Archive | July, 2012

The Boston Years Part 1

31 Jul

My first year in Boston was pretty wild.  I was living outside of the Midwest for the first time and was eager to meet the smart, interesting, well-dressed men of the East Coast.  What I wasn’t prepared for was the amount of “bros” there are in Boston.  Bros who wear baggy pants, sports jerseys, and spiked Backstreet Boy hair.  Who use the words “wicked” and “fag” in every other sentence and often have accents so thick they’re unintelligible.  Not everyone in Boston is a gigantic tool, however, and I did happen upon a small handful of nice guys.  During my first year and a half there, I went through a period where I experimented with a few one-night stands.  Here is my little dedication to the wild years of my early 20s.  (Note: These stories do not involve any of the aforementioned “nice guys.”)

On weekends, I used to frequent a bar called The Last Drop with another girl from my program.  The crowd usually consisted of mostly bros, but one night I met a guy who looked remarkably like a young John Stamos.  He was there with his friend, who let’s just say did not look like a young John Stamos.  We spent the evening chatting and exchanged numbers.  The next day, I remembered that I had met a cute guy and gotten his number but I couldn’t remember his name or what he did.  A few weeks later, I was back at The Last Drop with a couple thespians from my school, and the same guy was there again!  I’m pretty sure I called him “John” the entire time I knew him because of his likeness to Stamos… and he never told me what his name really was.  Naturally, I went home with him that night in a bit of a drunken stupor.  The next morning I woke up in a queen-sized bed surrounded by shelves and shelves of books.  I looked to my left, and John was laying next to me.  I looked to my right and my gay classmate was asleep on my other side.  Hmmmm.  I got up and went into a huge modern kitchen for a glass of water before returning to John’s bed to sort out the events of the previous evening.  John and I had hooked up (I definitely remembered that) while my classmate had watched cartoons in the other room with his roommate.  (He told me later he had accompanied me back to John’s house so I wouldn’t get murdered.)  He eventually crawled into bed with us while we were sleeping because he didn’t want to sleep on the couch.  I marveled at John’s leather-bound collection of the complete works of William Shakespeare, and he told me he was a Shakespeare professor at Harvard.  Excuse me?  I excitedly told him about how I was studying theatre and currently working on a monologue from “Pericles”, but he didn’t really seem that interested.  My friend and I took a cab back to school to work on some music together.  I’m sure I ran into John a few more times after that, we may have even hooked up again… but eventually I stopped hearing from him.

There was a bartender named “Chris” who worked at The Last Drop (where I had met John).  He was really cute, spoke fluent Spanish and Portuguese, played guitar in a band, and flirted with all the girls at the bar.  Chris was always working when I stopped by, and eventually he started giving me free drinks and inviting me to hang out at the bar after they closed.  One night, after a few Jager Bombs, he invited me back to his apartment.  This time I didn’t have a body guard with me.  It was the first time I had gone to a strange guy’s apartment alone, but after a brief drunken assessment of the situation, I deemed it safe.  Once there, Chris wasted no time in dropping trou and throwing me on the bed.  His excitement was a nice change from the awkward relations that had transpired with John a couple months prior.  I guess Chris got a little too excited, however, because all of a sudden there was blood dripping down his face and chest.  He flailed around the room and grabbed a discarded t-shirt, holding it to his nose and tipping his head back.  I sat there, naked, not knowing what to do or say, so I giggled and said “Hey, at least it didn’t get on your sheets…That’d be real bitch to get out!”  He told me to leave.  He was obviously horrified and I felt for him… but come on, getting a bloody nose during coitus is funny.  That weekend, I found a new dive bar to go to and never went back to The Last Drop again.  I hear it closed.

Big Gay Pelican

22 Jul

Last week, a flamboyant pelican with science goggles, a lab coat, and an impressive beak messaged me.

PELICAN:  Greetings!  I volunteer with a children’s theater group.  I’d love to share art and stories with you sometime.  Message me back if you want!

ME:  Nice goggles… I was once a thespian.  How was your weekend?

PELICAN:  My weekend was amazing.  I did yoga yesterday that left me feeling like a changed man; seriously, I was afterglow-ing for hours, it was devastating.  How about you?  Anything on your mind lately?

ME:  Oh my… My weekend was good.  Went to the pool today, going to a wild game restaurant later with my mom’s ex-boyfriend from high school.  How about you?

PELICAN:  Wish I could say my Thursday was as interesting as meeting MY parent’s former lovers, but unfortunately these are my busiest days at work.  I managed to find time to make myself some nice banana bread tonight, so I guess that’s something.  Let me know when you can meet up!

ME:  Banana bread rules.  I made scallops with herb butter sauce tonight, and earl grey lemon bars for dessert.  I have time this week if you’d like to meet.

PELICAN:  Your scallops meal sounds intoxicatingly delicious.  My goodness me!  I hope that you can tell me more about those lemon bars, and maybe even share the recipe with me.  I am pretty doggone busy this week, but I’d love to meet up maybe Saturday sometime?

PELICAN:  Sorry I didn’t get back to you, so much has been happening!  And (full disclosure) it looks like things are surprisingly starting to get a wee bit serious between me and a lady, so this is probably a poor time for me to be meeting new people, even if those people seem awesome and make delicious-sounding delicacies and then describe them to me lavishly.  Anyway, I know this is a strange message, but I figure an honest update is better than the standard ignore, so there you have it.  Best wishes.

First of all, hats off to you for letting me know that you are getting a “wee bit serious” with a “lady”… but I can’t help but wonder who the lady in the relationship really is.  “After-glowing for hours, it was devastating!”??  Not even that obnoxious, sex-pot character from “Sex and the City” would say that.  I will try not to shed a tear as I come to terms with the fact that we will never share the afterglow of a yoga class or a recipe for lemon bars… but I already have a lot of girlfriends.  May things work out with you and your lady and may you scoop many fish into your lengthy beak to share with her during an “intoxicatingly delicious” picnic on the beach.  Godspeed, gay pelican, godspeed.

My Compatibility Quiz

22 Jul

As I’ve previously discussed, OKCupid uses hundreds of multiple choice questions to determine user match percentages.  Allegedly the questions were written by users on the website- not the administrators.  Many of these questions are basically asking the same thing in a variety of different ways.  In order to see how other users answer each question, I have to answer them myself, which is a real pain in the ass.   So lately I’ve been handcrafting some questions of my own.  I feel they really get down to business rather than pussy-footing around the subject of compatibility.  And yes, I just used the phrase “pussy-footing around.”  Go ahead, check ‘em out:

________________

1.  Have you ever eaten a Pupperoni?

a.  Yes, and I enjoyed myself.

b.  No, and I would never.

c.  No, but I would like to.

d.  Yes, and I did not enjoy myself.

_______________

2.  How many times have you tried to get into your apartment using your Metrocard?

a.  Never, that’s stupid.

b.  1-5 times.  Whoopsie.

c.  5-20 times.  I occasionally shoot Jager.

d.  20-100 times.  I rarely know what’s going on.

________________

3.  If a genie granted you 3 wishes, what would you wish for?

a.  A trillion dollars.

b.  World peace.

c.  More genies.

d.  Nude genies.

________________

4.  Forget ______, let’s ______.

a.  Going to bars;  Balance our checkbooks together.

b.  TV; Read the bible.

c.  Talking; Bone.

d.  Procreation; Adopt multiple children from Africa.

_______________

5.  What do you say when someone tells you they love you?

a.  I love you, too.

b. Thanks!

c.  LOL.

d.  Girl I know, I know.

_______________

6.  When you lose weight where does it go?

a.  Into your muscles.

b.  Into thin air.

c.  Out of your ass.

d.  To someone deemed “naughty” by Santa.

_______________

7.  What is the scariest thing a woman can do?

a.  Talk about commitment.

b.  Take her clothes off.

c.  Not take her clothes off.

d.  Break wind.

_______________

8.  Do you own any petrified wood?

a.  What’s that?

b.  Yes!  From combing the beach with Uncle Russell as a kid.

c.  No, that’s weird.

d.  Sometimes, when I watch scary porn.

_______________

9.  Out of these options, which is your favorite U.S. President?

a.  Taft.

b.  Clinton.

c.  Polk.

d.  Nixon.

_______________

10.  Which of these options sounds like the best first date?

a.  Getting liquified then getting matching tattoos.

b.  Going on a bike ride then learning Braille together.

c.  Reading The Economist out loud to each other whilst giving back rubs.

d.  A Mexican fiesta and a game of Uno.

________________

If you answered A, B, D, C, D, D, C, D, B, D… We are compatible!  Now accepting applications, inquire within.

I’m going to submit these questions to OKCupid, because if they don’t relay what kind of person you are, I don’t know what will.  I will be aiding in thousands of lost souls finding their mate.  It reminds me of my former roommate who worked at a DSW.  Her job title was “Mismatch Specialist” which meant she went on scavenger hunts searching for lost shoe mates all day long.   I had no idea jobs like this existed… but if there are Mismatch Specialists for shoes, why not have Mismatch Specialists for people?

One Boy, One Dragon…

17 Jul

The summer after I graduated from college, I returned home to Wisconsin for a few months before moving to Boston in the fall for graduate school.  I knew I needed to get a summer job, but had never had one before (wince), and my only experience was in theatre.  It wasn’t long before I found the perfect solution to my problem.  A new restaurant had just opened where all of the waiters were singers who performed onstage between their serving duties.  I called them up and scheduled an audition for that afternoon.  The restaurant was empty when I got there (they were only open for dinner) and I ended up singing for the owner and his head waiter.  I was hired the next day and started soon after.  My serving skills left a little something to be desired, but I usually won over the cranky old ladies with my Gershwin, Sondheim, and Schwartz repertoire.  The head waiter, “Aaron”, constantly complimented my singing.  He was more of a Kander and Ebb/Jason Robert Brown guy.   To this day, whenever Aaron is brought up around my mom, she exclaims “Yes, but he had a lovely voice!”

A brief synopsis of Aaron:  He was eight years my senior.   He was a big blonde musical theatre lover.  He owned a multitude of fleece outerwear.  His apartment smelled like the inside of an envelope.  He bought bags of frozen burger patties in bulk and kept them piled in his freezer next to his bottles of vodka.  His favorite movie was the one where that dude plays a piano on a ship.  His favorite musical was “JCS”, an abbreviation that confused me at first… but for those who didn’t attend the University of Jazz Hands, it stands for “Jesus Christ Superstar.”  He was ready for a full-blown relationship and I was still in party-mode from my senior year of college.

At the time, I would never admit that we were dating, but everyone else knew that’s exactly what was going on.  I mean, we were together most of the time and I seem to recall making out in the broom closet at work.  We also frequently carpooled to and from the restaurant, as he lived in my neighborhood.  I would always bring a book to read during down time at work.  One day, Aaron told me that he really liked the fact that I was a reader, and that he was going to start bringing a book, too.  The next day he showed up with a large meal deal from Wendy’s and a book that said “One Boy, One Dragon, Infinite Possibilities” on the cover.  I’ll never know if it was an “Eragon” spin-off or mystical erotica.

Here’s the part of the story I have denied for years and have only recently come to terms with:  Apparently, Aaron had some issue with his lease and had to move out of his apartment………… And into my mom’s basement.  (“Yes, but he had a lovely voice!”).   Now here’s where it gets good.  We began arguing pretty frequently, like you do when the person squatting in your mom’s basement wants a serious relationship with you.  Come on, I was 21 years old and freaking out about moving to the East Coast and starting grad school.  Not to mention getting funky on an air mattress didn’t sound very appealing to me.  Many of our arguments would take place in my car, while I was driving.  He could be very dramatic, and threatened on several occasions to leap out of my moving vehicle.  One day, we had picked up a large pizza and were en route to my friend’s house to watch a movie with her and her lover.  On the way there, Aaron announced that he loved me, and elaborated as to why he was the perfect man for me.  I’m sure I responded with something less than amenable… and the next thing I knew the passenger-side door flew open.  Aaron flung the pizza out of my moving car like a frisbee, then hurled himself out after it.  Looking in my rearview mirror, I saw the pizza box skidding down the street and Aaron’s body rolling after it like a bag of bricks.  I quickly made a U-turn to go see if he was OK because I had been going around 30mph, but he had run off into the night.  I also eyed the road for the pizza (I was really looking forward to that pie) but it was no where to be found.  I imagined he had run off with it and was now eating it, angry, bruised and bloodied in someone’s treehouse.  Later on, I found out that he had called my younger sister to come pick him up and bring him back to my mom’s basement.  The next day, Aaron showed up for work with bandages covering his knees and elbows.  Things were not the same after that, and I left for grad school a few weeks later.

I will say for Aaron that he is one of the most genuine people, and he has given me some of the best compliments I have ever received.  He is also the one who saved the day after I had an emotional meltdown at the grocery store that summer and lost my car keys somewhere in the produce section.  He picked me up from the store, calmed me down, and went back the next morning– eventually locating my keys buried under some tomatoes.

Speaking of tomatoes, I often wonder what became of that pizza… Oh well, no pizza could ever amount to the joy that recounting the story of the man who leapt from my moving vehicle has brought me over the years.

One Summer, One Thespian, Infinite Possibilities.

Mr. Right

16 Jul

I was supposed to go on a date tonight, but canceled after he couldn’t even make it through the scheduling phase without exhibiting the fact that he is psychotic.  This guy’s profile pictures were very odd, so I thought he might be entertaining at the very least.  His first picture was of him, shirtless and stoned, holding a big glass pipe.  His second picture was him, shirtless again, wearing boxing gloves and showing off his Sisqo “Unleash the Dragon” tattoo.  The next picture was him modeling some man-flares on a mountain top, and the last picture was apparently taken in 2007 and featured him with a large amount of eyeliner, lipstick, and spiky, bright red hair.  The majority of his profile revolved around how he’s smarter than everyone because he was a bioengineering major, and his “About Me” section said:  “Let me answer your questions for you before you ask them:  Yes, I’m really 6’2”.  No, nothing I say is serious.  No, I didn’t read your profile….Please don’t be stupid or crazy….I’ll only go out on Tuesday nights, because my Saturdays are reserved for people I actually like.”

Last night I got a text that just said “Hey stranger.”  I wrote back “Who is this?” and he responded with “Mr. Right.  Let’s meet tomorrow at 9pm.  47th and 6th.”  This is the conversation that followed:

ME:  Lower Manhattan would be better for me.  What did you have in mind?

HIM:  Let’s get drinks, what else would we do ride unicorns? LOL

ME:  It’d be awesome if you’d consider venturing downtown a bit… but if not, I can go to Midtown- just tell me a place.

HIM:  I already told you 47th and 6th.  And what’s with girls asking me what are we gonna do as if they’ve never gone out with a guy for drinks before.  It’s like, you already know the answer, no need to ask.

ME:  I hope you can explain the way things work to me further when we meet.  Give me a bar location.  I don’t meet on street corners.

HIM:  I never understood that.  What’s so bad about a corner?  Every so often I meet a girl who has a thing against waiting at the corner and they’re always so serious about it.

ME:  Because waiting on a corner is silly when you can just go to the destination right off the bat.  Why do like meeting on corners?

HIM:  In case I need to escape.  I had to do that last Friday…

ME:  Wow, this is turning into a lot of trouble.

HIM:  Are you sure the trouble isn’t stemming from you questioning everything I say and then me having to explain it to you?  Also I hope you realize you’ve asked me what we’re gonna do 3 times now.  What kind of drug are you on? LOL

ME:  There is a difference between joking around/not taking anything seriously and being totally abrasive.  I’m not going up to Midtown just to wait for someone on a street corner so he can size me up before deciding if he wants to stand me up or not.

DELETE.

Well, that’s the last time I give someone my phone number based solely on the fact that they have a Sisqo tattoo.

Rules & Regulations

13 Jul

If you asked me a year ago about the “type” of guy I am into, I would’ve probably responded with “Tall, and dark-haired.”  That hasn’t changed, but, thanks to my newfound experience in blind dating, I have developed a clearer picture of what I look for in a man.  I can’t lie– I love dudes.  Guys who like sports, eat meat, drink beer, and dress well enough… but not TOO well.  Men that wear designer clothing and are into fashion are a turn off.  Men who do yoga, stuff their junk into spandex pants, do cleanses, and watch their figure are a turn off.  Intelligent men who are funny, can take a joke, know the difference between “your” and “you’re, and are good at writing are a turn on.

Back in December, I laid down some ground rules for men on OKCupid:

1.  Must be over 5’11.  (This rules out about 95% of the website and maybe 75% of Manhattan.  The odds are not in my favor.)  ***I have since upped this requirement to 6 feet***

2.  Must be over 26, and under 40.  ***This is now 26-36***

3.  Must not use “OMG” “LOL” “Kewl” or “Laters.”  (This really should apply to everyone in life, but it’s much more offensive coming from a straight adult male.)

4.  No white pants, man flares, Steve Madden dress shoes, or eyeliner. (Graphic tees are not preferred but can be allowed on a case-to-case basis.) ***Add to this- no shoes with toe slots, Jncos, outdoorsman gloves, jazz shoes, rosary beads, spandex, or any pants tighter than mine.***

5.  Do not ask me to Skype with you.  (For some reason meeting someone for the first time in person is way less creepy than meeting them on a computer screen while you’re sitting alone in your room drinking a Mango Madness Snapple next to your dirty underwear.)

6.  Absolutely no ice chewers.  (You could be the most amazing person on the planet, but the second you pop that cube in your mouth, it’s over between us.)

7.  Must have lips.  (I am not physically attracted to terriers.)

 

When I made these rules for my potential dates, I forgot to make some rules for myself as well.  Here are my new rules:

1.  Use caution when giving my name out to strangers from the internet.  My first name is unique and it’s extremely easy to google me and find out all of my secrets!  My middle name, on the other hand, is one of the most common female names ever… so maybe I should start using that for anonymity…

2.  DO NOT under any circumstances tell guys from OKCupid about my blog, even if we hit it off.

3.  DO NOT go over to anyone’s place the first night I meet them.  I am a lady.

4.  DO NOT sample anyone’s wares on the first, second, OR third date.  As my Grandma says “There is nothing wrong with a roll in the hay… as long as they know that’s all it is.”

5.  If I hang out with someone multiple times and perhaps even start to like him a little,  DO NOT ask him about the other girls he is going out with from OKCupid.  At the time, it always seems like a good idea… It’s not.

6.  Must wear pants on dates.  Or skirts, dresses, etc.  No long t-shirts paired with only undies and a harness boot.  That happened.

 

Two weeks ago, I disabled my account on OKCupid and took a break from dating.  Time to get back on the horse!

This One’s For You, Jimmy

6 Jul

In early April, I went on a blind date with a Russian who had a very peculiar name.  He told me if I ever wrote a blog post about him to call him “Jimmy”.  So, this one’s for you, “Jimmy”.

We met at a wine bar somewhere in the West Village.  I didn’t recognize him at first because his profile pictures were old and looked nothing like him.  He was thinner in person, with lighter hair, a clean-cut professional look, and a Hello Kitty phone case.  During the first thirty minutes of our date, I mistook his Russian deadpan for extreme social awkwardness… to the point that I started brainstorming excuses for why I had to flee.  One of the first things he said to me was “I didn’t think you would message me back.  You must get dozens of messages a day.”  After another glass of wine, we decided to change venues.  He suggested another bar to check out, which ended up being packed, so we hopped around to multiple places before settling on a dark, cavernous spot.  A beer or two later, I figured out that nothing that came out of his mouth was serious.  His dry, Russian humor had been off-putting at first, but once I got used to it, he was cute… and funny.  I don’t know if I would have found the things he said half as funny without the accent, however.  We left the bar and stopped at a record store on Bleecker Street.  I bought a Liza Minnelli record for a dollar and took a picture of him holding a Barry Manilow album (which he uploaded to his OKCupid profile after I told him he would get way more babes with that picture).

I’m going to be honest with you.  I broke the number one rule of blind dating and went back to his place with him on the first date.  In my defense, it was basically across the street from the bar.  He had a small studio with a loft, a miniature kitchenette, and a “Keep Calm and Carry On” poster.  I asked him about the medals hanging on the wall and he said (you have to read all of his quotes with a Russian accent) “I run the race.  That is how you keep in shape.  That is why my body is in such great form.”  Once I was there, I realized what a Russian Lothario I had on my hands.  I had never gone back to anyone’s apartment with them on the first date before, but he was a Slick Rick and it was obviously a normal occurrence for him.  He wasted no time putting the moves on me, but I saw where things were heading and freaked out before anything happened.  I told him I had to leave, grabbed my bag and ran out the door.  He ran out after me and his door shut behind him, locking him out of his apartment in only shorts, a t-shirt, and socks.  I wished him the best of luck and bolted- promising myself all the way back to Brooklyn that this would never happen again.  He ended up taking the subway barefoot to his office on Wall Street at 2am to get a spare set of keys.  I decided I wasn’t going to hang out with him again, then recanted a week later, after he helped me file an amendment to my tax return.

The second time we hung out, I was with my coworker and a couple of her friends.  One of them had multiple facial piercings, a braided beard, black Jncos, and he kept buying us drinks and offering to crack everyone’s back.  I said I didn’t need to drink anymore or I would be on the floor, to which Jimmy responded with “I liiike!”  Eventually the back-cracker sneaked up behind Jimmy and began giving him a sensual shoulder massage, his flowing facial hair dangling over his shoulder.  Jimmy leapt up and said it was time for us to leave immediately.  I laughed about how uncomfortable it made him for the rest of the night.  We stopped at a sports bar to catch the end of “the game,” and he confessed that he had been stalking me on social media websites all day.  He informed me that not all of my Facebook posts were private, and that he had found my Twitter, my Instagram, AND MY BLOG.  Disaster.  He had read every single post, and hoped I wasn’t going to write about him unless I changed his name to “Jimmy”.  I promised him that I always change everyone’s name, as well as any other major identifying factors.  He said in that case, he wanted me to write about him because he thought my blog was funny.  I told him he hadn’t given me any good material yet, so he suggested the fact that, at one point in his life, he had come “very close to wearing necklaces.”  Again, we went back to his place (hey, he lived a few blocks from my work!) where he offered me an assortment of fruit from his imaginary kitchen- “apple, orange, peers, or plahms.”  I told him he was crazy and he said “You are crazy person definition!  The only crazy thing about me is I have plahms.”  He made me a Manhattan, saying he didn’t need to drink anymore because “we already broke the ice.  I mean, you saw the goods.”  Oh, alright.

The next time or two we hung out was at the restaurant across the street from my store.  He gave me statistical updates as to the number of viewers on recent episodes of Hugh Laurie’s hit show “House” and I made up excuses as to why I couldn’t go back to his place with him.  My favorite excuse was that I hadn’t visited the waxer in awhile.  Later in the evening, he announced “You don’t have a boosh, I will show you a Google of a boosh.”  This remains one of the funniest things anyone has ever said to me and I kind of want it etched on my tombstone when I die.  We continued to hang out about once a week.  Each time, he would make comments to the effect of him being a player, how there were multiple girls he was seeing, and how he has met a ton of people from OKCupid (Jimmy has probably gone out with all of your blind dates, guys).  But then he would talk about reading my blog posts in his spare time and ask me personal questions about other dates I was going on.

After a couple months of corresponding regularly via text message, he suddenly stopped talking to me for over a week.  I emailed him asking if everything was ok.  He replied with “Yes, just being unresponsive I guess.”  He then proceeded to invite me to see “21 Jump Street” with him at 11pm that night.  It is very difficult to get me to set foot in a movie theatre, but I didn’t want to be rude… so I replied saying that was a little late for me and could we go to dinner instead.  He suggested Noodle Bar (one of my favorites) and told me to meet him there at 20:30.  Ok, sergeant.  We had dinner, went back to his place, he bought me a cab home, and I haven’t heard from him since.  I assume he’s still trolling the world wide web, stalking random girls from OKCupid, then feeding them “plahms” before dropping trou.

This was my longest “relationship” harvested from OKCupid.  The website was basically like “OK, here’s a Russian sex addict, hope you have an OK time with him for a few weeks before you both move on to other OK people who think you’re just OK!”

That reminds me of another Keep Calm and Carry On-esque inspirational poster that hung in my Sex Ed classroom in eighth grade.  My teacher was a lesbian who tied her hair back with duct tape and was married to a man.  A large portion of her class revolved around how to properly wash your hands.  The poster said “The Main Thing is to Keep the Main Thing the Main Thing.”  I have always remembered that poster and thought it was the best worst advice ever.  A few months ago, I tried to buy a copy of it for my apartment, but, after a little research, discovered it to be some Mormon ballyhoo.  Never mind.

 

Juicy Buns

4 Jul

I only went on one date last week because I was in hibernation mode.  We were meeting at some intellectual beer purveyor in Williamsburg that I walked past three times before finding it.  Why do guys always take me to beer snob locales?  I drink Miller High Life and PBR– I don’t know what a Withering Gosling IPA is.  The guy was tall, dark, and Alaskan.  He had really tiny, sharp teeth that looked like they could easily catch a trout straight from the stream.  Actually, they looked as if they could gnaw through my bike lock I’ve been having trouble opening…

We chatted outside, drinking beer I’d never heard of and, despite a ring of surrounding smokers, I could smell his clothing from across the table.  I know this may sound crazy, but if your favorite t-shirt has been sitting in your drawer for many moons, you should probably give it a wash before wearing it on a date.  I’ve never been known to dislike a hint of male body odor, but musty clothing is a turn-off.

We were only at the bar for one beer’s time before he suggested we go share some Chinese food.  He told me he was craving juicy pork buns.  Excuse me?  Yes, I had heard him correctly.  We got to the restaurant and he announced that he had recently become an uncle to a baby named Arrow, or Farrow, or Weasel, or something.  His family was really close, but he had moved to New York to write songs about the environment.  I think one of his songs was called “Ozone Calling”… or was it “Who’ll Stop the Aerosol?”  He bit into one of his pork buns and the juice squirted violently across the table, coming to rest on my arm.  I don’t blame the bun, because that’s probably how I would feel if I was getting punctured by those teeth (and “bun” is one of my all-time favorite words).  He insisted I try one, which also ejected it’s juices to and fro.

Covered in pork juice and Eau de Garage Sale, he gave me an Alaskan hug goodbye and I promptly returned home to my slumbers.  I don’t remember anything else about this guy because his pork buns were so memorable.  Now I know the worst food ever to order on a date.

The British Dude

1 Jul

When I was twenty years old, I was attending a private women’s college in the middle of Missouri.  I was cute and optimistic, drove a Lexus, had a fake ID, and was basically the type of college kid I would want to smack today.  My friends and I went to bars all the time and boys from the university would clumsily attempt to pick us up.  I never reciprocated their advances because I had been in a series of serious relationships for the past four or five years of my life (most of high school and all of college up to that point).

However, the first semester of my senior year, I had just gotten out of a year-and-a-half -long turbulent and detrimental relationship with a former classmate.  All of a sudden, I was single and all too ready to take full advantage of my newfound freedom.  One night early in the school year, my friends and I went to this sports bar that we had been known to frequent.  Next to our table was a raucous group of British guys, who, at the insistence of one of my friends, joined our group.  I began chatting with a young chap from London named Jack, who was doing a semester abroad.  I’m not even going to change his name because that is one of the only things I remember about him- it was seven years ago and I had undoubtedly imbibed multiple gin and tonics at this point in the evening.  I also remember him being extremely attractive, in addition to having a charming accent.  My friend suggested I bring him back to my apartment to hang out with us further (we all lived in the same building).  I had never picked up a guy in a bar before.  I didn’t know the protocol for this procedure, but I had definitely taken a liking to this rugby-shirted individual.  He ended up walking back to my apartment with me, where we discovered our shared love of The Streets (I really liked them in college, it’s true).  My curious friend joined the party for a bit… and then you can probably assume what happened next.

The next morning, we got up and he offered to buy me some tacos from Taco Bell on the way back to his dorm.  Best morning-after modus operandi still to this day.  For whatever reason, months earlier, I had stuffed two Cadbury eggs in a balloon and tied it to my rearview mirror so it looked like a scrotal sack (which is a really good word to use when playing Hangman, by the way).  I didn’t even think twice about my “balls” because I was so used to them hanging there, but Jack cupped them in his hand and asked “What’s this, Love?”  I wanted to roll him up and eat him like a burrito, he was so cute.

We enjoyed a chalupa-fueled final moment together, I dropped him off at his dorm, and never saw him again.  He’s probably married somewhere in Europe with gorgeous, blonde, rugby-playing babies.  I guess I really missed the boat on that one!