Tag Archives: Sex

The Bushwick Bushwhacker

23 Jun

I met “Casey” last year while attending a birthday celebration in Brooklyn.  We struck up a conversation and discovered that we had both attended college in the same small town in Missouri.  My friends were leaving so I gave him my number and he kissed me goodbye in front of his colleague.

The following week we met for drinks in Williamsburg.  He was cuter and funnier than I remembered and it turned out he was a writer of humorous articles for various websites.  I admitted to him that I used to blog about blind dating (I hadn’t in months at that point) and he shared how he had gotten into trouble for something similar in the past– writing an article incorporating a graph which showed the correlation between female pubic hair length and higher levels of education.  According to Casey, women who dropped out or never went to college are typically completely waxed, while women with an Ivy League education tend to sport a full fur pelt.

I knew it wasn’t an entirely prudent decision to go to his place on the first date, but he assured me it wouldn’t be a one-night stand… which seemed convincing enough at the time.  He lived alone in an incredibly nice apartment, and I couldn’t believe that a writer could afford a place like that.  I also couldn’t believe what swayed before my eyes like a great willow when he vacated his corduroys:  the longest, straightest 70s fringe I’d ever seen below the belt.  I remember remarking “I thought you said you went to the University of Missouri?” but the rest of the night is all a blur.

After that night, I attempted to make plans with Casey several more times to no avail.  His efforts went towards a series of post-1 a.m. booty calls.  After one of his late-night invites, I tried to text my friend “he’s attempting to lure me into another session with his lengthy pubic bangs.”  Unfortunately, I opened the wrong chat and sent that message to Casey instead.  When I realized what I had done, I figured there was no way around it and added “so…uh, what are you doing Saturday?”  He responded with “trimming my bangs.”  Ok, so he ended up using me for a one-night stand.  I wasn’t too bent out of shape about it since his pubic bangs were forever immortalized in an artistic bar napkin rendering hanging on the wall at a certain dive in the West Village.

Fast forward to three or four months later when I got a text from Casey out of the blue asking me out for drinks.  I was curious about his sudden renewed interest, so I agreed.  We met at the same bar as last time where he explained that he had been dating a girl from OKCupid.  She was a former Miss New York in a Miss USA pageant whom, he discovered on their first date, had lost her pageant body and grown a small beard.  They dated for three months but he eventually broke things off when intimacy became too difficult on account of her beard mixed with his already weakened sex drive due to Propecia.  I asked him what he had actually liked about this girl and he said that she had a good job.  A true New York romance.

Casey seemed aloof and depressed this time around and I didn’t feel like we had much chemistry.  I figured he was using me for a rebound from Miss Beard USA, but still went home with him because I didn’t really care at that point.  He gave me a hard cider and turned on the classic rock station.  We then retired to his lofted bedroom where– this is the only way I know how to describe it– I got scrolled on like an iPod Classic.  Afterwards, in a state of shock, I awkwardly commented on the sprinkler system not five feet above his bed, to which he made some half-assed joke about it being there in case sex got too hot (not possible).  I grabbed my cider to cope, somehow spilling it all over myself and his sheets.  He mumbled “you can stay here if you want” then rolled over and began to snore.  I had to get the hell out of there, and fast!  I threw on my dress and descended the steps to discover that his dog had chewed through my shoelaces and was now focusing on a frenzied game of tug of war with the bottom of my dress.  It was cold out and I wasn’t exactly sure where I was, so I grabbed one of Casey’s hoodies, yanked my dress from his dog’s teeth, and limped outside so as not to lose a shoe– thankfully procuring a cab.

The next day I felt a momentary pang of remorse, so I sent Casey a text saying “sorry I spilled cider all over my naked body on your bed.”  He responded “it’s ok, I got most of it out.”  Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.  It’s not like I want to go run a marathon across eleven bridges or explore the ancient Mayan ruins… but a little zest for life once in awhile might be nice!  Casey asked if I wanted to come over to his place and “drop off his sweatshirt” a few nights later and I told him I could Fedex it.  It might be a clue that you need to work on your game if a girl is offering to use her Fedex account at work to return your clothes.

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The 1973 Cuddler

7 Nov

When you realize that someone dressed like a cast member from That 70s Show has followed you home from the bar, there are a variety of actions that can be taken.  Speaking from personal experience, my recommendation is as follows:

The second the flame of that candle you just lit reflects off of his groovy belt buckle, illuminating his lava lamp printed shirt tucked a little too far into a ladies bootcut jean– an escape plan must be set into motion.

Excuse yourself for a moment and hastily evaluate whether your acting skills are in tact enough to execute a believable onset of nausea and vomiting.  If not, receive an emergency email that a 6am meeting has been scheduled at work and if you oversleep you will surely be fired… so he really must leave at once!  Do not attempt both, or your credibility may be weakened.  And don’t try to take the easy way out– sitting on the floor in the middle of the room, eating a slice of cold pizza with your eyes closed, hoping he will simply disappear (I’ve tried it, it doesn’t work).

The polite thing to do is to take a raincheck and offer your number to Wavy Gravy on his way out the door.  But do not be alarmed when you wake up the next morning to several text messages expressing his disdain that the two of you didn’t get a chance to “cuddle” because you kicked him out after a hot five minutes of candlelit pizza eating and fake barfing.

Cool Your Jets!

14 May

A friend of mine recently dated a man who makes a substantial living teaching men how to be pick-up artists.  Apparently he receives over three grand per disciple–  to occupy various bars around Manhattan and coach these men on how to get women to go home with them.  After discovering his profession, things were short-lived between my friend and this cunning philanthropist.  But it got me thinking.  How is this corny lad making several thousand dollars every night by teaching men how to lure women with their charisma and to read our cryptic signs?  I could do that!

Here, my first lesson is free.  Last night I was out on a date when I received a text message from “Rick,” a guy I have known a year or two through a mutual friend.  We had recently run into each other on OKCupid and he texted me about how funny that was, blah blah blah.  I had also seen Rick a few nights ago at my friend’s birthday party.  He barely acknowledged me and was there with a new girlfriend whom I assume he acquired from everyone’s favorite dating website.  Now, back to last night.  I was finishing up a gourmet beef frank with my date when I received this text message from Rick:

Rick:  Is it weird if I told you I thought you looked amazing on Friday night?

Me:  Well thank you!  But you barely even spoke to me.

Rick:  Meet me.

Me:  What happened to your girlfriend?

Rick:  She dumped me :-;

Rick:  Do we have a Chance of loving eAch other?

Me:  You are wasted.

Rick:  Not wasted.  Meet me for a drink?

Rick:  Dont be weird…

Rick:  :/(?/?//?

It doesn’t take a stack of tarot cards and a crystal ball to figure out what was going on here.  Rick wasn’t even attempting to conceal his desperation– and even his slickest move of all, when he complimented me, was transparent.  Wooing a lady takes patience and finesse.  You can’t expect me to leap into your bedchambers the minute things go south with your girlfriend of the week.  Especially after that odd part about loving each other, which only reveals the fact that he was flailing about the city in a boozy frenzy, flinging careless capital Cs and As in his wake.

In my professional opinion, Rick needs to cool his jets.

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?

Excuse Me, Mister

7 Apr

The past few weeks have left me sorting through some serious questions:
-Gay or art student?
-Why do Eastern European men like me so much?
-Does posture correlate with personality?
-I just met you, why is your hand on my ass?

“Roger” and I met a few weeks ago at a bar in my neighborhood.  He had moved to the city from upstate to attend art school and was now working as an illustrator.  Under the question “How willing are you to meet someone from OKCupid in person?” he put “Hesitant, but I’d certainly consider it.”  Most people put “Totally willing!” so I figured he must be new to the scene.  Upon meeting him however, Roger told me that I was his fourth OKCupid date that week!  He had thick black glasses, the art-student slump, and he kind of reminded me of the rabbit from “Donny Darko”… not because he was evil, but because he looked like a big ol’ bunny.  Roger had done a lot of illustrations for various companies around New York, including the artwork for a video game that he described as “like Angry Birds… but with poop.”  He was now working on a children’s book about hip hop.  Perfect.  It just so happens I’ve been working on a “children’s” book about safe-sex… and I am in the market for an illustrator!

Roger seemed a little disconnected until we started talking about OKCupid.  He shared that he had almost deleted his profile after a particularly awkward first date.  Apparently, he met this girl on a corner and (after the usual introductions) had suggested they head to a nearby bar.  She revealed to him that she was a recovering alcoholic and said it’d mean a lot to her if he would accompany her to an AA meeting that night… which he did.  Everyone in the room went around and shared their stories while Roger sat in silence, staring at his substantial sneakers.  That is one of my favorite blind date stories I’ve heard in awhile.  The subject changed to our favorite bands and I told him a certain band I was a big fan of in high school was playing the following week.  His eyes lit up for the first time all night, “I love that band!  Do you have tickets yet?!  Can I go with you?!”  Minutes later, thanks to several beers and the ease of the Ticketmaster app, Roger and I had tickets to the concert.  For the remainder of the date, he kept rubbing my lower back… occasionally dropping his hand a little too low if you know what I mean.  His sudden PDA weirded me out, but to be fair I had just committed to a concert with him.

I returned home pretty satisfied with the date.  Roger was a nice man and had even bought my drinks.  It also seemed like he was actually looking for someone to date… or maybe he was just desperate to get his groove on, who knows.  I wasn’t sure if I was attracted to him, but maybe he would grow on me the second date (it’s happened before).  As I was falling asleep I received a text from Roger that said “I had a great time tonight!  We should definitely get lunch or something before the concert… ASAP!”  Eek.  I reasoned that his text probably came off a little too eager because he was drunk.  But over the course of the next few days he continued to text me about the concert, how excited he was, how we should get matching t-shirts, etc.  Yeah, I wasn’t so sure about this guy.

The day of the show finally came.  We were meeting at a nearby bar prior to going to the venue.  When Roger arrived, he smelled as if he had just enjoyed a Bloomin’ Onion and he had a windbreaker tied around his waist like he was about to take a tour of Alcatraz.  My friend was in the neighborhood, so she joined us for a drink before we headed out.  One drink turned into a few and, when I got up to use the bathroom, Roger confided in her that he liked me a lot and hoped he hadn’t scared me off by telling me how many OKCupid dates he had gone on.  "Oh believe me,” my friend said, “she understands.”  Wink.

At the concert, Roger bought us some beers and we headed into the masses.  Now, this was a crowded punk show with people jumping around and moshing.  It wasn’t a romantic jazz quartet on a veranda.  So why were Roger’s hands slowly caressing my lower back?!  My eyes widened as I looked to the mohawked individual next to me for help–  but he yielded no answers.  I didn’t want to turn around and shout “You stop that, young man!” so I just pretended not to notice.  Unfortunately the caressing only intensified– he put his hands on my hips, and even kissed the back of my head at one point.  OK, I know we were standing very close to each other, but this was a second date and we had not even kissed yet, so a back of the head kiss was a bold move.  Not to mention that’s sort of a fatherly spot to kiss someone.  After the show, we went back to the same bar where I lured his hands away from my torso by ordering sandwiches and onion rings (his favorite).  When we finally parted ways, he told me that we should hang out on Friday.  I got in a cab, wondering how I was going to get out of this one without leading him on.  Moments later I got a text that read “I had fun!  Let’s definitely try for Friday… Please!”  I could have done without the additional “Please!” and “ASAP!” he added to his texts.  All they did was let me know how desperate he was to feel my goodies at the next possible opportunity.  Now I knew how every guy I have ever barraged with texts felt.

To make matters worse, my friend told me the next day how much she liked him better than anyone I’ve dated recently and thought he was great for me.  "My boyfriend is totally not my type.  In fact, I didn’t like him at all when we first started dating” she said in front of her boyfriend, “and look at us now!”  Maybe she has a point.  Since I’ve moved to this city, it always seems like the guys I’m into are only interested in one thing… and I’m never attracted to the ones who actually like me.  How can this cycle be broken?!  Maybe I should give Roger another chance.

“Just say, ‘Excuse me mister, I don’t really like it when you touch me like that'” was my mom (the nursery school teacher)’s input on the matter.

Are things really that simple?

Angel of Death

28 Mar

So a Hasidic Jew and a shiksa walk into a hipster bar on the eve of Passover…

But seriously, the other night I went on a blind date with a Hasidic Jew.  I’m not gonna lie to you, I was a little hesitant about it at first.  Some stereotypes of Hasidic men are that they dislike non-Jewish people, or even that they are big sleezebags who go around kidnapping women and forcing them into their underground brothels.  But that seemed silly to me and we were meeting at a crowded bar in the middle of Williamsburg.  The Hasid (as he referred to himself online) had been messaging me for a couple weeks, and when he asked me out for drinks I agreed, mainly because I had many questions.  The night before we were to meet, he informed me that his profile picture was fake (to protect his identity) and emailed me his real pictures.  He then wanted to know whether I thought his real picture or his fake picture was more attractive.  I didn’t really know how to respond– both the real him and fake him were short, skinny men with glasses, long beards, and the usual Hasidic get-up.

Admittedly, I had never even seen a Hasid until I moved to Brooklyn.  I guess Wisconsin isn’t a big Hasidic hot spot.  For those of you who don’t know, Hasidic Judaism is a branch of Orthodox Judaism that is very prominent in certain neighborhoods in Brooklyn.  Most of the building owners here are Hasidic, including my former and current landlord.  Hasidic men wear black three-piece suits, white dress shirts, yarmulkes or large rabbit fur hats, and have a long curl on either side of their face.  The women also must have their arms, legs, and neck covered, even when it’s 100 degrees out.  They too wear all black, and married women have to wear a wig or scarf on their head.

The Hasid couldn’t meet until 10:30pm because sneaking off to a bar to meet a non-Hasidic woman is risky business.  On the eve before Passover, no less!  I didn’t want to go all the way home then back out again, so I spent an hour and a half at La Esquina, eating fish tacos and swapping blind date stories with the bartender over a couple pre-Hasid glasses of wine.  She had a really good one involving an uppity lesbian with poached egg all over her face.

When I got to The Levee, I found The Hasid sitting at a table in the back, a large black hoodie covering his traditional garb. He lowered the hood to reveal a pair of tightly wound curls and a velvet yarmulke.  Looking back I don’t remember if we shook hands or not; I know Hasidic men are not allowed to touch women who aren’t their wife.  He explained that he had to be very careful going to and from bars to meet women because Hasids are very gossipy and will drive around in their minivans looking for something to talk about.  Once, a Hasidic landlord caught him on the cameras in his building going into a girl’s apartment and reported it to his boss in an attempt to get him fired.  Another time, his boss found his OKCupid profile open on his work computer and that was a big scandal as well.  The Hasid bought us a round of beers and I began my questionnaire:

Me:  Can you only drink kosher beer?
Him:  No, we can only drink kosher wine.  Most beer and liquor is already kosher.
Me:  But you can’t possibly be allowed to go on OKCupid?
Him:  I’m not.  We are not supposed to mingle with non-Hasidics, that’s also why we’re not supposed to be in bars.  But lots of Hasidic men still go to bars late at night.
Me:  Ah, so you’re a rebel.  Is there a Hasidics-only dating website like J Date?
Him:  No, because we are supposed to use a Matchmaker.
Me:  A yenta.
Him:  Yes, how do you know about yentas?
Me:  I was in “Fiddler on the Roof” once.  So only men go to bars and women have to stay home all the time with the kids?
Him:  Pretty much.  Sometimes we have Hasidic concerts, but the sexes are segregated by a fence.  The men are allowed to dance, but the women have to stay seated because they can’t dance in the presence of men.
Me:  You mentioned on your profile that you’re divorced.  That’s allowed?
Him:  Of course it’s allowed.
Me:  So what about divorced women?  They still have to hide in their homes all day and night?
Him:  Yeah, Hasidic girls go to school until they’re 18, then get married and start having children immediately.  Some have seven or eight kids.  By the time they’re done raising all their children they are old.
Me:  Well that sounds pretty unfair that the men get to go out dancing and carousing, but the women don’t get to do anything but get pregnant and sit around the house.
Him:  Yeah, it is.

The Hasid told me to get up early the next morning and walk around Bedford Stuyvesant because all of the Hasids would be out burning their bread on the street corners.  This is because they aren’t allowed to eat bread for eight(?) days during Passover, so they burn all their leftover loaves the morning prior to the holiday.  He asked me if I knew the story of Passover and I said no… but if it was any consolation I also thought Easter was just a holiday for celebrating bunnies and chicks until I was like 18 years old.  This was due to the fact that my family is not at all religious, so for Easter we just dyed eggs and went on fun egg hunts, then visited some newly hatched chicks at the local mall.  I loved Easter.  Then I went away to college in Missouri and saw a “Happy Resurrection” card at Walmart and it was all downhill from there.

Surprisingly enough, The Hasid shared that he had met a lot of non-Jewish women on OKCupid and had made some good friends.  When I asked him if he’d ever get married again, he said probably not.  But apparently a girl he met on OKCupid, whom he was having a secret affair with, wanted a relationship with him and was incredibly upset when he said he couldn’t date her because she was Asian.  Another girl he met on OKCupid told him it was one of her biggest fantasies to sleep with a Hasidic Jew, and spent the whole date talking about it.  Wow, who knew?  On my to-do list I have things like “pick up laundry,” “vacuum cat hair” and “don’t eat pizza for breakfast.”  Not “have sex with a Hasid.”

When our beers were empty and I had run out of questions, he offered to give me a ride home since we live in the same neighborhood.  It was a tempting offer, but I declined, saying I didn’t feel comfortable getting into a stranger’s vehicle– especially a minivan.  This guy was a real rule-breaker and I didn’t want him to try any funny business once we were alone in his Honda Odyssey.

This date was informative and The Hasid was a very nice man.  I learned a thing or two about my Brooklyn neighbors (at least The Hasid’s version of them) and got some insider tips on ensuring I get my damage deposit back when I move in a couple months.  When I told a coworker I went out with a Hasidic Jew the night before Passover he said “Whoa, you’re like the Angel of Death!”  I laughed… thirty minutes later, after I Wikipedia-ed that reference and actually got it.  Now I was really feeling jazzy!  What’s next, a monk?  Maybe… I have spotted one lingering around the West Village handing out pamphlets…

My Hero!

21 Mar

Last time I was on OKCupid I met lawyers, computer programmers, doctors, mimes, musicians, writers, teachers, bankers… the list goes on.  So I am a little confused as to why I am only being messaged by stand-up comedians!  Well, comedians and a hearty handful of graphic designers and video editors.  There must be something in my profile that is attracting these special breeds.  Anyway, last week after getting messaged by probably my ninth stand-up comedian, I finally gave in and arranged a date with the most persistent of the bunch.  "Bryan” seemed cute and less of a hot mess than the others.  Boy, was I in for a treat.

Several minutes after I sat down to wait at the bar, I received a text saying that I should turn around because he was sitting at a table behind me.  He was simultaneously reading a newspaper and listening to his ipod, which I thought were strange things to be doing while waiting for your blind date.  I sat down at his table and he snapped his paper shut and pulled out his earbuds with such force that they flew across the table and hit me in the chest.  He began by lamenting how crappy his ipod classic was and I pulled mine out of my coat pocket to show that I have the same one.  "Let me see that!” he barked, ripping it out of my hand and sending my earbuds flying straight into his beer.  I didn’t say anything, but dried them off with a napkin under the table.  I could tell it was going to be a long hour.

Bryan immediately launched into (what I gathered was) his stand-up material– telling stories about himself in ways that were clearly set-ups for his punchlines.  When he finished his sentences, he would pause, then repeat the last phrase, waiting for me to laugh… which I did every once in awhile just to humor him because it was getting awkward and he seemed desperate for attention.  I barely said a word since he had so much to say about himself and whenever I would start to speak he interrupted me.  As he went on and on, I thought about how he must be a really problematic lover– I had recently read an article about how men who are totally self-involved and bad at listening are generally pretty terrible in the sack.  At one point he said “Wow, you’re really making me work for a laugh. I feel like I’m bombing here!”  Yeah, because I didn’t have seven Mountain Dews on the way over and I don’t think you’re that funny.  His arm gestures were so grandiose that they were making me dizzy and eventually the inevitable happened– he knocked over his beer with a giant swoop, spilling it all over a girl who happened to be passing by.  I could tell he was nervous, but he needed to bring it down a few notches.  When he mentioned that he was 38, but not yet ready for a relationship I almost choked on my wine.  "Yeah… didn’t you read my profile?” he asked after seeing my reaction to his age.  I did, I had just forgotten because of how he was acting on our date.  Geez, why are men in New York so complicated?!

Bryan was very abrasive and spent the hour insulting just about everyone.  He called our server a hipster to his face before talking about how he doesn’t like improv and sketch comedy people because they’re “corny and unoriginal.”  He said he doesn’t get along with other comedians… or his coworkers… or his friends from back home… or his family.  He also shared that he owes upwards of $12,000 to the IRS for cheating on his taxes.  Oh, and his ex-girlfriend was apparently a psycho and punched him in the face.  All very attractive things to tell someone you met less than an hour ago.  This guy was the epitome of the “victim” type– In his mind he is just a good guy trying to follow his dreams and everybody else is bringing him down because they don’t understand or are out to get him.  I am very familiar with this type of guy because I dated one a few years ago.  Bryan reminded me so much of him it was a little creepy.

The icing on the cake was when Bryan asked me if I wanted to watch his stand-up routines on his ipod.  What was I supposed to say, no?!  I put my beer-soaked earbuds in and watched not one, but TWO of his stand up routines.  I have to say that the first one was more entertaining than the material I was getting live and in person.  At any rate, it was time to go.  He picked up the bill (which was much appreciated) and after I helped him calculate the tip, he informed me that he was going to walk me to the train.  I know he was trying to be chivalrous, but I really just wanted out of there.  Walking full-speed to the G train, I was glued to Google Maps on my phone… when it happened.  I fell in a hole.  The sidewalk had cut out on my side to make room for a tree and I had missed the memo, not watching where I was going.  Luckily, as I started to fall, Bryan was quick to catch me before I landed.  We shared a laugh over it, but then he decided to reenact the moment (so he could grab me again I’m guessing).  Without warning, he lightly pushed me in the middle of the street then enveloped me in a large embrace as I tripped again, this time on his encroaching Nikes.  "What are you trying to do, kill me?!” I exclaimed, only half-kidding.  Thankfully, we somehow made it to the subway in one piece and I swiftly descended the steps, shouting “Yeah OK!” up the steps… which I think was an agreement to eat Ethiopian food with him later in the week.  No thanks.

“I just fell in a hole trying to escape a comedian who made me watch two of his stand-up routines on a blind date” I texted my friend.  "That sucks, I just slept with both of my neighbors” she wrote back.

It occurred to me that I can’t exactly ream Bryan for acting a fool and spilling his beer on someone because– let’s face it– I fell in a hole.  Who knows, maybe as I write this very blog post he is up in Astoria developing new material about how he saved the life of this crazy girl who fell in a hole during our blind date.  

Say Goodbye

1 Mar

The Email I Didn’t Send:

“I have to tell you that I was so happy to look at my phone this morning and not have a text from you canceling our plans tonight that I have been looking forward to for two weeks.  And… then I saw your email.

In case you were wondering how I feel about all of this which, I know, isn’t a factor:  I feel sad and stupid.  It seems silly to be so upset over losing someone I was only dating for about four months and only saw once a week (or less).  But I knew the first week I met you that you were unlike the other guys I had met online, or even since I’ve lived in New York for that matter.  I believed you when you said you really liked me and that you were only seeing me.  It took me several dates to be able to trust that you weren’t just someone who was going to tell me what I wanted to hear to get me to sleep with you, then bail a few weeks later.  But nevertheless, here we are.

You were worth it to me to be forgiving and supportive of your busy schedule, to take things very slowly and only see you when you could fit in a night here and there.  You were worth it to try and overlook the fact that it never quite seemed like you properly ended things with your ex.  You were worth it to take your ups and downs and intermittent communication in stride.  I felt good about myself because I had stepped outside my usual comfort zone of what I expect in the beginning of a new relationship and could be flexible to your needs.  The only problem was… I wasn’t worth it to you.

The socially acceptable thing for me to do in this situation would be to not respond to your email.  Act like I don’t care because you were just another guy I met online.  Quietly remove you from my Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and Tumblr, and, without a word, slip back into the sea of people in this city who are inconsequential to your world.

But I think I deserve that you take a split second of time from your busy schedule to consider my feelings before you completely cast me aside.  Especially since you chose to break things off with me via a quick and easy 3:30am email– rather than showing at least some respect by talking to me face to face.”

The Email I Sent:

“Ok.  Good luck with your auditions!

Modern Romance

8 Feb

One of the best things about having this blog is that readers always want to share their  stories with me.  I love hearing about other people’s crazy dating experiences!  If you have a good one, please feel free to share.  Here are some particularly romantic ones that I’ve heard recently:

“A guy just messaged me on OKCupid asking me to visit him in prison.”

“A few weeks ago I had sex in the desert at five AM next to a giant cow carcass that still had some of its skin on it.”

“My first OKCupid blind date was with a girl who surprised me by taking me to an art class.  She painted a river of blood and confessed she had a fetish for men with protruding hip bones.”

“I dated a guy who slept naked on a yoga mat on the floor and the only time he left his mat was to bet a dollar on a horse.  We broke up because he told me that he didn’t feel like we were ‘marching towards marriage’.”

“The other night I went into the bedroom of the guy I’m dating and noticed that there was a turd on his desk chair.  But he ran over and grabbed it before I could say anything.”

“My first OKCupid date held his napkin to my face and asked me to tell him if it smelled like chloroform.  At the end of the night he kissed me teeth first.  It hurt.”

“I’m fairly certain the hot nineteen year old girl from OKCupid that I’ve been corresponding with for two months is actually my homosexual male upstairs neighbor.”

“Once I went on an OKCupid date with a man who revealed to me that he lived under a bush in Central Park.”

“While I was on tour I woke up next to what looked like an elderly man with tits and a bleached wig.  I think I need to delete my OKCupid because this is becoming a problem.”

I don’t know whether to feel jealous or lucky.

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.