Tag Archives: Sexting

The Hawaiian

11 Jun

After being absent from OKCupid for over a year, I suddenly had an urge the other night to throw together a quick profile and see what kind of fun I’ve been missing.  The next morning, my inbox was already overflowing with countless messages of the “Hey, wats up?” variety.  One in particular stood out from the rest, reading “Aloha, how are you enjoying this beautiful day?”  I clicked on his profile to confirm my suspicions– indeed, I had a Hawaiian on my hands!  I had never gone out with a Hawaiian before, and to me they seem almost as elusive as a person from Delaware.

The Hawaiian appeared to be large and jolly, as I envision most male Hawaiians to be, but also seemed cute and laid back.  I was momentarily startled after he appeared to be giving “the shocker” in one of his profile pictures, but upon further investigation discovered it to be some sort of Hawaiian hand vernacular.  The other part of his profile that struck me as odd was the selection he checked off for his body type: “Full-figured.”  With options like “More to love,” “A little extra,” and my personal favorite “Used up,” why in the world would a man select “Full-figured?”  That makes me think of a big ol’ bra.

I canceled on The Hawaiian the first night we had planned to meet, but agreed to get drinks the following night.  He was immediately recognizable when he entered the bar because he was, in fact, a big kahuna.  We sat and chatted about Hawaiian topics– sea mammals, surfing, leis, etc.  He was very amiable and easy to talk to.  He offered to teach me how to surf.  He bought me a drink and then a shot.  He walked me to my door and asked to come up for a moment while he called a car service.  Ahhh, this Hawaiian was very smooth and my guard was down.  I agreed, breaking my number one rule about bringing blind dates home with me (hey, I’ve been out of practice for awhile).

Once inside my apartment, I went to the bathroom while he called for a car.  I was barely gone two minutes… but came back out to find that he had taken off all of his clothes and was fully nude, standing in the middle of the room.   I didn’t quite know what to say, so I went with “uhhh, did you call a car?” as if his bare papayas weren’t staring me in the face.  “They said fifteen minutes” he replied, still neither of us moving.  I was going to have to grab the bull by the horns in this situation.  I told him that we would at least need to have a second date before giving each other the Full Nude Review.  He said he understood and got dressed again (which somehow took way longer than the undressing had) and at last a horn honked outside.

I sent a polite follow-up message the next morning, assuming I probably wouldn’t hear from him again.  Boy, was I wrong.  All day long The Hawaiian sent me texts such as “I need more of you ASAP,” “What would you do to me if I was there right now?”, and “Will your sister care if I come over and rip off all your clothes?”  Obviously from here on out I will have to be better about reinforcing my “no house calls on the first date” rule.  Especially when it comes to a man who probably spent much of his life wearing nothing but grass skirts.

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.

Ace of Spades

10 Sep

The other day I was watching a reality TV show about frog-catching at a neighborhood bar.  My friend had abandoned me and my beverage was long gone but I couldn’t unglue my eyes from the duo of old men on the screen hurling accusations of amphibian sabotage at one another.  Suddenly, a bar patron who sounded like a Tickle-Me-Elmo in mid-tickle straddled the barstool next to mine and asked if he could buy me a drink.  I was hesitant– the last guy I’d taken up on that offer at this particular venue had turned out to be a crawfish-obsessed carny.

My new friend’s name was Brant.  I’d never met such a giggly individual and couldn’t decide if I was more confused by what drug he must be on, or why he was wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap inside a bar at night.  He asked what I did for a living and I told him that I work in a store… which prompted an eruption of high-pitched giggles.  When I returned the question, he looked around before responding in a lowered voice “I play poker.”  That’s right– Brant was a part-time poker player, full-time party animal.  I could see a reflection of my facial expression in his dark lenses and quickly altered it to appear more impressed.  I don’t remember anything that was said between “I play poker” and “Let’s go to Atlantic City and get married next Wednesday” because my brain was still stuck trying to process that there is an entire reality series dedicated to frog-catching.  But it was just one of those situations where you agree to go to Atlantic City with someone you just met to get married next Wednesday.  Why not?

Sadly, my schedule that Wednesday ended up being full to the brim, so my fiancé had to go to Atlantic City alone.  He sent me a text saying what a great time he was having but how it would be much more fun if I were there.  How romantic!  Did he even remember what I look like?  Because I didn’t have any clue, thanks in part to his unabomber disguise.  I recall a sort of mushroomy nose and distressing thumbs… but I only remember the thumbs because he sent me a picture of them fanning out five crisp $100 bills.

A few evenings later, he asked if he could use his plentiful winnings to buy me some beers.  I declined his offer because I didn’t want to go out after work, and he texted back “Ok then send me a pic if u in ur PJs.”  ENGAGEMENT OFF.  What a creep.  My disgust quickly dissipated, however, when I realized how hilarious his typo was.  He wanted me to send him a sexy selfie… but only IF I was wearing my PJs– no nudity or underwear, please.  I started to text him back “you first,” but was afraid he would actually follow through.  A vision crossed my mind of Brant cackling into the night sky, wearing sunglasses, a cap, and onesie pajamas– with the rear-end flap unbuttoned to reveal a strategically-placed Ace of Spades.

What had I gotten myself into?  A pending engagement with a professional gambler who wears criminal disguises and has a pajama fetish.  This is precisely why you don’t encourage people in a biker bar.