Top 4 reasons NOT to date a European (+ one reason to date a British dude if you must)
I hate the above commercial so much! (I know Morgan mentioned it earlier because of the song, but I’m talking about the premise!) You meet a short European dude who clearly hasn’t bathed in anything fancier than a Bahnhoff in weeks and he cell phone stalks you all the way home? You know what happened the day after this? She woke up to find him washing his socks in her sink and smoking cigarettes in the bathtub while listening to TECHNO (and probably still wearing that skuzzy hat). Then three weeks later she casually mentions well maybe you should get a job and he mentions that due to visa issues he’s unable to obtain employment in the USA. However, he’s happy to continue to rearrange her furniture, make a mess in the kitchen, and flirt with the girl at the fresh market that he will eventually leave her for! Plus as the astute commenter utubelova98 points out “hahahah has anyone noticed he WEARS THE SAME CLOTHES THE WHOLEEEEE COMMERCIAL???? HAHAH” which is half true.
Ladies. When looking for love, might I recommend keeping it state-side?
1. France – Oh the French guy. The mere idea of The French guy gives me shivers down my spine. Bad shivers. “The I’ve-been-kissed-on-the-hand-raped-and-I-am-full-of-SHAME shivers” shivers. I have a friend who dated THE French guy. He promised her the freaking world and you know what he delivered? Crap. He promised her perfumed love letters but instead wrote emails to his ex. He promised her vacations but instead went to Paris to liaise! The worst part is he didn’t see anything wrong with that! That whole, “I’m French, I sleep around! Sacre Bleu!” thing is so ridiculously not for me that I cannot find words to express how upset it makes me (these might be close, but still man, it upsets me).
2. The whole language thing – I’m a fast talker. Today my dad told me that he has no idea what company I work for because he can’t for the life of him figure out what I’m saying in my voice mail. So me trying to have a conversation with someone who doesn’t have a ridiculously strong grasp of the English language is pretty rough. Also, there’s the poetry thing. I hate poems, they’re dumb. I like text messages and paragraphs anything in between reallllllly isn’t cutting it for me. Combine poetry and a weak grasp of English with something as difficult to master as the text message and the results are a catastrophe! Picture this: You’re in Italy at a bar that you go to every freaking day and you suddenly see a handsome stranger. Weirder is the fact that your friends are like, he’s been staring at you every day for months, but you haven’t noticed. You’re curious. He has a lip ring and it’s 2002 so that’s a good thing. You may or may not chat for a bit and find the next day that you get a text message that says “My love for you is like tree, it grows strong,” or something. My cell phone only spoke Italian but I figured out how to cancellazione pretty fast.
3. Italy – Dear Italy, Who does your PR? They’re brilliant. I swear to you that Italy got together for a meeting after WWII and the transcript went something like this:
Luigi: Pisanos! Let’s do some freaking damage control asap
Mario: We need to get the world to like us again! But there’s a problem.
Luigi: Io lo so. Siamo not-that-attractive!
Mario: Mama Mia! What to doooooo
Luigi: I know! Let’s export someone attractive to America so that they’re convinced we’re a race of handsomeness!
Mario: Well, it’s going to be rough to find someone, but we should give it a shot!
I’m serious. I really think that this happened. Here in America we have this perception of Italians… the handsome romantic lover who will sweep us off our feet. Then when you actually get there you’re skeeved out like NOBODY’S BUSINESS. I don’t even believe that Antonio Sabato Jr. was born in Rome! I think they paid him to say that so that ladies would go there in search of love (and gelatto). Smack that guy on General Hospital, put a Fabio on a dirty book cover and a Fabio in the kitchen and we’re supposed to swoon? I don’t think so!
When I was 19 and still willing to give a European the benefit of the doubt I went to Florence for a semester. I went with slight hopes of maybe meeting my very own tall dark and handsome! The first night out I realized the horrible horrible mistake I had made. Nowhere to be found was the young man drinking a cappuccino on the piazza wanting to talk about wine. In his place was a gang of young dudes wearing jeans AND jean jackets cat-calling from the steps of The Duomo! Sexual harassment probably wasn’t what Brunelleschi had in mind when he designed something so beautiful. Italy was so grossly misrepresented to me that my only option was to date American musicians!
Even Dianne Lane ends up with an American at the end of “Under the Tuscan Sun,” think about it.
4. England – There are three types of British dudes, The Handsome Prince, The David Bowie, and The Soccer Hooligan. I’m a loyal fan of all three depending on the circumstance. If I were to define my life into eras there would be “Age Birth – 12ish: The David Bowie Era” and “The moment I realized there was a freaking PRINCE my age” – now: The Princess Hawkes Prince William Era.” Sigh, I had his picture in my locker. Sigh… anyhoo I grew up, I guess. If you’re looking for someone to hang out with, I can’t recommend a better friend than The Soccer Hooligan. I met one of my best friends at a part of Europe that is not England (where exactly I met him is irrelevant because he’s English). His name is Chris, he’s from Newcastle so you can’t understand a freaking word he says, in a good way. We write letters, like pen and paper letters, which he always signs “Take care flower.” It’s been almost ten years, he’s been to visit (where he cooked me dinner every night, found that I had a soccer channel in my cable package and spent a decent amount of time at OTB) he’s gotten married and has a beautiful little girl, he spends week at a time on a freaking oil rig out at sea and he still writes me letters, amazing. Would an Italian soccer-freak be friends with an American girl? No, he’d make you feel stupid for not understanding the rules then get wasted and try to kiss you. As if the English accent weren’t enough they’re just nice guys! If held down and tortured and forced to choose a favourite (see what I did there?) type of Brit, I’m going to go with The David Bowie. This may surprise you, but until you’ve woken up next to one who looks at you, smiles and says “You are a legend” you have no idea (ftw!).
5. Ireland – I know what you’re going to say. “HK, I thought this article was Pro-British Isles.” To that I respond “Sister, I can no go with ya on that one.”* My actual sister went to Dublin she said “its way too much for me! I’ve never seen people so drunk in my life.” We come from a long line of serious Czech drinkers, so that’s saying something. Speaking from my personal experience if you spend one Tuesday night at an Irish pub surrounded by on and off duty bartenders and have to literally start requesting that your Jameson shots only be poured half way because you can’t take it anymore, you’ll get it. It’s a dangerous, dangerous road filled with Catholic holidays, very little food, as many alcohol “bombs” that you can imagine and gallons of morning-after Red Gatorade.
Which brings me to next week:
It’s Wednesday and I can’t find my shoes and my hair is soaking wet and I’m running to work and it’s raining and I smell like whiskey and I can’t remember what I did last night but I have a feeling I saw the dawn
Lesson 3: Never Date a Bartender
* Scottish, I know, but too good to pass up.