIKE TWO. And, he proceeded to talk about himself, politics, the economy, health care and the 1%, and why they shouldn't have to pay taxes, for over an hour. STRIKE THREE!!! I'm not afraid of hot button issues, but wowza. About 10 minutes into the conversation, he very smugly asked me if I knew who "owned" the Federal Reserve - probably because he wanted to prove how smart he was. My response, as dead-panned as possible, was "The Federal Reserve is a private entity run by Ben Bernanki." Silence on his end followed by a "Yes. You're right."
Yeah. I know. I'm not the idiot that you thought I was...and if you tried speaking to me, you might actually see that. And yet, even with the outward change in my body language and the fact that I was staring at the clock, he still didn't let up on being a self-absorbed douchebag. At one point, the female bartender came over and put another blue moon in front of me. I looked at her questionably and whispered "I didn't order this." She replied with "I know honey. But you need it...and it's on me."
Rolling. On. The. Floor. Laughing!
After the hour-long monologue, Mr. Finance then got out of his seat, but his hand on my knee and asked me what I would think if he asked me back to his house.
"I thought we were on the same page when I was thinking that we weren't really feeling each other."
Then, the excuses started: he broke his own rule of talking more than he listened; he's a really nice guy if I just gave him a chance; he didn't want to push too fast...just a drink on the couch and no hanky-panky; girls need to relax a little and not judge every guy on the "relationship scale"; oh, I'm not saying you're basing your decision on the relationship scale; I think you're pretty and maybe we can go on another date...etc. Again, I didn't get to say a word during any of that portion of the date either. However I did get up, put my coat on and walk towards the door, with him at my heels. Are you sure you won't change your mind? I'm really great in bed. You won't be disappointed.
"You get to your car in safe manner. It was nice to meet you. Best of luck on your future endeavors."
The End. Or so I thought...unfortunately, he knows my number and how to text. A lot. What really sucks about the whole thing is that I met him at my favorite bar and now I'm afraid to go back there!
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