Ten Houston Dudes You've Probably Dated
Let's be perfectly honest here. Sometimes dating sucks. And you know what pushes it to the maximum level of suck? Dating one of these guys. These are the guys you've dated, perhaps seriously, perhaps casually -- let's hope for your sake casually -- who have, at points, pushed you to consider life of abstinence in a convent. They're those guys.
Here are the typical ten Houston dudes you've probably dated. Just take this as proof that it is indeed not you, it's them. And don't worry. We're not afraid to admit that we're writing this blog from experience. Lots and lots of experience.
Mr. Big Shot Oil Guy
It's Houston, y'all. The city is crawling with oil folks, from the outskirts of the city to the heart of downtown. And the thing is, so many of them are single. And they have exciting foreign accents! Ex-pats seem like a great idea, with their fancy oil gigs and their love of the pints and all. Everything goes well at first, and then you know what happens? He leaves you in search of his one true love -- black gold. Gone are the days of pints and thick brogue; he's off to intimidate polar bears and sea creatures into giving up the goods, while you're left with nothing but a newly acquired beer gut and some fish and chips as memories.
The Confused Houston Transplant
He's been transferred here from Minneapolis or some other obscure place to take over some obscure job at Dell in the Woodlands, and he just cannot -- can not -- figure out his footing. He doesn't know I-45 South from the Gulf Freeway, and the idea of which part of 610 is the North Loop is just way too confusing for words. He'd come pick you up for that sweet little dinner at the chain restaurant he suggested, but he can't seem to figure out the freeway exit, or the map on his iPhone. He just drives in circles on 610 ad infinitum, day after day.
The Die Hard Aggie Alum
Walking up to his door, you spot the first signs of a die hard Aggie fan -- the dreaded Gig 'Em welcome mat. Maybe it's a fluke, you think. Keep an open mind, you say. They're not all nuts, right? And then the door opens, and you're overwhelmed by the door chime -- the freakin' Aggie fight song -- and the color maroon temporarily blinds you while somehow managing to throw up all over your nice shoes. Maroon carpet, maroon curtains. There's Aggie paraphernalia as far as the eye can see, which isn't far, since everything maroon melds together. His maroon kicks take it over the top, and you politely scream, "I'm a Longhorns fan!" while running toward anyone who will save you from the madness.