Occasionally one runs into a woman who is very hot, super desirable, but high-maintenance as all hell.  I had this experience the other day.

Was out on a second date with a gal.  Pilates instructor.  Blonde.  Hot.  Perfect fit and toned body.  But that’s where her benefits ended.

We were ordering food at a walk-up Mexican restaurant, where they make the food in front of you.  I made sure she paid for her own meal, of course.  We talked for a bit while standing in line and everything was great.  But as she sat looking at the big menu on the wall, she had a virtual panic attack about calories, carbs, gluten, and all kinds of other things that might be in the food.

Then she grills the poor Mexican restaurant worker (who barely spoke English, much less was educated about the calorie content of pork) about the content of the food, how it’s prepared, and the different combinations she might or might not want, blah, blah, blah.

Even with the current weight-loss diet I’m on, it took me a grand total of about 10 seconds to place my entire order.  “Chicken fajita with no rice, no tortillas, extra beans, and extra guacamole.  Water to drink.”  But it must have taken her 10 minutes to order, asking questions, stressing out about the food, changing her mind constantly, and confusing the crap out of that poor restaurant worker.

Finally, she settles on an order.  Something she completely made up, something having to do with fish.  The guy starts to prepare our food and she watches him like he’s operating the control console to an arsenal of nuclear ICBMs.  He throws some fish down on the cooker, and chops it up into pieces.  So far so good.

But then he dumps a spoonful of some kind of white sauce on the fish.

Oooohhhh shit.  It was like watching Mt. Saint Helens.  You should have seen her scream.  She screams, and I mean screams, “No!  No!  Not that!” and lurches forward to him like he just murdered her cat.  He leaps back like a snake bit him in the leg.  I roll my eyes and check my watch.

After what seems like an eternity, we finally get our fucking food.  (She made him throw the fish away and ordered something completely different.  Of course.  I’m sure his Mexican family got a mouthful about silly blonde white people that night.)

So she’s a high-maintenance, anal-retentive bundle of nerves.  Okay, fine.  She’s still hot, so I’ll still have sex with her.  I just wont date her beyond a fuck buddy.  Soon, I sexually escalate.  I get resistance.  She tells me a little later that she went on a second date with another guy last week, and despite all her “best efforts”, “reluctantly” had sex with him, even though he was thoroughly unattractive to her.

How did he fuck her on the second date, you ask?  The typical way normal men who are lucky enough to get laid on the second date do it:  He had to drive four hours, one way, to meet her, spend five hours on the first date, then drive all the way back home, then drive all the way back out for date number two, spend six hours on the second date, spend piles of money on her both times, in order to get one quick, reluctant lay.

Grand total of 16 hours of travel time plus 11 hours of date time.  27 hours and at least $250 spent on food, drinks, and gas.  For one lay.  I shivered with terror as she described all of this to me.  (I think I like my under four hours from meet-to-lay system better.)

I recall her age.  She’s 32.  One year away from the dreaded age of 33, which is my max age cutoff or women. Yep, this is going to be a problem.  Once women cross into that dreaded, ASD-filled zone of their thirties, when they fuck a new guy, they will NOT fuck any other new guy until the first guy is completely deleted from her life.

She might fuck a guy she’s already fucked before, but second, new guy?  Nope.  They simply won’t do it.  It’s against their wiring.  If there are any other not-fucked-yet new guys she’s dating, she’ll keep them in platonic mode until she’s “figured out” what to do with New Guy Number One.  (If she was, say, 24 years old, this would be far less of a problem.)  Years ago before I figured this all out, I used to beat my head against the wall trying to fuck women age 30+ in this situation.  But no more.

Anyway, she goes on to complain about how needy he’s suddenly become and how he wants to get serious really fast and how he complains she’s not affectionate enough.  All normal.  It’s what men do nowadays.  It’s sad.

Regardless, I won’t be seeing Ms. Pilates again, unless she contacts me first and convinces me she’s banished New Guy Number One completely out of her life and will never speak to him again.  Odds of this happening: less than 10%.

So I washed my hands of her, left her on the sidewalk with a kind goodbye, and went and had sex with one of my other gals…who is 20 years old by the way…and checked my dating schedule for next week….three, possibly four guaranteed lays from my current women (one of which is brand new) plus two more second dates (i.e. likely lays) and one more first date.  Should be a good week.

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