Tag Archives: Blind Dates


18 Feb

I rejoined Tinder yesterday after a friend showed me one of her suggested matches: a thirty-two year old man in a ski mask, swinging around two large axes.  I felt left out.

This morning I awoke to thirty-three Tinder notifications, so I skimmed through the first few messages over a nice plate of pancakes.  One gentleman simply wrote “your dog is more attractive than you.”  Hmmmmm.  My first reaction was to wonder whether or not this man likes dogs, because if he doesn’t, that’s a fairly rude thing to say to someone.  My second reaction was to consider pointing out to him that he looks a lot like a baked potato.  But, since I strive to be a wise and mature woman, I just deleted him.

One of the pesky road bumps you encounter on dating websites is the inevitable insecure man-child who uses the curtain of anonymity that the internet provides as a means of combating his own perceived inadequacies.  YouTube is another popular forum where these types go to spew their pent-up aggression toward the human race by typing things they would never say to someone’s face.  Anyway, I hope this particular individual finds some source of personal power beyond insulting women he doesn’t know online.

Unless of course he DOES love dogs… in which case forget everything I just said.  He was only pointing out the obvious, because my dog is incomparably stunning.


The Chip

20 May

I met Matthew a couple months ago after I stopped at a local bar on my way home to get out of the freezing rain.   I was coming from a previous bar in the West Village where a drunken she-beast had stolen my coat and I was pretty upset.  Not long after I arrived, Matthew approached me and asked if he could buy me a drink to cheer me up.  He was cute and things could not have gotten much worse at that point, so I figured “why not?” and gave him my number.  The next morning I received a text from him asking if he could take me out for drinks that night.  Our “date” was fairly uneventful, but fun… we talked and drank beers in outdoor chair swings at a new bar in my neighborhood.  He had recently moved here from Los Angeles and expressed that he wants to meet new people so he can get involved in the club scene and rooftop party scenarios (to which I told him he’s got the wrong gal for that sort of business).  He was sweet, but slightly effeminate– perhaps just a little too perfectly preened for my liking.  Before parting ways, he gave me a brief kiss goodnight and I kind of felt like I was kissing a delicate lady.  Over the next few days he texted me a lot about going out to dinner.  I wasn’t sure if things had reached meal-level just yet, so I invited him to see my sister’s friend’s band play instead.

The night of the show, my sister and I chatted awkwardly with Matthew for an hour or so before the the band started playing.  He was virtually silent at first, but after two or three beers began talking non-stop about electrical wiring.  After my sister left, we moved to the bar for one more round and suddenly Matthew’s entire demeanor changed drastically.  Out of nowhere he started raising his voice about how everyone in Brooklyn is racist.  I was so shocked at this hostile turn of events, I just sat there with my mouth open.  “No one wants to talk to me when I go out!” he yelled, “why do I have to be the problem, why aren’t YOU PEOPLE the problem?!”  Oh dear.  I gently reminded him that I had gone out with him multiple times after meeting him in a bar, but he wasn’t listening.  He kept getting more and more worked up, to the point where he was sobbing and shouting “I never knew my father!  I was raised by a white woman, how am I supposed to know who I am!?”  I was torn between running out the door as fast as I could and staying to make sure he was okay because he was so upset.  “You are judging others more than they are judging you,” I told him, “people only care about whether or not you seem like a good person whom they would want to be around.”  In between sobs, he screamed “look around you!  Everyone in this bar is white!”  Clearly this conversation was going nowhere, so I suggested maybe he should leave if he didn’t like the bar.  “I’m not leaving!  You leave!  THIS IS MY BAR NOW!”  That’s it.  I told him I had already listened to his belligerent rant long enough and I was not going to entertain him any longer.  I turned to leave, but he aggressively grabbed my arm to stop me.  “Please don’t go, I’m sorry… Promise me that we can just pretend this didn’t happen and keep hanging out… I really need friends… Just tell me you’ll see me again.”  I looked around for the bartender I know in hopes that he would diffuse the situation, but he was no where in sight.  “To be honest?  No, I don’t want to see you again.  You obviously have a chip on your shoulder and need to work through some things for yourself.”  I pulled away from his grasp and ran out as quickly as possible, hiding around the corner from the bar and peering back to make sure he wasn’t following me.  What the hell just happened?!

The next day I received a text from Matthew that said  “I’m really sorry about last night and I’d really like to see you again.  Please know the chip on my shoulder isn’t me, it’s the chip.”  Uhhhh, what?  I told my coworkers the story about what had happened, to which one of them exclaimed “where on Earth do you FIND these people?!”  The bar…

My Month on Tinder

13 May

I finally gave in and tried Tinder for a month last fall.  The first thing I noticed was the incredible amount of insane names on there.  In one sitting alone, I came across a Festus, Yalph, Kamal, Marian, Hewlett, Boswell, Beathan, Riker, and Dumpit.  As much as men named after a prison, a printer, and a female librarian get me going… sadly, none of them appealed to me.  When I did eventually agree to meet someone, I was forced to cancel at the last minute because I was sick.  He said he didn’t mind rescheduling and then immediately sent a second text that read “But I’ve heard that sexting cures the common cold… my ex-girlfriend and I used to do it all the time ;)”  Noooooooo no no no!  Asking me to sext when I’ve never even met you AND hitting me with the ex-girlfriend double-whammy?  Amateur hour.

Without further ado, here are a few brief diary entries on my Tinder dates which, I hate to admit, almost made me miss OKCupid:

1.  The Silent Sound Engineer— Almost canceled on him after he left me not one, but TWO seven-second voicemails of himself heavily breathing.  Ended up meeting him at one of my favorite local bars.  Really cute face, but really shiny bald head– I could see the reflection of the Halloween decorations hanging over us in that head of his.  The date was short-lived after he told me he doesn’t drink because his parents used to force-feed him whiskey as a four year old and he has never gotten over it.  He offered to give me a ride home on his motorcycle and, although I only lived two blocks away, I let him cycle me around my neighborhood for awhile before retiring for the evening.  He was nice but too quiet and serious, so I didn’t respond to his request for a second date.

2.  My Manager’s Sister’s Ex-Boyfriend’s Brother—  Tinder tells you if you have any mutual Facebook friends, so I agreed to meet this man after I noticed that he was friends with my manager.  After a late arrival, he immediately remarked that he was surprised by how tall I am and expected someone shorter based on my pictures.  I asked him if he had even read my profile because I put my height on it, to which he responded by saying he was actually pleasantly surprised and found me very attractive.  He was bald and named after a fish, but his Caribbean accent was pleasing to the ear, so I stuck around for a few drinks before concocting an escape plan.  The next day at work I received a very X-rated text from him and that was the end of that.

3.  The Spanish Executive— I felt bad for making him come to my neighborhood in Brooklyn because he lived on the Upper West Side.  When he arrived, he appeared much older than I had thought and had airplane breath.  Told me right off the bat that he has two ex-wives and a ten-year-old son whom he travels to London to see every other month.  I blurted out “I’m almost thirty and always thought I would have at least one ex-husband by now!” before realizing that probably isn’t a helpful thing to say on a blind date.  He got really excited that I have pretty good Spanish vocabulary and, for the next two weeks after the date, texted me solamente en Español.  The texts started to get a little too racy when he invited me to some upscale French restaurant conveniently located next door to his apartment.  As much as I wanted a free Spanish tutor, the thought of watching someone’s dad slurp mollusks made me very uneasy.

4.  The Nerdy Accountant— This guy actually used to work in accounting for the same company I do (not in accounting) and had been my partner during a store inventory in Boston six years ago.  I couldn’t really remember his face and his Tinder picture looked like his head was floating in an amniotic sac… but I remembered him being funny during that fateful night so many years ago.  I imagined the great story we would have about how we met if it ended up working out.  It did not.  I met him at an over-priced German beer bar full of fools in Williamsburg.  He didn’t offer to pay for any of my drinks even though he had picked the place and even brought up how much more money he made than I.  He seemed a little uptight, smelled like he hadn’t washed his clothes in awhile, and also made a high-pitched whistling sound from his nostrils like an alarming tea kettle.  After he tried to talk to me about money-management and baseball (two things I know nothing about), I countered him with talk of lutes and red herrings and the date ended shortly thereafter.

5.  The Concert-Booking Ticket Guy—  We had a shared interest of one of my favorite bands, so I messaged him lamenting the fact that I had failed to get tickets for their upcoming show before it sold out.  He responded by telling me that he was going out of town that weekend and wanted to give me his tickets for free because I “seem like a good person.”  I never ended up meeting him, but stalked him on Facebook and found out that he is going through a divorce.  The show was awesome and the fact that a stranger would do something so nice for me renewed my faith in Tinder… for a few days.

6.  The Midwestern Architect—  I don’t remember anything about this date other than the fact that he was wearing one of those mock-turtleneck sweaters from LL Bean and he smelled like Miracle Whip.

7.  The Chubby Roadie—  Agreed to meet him because he had one picture of himself wearing a diaper and another of him cradling a koala atop his protruding belly, next to a sweaty goth in Australia.  On the date, he blatantly tried to get me drunk and threw back more shots in the span of an hour than I thought was humanly possible.  I quickly escaped after he made a couple homophobic remarks.  He continued to text me, but luckily got shipped off to Singapore to tune someone’s guitar a few days later so I was able to ease out of that one.

8.  The Creepy Face Paint Man— This guy was allegedly a Buddhist.  He also had very little body hair and would’ve made a great clown.  His profile picture was of him in full face paint and a top hat beaming like a maniac.  I don’t recall much of what we talked about, but he wore a wrist brace and spoke to me in a whisper.  To this day he still sends me Facebook messages once a month inviting me over for “chicken finger night” at his apartment with all of his friends.  That invitation sounds more dangerous than running in front of a speeding bus.  After one particular invite he even followed up with “You missed another fun, tasty evening!”  

In closing, what I learned from my month on Tinder is this:  The rumors are true… PEOPLE GO ON TINDER TO FIND PEOPLE TO HAVE A ONE NIGHT STAND WITH.  Sorry guys, not my thing.

Suitors of the Week 11

4 Jul

I haven’t posted a Suitors of the Week in awhile and I had a few gems left over from my last few weeks on OKCupid.  It’s true, I deleted my account… this time I think for good.  It was a fun year and half– I met a couple good friends, lots of people who made me laugh (usually unintentionally), and officially not one person I could actually see myself dating.  But thanks for the memories, OKCupid.  Here are some excerpts from my favorite final moments on the website:

Favorite Movies:  “Anything with a good twist at the end like Last of the Mohicans.”

What I’m Doing With My Life:  “I sell ovals.”

I’m Really Good At:  “Counting a lot of ants at one time.”

“Hey, Cute pics!  Crazy question maybe…are you into any kinky stuff? Having your feet worshiped perhaps??”

“Will u be my valintine?”  – A man named Eybal

“My duck breast from last night was a huge success and I even have a small bowl of rendered duck fat left over in my fridge!  What to do, what to do?” – 40 year old bald man whom I gave my number to and then he proceeded to text me about duck breasts for two days.

“What is it going to take for me to get you to go on another date with me?”  – The Law Blob.  We went out twice and struggled both times to have a lively conversation.  He was late, made zero eye contact, rarely smiled, and left after two drinks.  I wrote it off, assuming he was disinterested, but continued to receive texts from him about how I am “purty” and he wants to see me again.  I eventually admitted to him that I didn’t feel like we had anything in common and wasn’t interested in going out again… and then received the above text message two weeks later.

“Instead of naming an exact time to meet, why don’t you just go to the bar after work and maybe I’ll meet you if I end up being down there after dinner.”  – Tim the Buddhist.  He did end up materializing at the bar and texting me to ask where I was– which was back in Brooklyn because I wasn’t about to sit around a bar alone, waiting for a flaky Buddhist to decide to show up.

The Five-Minute Date

13 Jun

I’ve been feeling the whole independent thing lately and have thus been terribly negligent with my OKCupid account.  However, that does not mean that my fellow New Yorkers have abstained from awkward blind dates in my absence.  Everywhere I go, it seems there is a couple trying each other on for size in my close proximity.  In fact, just the other day I witnessed what could be entered into The Guinness Book of World Records for the quickest blind date ever.

I stopped into a Manhattan record store to see if they had the Pat Travers album on which he is legless and levitating in front of a fiery sunset.  While I was thumbing through the T’s… (lots of good T’s)… a seemingly mismatched couple entered the scene.  He was tall, dark, and reserved.  She was loud as can be, and moving at a pace that was about ten notches too rapid for the size of the room.  As they went from row to row, I gathered that they had just met for a blind date.  He looked extremely uncomfortable and she was doing her best “schtick”– touching every record, saying things in funny voices, and zooming around like a parrot on PCP.  I stood frozen in dismay, my fingers stopped between Tom Petty and T Rex, as I watched this girl who seemed to be in five places at once.  The guy she was on a date with looked first to me, then to the befuddled sales clerk for help, before attempting to herd her towards the door.

“I think I’m going to pass on the bar,” the guy said in a lowered voice, “this isn’t going to work.”
“Why?  What do you mean?” She replied, out of breath from her shenanigans.
“Well, I’m really not interested in a date with someone who is going to act like William Shatner all night.”

I felt as if I had been cast in a sitcom and a live studio audience was about to make a collective “Awww!” sound as the two of them walked out the door and went their separate ways.  But alas, I guess it was not meant to be for ReadrsDigest83 and IHeartImprov69.

What’s in the Bowl?

24 May

People often ask me “Do you go out with weird guys on purpose just so you can write about them?”  Most of the time, no.  Of course I knew what I was getting myself into with The Mime and The Hasid… but usually when I go on dates, I genuinely hope things go well.  Although, sometimes the men who seem the most appealing in their profile end up being the strangest in person.  Like “Ed,” a gentleman I went on a date with a couple weeks ago.

Ed was attractive, mature, and laid back.  He ran a cafe in Brooklyn specializing in local organics.  He biked everywhere.  He had a dog, swoopy hair, glasses, and tattoos.  We met at a bar in Fort Greene for drinks after work one evening and, although he was quiet, we had a nice conversation.  One beer turned into two, then three, and suddenly his speech began to slur.  I was a little confused because I had matched him beer-for-beer and was barely tipsy… but maybe he was a lightweight.  After our beers were finished, we discovered that we lived by each other and were walking the same route home.  "Lemme buy you one more drink at Black Swan” Ed proposed with a tipsy grin.  That bar is only a block and a half from my apartment– what harm could it do?

Ed bought me a glass of wine and procured a giant beer for himself.  I pretended not to notice when he stumbled a bit during the journey back to the stools where we were sitting.  His slurring increased as the conversation turned from typical to downright strange.  He brought up a DUI he had received a few years ago for falling asleep with his engine running, then switched topics to a family member who had lost a leg in Afghanistan.  Ed went into great detail about how, if this individual wants to utilize a certain male reproductive organ, he has to give himself a shot where the sun don’t shine.  I asked how he knew so much about this procedure and he responded that he had watched him do it.  EEK.

Apparently all of this elegant first-date discourse had worked up his appetite because he announced that he was going to order some food.  Black Swan has a dish called “Camden, 7am” (supposedly John Lennon’s favorite) which is a big bowl of french fries topped with baked beans and a fried egg.  By the time his food arrived he was having trouble maintaining his balance atop his barstool and kept steadying himself with his hands on either side of the table.  He offered me some fries, which I accepted, stabbing a couple with a fork.  The second my fork vacated the area, he went to town on his meal like nothing I’ve ever seen before in my life.  He positioned his face two inches over the bowl and shoveled fries, beans, and egg in like a ravenous beast, sucking it all up like a cartoon character devouring a bowl of hot spaghetti.  Fries, forks, knives, and napkins all plummeted to the floor as he demolished his dinner.  I tried to look away.  But I couldn’t.  Halfway through his race to the finish line with his Camden 7am, he lost his precarious balance on that pesky barstool and, I shit you not, fell face-first into the bowl.  He looked up, blinked, and wiped the beans and yolk off his face as I dug my fingernails into my arm to keep from laughing.  I could feel all surrounding eyes and open mouths aimed in our direction.

“Oh, they didn’t want me to” he responded to a question that had not, to my knowledge, been asked.  "Sorry guys,” he continued as he scooped some beans.  "Who are you talking to… the beans?” I asked him, my concern for his mental health growing.  "No, I’m sorry, I was talking to these guys ABOUT the beans.”  WHAT GUYS?  I sat quietly while Ed continued talking to himself (or his invisible friend as the case may be) in sentences that made absolutely no sense.  "It came off the ledge!” he exclaimed to no one in particular as I asked for the check.  That’s for damn sure, I thought to myself.  He signed the bill with a illegible squiggle and we walked outside, where Ed managed to get out “I’mmmgonna walk you home now mmmmk?”  I told him that would not be necessary and if anyone needed assistance getting home it was probably him. But he had made up what was left of his mind, so he staggered alongside me for a block and a half.  "Bye!  Thanks for a lovely evening!” I blurted out as I raced up the steps and shut the door behind me.  Once safely inside, I watched from my window to make sure he was walking on the sidewalk and not in the middle of the street.  An hour or so later, as I was starting to fall asleep, I received a text from Ed that read “Are you still at the bar?”  I guess he had forgotten the romantic walk we had shared after the bar, but I figured it was easiest not to confuse him further.  I haven’t heard from him since.

Who would’ve thought I’d start the night with a quiet, normal-seeming guy with a cool job, and end it with him talking to himself, putting his face in a bowl of beans and losing his damn mind?  You just never know what you’re going to get… hence one of the reasons for my blog title.  This time a crazy person was in the box.

Another Canadian Conundrum

26 Apr

I unintentionally spent Valentines Day and Easter in the same weird bar.  Valentines Day had been such a debacle that I should’ve just dyed some nice eggs at home instead of tempting fate at the same bar on Easter.  I was meeting “Quentin,” a Canadian man who I had canceled on once or twice before.  He had been persistent about rescheduling, so I figured why not celebrate the resurrection of Christ with this person?

It was pouring rain that night and we were both thoroughly soaked when we arrived.  He was shorter than he had claimed on his profile, skinny, with multi-colored loafers, light-wash jeans, and a soft black buzz cut.  He also had an assortment of colorful bangles hanging from his wrist which caught me off guard almost as much as his foul breath.  It didn’t smell like he had recently eaten an everything bagel with onion cream cheese (usually the case with OKCupid dates) but rather that something yucky was afoot in that esophagus of his.  As he ordered a beer and I prayed to the Easter gods that it would neutralize his breath, I noticed he was also missing at least one tooth.  It may have been more that one– it was kind of hard to tell because they were all pointing in different directions.  I asked where he worked and he said a Mediterranean restaurant just a few blocks from where I work in the Village.  I had never heard of it, but made the mistake of telling him the cross-streets of my store.

I tried to listen to what he was saying but it was difficult because a tiny man had hopped up onto a stool and started belting out Hansen covers on his acoustic guitar.  Quentin showed me pictures of tortoises, weeping willows, and other green phenomena that he had taken from magazines and told me how much he loved Mother Earth.  He then ordered some crab cakes and shared an emotional tale about his aboriginal ancestors from the First Nations.  I told him that a small slice of my family pie was Cherokee and he responded that he hates it when people tell him they are part Native American because Americans don’t understand what it means to have aboriginal ancestors!  OK, moving on.  The music was loud and I think I accidentally said yes when he asked if I had seen some Canadian canoe exhibit, because he ruminated on Canadian canoes for what felt like seven forevers.

Each time I tried to look away while Quentin was talking he would tap my arm to bring my attention back to his face, and if I dared add to the conversation he would interrupt me and negate whatever I was saying.  At one point I made a silly astrology remark and he said that astrology is for the mindless and he believes that the universe is more chaotic than that.  While he was explaining this theory he made dramatic sphere gestures with his hands, crunching them up into a ball and then exploding them out to land on my leg or hand.  If you are going to interrupt me and shoot down everything I say, why in the world would I want to hold your hand?

Quentin walked me to the train, making raucous Canadian complaints the whole way– “Why doesn’t anyone here use celsius?!  This is the only place in the world that doesn’t use celsius!”  He also kept attempting to link arms with me, which I ignored until he finally flat-out asked if I would link arms with him.  "No thanks” I said with a nervous laugh.  "Let’s go to another bar then.  There’s one right by the train.”  The bar he was referring to was actually five blocks in the wrong direction from the train– He couldn’t pull the wool over my eyes.  I said goodbye and he asked if he could have a hug.  "Oh sure.”  It was the least I could do.

Damn, this canoe-loving maniac knows where I work, I thought to myself as I escaped to the underground.  Sure enough, a couple days later I was standing around with my coworkers when a familiar tuft of black hair attached to a jarring amount of bracelets caught my eye outside the window.  It was Quentin (probably on his way to work) sneaking a not-so-subtle peak inside my store until our eyes met.  Let’s review:  OKCupid rule number three (right behind “don’t tickle anyones ivories on the first date” and “don’t tell anyone from OKCupid about my blog”) is "do not tell blind dates where I work.”  I have been pretty good about this rule ever since the Soup Can Man threatened on multiple occasions to visit my job.

I keep trying to give Canadian men another chance because all of my Canadian dates have been such disasters.  This one was no exception.  They all seem to really love wildlife, which is great… but they really really love jewelry which is problematic.  Nobody wants to hear the jingle jangle of a dangly bangle when they are trying to get intimate with a man.

Suitors of the Week 10

20 Apr

Oh, which one of these tempting bachelors shall I choose?

“Hola Mammita!  A Real Man does not sleep with a thousand women, he sleeps with one a thousand ways..Im very romantic and not into the ordinary, which is movies and arcades,. zzzzzz, perhaps a picnic at the beach, listening to the waves crash, lookin up at the stars and having deep talk. A evening where i would cook for you a candle lit dinner, we’re both dressed up, you in a long black tight fitted sequenced dress, me a black sports blazer with a red wine color dress shirt, top button open.”  — Well, that’s awfully specific.  I like where he pretends to fall asleep mid-message and that he thinks a normal date would take place at an arcade.  Honestly, I’d rather do that than his alternative which sounds about as creepy as it gets.  At least what he lacks in spelling, grammar, and punctuation he makes up for with a vivid imagination.

“Greetings!  Have you ever dreamed of having sex in zero gravity?  If so, message me back.”  — A blonde mess whose screen name is BeardJam.  Upon reading through his profile I found many more enticing statements such as: “I think Disney’s Robin Hood is the best movie ever.  83 minutes of joyous music, crazy antics, brilliant colors, and love.  Oh and I love giving oral sex.  It’s my favorite.”  Yikes!  This guy was either on ecstasy when he wrote his profile or he’s just a complete maniac.

“Hi, I’m Matthew.  You seem like a fun and outgoing girl and I bet we could get into some adventures together.  Oh by the way, I just took up scuba diving.”  —  I’ll keep this one in my back pocket in case I’m ever in the mood to date a plump gentleman squeezed into a wet suit who lives in Delaware.

“Howdy!  What’s the good word?”  — Man from Colorado who looks like his head is four inches wide.  Under The Most Private Thing I’m Willing to Admit he wrote “I once got my penis stuck in a shampoo bottle at my grandma’s house and had to go to the hospital.”  So I guess the rest of him is as narrow as his head.


“I love you!  Let’s get married!!”  —  Judging from the pictures, I thought this person was a woman at first until I looked at the rest of his(?) profile.  He also wrote:  “I’m an active type.  Inline skating, ice skating, fishing, or anything that requires me to push myself.”  Now I’m no athlete, but those are three of the daintiest physical activities I can think of.  And “inline skating”?  Let’s be serious here, you’re a rollerblader.

“Hi, name is Marty and um…. I am everything you are looking for in a guy! Over Confident? Brash? Likely….. Check my profile out, if you aren’t completely or maybe slightly interested, I’ll refund your subscription price to OKCupid.”  — Oh this isn’t a generic message at all, Marty.  Don’t these guys realize it’s incredibly obvious that they wrote one message that they copy/paste to all the girls?  But it gets worse.  Under The Most Private Thing I’m Willing to Admit he wrote:  “Girls have told me before that I have a huge conch shell collection, and I’m not even from the islands!”  Is that some sort of euphemism I don’t know about?

One-Trick Pony

12 Apr

Sometimes you act like a responsible adult… and other times you have an out-of-body experience with a man named Ashley who works for a murder show and doesn’t believe in silverware.  Or is it just me?

A few weeks ago, I tore myself away from one of my favorite murder documentary shows on the Investigation Discovery channel to meet a gentleman at the bar down the street from my apartment.  It recently occurred to me that the staff may suspect me to be some sort of Lady of the Night since I have been there with probably fifteen different guys on blind dates.  I sat and waited for Ashley, quickly glancing back through his profile pictures so I would recognize him.  He looked really cute in one of the pictures and pretty different in the other two.  When he arrived, I gathered that the cutest picture must be several years old.  In person he looked less rugged, had less hair, a thinner face, computer chip teeth, and a dial-up modem voice.  He was from Boston where I spent an enchanting four years, so we exchanged stories of living in Allston, Cambridge, and Somerville.  He used to work for Animal Planet (oooh, 100 points) and now he worked for Investigation Discovery on the show “Wives with Knives.”  He changed the subject to something else, but I wasn’t listening anymore.  HE HAD ME AT “WIVES WITH KNIVES.”  Or “Knives with Wives” as I like to call it when I’ve had a little too much chardonnay.

I wanted to hear all about his experience with murder shows–  "Where do they cast them?” I asked.  It is my dream in life to be a reenactment actor playing someone who got bludgeoned in their 1991 Dodge Neon in New Mexico after a lesbian love triangle gone awry.  Sadly he revealed that most of their casting is done in Knoxville, Tennessee or something like that, so I sullenly packed my dreams away in a suitcase of yearning once more.

Ashley’s next move was to order a bowl of brussel sprouts, which he ate with his hands.  The more he drank, the cockier he seemed to get– telling me about how many women come on to him when they hear that he works in TV and how he loves being single and just dating casually.  All his alleged female admirers aside, he seemed a little light in his loafers if you ask me.  Especially when he brought up how much he loves shopping for expensive new clothes.  But “Wives with Knives!”  When he was done manhandling his sprouts, he ordered us one last round before picking up the bill.  It was then that my spirit floated outside of my body and stuck around the bar to watch the end of the Nets game.  My body however, somehow accompanied Ashley back to my apartment for some… ahem… roughhousing.  I just had to look up the spelling of that word to see if there is a space, and the definition popped up: a violent disturbance.  And that’s exactly what it was.  I don’t remember if he left of his own accord or if the thought of the morning sunlight reflecting off those teeth and blue wingtips was more than I could bear so I kicked him out.  Either scenario is possible.

The next day at work I felt a little guilty about what had transpired because my number one OKCupid rule is no funny-business on the first date.  In attempt to assuage my anxiety (and because I knew we weren’t going to go out again) I sent him the silliest, most amateur text imaginable: "This is an awkward text to send… but you have a clean bill of health, I hope?”  He wrote back saying that he did and that the night before wasn’t something that happened all the time for him.  Me either, buddy.  Later in the day I decided to google him, like you do.  His career highlights popped up as well as his Facebook profile.  I clicked it to see his picture and was informed that Ashley and I have “1 Mutual Friend.”  It was a girl that I used to dance with back in Wisconsin.  What the heck?!  I really wanted to text him asking how he knew her, but decided that would be too crazy. "Just ask him, who cares?” my friend said.  "Because I already texted him this morning asking if he had any STDs.”

The work day finally ended and I returned home.  My sister was there waiting for me… "Did you have someone over last night?” she asked, "I heard a really high voice.”  "He worked for ‘Knives with Wives'” I explained as I rolled myself up like a burrito in all of my bedding.  "Ohhhh.”  Enough said.


11 Apr

Yesterday, while enjoying some lime yogurt on my lunch break, I received a notification that an intriguing beast had rated me highly on OKCupid.  He was 6’4″ (my favorite height) with long, wild hair, and in his profile picture he was seductively sprawled on a cement slab.  He was also in a band and looked like a 1970s hippie mixed with the Geico caveman.  I needed him in my life.  I sent a brief message (I only message first when I’m really impressed) inquiring as to what kind of music he plays and where he tends bar.  

After work, I met my friend for drinks at Passenger Bar in Williamsburg.  You may know him as Grandma’s Bisexual Spice Rack or The Night Raven.  He was running late, so I ordered a drink while I waited.  The bartender was a gargantuan man with a flowing head of hair, and it instantly struck me how much he looked like the caveman I had messaged earlier on OKCupid.  There’s no way it’s him that would be too much of a coincidence, I thought to myself… but the guy HAD mentioned that he worked at a bar in Brooklyn.  Anyway, The Night Raven arrived with keychain gifts from California and Iceland (he is the the number one contributor to my keychain collection).  We caught each other up with what has been going on in our lives and he told me that he shared my blog with his new girlfriend.  "Did she enjoy the posts about you?” I asked him.  "Yes, and her response was ‘you DO smell like a spice rack!'”

While we were talking, I got a message from the OKCupid Caveman that said “Are you sitting at the bar at Passenger Bar right now?”  I knew it!  I looked up to find the bartender chatting with some girls at the other end of the bar… Hmmm.  "Are you a psychic?” I wrote back, wondering if he wasn’t saying anything because I was there with The Night Raven.  But then I saw them.  Not one, but TWO additional tall, shaggy-haired neanderthals were setting up band equipment at the front of the bar.  These guys seriously looked like they could be triplets with the bartender and I had to blink a few times to make sure the whiskey wasn’t causing me to see things.  But which caveman was The Caveman?  My phone dinged with a new OKCupid message: "I hope you enjoy the music I’m about to play.”  It wasn’t the bartender, it was the guitarist!  I felt like I was in a game of Clue, but with fewer lethal weapons and much more hair.

I attempted to enthrall The Night Raven with this tale of mixup and mayhem, but he had come from another bar and was a tad intoxicated.  He announced his departure, but not before giving me a reassuring hug and handing the bartender a folded up twenty dollar bill.  "Whatever she wants” he commanded, disappearing into the night to return to his nest.

Between sets, The Caveman found me and introduced himself.  He was wearing a beige velour shirt and I contemplated proposing marriage to him.  We had a hearty laugh about what a small world it is and he said he wanted to buy me a drink after his next set.  By the time he was done playing, however, I was tired and didn’t want to drink anymore.  We exchanged numbers and planned to get together another time.  When I got off the train in my neighborhood, The Caveman had texted me “You’re a babe.”