Sometimes I Feel Like a Pizza Date

I once had a co-worker once who was a major playah. He was (and is) a terrific guy and I loved him to death.  I’m kind of a guy’s gal (I know, big surprise there), and have always been someone that guys can talk with candidly, without fear of being judged.  Seriously, guys think with only one part of their anatomy, and anyone who thinks any differently is fooling themselves.  And, knowing that, I was always interested to hear about the exploits of my male friends.  It was, in retrospect, actually quite strategic.  Knowing how their black little hearts worked always actually kind of helped me in my own relationships, back in the day when I was a swinging single.

I always enjoyed hearing Mike recount the tales of his latest exploits with women.  One thing I especially admired about him is that he never lied. He never led a woman on and was always honest about where the relationship stood.  I respect honesty.  Always.  One Monday, as we were catching up and sharing details about our respective weekends, he told me that he’d had a “pizza date” with a certain someone on Friday night.  I’d never heard the term “pizza date” before and immediate quizzed him about the definition.

For Mike, a “pizza date” was really all about sex.  His MO was simple: he waited until the last minute on a Friday or Saturday night. Realized he was bored and, really without even thinking much about it, called the flavor du jour (or one of them) and said “Ya wanna come over and hang out? Oh, and bring a pizza.”  And, since women found him irresistible, they did just that.  Got a pizza, came over, ate pizza, satisfied Mike’s sexual desires and then he shooed them away.  Man. Desires satisfied.

I wrote a post a few days ago about how annoying it is when people that I don’t even know – complete strangers who have NEVER interacted with me – have the audacity to DM me asking for my help in supporting something they are doing.  Annoying, rude, presumptuous and just totally not acceptable.

But here’s the thing. The people who treat me like I’m a pizza date are, perhaps, even more annoying. And insulting.

Those are the people that I do know. People whose streams I pay attention to, who might write blogs I like and enjoy reading and who, I think, are pretty good people.  But, here’s the rub. They are also people who never just talk with me.  They rarely comment on something I say. They never just write and say “hi girl” and, it seems the only time I hear from them is when they write a new blog post or have a cause or issue that they want help with, so they DM me and ask me to read or RT or do something to help them.

Seriously. That’s pretty lame.

So, for the record peeps, I’m no pizza date. If you are a friend – or if you wanna be, treat me like one. Be real. Be genuinely interested in me. Oh, don’t worry, that doesn’t mean you have to pay attention to everything I say or do – I realize that I’m prolific.  And, if you are a friend, then you know that I’ll do just about anything I can – just about any time, to support you.  But consider yourselves warned – I’m no pizza date.  I’m not coming over for sex and I’m not bringing a pizza. Get it your own self.  And, seriously, get some manners.

P.S. My friend, Mike, ultimately married the girl who was his most frequent “pizza date,” because she was smarter than he is (aren’t we all?) and hung in there in spite of his stupidity. They continue to live happily ever after as of the time of this writing.

P.S.S. What I’m trying to tell you is that if you’re dumb enough to be making this mistake, this is your chance to wise up, just like Mike did, and cut it out.