$30K Millionaires

$30K Millionaires

Great article! ("Douchebags in the Mist," by Andrea Grimes, December 5.) I totally read it on my iPhone while cruising in my BMW 3 series (top down, of course) listening to "Ants Marching" by Dave Matthews.

It's about sleeping with hot chicks. You play the role you have to play. Otherwise you end up going home with a frumpy writer.

Andrea, you are my hero. As a graduate of the journalism department of UT and someone whose brother drags him to these kinds of hangouts, I loved the piece!

The only reason I faux-hawk my thinning hair and put on my party shirt (one side tucked in because I'm all business, one side hanging out because I like to party) is so I can creep out on skanks at Republic or Tribeca. Or if it's late at night and I haven't allowed any beotches near me while I'm hanging out by the bar (I mean, they can come talk to me, right? Why should I walk across the bar and talk to THEM? I'm in finance, after all), I might pick up a drunk SMU girl at the Loon.

In all seriousness, great f'n article! I'm ashamed to admit that some of it hits close to home.

You missed one of the true watering holes of the $30K millionaire: The Grapevine, strangely enough. In fact, I am banned from the Grapevine at this moment because of one of these douchebags. After listening to him and his brain-dead wingman yip it up about looking for high school girls, I called him on his cool tips and Versace-styled shirt and questioned the sexuality of anyone dressed thusly. Long story short—he made a reference to my weight, I bitch-faced him and now I can no longer frequent the best bar in Dallas. It was almost worth it.

Andrea, I just wanted to tell you I loved the article. I was in Dallas this summer and nearly suffocated from these d-bags.

Are these the same people who, when finally settling down they move up to Frisco to mortgage themselves to the hilt with their McMansions and SUVs, playing a life or death game of "keep up with the Joneses"?

Absolutely, positively fucking BRILLIANT. But instead of the baby-doll T, I envisioned you in khaki fatigues a la the Crocodile Hunter. Scathing and funny as hell. Thank you for brightening my day, young lady...

It should also be noted that the Homo sapien douchebagus and Homo sapien gold-diggus have a symbiotic existence. Without the support of Homo sapien gold-diggus, the Homo sapien douchebagus could not exist. What am I saying? All the idiot chicks who give these guys "what they want" are increasing the Homo sapien douchebagus population both literally and figuratively by promoting this delusional behavior. The girls want to live the fantasy, so go ahead and keep lying to them, and when the day comes that they realize that not every man wants them anymore it's going to be a very harsh realization to overcome. G'Luck with that!

That was pretty much the most brilliant thing I've read in a while. Way to expose the douchebags of Dallas!

I see a pattern. Girl on Top tries to get invited to a high school party, but no one tells her where one is. Girl on Top goes to Ghost Bar, but no one buys her a drink. Girl on Top goes hunting for $30,000 millionaires and nobody tries to pick her up. I can't help but think that this week's cover story is a bona fide case of the pot calling the kettle a douchebag.

I'm surprised that the Dallas Observer couldn't find a more substantive issue to put on its cover than 20-somethings in nightclubs trying to appear as if they have money or come from money. They may be trendy, wannabes, bullshitters or all the above, but your article doesn't offer or suggest what's the down side of being a $30K millionaire.

Since you brought it up and your article did make the cover, in the interest of fair and balanced reporting there is another side to this coin in this dating/mating game. The $30K millionaire has a female counterpart that I don't quite understand. As a recently single guy in my early 30s, I have visited a few of the clubs you mentioned in your article. I wouldn't consider myself a $30K millionaire, because I only exhibit one quality as outlined in your anatomy of a "douchebagus," that being highlighted hair. Don't wear popped collars. I drive a 6-year-old Jeep Wrangler. Don't smoke, rarely drink. Not brand-conscious, unless $19.95 Old Navy jeans count.

I don't frequent "ultra-lounges" exclusively; I also visit bars/clubs on Lower Greenville and more casual places. And I've noticed a phenomenon when it comes to asking for a woman's phone number after you've shared a dance/drink and some conversation. They will almost always give you their phone number when asked, but when you call the next day or a few days later, they almost never answer and when you leave a message they almost never return the call. I've even had two women offer me their number before I asked. And the same thing. No answer. What's up with that?