Archive | January, 2013

A Not-So-Blind Date

18 Jan

A question people often ask me after reading my blog is whether I’ve ever been on a blind date that was so terrible I couldn’t even sit through it.  The answer is yes… but to be fair, it wasn’t exactly blind.  If you are on a dating website long enough, you will inevitably come across a familiar face.  Unfortunately, it usually doesn’t wind up being the romantic, fateful encounter you initially may hope for.  Let’s start from the beginning…

Boston, MA.  2007.
I had just finished my first year of grad school and was sticking around Boston for the summer.  My parents had been urging me to get a job, but I was enjoying my free time, and what I guess you could call the Boston party scene.  There was one dance night I particularly enjoyed at a bar called Middlesex Lounge.  I began to notice a cute, shaggy-haired guy who was there every week… and one night we starting dancing together.  “Ray” was several years older than I and was a former model who now had a bit of a paunch.  He ended up coming back to my apartment with me, where I was subjected to the most violent make-out session of my existence.  However, that was where our relations ended.  The next morning I woke up with eye-liner smudged across my arm and rolled over to find Ray next to me–  his loose johnson liberated  from his open fly, resting peacefully on my mattress.  I tried not to laugh as I rolled out of bed and assessed the hangover at hand.  Ray’s phone rang and woke him up as I assembled some sort of strange outfit.  Back then I liked to wear metallic tube tops under velour hoodies and denim miniskirts like an alien porn star from the Eighties.  Or someone who lives in Los Angeles.  When Ray got off the phone he had an offer for me: the used car dealership (where he worked like four hours a week) had sold a car which had inaccurate mileage documented on its… documents.  Apparently, his boss needed him to drive this car around and up the mileage before the new owner claimed it the following morning.  “Wanna go on a road trip?” asked Ray, someone I had officially met ten hours earlier.  “Definitely!” I replied, forgetting my promise to my dad to apply for jobs that day.  Ray and I took the T from my apartment in Back Bay to the sketchy dealership in Somerville and climbed into a smelly sedan.  “This is really living” I thought to myself, right before Ray informed me that he had no money so I would be paying for gas.

First we stopped somewhere in the North Shore area and walked on the beach.  Then we drove around New Hampshire and up into Vermont.  It turned out his parents lived deep in the Vermont woods and he arranged for us to have dinner there that night.  Although Ray and his mother argued through the entire meal about what he was doing with his life, she was visibly impressed that he had brought home a girl who was bright and personable.  At one point Ray leaned in and whispered to me “My mom LOVES you.”  During dessert, his mother asked me “So how long have you two been together?” to which I didn’t miss a beat in responding “We just met last night.”  His mom nearly dropped her wine glass and choked on her sorbet.  While the family was cleaning up the kitchen, she pulled me into the other room.  “You are too smart for this.  You went on a road trip with someone you don’t even know?!  You could have been killed!  You’re lucky my son is a good boy.”  I nodded, promised I wouldn’t do it again, and thanked her for her hospitality.  Ray and I drove back to Boston, mostly in silence.  At one point, he pulled into a dark, empty parking lot and began a debate with me about why I wasn’t interested in dating him.  He invited me to stay at his place and was less than pleased when I asked that he just drop me off at home.

Ray and I hung out a couple more times after that… but he just never really did it for me.  We continued to run into each other several more times at bars around Cambridge (he always had a different Asian girlfriend with him) and we would ignore each other.  One time, after seeing him at Middlesex, he texted me the next day saying we couldn’t be friends anymore because his girlfriend was jealous and he wasn’t allowed to have female friends.  I had been over the whole situation for months and deleted him from my phone.  I heard from him again a year or so later when he instant messaged me out of the blue to tell me that he missed me and had been up all night staring at my Facebook pictures.  Uhhhhh….

Brooklyn, NY.  2011.
I logged onto OKCupid for one of the first times ever and clicked on something called a “Quiver Match.”  One of the three tiny faces that popped up had a familiar pout.  I clicked on the face and audibly gasped– it was Ray from Boston!  He had filled out his profile exactly as I remembered him speaking– vague, spacey, flowery sentences that were intended to sound deep– but actually sounded slightly insane.  He talked about how he used to be a model and in a rock band, but now he was starting a struggling PR company out of his tiny studio apartment in Queens.  I don’t know what came over me (maybe I was tickled to see a familiar face on there) but I messaged him “Hey, stranger.”  He immediately messaged me back and we decided to meet one evening at my roommate’s bar in Brooklyn Heights.  I’m not sure what I was expecting, but he turned out to be EXACTLY the same.  He still spoke like a valley girl from 1991, made pouty-lip faces between his sentences, and never ever made sense.  He still smelled slightly like armpits and more than slightly like stool and my disdain for him became more than I could bear when he began telling my roommate about our lengthy history together.  Honestly, I remember hanging out with him one-on-one in Boston a total of three or four times and I certainly never slept with him.  According to him we had been dating, which was news to me.  I called him out on his exaggerations, to which he responded “of course you wouldn’t remember, you were always drunk.”  That was the final straw.  Coming from someone who drank just as much as I did AND was a big stoner and cokehead on top of that, his accusation was absurd.  I used to drink more than I do now, but certainly wasn’t blacked out for half of our alleged “relationship.”  I had heard enough and knew I needed to get out of there.  I grabbed my purse and fled full speed out of the bar, leaving him to pick up the check.  A block or two into my escape my roommate texted me to say that Ray had followed me out and was trying to hunt me down.  I went from a steady jog to a full-blown run.  When I got to the A train, people on the platform were staring as I hid in a cranny, panting and paranoid.  The train came and I returned home safe and sound.

I haven’t heard from Ray since, but according to the internet he moved to Hollywood where he is still unemployed, but engaged to a Korean med student.  He has an entire public photo album on Facebook of various shots of her passed out in his car with her mouth open and cookie remnants all over her face.  Whoopsie.

I guess the message here is just because you find someone you know on a dating website, it doesn’t mean that you should go out with him– especially if he’s a total weirdo.  And his mother was right, you never know who is a murderer these days.  It reminds me of that commercial where some middle-aged actor is like “Wow, I took a lot of risks as a kid… like jumping off of this cliff into this canyon on my road bike.  But now that I’m older, I don’t take any risks with my cholesterol.”  In my ripe old age of 28, I can’t imagine spending all day and night in a car with a total stranger who wears tropical sunglasses and laid his naked, unwelcome wiener on my duvet.  I’m too old for that stuff.

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The Polish Tickle

8 Jan

I have dated two Polish people during my time here on Earth.  The second of the two was my boyfriend of three years.  His favorite phrase, “Same shit, different day,” which he used every single day I was with him, pretty much summed up our entire relationship.  So let’s skip him, shall we, and recollect the brief couple months (prior to my three years with my ex) when I was dating his friend, “Stan.”

I met both of these Polish men at the store I worked at in Boston– Stan was the security guy.  He had a shaved head and wore gigantic shorts and man jewelry.  The first month I worked there, the other girls weren’t very friendly, so I mostly talked to Stan… and we began getting drinks after work.  He was one of the most absurd people I’ve ever met, albeit intermittently charming.  First of all, he had a thick Polish accent which made everything he said cute and/or hilarious.  He couldn’t pronounce the “th” sound so when he would say “third,” for example, it came out “turd.”  Whenever he referred to his manhood, he would call it his “turd leg” which I found endlessly funny.  He also followed every sentence with the word “yo” and would put words in the wrong order.  Once, he was mad he had to run to the bank in the rain and came back complaining “Great, now my hair chest is wet, yo.”

The second thing you need to know about Stan is how klutzy he was.  He loved skateboarding and had crutches or some sort of cast for the majority of the time we worked together.  This may have been less about being klutzy and more about being a major drinker.  I was going a little crazy myself around this time, running through the fountains in the Boston Common at 5am, you know– that kind of stuff.  Stan was into “tagging” and belonged to some sort of Polish street mafia where they would sneak out of his mom’s house late at night and paint a bunch of cryptic messages around town.  He also liked to draw stoned teddy bears and large-breasted women in bikinis, but let’s not go any further with that.

One thing I’ve learned about Polish men is that they love to talk about whether they are a “tits man” or an “ass man.”  A co-worker once asked Stan which he was, and he replied with a scoff “Ass don’t have neeples, yo!”  Stan was known at work for being rude to customers and inappropriate with the staff.  In addition to his “turd leg,” he loved talking to the girls about our various body parts and how he wanted to give us the “Polish Tickle.”  The manager eventually had a meeting with him about how they were cracking down on sexual harassment and that he needed to watch what he said.  Afterwards, he skulked back onto the floor, approached my friend and told her sullenly, “Well, I guess I’m not allowed to talk about your sweet badonkadonk anymore, yo.”

Our brief affair ended when all of the staff traveled to New York for a big company party at the Rainbow Room.  The night before our early flight, Stan had wanted to stay at my place so we could go to the airport together.  It was late, he was drunk, and I told him I just wanted to go to bed so we didn’t miss the flight in the morning.  He had other ideas, however, and when I turned him down (I was over him at this point) he made a rape joke.  I told him he either had to sleep on the floor or get out.  The next morning we got held up at security and almost missed our flight because he had fifteen lighters in his bag– which I had warned him about the night before.  I got on the plane and sat as far away from him as I could.  The party was the most insane thing I have ever attended in my life– never-ending open bar, celebrities, flame swallowers, nudity, snakes, etc.  Stan followed me around towards the end of the night, but I ignored him and met up with an ex-boyfriend instead (after losing my shoes and going to an after-party with a shirtless Tracy Morgan– my ex had to bring me slippers from Duane Reade so they wouldn’t kick me out for being barefoot).  I found out later that Stan had locked himself in the bathroom with another co-worker and was crying because I wanted nothing to do with him.

After that, he was almost unbearable to work with.  He was mean, spread rumors about me sleeping with other people at the store, and was eventually fired for being late too many times.  Since I clearly hadn’t learned my lesson about dating coworkers, I began seeing his friend the following year.  Today (nearly six years later), I will be the first to tell you that dating someone you see at work fifty hours a week is a BAD IDEA.

But thanks to Stan, I know how to say “cheers,” “teddy bear,” “I love you,” and “ass” in Polish.  Pretty much all you need to know.  In fact, I think you could make it through a week or more in Poland with solely that vocabulary under your belt.  I’ll be sure to add that onto my resumé under Special Skills.

Law & Order Lover

5 Jan

If you are an avid reader of my blog, you know that I’m a huge fan of Law and Order.  My family watched the shows together while I was growing up and my sister and I still watch reruns today.  I know every single case and have even been known to reference them in daily conversation.  So you can imagine my intrigue when I learned that one of my close girlfriends from graduate school was dating an actor from one of the Law and Order shows.

Back in 2008, I had just finished school and was still living in Boston.  My friend was already here in New York, working as a server at a restaurant in Midtown.  She had met the actor when he sat at one of her tables one night.  A few days later I was flooded with phone calls about how he had taken her out for amazing dinners, bought her fancy gifts, and sent her all sorts of sexy text messages.  Now, if you are picturing Christopher Meloni or Vincent D’Onofrio (whom I have a huge crush on– even in his grizzly years) you are regretfully mistaken.  The actor in question is a much older gentleman.  But it’s Law and Order so WHO CARES?

A few months later, I visited New York for Thanksgiving and stayed with my friend.  One night, her Law and Order lover (let’s call him Ron) invited us out for drinks.  We met him at an expensive restaurant on the Upper West Side, with an amazing wine list and a ceiling full of crystal chandeliers.  I was shocked, upon introductions, to find that the actor who played a noble character on the show cussed like a sailor in real life.  In fact, he was a veritable dirty old man– which I was delighted by.  He ordered one of everything from the appetizer list and selected a bottle of wine I would never have considered because of its price.  At one point, I got a text message from a guy I had started seeing back in Boston.  Ron took my phone away from me, saying “You better be F***ing this guy you keep texting while you’re out with me.”  He then laughed heartily and invited us over to his place.

Ron’s apartment was huge and beautifully decorated.  He had a spacious kitchen and a separate wine cellar, from which he selected a nice bottle of red wine for us to share.  We then settled into the gigantic living room, where scripts from upcoming Law and Order episodes were scattered around the floor.  I picked up one of them to read, when I began hearing squeals and grunts coming from the armchair to my left.  Somehow, in a matter of minutes, my two companions had stripped completely naked and were going at it like there was no tomorrow as I innocently perused call sheets.  My friend caught my stare and demanded that I join them in the bedroom.  When I said that I needed to leave, she stopped what she was doing and yelled “You had a threesome with your college friends, but you can’t have a threesome with me?!”  “Don’t be scared,” added Ron, “It’ll be something you can tell your grandkids about.”  Part of me acquiesced and I followed them to the bedroom, where I got a full-blown look at the johnson of an actor I had been watching on TV since I was a kid.  I decided my future grandchildren would not want to know anything about what was going on here.

I  told them I had to call the guy I was dating and closed myself in a bathroom down the hall.  This guy and I had been seeing each other for a bit, but never discussed the status of our relationship.  So I was surprised and relieved that when I called and told him the offer I had just received, his first response was “Do you want to be my girlfriend?” Well that takes care of that!  I walked back down the hall, satisfied that I now had a concrete excuse for Ron and also that my antics had prompted “The Talk” from the guy I liked.

“Excuse me,” I whispered as I re-entered the room to find my naked friend passed out atop Ron like an open-faced tuna melt.  I told him I was very sorry, and thank you so much for all the nice wine, but I had to go– my boyfriend wasn’t pleased that I was galavanting around town with a pair of naked people trying to get me to have a threesome with them.  He nodded and reached for his wallet on the bedside table.  Handing me sixty dollars, he instructed me to go down to the lobby and the doorman would get me a car to wherever I wanted to go.  I had made my escape!  Months later, I happened upon a new episode of Law and Order… the script for which I had seen on Ron’s rug.  I tried to watch it, but all I could picture was Ron’s old genitals waving around over a floral upholstered armchair.

And that, my friends, is the story of how I had a sexy encounter with a TV star which jump-started a three year relationship with my now ex-boyfriend.  It’s kind of too bad we’re no longer together, for no reason other than it actually WOULD have been a romantic story for the grandchildren… “Once, I almost had a threesome with a sixty-five year old actor, but your grandfather saved me!”