Tangents & The Times

Whilst in the courting process, there are two major factors that come into play and have an impact on the direction of any impending relationship.
The High-Five & The Stamp.
You don’t necessarily need both but if you don’t have either you’re probably you’re fucked.

The High-Five
You never see the High-Five because it takes behind closed doors yet you will probably feel the impact of it. Not on your sweet little feminine hand but in the vibrational man-ness next time you hang out with your Dudefriend and his respective friends. You see, at some point, Dudefriend’s friends are going to ask about you. And they are more than likely going talk about you, Dudefriend’s interactions with you and the friends’ interactions with you in which case there will hopefully be an exchange of High-Fives (metaphorically &/or physically [I've participated in them simultaneously]).

Qualities That Are High-Fiveable
(based on my extensive research with the male persuasion)
- Dashing Good Looks
- A Sparkling Personality
- Nice Tits
- Better Blowjobs
- Moderate Knowledge of Anything Besides S&TC
… to name a few

And if you get the High-Five, you’re golden !
Full speed ahead on the looooove boat.
If you don’t get the High-Five,
well, you’ll probably still get laid.
BUT eventually there will come a time when they bro-down with some Fat Tires and flat out tell him you are a loser and point out,
“…it’s not just his life that’s at stake, it’s everyone else’s too.”
& THAT’S A REAL QUOTE FROM A REAL DUDE
(Gastly Havensoizor, to be exact, President of Topless Tractors).

Then there is

The Stamp
Not as important on the reg’ as the High-Five but in the long run, you’re going to need The Stamp Of Approval from his family. Particularly from his mother. Most fathers are pretty supportive of their sons getting laid in general whereas mothers are a bit more particular. Mothers spent grueling hours with their baby bundles of boy joy and want to see them with someone worthy of all their hard gentleman grooming.
I’ve only ever had one boyfriend with no quotations.
When we started dating, he told me I would never meet his mother if he could help it.
Of course, the day came when I did in fact meet his mother and I can only describe her as the rape child of Helena Bonham Carter’s character in Harry Potter and Maleficent (post dragon-morph).
All in all, very scary and mean.
So, yeah, needless to say, I never won that one over (nor did I really try because uh, hello, she was a fucking fire breathing witch mutant [with a{n angry} wideset vagina ]).
Moral of the story: I’m pretty scared of moms and their Stamps.

Qualities That Are Stamp-Able
- Dashing Good Looks
- Sparkling Personality
- Good Manners
- Good Job
- College Education
- Moderate Knowledge of S&TC (moms LOVE that shit)

And if you get The Stamp, you are DIALED IN !
I mean, don’t start ringing wedding bells obviously (especially if you didn’t get The High-Five, eesh) but all in all that is a good sign.
Especially because if he’s trying to show you off to his family in the first place, he obviously is setting his sights somewhere in the future.
Hopefully for a beach in Bora Bora but I mean, we’ll settle for Blockbuster on Friday.

Not to brag but I don’t think I’ve never not gotten The High-Five.
It’s probably because of my sharp wit, eclectic Ipod and porn etiquette.

But The Stamp…
Well,
I don’t usually have to worry about this considering I am generally onto the next frenzy of butterflies in my belly before we get past making out from our respective driver and passenger seats but now that the issue is on the forefront, it’s actually very nerve wracking.

But Dudefriend’s mom lives on the other side of the country so I’ve never really thought about it.
But over the past couple weeks, there had been a number of suspicious photo takings, none of which I would call “something to write home about”. When I questioned him about these photo ops, he casually replied that when he went home for his mother’s birthday he was going to have to show her what I looked like.

You can imagine my trepidation when you take into account that 99% of all the pictures he’s ever taken of me look a lot like this:

Class Act: M.Ross Slammin' C.Pagne.

Jesus Christ, man!
Yeah, it’s fine when it comes to depicting my Sunday-afternoon-ragamuffin-spirituous-spams, sure, awesome.
Perfect for Facebook, not for the mantle.
And totally NOT AWESOME for first impression Mom-Showing.

I can just imagine his mom, all beautiful and Italian, in absolute adoration of her impeccable example of perfect child rearing, giving him the third degree, like who the hell is this regazza, gettin’ all up on my strapping young man…

“Yeah, I am seeing someone. She’s really cool. She’s a writer…
Well, she works for this fashion designer and writes a blog…
Oh, you know, she writes about herself and sometimes bands and weird porn…
Yeah, porn…
No, she’s not in porn she just writes about it…
I don’t think you want to see it…
Okay, fine…
No, Mom, she isn’t talking about me. It’s not like I’m the only guy to ever munch her box…
No, I’m not saying she’s a slut I’m saying she…
No, she’s not a prostitute ! I told you she’s a writer…
It’s not smut, she’s just being funny…
Yeah, she’s really funny…
No, not funny looking !
Okay, maybe but only because she makes that damned face…
But I really love cooking for her…
No, she doesn’t cook…
She’s not retarded ! She’s smart…
No, she went to acting school…
I just said she WASN’T retarded !”

Jesus.
I’m kind of an alcoholic who dropped out of real college, watches Seinfeld XXX parodies for “research” and spends half her day over analyzing her e-presence (surely, a new age symptom of megalomania).
I’m going to come off like a pompous porca di puttanesco !!!

Dio aiutarmi…

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