Archive | April, 2012

The Royal We

30 Apr

Oh my god, I went on the best date the other night!  We’ve known each other for awhile now, but recently began to enjoy spending time alone together.  First, we had a couple glasses of wine at a French restaurant before going to see a Broadway show.  Afterwards, we went back to my place and made enchiladas and homemade guacamole.  The next day we went to yoga, did some light shopping, got tickets for an upcoming concert, made steaks and spent the evening lounging around watching Netflix.  It was an exceptional end to the week.  Oh by the way, the date was with myself.

I go through phases of not wanting to go out (particularly on blind dates) and am currently in one of those moods.  I would much rather mill around at home like a recluse- cooking, writing, and watching TV.  I had a date scheduled with someone from OKCupid on my last day off, but I cancelled because I couldn’t bring myself to go out into the cruel world.  Don’t worry, eventually I did force myself to put on something without an elastic waistband and meet some friends in Midtown.

When I was younger, I wanted to do everything with my friends or whoever I was dating at the time.  Now, I’m finding that I like spending time alone just as much.  I can do whatever I want, and I have no qualms about going to restaurants, plays, bars, movies, concerts, etc by myself.  I am my own best date.

A few days prior, I went on a date that was not quite as enjoyable.  I met a guy named “Steve” after work at a tavern in the Village.  He was 34 and in his second year teaching music at a high school in Brooklyn, after quitting his former financial job on Wall Street.  He was wearing a cowboy hat in all of his pictures online, yet stated that he was originally from New Jersey.  Hmmmm.  I wanted to meet him because, in addition to being intrigued by the cowboy getup, he seemed interesting and looked like Matthew Perry circa 1997.  When he arrived at the bar I felt like I had won the lottery.  Not only was he wearing a cowboy hat, but he also had on cowboy boots, a khaki linen sport coat, and a dress shirt unbuttoned down to his clavicle to reveal tufts of dirty blonde/grey chest hair.   He may have even been wearing a necklace…or maybe I subconsciously added that detail after the fact.  Additonally, he was tan, had a dart board nose, and a nice set of hitch hiker’s thumbs.

He had boasted in his profile that he was good at “making a woman feel beautiful,” as well as a certain sexual act that has an ugly, latin-derived name.  I had agreed to meet him before thoroughly reading through his profile and when I saw he had written that, I wanted to cancel.  That is something I don’t think you should announce to complete strangers…not to mention it’s tacky and if you were actually good in bed, you wouldn’t need to advertise it…not to mention you teach high schoolers, it’s a free dating website and kids these days are really good at googling.

Two gin and tonics deep, Steve was already planning vacations we should take together to Seattle, Portland, and Hawaii.  Somehow we got on the topic of what I look for in a guy and he informed me that he was the perfect man for me.  He asked me if he had mentioned how pretty I looked that evening.  And then he asked me again twenty minutes later.  The drunker he got, the more times he asked me that same exact question phrased the exact same way.  I wondered if he was actually a robot in the guise of a cowboy and he needed to be rebooted.  The third time he asked me I responded with “Haha, as opposed to all the other nights we’ve known each other?”  The fifth time he asked me I responded with “Why yes, I think you did mention it.”  I know, I’m a jerk… but I figured it was the one line that was programmed into his hard drive and he felt it earned him the right to declare his skill at “making a woman feel beautiful.”  Steve also shared a lengthy tale of the great romance between his grandparents and how even World War II couldn’t keep them apart.  It was a cute story, but sounded familiar…in fact, I think it was taken from the screenplay for the film “Pearl Harbor.”  I’m sure that story is usually a real deal-sealer for him with the ladies.

Unfortunately, we were both taking the L train back to Brooklyn.  By this point, he was pretty hammered and was loudly slurring some nonsense about how everyone on the train knew each other because they were all wearing bowler hats.  He put a hand on my leg and managed to articulate: “I guess now is a good time to tell you that I just got out of a six year relationship.  But I knew it was over for the past four years.”  As my mom would say, “Oh goody.”

We parted ways at the Lorimer stop after an awkward hug and another pause for a kiss goodbye that would never be.  I’ve had several of those at the Lorimer stop.  I wish someone could hide at the top of the stairs leading down to the G train and snap photos of all of the awkward goodbyes I have with different people in the exact same spot.  I returned home to a message from Steve that read “You’re pretty hot.  I’d love to see you again.”

In conclusion, I generally have way more fun when I go on dates with myself.  If I have too many gin and tonics, I drop myself off at home and am spared any awkward scenarios.  Although some people may consider sitting at home alone, eating flan and watching five consecutive episodes of “Rosanne” pretty awkward.  Which is fair.

Watch Your Step!

15 Apr

I have been known to give my phone number out too easily to strangers.  Sometimes I get texts from people and I have no idea who they are or when/why I gave them my number in the first place.  A couple weeks ago, a persistent fellow named “Nate” began barraging me with text messages.  I also have been known to be a frequent sender of text messages (to put it mildly) so I made a mental note to cool it, because sending someone a million texts is not cute.  Nate was texting me about when we could go out, what he was doing at work that day, what I was doing at work that day, how excited he was to meet me, etc.  He needed to join Emoticon Abusers Anonymous.  I’m not saying that I have never done it, but for some reason a straight guy sending me dozens of smiley winking faces turns me right off!  I eventually agreed to meet him for drinks after work one day and his response was “See u then!!  I’ll be the 300lb black man sitting at the bar ;-).”  Uh oh.

The first bar we went to was a hip dive in the East Village that I had been to once before.  It was pretty warm inside and when I arrived, Nate was downing a Brooklyn Lager and sweating profusely.  I’d like to take this opportunity to note that the 300lb black man bit had been his attempt at a joke.  He was cute albeit on the chubby side, and had squeezed himself into a pair of skinny jeans (which he kept tugging up his shanks) paired with a hearty helping of chest hair and a pointy-toed cowboy boot.  To be fair, I was looking a little homeless that night.  I had been running late for work that morning because I set off the smoke alarm whilst frying eggs in the nude, and when I ran out the door, I had grabbed a men’s flannel and a pair of boots that the soles were falling off of.  Anyway, upon sitting down, Nate immediately handed me a shot of Jameson and all my reservations went out the window.  Maybe OkCupid WAS right about our 93% match potential!

After a round of beers, he suggested we head to the hookah bar across the street.  I had been wanting to go to a hookah bar since I moved to NY (I used to frequent them as a youth in the midwest), so I was stoked.  I forget what the place was called, but it was dark and intimate, with candles placed in holes in the walls.  We split a gigantic pitcher of sangria and a hookah, and I taught him how to blow smoke rings.  For the next hour, he ruminated about how he believes death is a beautiful thing.  He shared with me that a member of his family had recently passed away in India, and all of the men in the family had traveled there to pay tribute.  He spoke about how Indian traditions surrounding the death of a loved one allowed him to properly go through the cycle of grieving.  After that, he told me about a fatal car crash that he recently witnessed outside his apartment, and then about how he used to work for a suicide hotline, where he received a large quantity of sexually-themed prank calls.  He said it must be more dangerous for women on OkCupid to go out with strangers, because you never know when one of them is going to kidnap and kill you.  Once the death chat had concluded, he told me that he really liked me and invited me to accompany him to a shooting range a few days later.  I had enjoyed our evening together, but was pretty certain that I was not interested in handling firearms with this guy.

Leaving the hookah place, we both walked toward the L train en route to Brooklyn.  Nate had apparently enjoyed a little too much sangria because he caught one of his pointy-toed cowboy boots on a pothole outside the train station and went flailing into the middle of the street.  Walking through the tunnels underground, we were chatting when all of a sudden I noticed he was gone.  I looked back and he had tripped again and fallen (fully on the ground this time) and was splayed out like a potato pancake.  He got up, adjusted his stretch-pants and stammered “How embarrassing…”  To assuage the awkward situation, I joked about how someone had cut out and played Pin the Tail on the Donkey with the goatees on the movie poster for “Think Like a Man.”  When we arrived at the Lorimer stop, he blatantly popped a mint for the make-out session that would never be.  We hugged goodbye and he held me for a tad longer than was appreciated.  I bee-lined it to the G train, finally able to have a brief giggle over Nate’s substantial spills.

Although he doesn’t fear death, Nate should still keep an eye out for those pesky uneven surfaces.  Or at least wait until he’s not on a blind date to take his pointy-toed shoes out for a spin.

One Night in Brooklyn

13 Apr

I spent last Friday sharing the joys of Williamsburg with a friend prior to embarking on a blind date at a nearby bar.  The gentleman I was meeting worked in advertising, played kickball in his spare time, and previously lived in Massachusetts.  The fact that we had both attended school in Boston was his initial conversation starter.  Upon arriving at the bar, “Bill” sauntered through the door and abruptly gestured at me like he was lining up a billiards shot.  This was only the first of an assortment of abrupt and off-putting gestures.  He looked a lot like a cartoon wolf and had “quarter-slot nostrils” as my friend calls them…meaning you could insert coins and take a gentle ride on him outside your local supermarket.  He sat down next to me, straddling the barstool with his legs spread a little too wide apart, and with his head tipped way back.  I had a feeling this was not going to go well.  After a beer (and a terribly boring conversation about hummus) he assessed the progression of the date aloud, saying he thought it would be “cool” for us to have another beer together.  I guess my hummus discourse passed the test.  He went on to compare himself to various characters in “Mad Men” and kept laughing really hard at his own jokes.  He wondered if I had ever climbed a mountain (uhhhh) and boasted that he had three mountains under his belt.  After the second beer, he invited me to go to his friend’s apartment with him.  I gave us both an easy out by telling him I was going to stay at the bar and eat dinner.  I’ve found this strategy to work almost every time…whenever someone is ready to leave and I don’t want to go with them, I declare it time to stay at the bar and eat a sandwich.

After Bill left, I proceeded to get hit on by two 40-something tax auditors who had been eyeing me for the past hour.  One of them was getting all hot and bothered because he thought the bartender had given him attitude and the other kept rolling his eyes at his friend.  The quieter one told me he was out looking for “love” that night, but that I was too close in age to his daughter.  The macho man revealed that he was on match.com after I shared with them that I had been on a blind date.  He said his biggest complaint about online dating was that all of the women on the site lied about their body types and only had pictures from the shoulders up…so when he met them in person he was dissatisfied with the whole package.  I told him that my pictures on OkCupid were only of my face and both auditors said that was ok because they liked what they saw.  Well, thank god.  I quickly paid my tab and left after the obnoxious one asked me to take my sweater off so he could check out “the goods.”

On my way home, I stopped at another bar where some friends were hanging out.  As I was enjoying my beverage of choice, I suddenly felt a tiny paw groping the small of my back.  I turned around to find a pocket-sized individual with a big hat, but no pot of gold.  He saddled up next to me at the bar, bought me a drink, and began an in-depth dissertation on punk bands…occasionally extending a petite limb to touch my thigh or back.  When he tried to wiggle his way onto my barstool, I decided I had had enough excitement for one night, and made the long, cold trek home.

Better luck next time, girl!