Archive | November, 2012

A Gnome Ignominy

30 Nov

If you message me something ridiculous on OKCupid while I’m in a jazzy mood, you are going to get messed with.  Gutrak, my immigrant alter-ego from Magic Moments came back out to play with three select suitors the other day.  The fact that these people still try to go out with me after I say crazy things to them never ceases to amaze me.  Number three is my favorite and if he didn’t resemble a miniature alien fetus, I would totally meet him.   Here are the conversations that transpired:

PabsMajong:  Hello!  I want to go on adventures with you.  We can dress up in cool costumes.  When was the last time you wore a cool costume?

Me:  Well in my down time I like to dress up in bear suit in the winter months… and when the weather is warm I get hot so I switch to the mermaid costume.  Omg just thought about boomerangs!  LOVE THEM.

PabsMajong:  You in a bear suit sounds super cuddly!!!  And super sexy in a mermaid outfit.  Do you go to the mermaid parade at Coney Island???  Where are you from?  And do you own any boomerangs?

Me:  I have only whale tooth boomerangs.  I do not know of this parade!  But they tell me at my internship that the Coney Island washed away into the ocean :(

PabsMajong:  Wow, a whale bone boomerang sounds super cool ;)  You heard Coney Island washed away???  I don’t think that’s true…   So what do you do for fun when you’re dressed as a bear or mermaid?  You’re into cosplay?

Me:  Well I do like to pretend I am in the forest grrr-ing at the eagles and wood hens.  Or that I am inside the sea with mer-men and sea horses making fantastical arts from the seaweeds.  You?!

PabsMajong:  I’ve never done any cosplay, but I can definitely get into it because of my imagination, maybe you can be my ambassador to that world?  Where are you by the way?

Me:  I am everywhere, like the wind.

PabsMajong:  Haha so how is the internship going?

Me:  Great!  Yesterday I nailed some wood together and then I closed my head in a drawer!

PabsMajong:  Thats cool that you get to be hands on with your job.


JeffJones4U:  Wanna play naked Twister with me?

Me:  Yes omg how did you know?!

JeffJones4U:  Saw you answered that question on here LOL.  Now I wanna play to.

Me:  It’s DA BOMB.  I love getting tangled up with other nakeds!

JeffJones4U:  Niceeee.  Skin touching skin.  It gets sweaty to!!!

Me:  Very sweaty.  Caution not to slip and squish someone’s gonad!

JeffJones4U:  Haha.  Tru.  Very sweaty is good.  Haha lick the sweat while playing LOL

Me:  You are very bendy man?  Maybe do a splits?  Is very good for naked Twister.

JeffJones4U:  I do hip hop dancing so I can pop, break and lock.  Yes it is great for naked twister.  Yes I can do the splits.   Are you bendy to?

Me:  I used to put my legs behind my head but then once I got stuck for hours and I had to skuttle to the telephone like a crab to call the 911!

JeffJones4U:  Haha. It should be easy naked then.  I’d have to hold ur feet while you do it lol now thats team work.  When are u free?


BigFoot123:  Let’s get drinks tonight!

Me:  First please tell me about your gnome desires.

BigFoot123:  If you speak of the garden variety, I strongly dislike them and believe they should be slain with a hand axe.   Would you like to meet?

BigFoot123:  Hey, I hope my comment didn’t put you off… The way you speak of gnomes, I’m assuming you like them or enjoy their company?  That’s OK, I’ll care more for them if that’s what you like, but I do prefer a barrel chested dwarf chiseling the mountain into a stone fortress.  Hope to hear back from you!


The Australian

29 Nov

I guess when I pictured a date with an Australian man I imagined a tan, fresh-faced stud who smelled like a breezy field of marigolds.  Or at least Aussie shampoo.  What I actually got was a lanky cowpoke with topographical features who smelled as if he had just munched on a doobie in a dank cellar.

I am experimenting with this new concept where I stick to a two-drink maximum on blind dates.  This ended up backfiring on this particular evening because the bar sold wine by the carafe rather than by the glass.  But who can say no to a carafe?  This is one of my new Rules of Adulthood I wrote down in my lady-diary after I turned 28 a few days ago.  Other rules include “Don’t eat pizza for breakfast” and “Learn how to say no.”

We met at a German beer bar with a bunch of fireplaces and fancy tubed meats.  The Australian arrived shortly after my first carafe was ordered, greeting me with a flaccid hug.  You’ll never believe me, but he described the temperature in the bar in true Australian jargon, saying it was “Warm as a pouch” in there.  This statement allowed me to breach the topic of my kangaroo fascination to him and he bragged about lifelong field trips to joey sanctuaries.  I can’t remember anything else he said because I stopped listening after “joey sanctuary.”  That was all I needed to hear.  He was very soft-spoken and I often had to ask him to repeat himself… but I could’ve listened to his accent for a few more carafes.  Damn, I forgot to ask him about didgeridoos.

Note to self:  The two-drink limit rule doesn’t work if, after the blind date, I meet up with someone else and have 76 more beers.  I reunited with The Night Raven after the Aussie and I went our separate ways.  He had just returned from a Thanksgiving trip to The Big Easy and had a very special surprise for me.  Keychains!  I can always count on The Night Raven when I’m feeling blue for some keychains and good cheer.

Despite my original intention to take it easy, those two carafes made for a rude awakening the next morning.  I came to next to a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos and several strange tweets I had apparently written about how much I love the solar system.  New rule:  Don’t eat Doritos ever again and try not to allow gay bars to enter your realm of possibilities on a Tuesday night.

Red Flags

27 Nov

As I previously discussed in my Thanks for the Franks post, there are three categories of guys on OKCupid… and I can usually figure out which category someone is within the first five minutes of meeting them.  To refresh your memory:

Category 1– The totally un-dateable weirdos and psychos lurking the streets of New York.  This type is often initially disguised by quasi-impressive jobs and a smooth line or two.

Category 2– The men who only use OKCupid to find people to have sex with.  Self-explanatory.

Category 3– The seemingly normal guys who I meet and am momentarily wowed by the fact that maybe, just maybe, OKCupid actually connected me with someone that I might like… until they tell me they just got out of a serious relationship and are  looking for a rebound to get over their ex-girlfriend.

A few nights ago I went on a date with a guy named “Dylan.”  Although I had immediately (and correctly) pegged him as a Category 3, in hindsight he was definitely creeping into the Category 1 column.  Throughout the date, more and more red flags waved in my face until I was sorry I hadn’t just called it an early night.  But based on his text message after I canceled on him the first time we were supposed to meet, I was afraid of what his response would be if I did it again.  He had written: “That’s too bad.  If you are actually serious about wanting to meet me, set a date.”  It sounded like he was taking my cancelation personally, but I told myself you can’t read too much into a text message.  When we did meet, I joked that I hoped he wasn’t mad about my previous cancelation and he told me that he HAD in fact been mad.

Red Flag #1:  Random angry outbursts.  In addition to his odd text, he made several negative exclamations throughout our date.  The first was his hatred of rich people.  He kept mentioning his poor upbringing and how he was conditioned to despise people with money.  He also made a few comments directed toward women that were laced with enough bitterness to make me uncomfortable.  He referred to his ex-girlfriend as a “bitch” which instantly made me lose any interest in him I may have had.  Name-calling is not cute and it told me that in addition to being bitter and immature, he was clearly not over his ex.  Danger.  Walk away now.

Dylan had gotten to the bar early and was halfway through his beer when I arrived.  I waited for him to make a move to order me a drink, but he just stood there blankly staring at me.  He was pretty quiet from the start, but unleashed the dragon as the beer and Fernet began to flow.  After telling me that he had recently thrown out his shoulder at a German Glitter Party (whatever the hell that is), he shared that he had just joined OKCupid and I was his first blind date.

Red Flag #2:  Just got out of a five year relationship a couple months ago.  This fun fact was revealed about twenty minutes into our date.  I figured it out after he told me he was new to OKCupid and had just moved in with new roommates (tell-tale signs).  Any time he brought up his ex-girlfriend (which happened several times) he began chugging his beer like there was no tomorrow.

Dylan didn’t even try to hide his disinterest in my job, but we found we were both passionate about writing.  Unfortunately it’s hard for me to talk to OKCupid dates with whom I have writing in common, because the main thing I write is this blog.  So when Dylan asked what I like to write, I had to give him a vague “personal non-fiction” response.  He said “Oh god, are you a BLOGGER?” then went on to tell me that he went to college for writing and had just recently gotten a new job as a ghostwriter for some company executive.  He didn’t like the job because he could only write in her voice.  I asked him what he would rather be writing and he said that he wasn’t sure because he didn’t know what his own voice was.  He wanted to start a blog and a Twitter account, but said he was afraid to write anything down because what if it didn’t sound as good as when he had first thought of it?  Or, what if it wasn’t as good as something he had written before?

Red Flag #3:  Projecting insecurities.  It seemed like he had a lot of self-doubt about his writing, so I tried to tell him that he should just write it all down anyway and he would eventually find his voice.  He told me I didn’t understand because writing is “just a hobby” for me.  Then he asked why, if I had majored in theatre, was I not doing theatre?  I told him because I decided that I didn’t want to make a career out of it.  “But why not?  Why go to school for it if you aren’t even going to try?”  At this point, I felt like he was trying to shift the focus off of his own personal failures and onto what he perceived mine to be.  Settle down.

After another beer, Dylan started getting weirdly introspective– smiling to himself and giggling as if only he was in on the inside joke… with himself.  He told me that it’s hard for others to understand him because he’s so weird and complicated.  And he had apparently been worried about meeting me that night because he knew he would be an asshole and I wouldn’t understand.  The more he talked about how weird and funny he is, the more I was convinced that he was just your garden variety disaster zone.

Red Flag #4:  If a girl tells you she’s crazy, it very well may be true and you’ve been warned.  If a guy tells you he’s “so complicated and hard to understand,” either he is a hot mess, he’s a Coheed and Cambria fan, or he’s gay.

The cherry on top of this charming date was when, at the end, I told him I hoped he had a good time on his first OKCupid date.  He winced and said he didn’t like calling it a date.  I said he would probably need to get comfortable with that term if he stays on OKCupid because that’s what most people call it.  Although we weren’t “dating” (and never would be, thank you dear lord) it is technically a “blind date,” and we had set a “date” to “meet.”  It was at that moment that I realized I am one of those ridiculous people who sometimes use air quotes in conversation and I really don’t know how I feel about that.

As we walked outside to where Dylan’s bike was chained, he put on his helmet and tightened the strap so tight his jowls looked like a muffin and I was afraid he was going to asphyxiate.  He rode off into the night and I breathed a sigh of relief.  That was exhausting!

I hate to be one of those girls that say this, but at least he ended up paying.  I will sit idly by as someone I don’t know works through their quarter life crisis… but only if I am provided with some nice potable incentives.

A Follicular Phalanx

24 Nov

My second date that night (after Horse Man) was with a guy who had struck me as a huge dweeb online.  His screen name was Well_Hungarian which was funny, but doubtful.  In his profile picture he appeared to be a scrawny man with a wide cat-grin and tiny, sharp teeth.  The pictures were accurate, and when I entered a small Belgian beer bar that smelled like Beanie Babies, I recognized him right away.  He was skulking in the corner, hunched over some sort of craft concoction, his salt and pepper tendrils shading his cheekbones from the dim bar lighting.

I had already consumed a few beers with Horse Man, so I wasted no time in striking up a lively conversation with “Craig,” the nerdy attorney.  He started off using big words and talking about his fancy job, but in two beers time had transformed into what appeared to be his alter-ego.  Craig’s accent, lingo, and whole demeanor changed as he went on and on about how much he loved big black ladies… and how many he had slept with, thanks to OKCupid.  It all started when he went on a blind date with a white girl a few months ago.  The second time they hung out she made him dinner and he was appalled by the lack of seasoning on her chicken and the fact that there was no coleslaw.  He pushed his subpar poultry aside and began to grope the chef.  As he was making his way down her neck to her chest, something got in the way of his tongue’s advances… “A follicular phalanx!”  I asked him to explain and he yelped “BITCH HAD HAIRY TITS!” loud enough for the whole bar to hear.  After the hair scare he began only dating black chicks who knew how to properly season their meats– bonus points if they lived in the projects, were a virgin, or had a fiance.  His words, not mine.

I was a little confused as to why he had wanted to go out with me if he was so into black women… until he started making comments about me being Jewish.  Apparently his new “thing” was sleeping with Jewish girls.  The only problem with this scenario is the small fact that I’m not Jewish.  I tried explaining that to him but he didn’t believe me, saying “I’m an attorney.  I know a Jewish girl when I see one.”  Later, when he offered me some of his pulled pork sandwich, I told him I don’t really eat pork and he exclaimed “I knew it, you ARE Jewish!”

We stayed at the bar for one more round despite the fact that, by this point, Craig totally grossed me out.  As I pondered whether or not he had hair plugs, he explained how he had slapped a man’s gut and screamed at him “Samuel L. Jackson style” on the train earlier because he was dropping bagel crumbs on him.  This guy was a maniac.  He asked what I was doing that weekend and I told him it was my birthday, so I had plans with friends.  He said what a coincidence, it had just been his birthday a few days prior.  I made the mistake of asking him what he did for it and he responded “Let’s just say that at 12am I was in a Dominican and by 12pm I was in a Cuban.”

Check please.

Horse Man Returns

17 Nov

On Thursday morning I was surprised to see a familiar face pop up in my inbox.  It was HORSE MAN.  For those who aren’t as well-versed in my suitor history, Horse Man initially contacted me about seven months ago.  We exchanged far more emails than I usually do before meeting someone and he traveled to Morocco at one point, promising me a Moroccan keychain upon his return.  After four or five cancellations, Horse Man swore that he would meet me at Art Bar one night.  I waited for twenty minutes past the time he was supposed to arrive and eventually received a text saying he wasn’t going to make it because an old college friend was in town.  This was the second time I have ever been stood up, the first being, of course, The Artist who painted with his ball sack.  In the end, I wasn’t all that disappointed about missing out on a chance to meet this horse, but I had been looking forward to that Moroccan keychain.  Oh well, even I have my limits with how much crap I will put up with from men from the internet.

Back to Thursday.  Here are the messages that were exchanged:

HORSE MAN:  So I don’t deserve it, because I failed at meeting you about forty two times. In my own defense, I was dealing with a lot of family issues with my father remarrying a cave troll, and it made me pretty flippant.  All water under the bridge. If you were ever up for it. I would legitimately meet you wherever you wanted and I will even be the best most fun date ever.  PS my sister stole your Morocco keychain.

ME:  Well since you’re related to a cave troll I guess I have no choice but to excuse your behavior.  But why would I have reason to believe you wouldn’t stand me up again?

HORSE MAN:  You really don’t, I suppose. And I definitely do not deserve another chance after I let you down before. But for what it’s worth, we obviously had quite an interest in meeting each other, and I think have quite a lot in common that would be fun to dig up.  (Note:  I was interested in digging up that keychain)  I am not here to waste anyone’s time.  I am actively looking for a fellow amazing person with whom to cause all sorts of merrymaking throughout this life.

ME:  OK fine.  Do you still have my number?  Text me… I’m sure you’re still in my phone but I can’t remember what I saved you under. Probably “GuyWhoStoodMeUp” (he’s actually under “Horse Man.”)

HORSE MAN:  I do not have your number. I deleted it after it was clear my bridge was burnt.  You can give it to me or you can text me at ***-***-****.  You can keep me in your phone as “GuyWhoStoodMeUp” though.  I suppose I will have to earn a better name for myself.

ME:  Mine is ***-***-****.  Lucy’s Bar.  5:30.  Be there… or don’t, if anyone in your family gets remarried or something on your way over.

HORSE MAN:  My birthday is in your phone number.  It’s a sign.  (Of what, that I’m your next murder victim?)

ME:  My birthday is in 2 days.  Guess I won’t be getting any Moroccan keychains.

HORSE MAN:  Please remind me to ask you about coming with me to Morocco this summer.  (Whoa buddy, let’s at least meet first before you start in about traveling to foreign countries together.)

Honestly, I was a little nervous about meeting him due to his strange behavior.  And I had previously wondered if he was even a real person or someone I knew/went out with in the past who was screwing with me.  Before, I had wanted to meet him because of the keychain… but now I was really just curious to see if he actually existed.  I arrived at the bar considering whether I was about to be abducted and should ask a friend to check on me in a few hours.

Horse Man arrived at the bar about five minutes later and I couldn’t stop myself from blurting out “You DO exist!”  He laughed, apologized again for his previous actions, and paid for my drinks.  He explained how much he hated his step-mother and blamed his flakiness on his disdain for his father’s recent marriage.  He also told me that his first OKCupid date had been so horrifying that it had turned him off from the whole idea and that’s when he stood me up.  I hear a lot of OKCupid horror stories, but here’s a new one, even for me.  Apparently, while Horse Man was waiting to meet his first ever blind date in a bar, she called him hysterically crying and told him to come outside.  When he exited the bar, he saw a girl in a white dress sitting on the curb, covered in blood.  As he approached her, he noticed there was a severed finger lying next to her on the ground!  She explained that she had gotten out of a van cab to go meet him and accidentally closed her finger in the sliding door.  She screamed as the driver began to pull away, causing him to slam on his breaks, the force of which ripped off her left pointer finger.  Horse Man said that he ran into a bodega, grabbed a newspaper and a cup of ice, scooped up his date’s finger with the paper and got her to a hospital.  He stayed with her at the emergency room until five AM while she got her finger sewn back on.  What a handful.  He said he deleted his account for a few weeks after this incident, then rejoined and now goes out on at least five new dates per week.  Despite this admission, I decided not to tell him that I had another blind date lined up in an hour (I had penciled him in before my other date in case he decided not to show up again).

We stayed for another couple drinks and he invited me to go to Morocco with him for two weeks next summer.  I tried to figure out what he did for work, but his description was incredibly confusing and he had a slight lisp which didn’t help matters.  He also jutted his mouth to one side when he spoke, as if reaching for that last stalk of hay through the fence  He was nice though, and I had a better time with him than I had expected.  And he didn’t kidnap or roofie me, which is always appreciated.

After many months of flakiness and empty keychain promises, it was nice to finally meet Horse Man and calm my fears that he was a jilted former blind date who was cyber-stalking me and was going to drug and kill me.  I think I watch too many TV shows about murder.  But the moral of the story here is always be mindful of your surroundings.  If you aren’t, you never know when you might get roofied by an Australian, or stalked by a mysterious figure in a green coat, or have your finger severed off by a van cab.

Stay tuned for my second date of the evening– with a perverted attorney.

The Art of Rebound

14 Nov
Rebound  [v. ri-bound, ree-bound; n. ree-bound, ri-bound]
1.  To bounce or spring back from force of impact
2.  To recover, as from ill health or discouragement

Almost two years ago, I moved to New York City and consequently broke up with my boyfriend of three years.   Our relationship had reached a plateau and I didn’t anticipate that it would recover from the blow of my decision to move away.  Although I cared for him immensely, he was one of the most apathetic people I’ve ever met and he had the sense of humor of a fossil.  Three weeks after I dumped him the fact that I had lost someone I loved finally hit me.  Not only were we no longer together, but he totally cut me out of his life and stopped talking to me.  Admittedly, it killed me at first.  I hadn’t been single in years and didn’t quite know where to begin!  I thought about what people do in these situations and the word “rebound” came to mind.  I did what I could to forget about my ex-boyfriend (see The White Russian and Clay Aiken) and a couple months later, I found my rebound in a most unlikely place…

I’d known “Jeff” since I was ten years old.  He may be my oldest friend that I am still close with.  He also happens to be one of my best friend’s ex-boyfriends and I lost my virginity to his older brother… who another close friend slept with a few years later and who is now dating the first friend’s sister.  That friend also slept with Jack when I had a thing with him as well as a couple of our other friends.  And I accidentally hooked up with her other ex-boyfriend before he was her boyfriend, and Jeff’s brother was there and karate-chopped the bedroom door down.  You follow all that?  Me either.  Our group of friends has been so incestuous it’s exhausting– it seems like everyone has hooked up with everyone and their sister (literally).  Anyway, Jeff was cute, funny, and effortlessly talented in a sort of lazy, stoner-y kind of way.  His hobbies included dressing like a skeleton, collecting unicorn-related paraphernalia, and lacquering dried dog poop.  Hey whatever gets you off, man.  He was also in a funk-rock band with a guy who had been in a few mainstream films.  Because of his band mate’s fame, their band had acquired a following and they were doing a series of tours to promote their album.

Last year, sometime in mid-July, I spent the day drinking at the beach with my roommate and her boyfriend.  Jeff called me to say that he was in town playing at The Gramercy and he’d put me on the list if I wanted to go.  I went to their show then to an after party at another bar, but my memory abandoned me back at The Gramercy.  I honestly could not tell you how it happened if I tried, but the next morning I woke up naked and confused… with Jeff laying next to me.  I was shocked and horrified all day.  How did that happen?  Should I tell my friend?  They had been broken up for a long time and I had never thought of Jeff in any way other than a brother.  Suddenly it wasn’t like that anymore.  I decided I would keep what had happened to myself since I didn’t even remember it anyway.  As I stumbled out the door to go to work, I noticed Jeff had emptied the contents of his pockets onto my dresser: three personalized guitar picks, two girls’ phone numbers, and about fifteen Mexican friendship bracelets.

His band played a show in Asbury Park the following night, then came back to New York for a movie premiere they were involved with.  I joined Jeff at the after party (at Justin Timberlake’s barbeque restaurant) and brought up what had happened between us.  He told me his relationship with my friend was old news, that us hooking up had nothing to do with it, and I shouldn’t worry.  He then abruptly changed the subject, wondering aloud why I had stopped doing music and theatre because I’m “so attractive and talented, how could (I) not be successful?”  Well, I melted in my damn barstool… and felt like I had just been slapped in the face.  A good slap, that wakes you up and makes you wonder where have I been the past three years?  I tried to remember a time EVER that my recent ex-boyfriend had complimented me or even told me I was pretty.  To be fair, he may have complimented my cooking once.  For the first time in three years, I felt like a young, desirable human being.  Again Jeff came back to my apartment with me and I wasn’t inebriated this time.  After he left to continue touring with his band, I was smitten.  Not with him per say (although I did love him as a friend, I always will)… but with the idea that I could be inspired and passionate again!

So there we have a cute, albeit slightly scandalous tale.  But hold on– it only gets weirder.  Throughout the next few months, I went to a couple other of Jeff’s band’s concerts and spent time with him in Florida and California.

A visit with my dad in Jacksonville happened to coincide with his band’s show there.  They played in a seedy venue that allowed scantily-clad young mothers in vampire costumes to smoke while watching the show and wrangling their children.  As I sat at the bar casually drinking a beer and half-watching Jeff feed off the admiration of his fans, a pair of Asian twins approached me.  They had seen me behind the venue getting onto the band’s tour bus and wanted to meet me and be my friend.  Whoa.  This nerdy kid that I grew up doing community theatre with in the Midwest had groupies?  After the show, the band, their entourage, and yes, the enraptured twins walked alongside the Jacksonville River from the venue to the hotel.  Apparently I dared Jeff to jump in the river (incredibly toxic, not to mention dangerous) which to everyone’s shock, he did.  The next day we got breakfast and continued our binge drinking.  The owner of a sleepy diner in downtown Jacksonville informed us that we were his first customers to ever order a bottle of champagne with our eggs.  After that, we met up with the rest of the band for more drinks, and watched dolphins jumping in the river while lightening flickered behind them like a freaking Lisa Frank book.  The rest of the day becomes blurry at this point, but I do recall something involving a stolen cactus, a swimming pool, and a lot of nudity on the tour bus being involved.  Not ten minutes after I had re-dressed on the bus, I heard the door violently swing open and a familiar voice frantically yelling my name.  Oh my god, it was my dad.  I had forgotten that I was supposed to meet him at a certain time and apparently he had scoured the city’s hotels looking for me, and even called my sister back in New York threatening to call the police and drop my suitcase off at the airport.  Suddenly I reverted back to a bratty, whining teenager, humiliated by my dad ruining all the fun.  At the time I was embarrassed and angry, but in hindsight, the scene we must have caused is pretty hilarious to imagine.  I do feel bad for being a jerk to my dad, though.

The next time I saw Jeff was a few months later while I was visiting friends in Los Angeles.  He lived with his band mates in a huge, nice house up in the Hollywood Hills.  His bedroom, however, was barely furnished but for a smelly cot on the floor and a desk in the corner with nothing inside but a wooden box holding a torn-up picture of a margarita.  Much of Jeff’s time was taken up by band practice, so I wandered around LA with various friends, new and old.  I probably visited every tiki bar in the city with an old friend from college, then picked out tutu fabric with a flame-swallower I had met at the band’s show back in Florida.  One of the best days I have ever had was during this trip to LA.  After eating at the same diner Jeff went to every morning, we stopped at a flea market to look around.  I think we probably spent forty minutes digging through a gigantic pile of random discarded photos, selecting the most obscure ones we could find– An old drunken eighties lady passed out on a stained mattress (Jeff’s favorite), an alert frog in the middle of a grassy knoll (my favorite), a large tribal man with paint on his belly and a dollar bill in his mouth, etc.  By the time we had each purchased a handful of photos, I was laughing so hard I was crying at a picture of a gender-ambiguous person with a mullet giggling in a waterfall.  Later on, we got free tickets to an Arctic Monkeys concert at The Hollywood Bowl, where we drank a bottle of wine in one of the boxes in front of the stage.  When it started to get chilly, Jeff suggested we leave and go see a “real show.”  What he was referring to was a dive-y restaurant with a tiny stage that by day was filled with old people eating soup, but by night was filled with the jazzy characters of the city.  On the way, we stopped at a corner stand so Jeff could buy cigarettes.  “Do you actually sell those condoms, man?” he nonchalantly asked the man behind the counter as he lit his cigarette, “They’re so old and sun-damaged.”  Jeff had a way of saying things that was blunt, yet so innocent.  I’ve never been able to be angry with him the whole time I’ve known him.  The show Jeff was taking me to was a “glittery crackhead with a microphone” as he put it.  Jeff had memorized all the guy’s songs, and even the point just before his set where he went around the corner to do some crack.  Needless to say, it was almost more excitement than I could handle in one day.  I returned to New York a couple days later hungover and broke, but happy and alive.

Jeff and I don’t have the same relationship as we did before we hooked up or the same relationship as we did while we were hooking up.  We’re close– yet I know where the closeness ends.  After my aforementioned friend told me that she still had feelings for Jeff, I admitted to her what had occurred (something I should have done much sooner).  Although the situation surrounding that was a bit damaging, I think (hope!) we have all moved on.

The journey from when I first moved to New York and broke up with my boyfriend to where I am now was a long one– filled with mistakes, adventures, and yes, a lot of booze.  But it was vital in reminding me that I am an individual; creative, talented, imaginative.  I had forgotten those things for three years, working as a retail robot and being a girlfriend to someone who went through the motions of life rather than living it.  I’m excited by my prospects of creativity and expression… and it only took one sentence in the basement of a silly barbeque place to snap me out of the grey cloud of my previous relationship and back to reality.  I have to give Jeff some credit for that, as he gave me something much more than a superficial rebound from my ex (the eighteen year old Russian kid just didn’t cut it).  I may not be perfect, or responsible, or even sane… but I got myself back!

Soup Can Man

13 Nov

A little while ago I went on a second date with a guy named “Brad.”  Brad referred to himself as a “rising star of Manhattan real estate” and also fancied himself a singer of songs.  One of his profile pictures was a headshot (which if you’ve ever read my blog you know I always steer clear from), but I remembered him having a nice head of hair… so I agreed to go out with him a second time.

When I got to the bar, Brad texted me that he was biking from Manhattan to Williamsburg and running late.  Twenty minutes later he burst through the door, bellowing “You lookin’ for me?” at me from thirteen feet away.  He smelled as if he had just emptied an entire can of Axe Body Spray all over himself to cover up any biking-related odors.  I tried not to sneeze/vomit from the overwhelming fumes and surveyed the rest of Brad’s person.  He took off his coat and replaced it with a crumpled pinstripe blazer from inside his backpack.  As he stuffed himself into the jacket, I noticed something distressing hanging from his neck– not one, but TWO necklaces.  I was instantly reminded of the traumatic day that I made out with a Canadian wearing a leather choker several months prior.  Brad had on some sort of dark gothic cross necklace and a long red string with a large geode tied to the bottom of it.  The rock was bigger than a golf ball and I wondered how he biked around the city with that giant thing jangling against his chest.

Brad was cute, but naughty.  He was loud, southern, and made a lot of strange faces and poses.  At one point, I paused to send a quick email to myself (some notes on Brad for later reference) and when I looked up, he was standing and staring with pouty lips, leaned against the bar with his arm behind his back and hip jutted out– almost in a full side bend.  Brad was one of those people who flirt by teasing, and throughout the evening he made fun of my hair, my outfit, words I used, etc.  However, he didn’t know what he was getting himself into because I am the queen of comebacks.   He tried to assert himself by pointing out my insecurities… but I wasn’t the one fidgeting with straw paper and making nervous creations out of napkins.  By the end of the evening he was drunkenly slurring “Why don’t you wanna be my friend?… Why don’t you like me?… Why did you scream when I tried to kiss you?”

We hopped around to a few different spots, then Brad announced he was hungry.  He had the attention span of a baby wildebeest and I felt like we changed locales every fifteen minutes.  After having a light meal at some Japanese place in Williamsburg (where Brad was titillated when an old Asian lady told him he “look like the Brad Pitt!”) we ended up at The Levee.  Naturally, Brad felt this was a good time to bring up religion and was flabbergasted when I told him that I don’t associate myself with one.  He said “Surely your parents were raised religious!  Your grandparents?!”  He finally calmed down after I told him I think my dad’s sister is Lutheran… “Oh thank god” he sighed, “I’m Lutheran, too.”  He complained that every other girl he had gone out with on OKCupid lied about their weight and ended up being twenty pounds heavier than they were in their profile pictures.  He described various escape plans he was forced to carry out after being seized by these larger ladies.  He told me I looked exactly like his ex-girlfriend, which was creepy, but apparently his first compliment of the evening.  It pains me to admit it but I think we made out at the Levee.  I hate it when people make out in bars.

I went back to his place with him because it was close to the bar and I wanted to call a car service to take me home.  He had just moved into a four bedroom apartment with three other girls whom he didn’t know.  The living room was bland and small, but the real shock was his room.  I have never in my life seen a bedroom so messy.  Clothes and garbage were strewn all over– empty vodka bottles on the desk, plates and cups on the floor, and discarded soup cans with moldy soup remnants on his bare mattress.  I couldn’t decide if I was more surprised that this was the bedroom of Manhattan’s “rising star of real estate,” or by  the fact that he apparently ate soup straight from the can.

I wouldn’t say we “hooked up” per say… it was more like nudging a salted slug with a stick.  He tried to get me to spend the night but I wanted to get out of there as fast as I could.  On my way out, I thought it would be funny to sprinkle the free condoms we had gotten from the bar on the couch in the living room (Brad was in his room and missed this mischievous moment).  I then left the apartment, silently giggling to myself and simultaneously knocking a large wooden parrot off the wall in the hallway as I closed the door.  I tried to re-hang the bird to no avail and ran out of the building before my antics were discovered.  The next day I got this text from him:  “So what’s this I hear about condoms on my couch?”  Apparently his roommates were not amused when they discovered my condom deposit, and had left him a series of passive aggressive post-it notes about respect.  Oops.

Despite my prank, Brad invited me to watch a movie with him a few nights later.  “Where?”  I asked, “In your trash heap– I mean bedroom?”  He wrote back “You got me all wrong, baby.”  Ok, so despite his disgusting bedroom and caustic personality, Brad was mildly amusing for some reason…  But how do you tell someone you can’t hang out with them again because the smell of their body spray makes you physically ill?

The Mime

9 Nov

With its great waters, Hurricane Sandy blew in a boatload of questionable bachelors.  Most of the men who messaged me last week looked as if they either had hair plugs or some sort of wig meant for a Hasidic woman.  And then there was The Mime.  In his picture he is in full mime regalia, holding a magnificent cluster of colorful balloons.  His profile states that he is a bisexual male mime in an open relationship with a bisexual female burlesque dancer.  How could I say no?  I too once dreamed of joining the circus.  What I learned from my blind date with The Mime is that mimes are dirty and also that they can speak when they’re on a date.

The Mime was forty minutes late and I was on my second hot toddy when he finally arrived.  He saddled up next to me, ordered a whiskey ginger ale, then stuck his tongue all the way out of his mouth, waggling it around histrionically searching for his straw.  The first question he asked me was: “What’s the most scandalous thing you’re wearing?”  I responded that it would probably be my Halloween socks and he winked, saying I didn’t want to know what he had on under his black mime pants.  “You’re probably right” I agreed.

The Mime was a small mime.  I would imagine that it’s easier to get out of invisible entrapments if you are diminutive and spry.  He had on a sports cap covering what I think was hair, a black outfit, some earrings… and a monumental mustache.  It was bushy and orange, with waxed tips curled upwards on either side.  He continuously spun his whisker-tips between his fingers and told me that 90% of his income was from his mustache.  A few hairs were alarmingly lengthy and stuck out from the rest of the ‘stache, which reminded me of the time I was disturbed greatly by a documentary about catfish.  The Mime smelled of dumplings and armpits, and sported glittery nail polish– his fingers alternating red and black.  This blind date marked several “firsts” for me:  I had never gone out with a mime before, or someone who was in an open relationship, and I certainly had never entertained a man who wears nail polish.

“Most of my mimes are dirty, but I don’t wanna offend your sensibilities,” he announced, “or maybe you’re the type of girl who likes a dirty mime…”  He said this and many other things throughout the evening in a Joe Pesci voice.  He then did the ol’ mime-in-a-box routine, eventually making his escape by way of chainsaw.  Once freed from the invisible box, The Mime explained that he worked at a burlesque show with his “partner.”  They were both on OKCupid looking for lovers individually AND as a couple.  Sadly, she was away on tour overseas with her Jewish lesbian dance counterpart and couldn’t be with us that evening.  Aside from the burlesque show, The Mime’s supplemental income came from working the door at some club in Manhattan– which, strangely enough, was where he developed his mime character.  He said people were a lot nicer about being kicked out or having their ID taken if it was done by a mime.

I asked The Mime what had brought him to New York.  Apparently he was working at a hot sauce store in Oklahoma when he and his girlfriend at the time decided to pack up and move to the Big City.  Soon after their arrival, they had the worst, most dramatic break up of all time.  “Wow, what happened?” I asked, and he responded with the wildest pantomime of the evening.  Arms and whiskers were flailing to and fro… and I couldn’t exactly follow what was going on, but I think it involved the death of a cat.  The bartenders were starting to stare and one of them wandered over to see what was going on.  “He’s a mime” I explained, and the bartender shook his head and walked away.  “So anyway, that’s ancient history and now I’m with Edwina, who’s like a gay man in a bisexual woman’s body!  She would reeeeally like you,” he said with a suggestive wiggle of an orange eyebrow.  I promptly changed the subject by pointing out that the birds giving each other the Heimlich Maneuver on the bar’s choking victim poster looked like cute little ghosts.  The Mime acted out receiving the Heimlich from a ghost versus a bird, and ended the scene by hacking up an invisible object onto my lap.  “Gross” I said, and he apologized by miming the removal of his testicles, blowing them up like balloon animals, and offering them to me with a sheepish grin.  Oh dear, would you look at the time!  We walked outside and I began my standard goodbyes, during which he launched into one last mime of him trying to take me back to his place and get in my pants.  Much to his chagrin, I declined his bizarre proposition– the charm had worn off and I wanted a turkey sandwich.

This Thanksgiving, you can be thankful that you aren’t a single female in New York City.  Enjoy your time with your loved ones, and whatever problems you may have in your relationship, remember: it could be worse.  You could be warding off lascivious mime advances on a cold November night in the middle of Brooklyn.

Magic Moments

7 Nov

Two different characters messaged me this morning on OKCupid while I was getting ready for work.  GUY 1 was a short, bald individual from New Jersey.  His profile picture was of him topless and flexing all of his shiny muscles, looking like a roasted boar battling some gas.   GUY 2 was a pink-faced critter who reminded me of a young Gene Wilder and whose picture was taken at a Comic Con.  I decided to have a little fun with them and momentarily transformed into “Gutrak,” a spirited immigrant with a penchant for mystical games.  Here are the conversations that followed (you have to read my lines with an accent):


GUY 1:  What up?  You look and sound real interesting and awesome. I would love to chat. I am cool, adventurous, caring, I keep it real, and I tend to do what the lady says due to my submissive personality ;)

ME:  What is meaning of this “submissive”?

GUY 1:  Submissive means the lady is the boss lol

ME:  You like to put on knight outfit?

GUY 1:  I will wear anything you want me to Goddess

ME:  Well I do like foam knight outfit best because won’t pinch skins like steel one!  You have this outfit?

GUY 1:  That I don’t have Goddess. But it don’t matter I can take pain. I will be your good lil pet ;)

ME: You have sorcerer cape maybe? Pegasus horn? Ok and who is your favorite wizard? Mine is Marwood Dragonfoot but I also really love the Barktooth Warbeard! Tell me who you like the more! OMG I’m eating gogurt right now SO GOOD you have it?!

GUY 1:  Damn no Goddess is there anything else or another way I can make it up to you?

ME:  Well I will suggest going to park to maybe do log rolls down hill. Where are you live? I want to explore outdoor in pants with you and trees. Or you like the tom yum soup? I make and maybe we have a soup and watch favorite dragon movie

GUY 1:  I am in Brooklyn Goddess. When can you meet?


GUY 2:  Hi there, how’s it going?

ME:  Having some special time thinking about the Magic the Gathering!

GUY 2:  I’ve been collecting Magic cards for many years now

ME:  Wow amazing news! I need to get mine ship to the America. All I have here is couch and my dragon themed films

GUY 2:  Dragons are cool. I have about 40 Magic decks for you to choose from

ME:  I love you.  We are date now?

GUY 2:  Haha I feel like you only love me for my Magic cards

ME:  Yes it is right

GUY 2:  What class character do you play as?

ME:  Wizard of course!!!!!!

GUY 2:  I almost always play wizards. My last one was named Jaedeilein, he was a battle mage. They fought each other like duelists and eventually they were erradicated by a young king and his court mage. Too busy fighting each other they were defeated to the last 2 who were cast out into a new realm. By the end of the journey they realized they had to team up to get what they wanted… And he retired as a healer in the new world. Right now my friend and I are playing a game inspired by ancient India… My character is of a sect of monks that are Demon Hunters, they can only fight the supernatural and only they have access to the sacred weapons housed in temples for such purpose. So his code doesn’t allow him to fight a Brigand… only monsters….


That’s where it ended because I had to leave for work… and I didn’t have any idea what in the world this guy was talking about.  It was only 10am and already my mind was numb from talk of mages, brigands, and jaedeileins.  As you may have gathered I have never touched a deck of Magic cards in my life and had to do some light Googling so as not to reveal myself as a wizard impostor.  GUY 1 is most likely a molester, so I will pass on meeting him in person.  GUY 2 is a serious dweeb… If I go on a date with him I will have to find someone to teach me how to play Magic the Gathering– and maybe lend me a cloak or a pouch of marbles or something.