On Men Who Don’t Have Anything To Say

October 24, 2014  |  

He grabbed both of my wrists and tried to coax me to my feet, but I wouldn’t go.

I honestly didn’t feel like dancing.

The song wasn’t right and neither was the overall vibe.

I was at a photographer friend’s party in Philly. The room was full of beautiful and fashionable people but unfortunately, I didn’t know a single one of them. Everyone else was either in cliques or already paired off, so walking up to random groups, in an attempt to mingle,  proved to be a bit awkward. And with the exception of the one dude, who walked past me just to say “smile” – and that’s it – I didn’t really have anyone to talk to. That was until the Black Patrick Swayze showed up.

“If you don’t get up and dance with me, I’m going to give you a lap dance,” he said firmly and he wiggled his hips from side to side.

The smile we ladies wear to seem pleasant at all times, waned. “Please. Don’t,” I insisted.

And I really meant it. He sucked his teeth and took a seat next to me on the sofa lounge. He looked so defeated. Part of me felt bad slightly for me. He was working overtime for my attention ever since we made eye contact across the room. Actually, I was merely staring at him because I thought he looked like someone I went to school with. But that was more than enough incentive for him to walk over and plant himself only inches away from my face. And that’s where he stood the entire night.

Originally, I appreciated the company. But he had been hopping around, flirting and cracking sexual jokes all evening. And any attempts at serious conversation were deflected with more jokes and other silliness. For instance, I asked him what he did for a living. He told me he was a gastroenterologist. “Butts and guts but enough about that, let’s talk about your butts and gut. Haha, I’m just kidding.”

I asked him if he travelled. He said to Brazil. I told I had gone too and asked him what he liked most about the trip. “Everything was beautiful but not as beautiful as you.” Sweet. Cute. But boring. And it is especially boring after the cheap one-liner he tried to whisper in my ear.

It feels like a silly thing to get upset about, but it’s really not. Like John Legend, I am just ordinary people. And as such, you don’t have to try to blow my head up. Really, it’s not necessary. That’s not to say I don’t like compliments or don’t appreciate the ego boost even. But one or two a day is cool. And I usually like them to be genuine and mixed in with other topics we can converse about.

Like our work and careers. Our hopes and ambitions. What we do in our free time and other hobbies. Our politics. Our religion or faith. Our favorite television shows. Even what we had for breakfast in the morning. The point I’m making here is that the lack of conversation is killing whatever potential attraction might have been there.

And it has been a pattern of late. No matter the occupation or education level or even personality-type, many men I meet today come off as shallow and dumb. Or they think that I’m shallow and dumb? Either way, I have been going on lots of dates with men, who just can’t seem to have a real conversation with me. Likewise, the only semblance of a real conversation is flirting – and very badly at that. And it all has me wondering, do many men out here not like talking to women?

And I mean this question genuinely.

Just like the last guy I went on a date with. We were supposed to be having casual dinner over some Mexican fare, however it ended up being an evening of him staring at me and smiling while I tried to eat my tacos without feeling subconscious about this guy with a cheese-eating grin, staring at me. I asked him a bunch of questions and got back single word or thought responses. He had four questions for me the entire night: 1. Are you single; 2. why?; 3. what’s your favorite television show (which on the surface sounded like a conversation starter but quickly lost steam when it was revealed that he didn’t even have a television); and 4. What do you think about me?

“To be honest, I don’t even know a single thing about you,” I said with a tinge of annoyance. I wasn’t trying to be rude to him, but what I said was the truth.Despite him staring at me and many failed attempts at grabbing my hand, I still felt invisible around him. I didn’t know him and he wasn’t really making an effort for me to do so. It was that night, which I had a dating epiphany: I am a conversationalist. And talking to men is how I like to get to know a dude.

More than dancing with them. Or making googly-eyes and crude sexual innuendos. Let’s talk. And not just around the dating basics like our martial statuses and how many kids, diseases and warrants we have. I like to hear his thoughts on topics, even if I don’t agree with them. I like to debate theoretical things. And ponder over our actualities. Hell, if you want to just talk about movies or TV, I’m game for that also. Point is, we must talk. And to each other.serenade and compliment my mind as much as you trying to with my exterior.

And unfortunately, I’m not finding that much out here on these dating streets. I have had more men try to grab my hand, dance and grind with me, kiss my cheek, neck or other body part than actually try to get to know me. They are interested in me but not really interested in knowing me. It’s clear by the lack of willingness to connect on some genuine level, I am a thing. A thing, which might be pleasant to look at and play around with, but has no real value beyond being used – by him.

Just like Patrick Swayze from the party, who after nearly an hour of putting on his best Keith Sweat impression, finally blurted out his real intention:

“So am I going to get to go home with you tonight or not?” It was probably the most honest conversation he had broached all evening.

“No I’m cool. I’m going home by myself. But thanks,” I responded, trying my best to hide my smirk.

He looked dejected. But I didn’t care.

The thing was he wasn’t bad looking and he had nice size hands. He easily could have wooed me and he could have done so honestly, without all the pandering and thirst quenching – if only he had something meaningful to say. But Charing doesn’t date – or bed – no dummies. So I bid him good night and God speed.

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