Thursday, November 5, 2009

Christopher Robin on Match.com

Dating headline:

“True love is like a ghost; everyone talks of it, few have seen it.” –– Francois VI, Duc de La Rochefoucauld (1613–1680), French author


Wednesday, November 4, 2009

Boobs.com

Another charmer...who I will NOT be rescheduling a date with...

"just don't wear any revealing tops or i'll hyperventilate"

Oh, don't you worry about that...

I can't help but wonder, what do guys say to girls who aren't busty during pre-blind-date communication?

Monday, November 2, 2009

Ladylike Behavior

After a bout with food poisoning...

Friend: Yes for sure....ugh. Do u feel skinny?
Me: no. not even. i wish.
Me: Too fat to even feel skinny after barfing...

Aren't I charming?




Friday, October 30, 2009

ADAT: Strike Three

ADAT wanted to go out on a second date...this needs no further set-up.

ADAT: How about we watch a movie at my place sometime next week?

How about we've only been on one date. No.

Me: Why don't we go bowling or something?!

ADAT: You don't think I would be a gentlemen if I were alone with you on my couch?

Well I certainly hope I wouldn't be facing a Multiplicity situation and that there would only be one gentlemAn there...and...no.

Me: Do YOU think you'd be a gentleman if we were alone on your couch?

ADAT: Yes. If by gentlemen (what's with the plural ?!?!?!) you mean kissing you, helping you out of your bra and then...

Me: Yeah, we must be using different dictionaries.

ADAT: Is being affectionate inconsistent with being a gentlemen:)?

OK, I ALMOST overlooked the plural when I was distracted by the emoticon.

Me: Being overtly physical on a second meeting is inconsistent. Not to mention, the use of an ellipsis usually means trouble.

STRIKE 3 - Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee's outta here!


Thursday, October 29, 2009

ADAT: Strike Two

So, we left off with a ridiculous exchange between myself and ADAT over the phone. The next day I received a text message from him apologizing for the conversation...

ADAT: I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable last night. I was just trying to be playful.

Me: Yeah, didn't really know how to react to some of that. A little insecure about my shape to tell the truth. Plenty of guys just interested in that.

ADAT: I didn't want to rush you. I promise I'm a chill, fun guy but agree we shouldn't get ahead of ourselves in the intimacy dept before we meet.

ADAT: Having said that I did like hearing what you had to say :)...

ADAT: Of course. I can be a bad boy but I have a good heart...

Me: Well keep the bad boy in check and we'll go from there.

I agreed to go out with him.

We had another phone conversation, during which he apologized profusely - making me feel better about our pending date.

ADAT lives on the opposite side and end of Manhattan from me, so we decided to meet in midtown and watch the Yankee/Angels game (boo Yankees).

Before our date, I got a few more inappropriate texts (How about some plunging cleavage to soften the blow of you taunting my beloved Yankees? for example).

I met up with him anyway and the date was going well - comfortable if not a little quiet. No mention of boobs or anything awkward. We moved from one bar to another (ADAT doesn't drink, so please keep that in mind as the story continues) and scored a booth to continue watching the game.

A quick glance and I saw he looked at my boobs - I was wearing a v-neck t-shirt from Gap, not exactly the sexiest top on Earth.

Real short disclaimer here: I completely understand boys look at boobs. It's in their nature. Got it. No biggie. It becomes an "issue" when a girl feels like the guy is a deer in headlights and seems to forget there is a head located slightly above the area of interest and then comments on her chest. I have plenty of guy friends who manage to make fairly consistent eye contact.

Moving on.

"Well, I have to say I like the neckline of your t-shirt," he said with what I think was supposed to be a come-hither grin. "Sexy."

I smiled awkwardly. "Thanks."

The game ended and we decided we'd go to another bar. He suggested cutting over to 10th Ave from 9th and held my hand. We were walking down 53rd and he stopped, turned me around and kissed me. And whimpered.

It was literally 3 seconds before his hands were on my chest. More girly whimpering that made me even more uncomfortable than his hands on me.

I laughed. I honestly thought he was kidding. He misinterpreted my laugh as a giggle and proceeded. I pulled away a little.

He kissed me again - hands on my back. I thought I was safe...until he itsy-bitsy-spidered them UP my back and tried to UNHOOK MY BRA...ON 53rd STREET.

I really pulled away and said, "Um, that is not going to happen."

"No?" he cooed. Yeah, I used the word "coo" - because that is what this weirdo did. He whimpered and cooed.

"No."

"Hmm ok." Coo, coo, whimper, whimper.

He kissed me and whinnied again. Then he stuck his hand down the front of my shirt. That's right. Down. The front. Of my shirt.

I pulled away. His hand remained.

It was stuck in my cleavage. Like an animal in a trap.

Strike 2.

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

ADAT: Strike One

ADAT is an Assistant District Attorney. Guess what his first initial is...that's right, you super-sleuth.

Right off the bat I had an inkling that ADAT was going to be a DB. This inkling is called intuition. I ignored it. And with three strikes - the first of which will be revealed today - he's out.

We exchanged a few e-mails and turned to texts then a phone conversation. Being that he's 11 years older than I, I gotta say I was impressed with his ability to navigate technology (I kid, I kid). Our first conversation went well - he was a little awkward, but with all the crap I've dealt with I actually found it endearing. We talked about the Yankees (his favorite team) and the Red Sox (guess who is a card carrying member of Red Sox Nation) and he was incredibly uncomfortable talking smack. Again, I should have known this was a sign. But no, I ignored it.

We decided we'd go out the following Thursday and would figure out plans as it got closer.

Fast forward through a few texts. He asked if he could call again and I said yes - afterall, I had to tell him I wasn't going to make it on Thursday (blew him off to go on 3rd date with another guy who MUST have been kidnapped - the date was great and an abduction is the only reasonable conclusion for no follow up).

I didn't wait long to tell him I was going to have to postpone for "work" reasons. After that, he didn't wait long to turn to inappropriate conversation.

"So I told you I'd come up with some good questions when we talked again," he offered. I'd told him we shouldn't talk too many times before we meet because we'd run out of things to say. I was kidding - kinda.

"Oh that's right!" I couldn't wait to hear what he came up with...(stupid me).

"So the picture of you with those goofy glasses is really cute - where was it taken?"

Ahh, good choice - my glowstick sunglasses! I explained the picture was from an event put on for some family members in Denver.

"Interesting," he said - which I found odd - till I realized it was because he didn't care about the glasses. "I like the top you're wearing."

There it is.

He continued, "It really flatters your figure nicely."

"It's a dress from J.Crew," I didn't know what to say - so obviously I just avoided the topic at hand.

"Well you are very well endowed."

No shit. Let me take my top off and check! Wowowow - you're right! I had no idea. Where the heck did these lady lumps come from?!

I tried to lighten the mood, "Yeah, well I know I pop out of it a bit but I figured J. Crew is family-friendly so it wouldn't be considered inappropriate."

"No - no. I really like it."

OK.

"So how big are they?"

Who? Thelma and Louise?

"They are big."

"Yeah - how big?" said Prince Charming. "Like, you know - how big are they?"

"Ummm, I mean, they're really big."

"Like, what size are they?"

__________(insert your own response because, as you'll see, mine was ineffective)

Now this is the point where I figured if I just answer this dip-shit's question he'd realize I'm not playing coy mistress to his Andrew Marvell.

And I told him.

"Wow. That's great!"

WHAT!?

"So did you just develop really early or like, did it happen all of a sudden?"

Funny you ask, it literally just happened 3 weeks ago. Nuts, right?

"Um, yeah. Early - totally made me really uncomfortable."

"Cool. And what about the rest of your body?"

This is one of those moments where in hindsight, it is crystal clear I should have hung up.

"I mean, what do you want me to say? I look like a woman."

He waited.

"I have boobs and hips and a waist."

You got served.

Let's be real, if this was the end of the story, this blog wouldn't be living up to it's reputation. There's more...

"And what about your booty?"

"I mean, it exists."

"Nice," awkward silence - which I refused to fill. "So anything you want to know about me?"

No but I would be happy to tell you why YOU are single...no mystery buddy.

"Whatever you want to tell me."

"Well," oh he was gearing up. "I squat X and bench Y."

Snooooooze.

He kept going, " I think I have a really nice body. I wish my abs were better defined, but what I lack for in definition there I make up for with a nice chest and arms."

Like the Energizer bunny, this guy just kept going and going, "Oh, and I fill out my bicycle shorts nicely."

"Oh." What I meant was Oh, shit.

"Yeah," I could picture him puffing up his chest in the mirror as he talked. "So I'm really well endowed too."

"Well wouldn't we just make the most adorable couple."

"Yeah," flex well defined arms.

"So any movies coming out soon that you're looking forward to?" How's THAT for a change of subject?

STEEEEEEEERIKE ONE (I know, I know - there are technically about 17 strikes in this story alone)!

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Times Square Shoulder Tap

It was just another morning last week. I was having a particularly dowdy day, dressed head to toe in predictable Gap fashions (that's right khakis and cableknit sweater) and barely going to be on time for work. I was actually a bit concerned someone in my office would tell me to just go home if I'm not going to put any effort into my appearance. It was a risk I was willing to take.

As I looked both ways before crossing Broadway at 40th Street (safety first, kiddos), I heard a car honk twice. Naturally, I scoped where it was coming from to make sure I wasn't being warned about my imminent death. My gaze was greeted by a man in the drivers seat of a parked van smiling and waving "hello" at me furiously. He cracked his door open - as though he was afraid I was going to hop in - and said "Come on, baby. I'm just saying Hi, give me a smile."

Fabulous I thought as I shook my head, laughed and crossed the street.

As I reached the door to my office building, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I looked back. And down. And there was the goofy guy from the van.

Twitchy? Check.
Scary smile? Check.
Patchwork fisherman hat worn tilted over one eye like a fedora? Check.

"I'm sorry miss," he said as he laughed uncomfortably and did a strange side-step dance.

"Can I help you?" The thought crossed my mind that maybe he was homeless and had been attempting to steal the van.

"Oh um yes. I just want to say, wow, you take my breath away."

Say what?

"Excuse me?"

"I mean, I know this sounds weird - shit, I don't even like white girls. But damn, my heart stopped when I saw you."

This isn't happening.

"Wow that's very flattering."

"Listen, I made mistakes in my life by letting things pass me by. And I saw you and told myself not to let history repeat itself." He clutched his chest.

Blank stare from me. I mean, really, what the hell am I supposed to say?

"So I ran over here - I don't know if I closed my car door. Oh! And I'm not crazy or nothin'. I work in entertainment," he paused to see if I'd bite on the entertainment line. "I just came from shooting for Taxicab Confessions."

Fabulous.


"So I don't know if you're in a relationship or married...or damn! Shoot, if you're single! But listen, could I just give you my number? I'm sure you're a busy career woman."

I looked down at my hand and was clutching my blackberry for dear life. For one brief moment I wondered If I just throw this at the ground will he still think it's mine or could I pass it off as though it was never in my possession?

"Oh you know, I don't know," I stalled. He looked like a sad, 47 year old Pound Puppy. "I have a boyfriend."

Wow - now THAT is a lie.

"Is it serious?"

"Yeah, it really is. I'm sorry." LIES LIES LIES.

"Well, do you think he might screw up?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Yeah, like, could you take my number in case he screws up?"

Sweet dude, you're jinxing a relationship that doesn't even exist.

"Oh you know, it really is pretty serious. I hope he doesn't screw up."

"Of course. Of course...but just in case?"

Am I taking it too far if I say we're moving in together? Hopefully he won't ask me a name...

"I'm sorry I just don't think it's a good idea."

"Whew," he said as he shook his head. "Well dang. Can't say I didn't try."

I laughed...uncomfortably.

"Well I am very flattered."

"Sure. Sure. Either way - you made my day. Just seeing your face light up in my direction."

"Aw thank you."

I. Am. So. Uncomfortable.

"Well God bless baby. You have a great day."

What was YOUR morning commute like today?

Monday, October 26, 2009

Facebook Chat = The Devil

Boy: still up for hanging out Friday?

Boy: Friday still good?

Me: yeah

I didn't mean it

Boy: Cool- hope I didn't offend u the other when I said u should wear something that shows off your legs

Right it wasn't awkward at all to hear that from someone I've never met and is basing his comment on a picture of my legs in a skirt...standing on a bar.

Me: Nah

Boy: Ok good- just checking cause u left right after- wasn't sure

Yup...connect the dots...go on...

Boy: So would u do that for me?

Me: Wear a skirt?

Boy: So would u do that for me? Yea

Boy: It would def be hot if u wore a skirt :)

Boy: Got kicked off- missed if u said anything

Me: Oh no - watching Glee at the same time

Yeah, that's right - Glee is awesome. And again, dude, if you make that many comments and I'm not responding - I'm CHOOSING to watch Glee instead of respond. Kinda hoping you'll retract the request.

Boy: It’s cool

Thank goodness.

Boy sends me an e-mail asking if he can call when I get signed off. I sign back on 30 min later. During that time, I reflected a bit and decided Helloooo you're not interested in this dude. Let him go - set him free to roam the world of online dating.

Boy: Ok to call u?

Here it comes, bud.

Me: you know, I’m sorry but I think you're a little too forward for me...call me old fashioned...or maybe I’m too conservative for you hah

Boy: I’m sorry - I was just being playful

Me: Totally understand and that's fine

Don't want homie to feel like a complete jackass...

Boy: I’d like to hang out and get to know u. maybe I just got carried away.

Or maybe you're hell bent on making this more drawn out and uncomfortable than it needs to be.

Me: Actually I think it's more me - just not totally hip to the being suggestive to people I don't really know. (Probably why I’ve found myself on match haha)

It's not you, it's me...isn't that supposed to work?

Boy: I hear ya- I’ll tone it down. Deal?

No.

Me: I don’t want you to have to censor - maybe better to part ways

Boy: That’s not all I’m about. I’m cool with hanging out and talking- I can keep the flirting much milder :)

Um, is that an emoticon?

Me: I’m sorry I don't date guys who use emoticons hahh

Hey, I was just trying to lighten the mood and send a message.

Boy: Why don’t we talk on the phone and give that a shot. If u still don’t wanna hang out I’ll give up

Me: I’m sorry - just don't think it will work out. Really wish you luck though

Boy: I feel dumb now- I wanted to get to know u and I fucked up

Me: Please don't feel dumb

Boy: You don’t really know me- there’s no harm in having a conversation. Don’t make me beg!

Me: Haha I mean, I’m pretty awesome, but not worth begging for

Boy: One phone call and I promise if u don’t wanna talk after I’ll leave u alone for good

Me: Hah at this point I think it will just be awkward. I don't want you to feel badly about how this has gone down. You seem like a nice guy, just don’t think it's going to work out. Good luck!

Boy: Alrighty I don’t think it would be but guess I won’t change your mind. I only flirted like that cause I thought u liked it

Me: I understand

Boy: I’ll try u in a couple weeks - maybe it'll be better then - good night

Me: G'night

Friday, October 23, 2009

THIS IS WHY I'M SINGLE Part 2

Mr. Nice-y Pants chose the wrong day to send his e-mail to me about my fig'r. While I typically choose to ignore, this time I chose to respond.

You're not mistaken, I do have a big chest. Pretty self conscious about it, too. I posted pictures of more than just my face so people wouldn't think I'm just a floating head or have 7 arms. When I posted those pictures, I was afraid I'd get attention simply because of my shape.

While I am an hourglass shaped girl, there's nothing bombshell-ish about me. Kinda a tomboy, down to earth, not at all a girls gone wild type. Sometimes my figure leads to misconceptions about my personality.

I'm not sure what message you're trying to get across in your e-mail other than to let me know you like large chests. To that I say, I'm flattered that you like my figure but highly recommend you keep those comments to yourself when you're talking to a girl who has a big (natural) chest until you've developed some sort of common ground.

I apologize if this comes across as rude - I think I just managed to get this e-mail from you after a string of guys making similar comments (as you mentioned in your e-mail) and it's just frustrating to so consistently feel like I'm not taken seriously.

What would you have said to this a-hole?

Thursday, October 22, 2009

THIS IS WHY I'M SINGLE

So, I was debating which of the many stories to kick this bad boy off with - started a few different posts and then had this e-mail come through on Match.com.

This guy's username references what a stand up dude he is: NicestGuyInTheWholeWideWorld - or something like that. He shot a wink my way and sent a nice e-mail. I responded - he wrote back. Hadn't gotten back to him while I was on jury duty (believe it or not, Match.com was not my #1 choice for how to pass the little free time I had).

As I was half way through what I thought would be today's post, I received this e-mail from him.

hey

i know we havent emailed each other much but i thought i would be up front and honest.

I came across your profile and read the entire thing. i then checked out your pics and noticed you seem to have a very large chest. this got my attention plus the fact you have a very cute face.

I happen to have a thing for females who are very top heavy. bottom heavy is fine too, but i just have my preferences.

I am sorry if this offends you or ruins your out look. but i am just being honest. i am sure you get lots of attention from guys because of that. if i am wrong all together, then i apologize for my behavior.

regards

A few things:

1) Gotta give this idiot SOME credit for being honest
2) I'm taking down any pictures that reveal anything other than my face
3) Are there this many motherless or sisterless guys out there that they think this is appropriate behavior?
4) "Regards" - SERIOUSLY??? Why save the formality for the sign off?

If this is what the "nice guys" are turning into then Lord help us all!

Friday, October 9, 2009

Jury's Almost Out!!!

Don't know that the title makes perfect sense, but here's the message: Grand Jury Duty ends TODAY!

That means "Why I'm Single" is coming back.

What to expect:
  • A conspiracy theorist
  • A salsa-dancing peer pressurer
  • The re-emergence of Seandian
  • 50% off sushi dinner
  • Additional running cat-calls
Stay tuned!! And thanks for being patient while I complete my civic duty.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Served

Hey all -

Just found out that I have a certain civic duty to fulfill...for an entire MONTH. This means I might be posting less - as work will be seriously spilling into personal (AKA blogging) hours.

Please keep checking back, particularly as Seandian has been stepping up his game again - as has a strapping lad I met at Hogs & Heifers (which you may know as the bar from Coyote Ugly, which ironically comes close to how I'd describe this dude).

xx

Friday, September 4, 2009

Active Produce?

When I run, I typically wear two sports bras to keep the girls in check. However, I've recently discovered one I can wear solo that does a fairly good job. The only hitch? It doesn't hold items as well as a double stack of sports bras. (My ability to carry things unseen in my bras recently won me the nickname Poppins - as in Mary - as in her big ol' bag of goodies)

So when I was running up Columbus last night to meet my friend Kate and give her an official (AKA boozy) welcome to New York, I was constantly feeling above my right boob to make sure my keys hadn't slipped.

Now, if I'd been running on the LES or in Midtown or UES I would have fully expected that a quick movement could easily be interpreted by a pervert as me groping myself. I did not expect any reaction on the UWS - afterall, aren't people supposed to be more sophisticated up there?

Much to my surprise, the perfect storm arrived as I stalled by a Windstar during a red light: my Taylor Swift running playlist was between songs, I did a key check and I was jogging in place next to a minican driving moron. And this is what I heard...

Yeah, you like that, huh? Feel anything good in there? I bet you do. Melons. Giant melons.

Seriously, if what I have to look forward to is a man who forces a minivan on me, then harasses a sweaty girl on the UWS, referring to her chest as melons, I'll just stay single thank you very much. The dude could at least have just kept those thoughts up in his brain.

Thursday, September 3, 2009

Polltastic

Hey guys -

Thanks for responding to yesterday's post - I love that this baby has followers that are so funny! I decided I'm going to add a poll each week, asking a "Would you rather" question related to dating/this blog (look to the right).

Results will be revealed in a weekly post and I would love if you'd share feedback, rationale for your answer, etc.

It's not like the only whackos are in New York - so I know you people all over the good ol' GLOBE (WIS is international, folks!) can relate - keep on sharing your stories!

xx

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

Riddle Me This...

Would you rather date a sober homeless guy if he had a good sense of humor and an exceptional ability to juggle a variety of unexpected objects (I'm thinking traffic cones, bike locks, shoes - you know, stuff hobos have access to) OR a rich, rude i-banker with a bad attitude? You have to pick one.

And what's the rationale for your pick?

Don't think I won't be weighing in, too.

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

AC Epiphany

One of my summer adventures this year was a girls trip to Atlantic City. Now, I'm not much of a casino/clubs/fake swanky lounge girl - but I'm a good sport, so I buckled in for a "crazy" weekend.

Our first night was typical, get a little gussied up, hit the hotel bar and call it a night. The hotel bar was alright. The characters there were not. I don't think there was a solitary guy wearing anything other than a graphic tee or a tight button down. Needless to say, not exactly my style. Then again, I wasn't exactly hoping to pick up a guy who enjoys spending his time in places like Atlantic City.

The second night was going to be our "big night out" - so I dressed the part. I wore a 70's looking teal dress that is supposed to kinda look like a wrap. Due to my sizable boonies, the drawstring waist hit snugly beneath my chest (yes this is relevant to the story). I rarely intentionally show off the girls, rarely wear more than a single coat of mascara and - you guessed it - rarely do more than run a brush through my wet hair before running out the door.

But not this night! Oh no. I went all out and my friends went nuts (I also got a bizarre number of compliments from guy friends when pictures from the weekend hit Facebook - they might not have known I had it in me).

As my friend Lauren and I navigated the planks of the boardwalk in heels, a fantastic gust of wind threw my dress in the air. I scrambled and like to think I saved myself (then again, what does it matter? I've had more Marylin Monroe 7 Year Itch moments in New York than I care to discuss). Lauren looked like an adorable purple cupcake and I looked like an adorable jolly green giant-boobed whore.

I felt self-conscious and holding my dress down to the best of my ability.

Then I heard, "Hey baby, don't worry about holding that skirt down! You look great!"

I turned to see who would be saying such a thing - only to find a sea of hair gel and graphic tees.

And that's when I remembered I was in New Jersey.

We went to a great dinner and while I was in the bathroom, the decision was made that we'd head back to the hotel and go to the hotel bar from the night before.

I knew the Ed Hardy crowd was going to like my outfit and braced myself for an evening of wishing I was wearing a Dickie under my dress.

Well, lo-and-behold, the moment came when I did the awkward "I'm trying to get around you and you're trying to get around me and we keep picking the same direction - God when will this end?" thing. Fred Astaire finally made it past me - he was looking for his friends, I was looking for an opening at the bar.

We end up running into each other at the other side of the bar, where I'm standing with Lauren and he seemed to have forgotten what he was doing.

"Find your friends?" I asked.

"Oh right," pause. pause. pause. "No."

"OK, well, bye."

Then he turned to Lauren and asked for a hug.

She was quick to respond, "Uh. No."

I should take lessons from her.

Then he asked me for a hug.

"Sure, good luck finding your friends," I said as we had a departing little hug.

Then he squeezed a little tighter.

Then he pulled away.

Then he looked at my chest.

"Hey!" He was shocked.

"Yes?"

"Wow." He was mystified.

"Yes?" I was voted Class Hug in high school.

"They're real." He was poet laureate of the Borgata. "I just can't believe it."

Monday, August 31, 2009

Dining

When did being alone become the modern-day equivalent of being a leper? Will Manhattan restaurants soon be divided up into sections -- smoking / non-smoking, single / non-single?

- Carrie, Sex and the City

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Chubs Strikes Again

I truly thought Chubs had run his course.

After all, it's been more than two years since our first date and more than one year since our second. In fact, a friend recently asked for a Chubs update and I happily reported, "Oh, no. That's dunzo for good. He told me he erased my number from his phone."

Fast forward to 10:41 pm yesterday.

You want to have some fun?

Ooooh, Chubs, you've come a long way since your vagina hat days.

Monday, August 24, 2009

A Personal Titstory

If your boobs ever write a tell-all, they shouldn't feel obligated to change my name.

(I LOVE Dear Old Love)

Thursday, August 20, 2009

Penance Part 2

Ah yes, "that blue eyes." My heart skipped a beat. Or was that a palpitation?

I decided to make lemonade out of lemons. This was a perfect opportunity for me to try being more direct. Far too often, I make up excuses for not being able to go out if I'm not interested. And that wastes everyone's time.

So I gave the direct approach a try. Here's how it went down.

Thursday

Seandian (leaving it to you to figure out the nickname) (10:40 am): I want that blue eyes and an "Irish kiss"

My eyes are green.

Me (12:28 pm): I'm really sorry but I think the other night was a mistake and we shouldn't see each other.

Seandian (12:45 pm): Stp worryin 2much. This is recession time. What time can we meet upfor couple of drinks tonite

a) are you too lazy to use "space" and type one extra letter to spell things correctly? b) do you assume I can't afford to buy my own drinks or do you have my purse - and wallet and Chronicles of Narnia c) maybe I need to try the direct approach again...

Me (12:47 pm): I'm sorry I can't.

Seandian (12:48 pm): U want me more than I want u

OK, then it shouldn't be difficult for you to stop texting me.

Me (12:50 pm): I'm sorry I don't think we should get together.

Seandian (12:51 pm): I am drivin ..text. u later

Me (12:52 pm): please don't worry about getting back in touch.

Seandian (12:55 pm): Che.....e se..

Well, the equivalent, but he called me by my actual name.

I didn't respond.

Seandian (9:41 pm): Wha u doin

No response from me.

Saturday

Seandian (3:27 am): I want to see u now..we rein e 13 & brdway

I don't respond, as I'm asleep and assume he doesn't mean that he reins over the intersection of 13th and Broadway.

Seandian (2:40 pm): Do u want to hangout tonight?

Recognizing the no response method isn't working, I actually text back.

Me (2:45 pm): No thank you. I have plans.

Seandian (2:46 pm): U welcome.

Sunday

Seandian (5:03 pm): How r u stranger?

Uhhh you're only supposed to call someone "stranger" if the person is not, in fact, a stranger.


I don't respond. I'm watching The Time Travelers Wife. Maybe if he told me he was a time traveler I'd go on a date with Seandian.

Seandian (5:24 pm): Call me I want to tell u sthg.

Right, and I have a secret to tell you...come closer...closer...

I don't respond.

Monday

Seandian (2:36 pm): I want to hug u

You can't always get what you want, Seandian, but if you try sometimes you'll find you get what you need.

I'll let you know if there's more to report. He's been quiet for over 48 hours...

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Penance

Just over a week ago my bag was stolen...and so was my dignity. I was at Town Tavern in the West Village - that should help set the stage.

In what can best be described as a very dark haze I reverted to my college days and made a scene. A makeout session. Drunk. In a bar. With a stranger. An old stranger. An old, smelly foreign stranger. With friends (aka co-workers) present. On the way to make a phone call. It lasted a long time.


Not actual photo of the offense in action

These are the nights made for blackmail.

Flash forward to Wednesday.

I was at my apartment, waiting for my roommate Molly (remember her from the Fireman story?) to call. My apartment keys were stolen along with the other contents of my bag - including blackberry, wallet and the entire series of The Chronicles of Narnia - so Molly and I developed a key sharing program while we waited for my new set to be made.

I got a call from a number I didn't recognize. Now, under normal circumstances I do NOT pick up calls from unknown numbers - but this time, as the phone rang and rang, I thought if this is Molly, I should really answer. I already make her share her keys with me. Maybe she's drunk and is calling me from a friend's phone. So I answered.

Wrong choice.

"Hello?"

"Hi 'Cheese' How are you doing tonight?" a thick accent bubbled through the phone.

Shit. I gave him my number. Details of the previous Friday slip back into memory.

"Yeah. What's up?" I figured if I was a little rude he would realize it was a mistake to call and he'd cut the conversation short. I was wrong again.

"Ooo," really high pitched followed by a bizarre bird-like coo. "So are you still in New York or are you in Phillydelphia?"

At this point I wasn't sure if I lied and told him I live in Philly or something was lost in translation when I said I am from the city of brotherly love.

"Oh. Um, I'm in New York." I held my breath.

Another weird coo - followed quickly by a squeal.

"That is wonderful! How long with you be here?"

I should hang up.

"A while..." the last time I played this much with words was when I was trying to figure out how to talk to a convict who was asking me out.

"Delightful. So when can we go for a drink? Hee hee hoo mmmmm."

Never. And stop making those sounds.

He continued, "Friday?"

"I'm sorry my family is in town."

"Saturday?"

"They're in town all weekend." It wasn't even technically a lie. My mom and relatives were visiting till Saturday and my brothers live in New York. So technically, family is always in town.

"Sunday?"

"Oh, no. They are in town all weekend."

"Monday?"

Good Allah!

"Maybe Monday will work."

"Great so where? What time?"

"Oh." Ugh. "Well, why don't you call me later and we'll make plans." AKA hang up so I can save you in my phone as Guy from Town Tavern and never answer another call from you.

"OK so call you Sunday? To make plans for Monday? And decide time and place?"

"Sounds great."

"So what are you doing now?"

"Hanging out with my roommate."

"OK so I should call you later this week to make plans for Monday."

"Yes. That's right. Talk to you then."

This is my life. This is my punishment for drinking. God isn't going to wait to send me to Hell for overindulgence. He's going to give me Hell right here on Earth. Immediate penance.

On Thursday at 10:40...in the morning... I received the following text message:

I want that blue eyes and an "Irish kiss"

It was just the beginning.

Monday, August 17, 2009

BAAAAAAACK

Well, Cheese's back.

I've had way too many experiences in the last week to think they are anything less than a giant SHOVE in the direction of blogging.

Not to worry - I didn't put this on hold because I ran out of stories. I just got lazy.

So strap on your reading glasses and get ready for more illustrations that explain Why I'm Single.

xx,

Queso

Thursday, April 16, 2009

Blue Aluminum Part FOUR!!!

“Hey – so I just got out of the subway. Where am I supposed to go?” Model inquired over the phone.

“Houston and Ludlow.”

“Oh, right,” silence. “How do I get there?”

Now, I don’t condone refusing to ask for directions. However, I also think it’s important a guy is someone self -sufficient.

“Well, where are you now?”

He told me where and I explained he needed to go North a few blocks and West a block or two.

“Is that left or right? I’m overwhelmed by the city.”

Fabulous. You know you live here, now, right? And there is a multitude of applications online that can show you how to get from point A to point B.

“You know what?” I began. “Why don’t you stay put and I’ll just come to you.”

It was agreed. I huffed from my apartment over to our new meeting spot. He was no where to be seen. I called him.

“Hey, are you here?” I asked.

“Oh, I started walking in the direction I thought you’d be coming from – you must have snuck by me.”

Seriously? You ask. Seriously.

“Ok, no problem. Where are you now?” He was about 10 min in the wrong direction. I told him not to move and that I would be there soon.

And there he was in all his glory. Old Navy cargo shorts, socks, hiking SANDALS, white undershirt, Zach Morris/Ocean Spray wave gelled bangs. Grinning from ear to ear.

“Hi!” he shouted as he started to cross the street, before almost being hit by a car. “Oh, oops. I’M GOING TO WAIT OVER HERE!”

Please stop talking.

I gave him the “ok” sign and smiled.

Once we made our way to the same side of the street, I had the delight (aka challenge) of figuring out where we should go. He didn’t want to get a drink so we were left, yet again, with coffee.

We went into a tiny coffee shop and approached the counter.

Gonna punk out again, Model?

Much to my surprise, he ordered a coffee immediately after I put my bottle of water on the counter.

“That will be $4.25,” the cashier said with a smile – looking at Model.

Model looked at me. I looked at Model. Cashier looked at me. I looked at Cashier.

“Unless – I’m sorry – the water is $1.25 and the coffee is $2.00,” the waiter stumbled all over himself.

Yup, that’s right. I’m going to wait for you to pull out your wallet Kimosabe.

I should have known better – no wallet.

Model breathe/laughed with an awkward shoulder shrug and “ehhh.”

“One dollar…” he pulled a crumpled dollar out of his pocket, looked at me and cashier, breathe/laughed again.

“Ten cents…” out came a dime.

For the love of GOD! Fine, I will pay for myself if it means bringing this social torture to an end.

I pulled out the smallest bill I had – a $5 and before I even extended it to the cashier to for myself, “Oh wow! Thanks for covering my coffee.”

The waiter was in shock. I was dumbfounded. I knew, though, if I didn’t move the focus along quickly I would be forced into lesbianism or murder.

“So how was apartment hunting with your dad?”

He perked up, “It was great! We never really did much bonding when I was younger, so it was nice to have something to do together.”

Ughhhhhhhhh – boring.

“Hah – oh yeah? Never catch in the yard or anything?”

“No.” he snapped.

Guess I struck a chord there.

He regained himself and continued, “I mean, I just never really got it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, I don’t understand the point. Why would people spend time throwing a ball back and forth?”

Now, I happen to be a girl who loves sports. Is “catch” a sport? No. But you better believe there is no way I could date a guy who doesn’t “get” the point of catch – much less one who thinks apartment hunting is an appropriate alternative. Grow a pair.

So I said, naturally, “Right.”

He was pleased with my response and we finished our coffee talking about my face being symmetrical (a la Betty Crocker) and his distain for sports of any kind. Perfect evening.

“Well, I should probably head back to my apartment – have to get up early for work.” Translation: Stop talking about hating football, baseball and hockey. This is never going to work. Please let me go.

“Ok, I’ll walk you.”

“It’s a bit of a hike…”

“Well I’m having so much fun – and there’s nothing I need to get up for early tomorrow. I’m happy to walk with you.”

Fabulous. I will say though, if I was into him, this would have been model (yuck yuck) behavior.

I thought the silence was nice. He, apparently thought it was a bit suffocating.

“Yeah so I can’t believe how graceful your fall was the other night.”

Thanks for bringing that back up. “Yeah – not to mention that I was asking about the sexy models you date at the time.”

“Oh right. No, I don’t date models. All that boniness freaks me out.”

That was the best thing I heard out of his mouth in any of our interactions.

“Plus,” he gave what Wikipedia calls Sign of the Horns. “Fertility rules!”

“Hah – what?”

“Fertility rules,” again with finger horns and he threw in a tongue out of the mouth for good measure.

Yup. Fertility rules. Vagina hat is something that is at least fairly easy to interpret. What the HECK does “fertility rules” mean? Here’s what I’ve come up with – through the help of friends:

  1. I like curves.
  2. I like that I can impregnate you.
  3. I like to confuse blonde girls.
  4. I don’t know what fertility means.

Any other interpretations are welcome – please comment.

To top off the evening, I turned to say goodbye and he tornado-tongued me. We’re not in Maine anymore, Model.

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Susan Boyle

OK wow. So I was going to post part FOUR of Model today, but after seeing this YouTube clip I had no choice but to change plans.

This is Susan Boyle, a homely (to say the least) woman who appeared on Britian's Got Talent. She is NOT easy to understand but there were three key speaking points:
  1. "Never been kissed" (take that Drew Barrymore)
  2. "I live alone with my cat named Pebbles, never been married"
  3. "Nearly 48, unemployed but still looking"
She sings "I Dreamed a Dream" - lyrics are posted below the video. Truly worth watching the whole thing - trust me!

Damn Girl!
(click here)

I dreamed a dream in time gone by
When hope was high
And life worth living
I dreamed that love would never die
I dreamed that God would be forgiving
Then I was young and unafraid
And dreams were made and used and wasted
There was no ransom to be paid
No song unsung, no wine untasted

But the tigers come at night
With their voices soft as thunder
As they tear your hope apart
And they turn your dream to shame

And still I dream he'll come to me
That we will live the years together
But there are dreams that cannot be
And there are storms we cannot weather

I had a dream my life would be
So different from this hell I'm living
So different now from what it seemed
Now life has killed the dream I dreamed.

Monday, April 13, 2009

Blue Aluminum Part 3


So we sat at a table in the corner of Juan Valdez and got down to business.

“Well, I have to say, I’m really relieved,” Model said.

“Oh?”

“Yeah I was afraid you weren’t going to be as cute as I remembered.”

Charming.

“Oh,” I laughed. “Were you afraid I was going to have a lazy eye or something.”

“No. No.” Model got defensive.

“I’m just kidding.”

So we talked about the usual stuff, admitting right away that neither of us remembered details about the other from our first meeting.

He was from Maine. Had a brother who was the “boy” of the family. Quite a reassuring thing to hear from the guy you’re sitting across from on a date.
Ummm, are families in Maine limited to only one “boy” son?

“Well what do you mean by that?”

“Oh – just that my brother was more into sports and stuff than me,” he explained.

Ok, I guess I can live with that.

He continued, “I was always much closer to my mother, we have a really close relationship.”

I can’t introduce this guy to my family.

“That’s really nice.”

“Yeah, I’m excited because my dad’s coming into the city tomorrow to help me look for apartments and I think there is a real opportunity for us to bond.”

All I could think was you’re an adult – and you think you’re going to redeem your relationship with you father by exposing that you’re incapable of finding an apartment without your dad?

“For sure – I bet it will be really nice,” hey – what do I know?

“I’m really glad I’m here with you and that we’re doing this.”

Ehhhh – “Yeah, me too. It’s nice getting to know you better.”

“You’re really beautiful. You have the most symmetrical face I’ve ever seen in person.”

Compliment in model speak?

“Hmm. Thanks?” I laughed.

“Oh I mean it as a huge compliment. Your face is unbelievable,” he was straining to put his compliment into language for mere mortals. “Like Betty Crocker.”

He pulled out his ringing phone, apologized and said he had to get it .

I couldn’t have cared less. I was trying to solve the puzzle of this “huge compliment.” Here’s where I was hung up:

1. He said Betty Crocker. I envisioned Aunt Jemima.

2. When I said “Betty Crocker?” and he confirmed, the image in my head was replaced wth Mrs. Butterworths. I’m blonde and white as can be – so I struggled to draw the connection.

3. Finally, I realized I was thinking about the syrup lady and Betty Crocker involves baking. I searched and searched for the “Betty Crocker” image somewhere in my mind. Then it hit me – Red Spoon.

“Sorry, that was my dad,” he explained his phone call. “Anyway, you know what I mean. You have that Betty Crocker all American look.”

I mean, I guess I can understand associating the Big red spoon with domesticity, making it “all American.” Still, I didn’t understand why my face made him think of a giant spoon.

My dad later explained to me that Betty Crocker used to have a face – and it resembled Grace Kelly. I didn’t see why model couldn’t have just said Grace Kelly from the beginning.

Anyway.

We finished our drinks and parted ways – he was off to model/cater on Long Island and I was off to my apartment. He said he was looking forward to going out again. Then texted me to let me know (again) he couldn’t wait to see me soon.

We made plans. The next date was the final nail in the Dating-A-Model coffin.

Friday, April 10, 2009

Musick

Going to see these guys tonight at Maxwell's in Hoboken (yes, they're worth the trip into New Jersey).

This song's first line: I've been sleeping with your best friend, but I'm in love with you.


Wednesday, April 8, 2009

What do you think?

To be in a couple, do you have to put your single self on a shelf?
Asked by Carrie Bradshaw

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

Clueless

Text Conversation 3/31/09


Toe Sucker (yes, the one from Summer 2008): Want to grab a beer later?

Me: Taking a break from dating.

Toe Sucker: ? This is a beer. Funny.

Me: Ha OK then I'm taking a break from getting drinks with guys who aren't my friends.

Followed by sweet silence.

Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Blue Aluminum Part 2

So Model and I set a date. We decided to meet on a Sunday afternoon at Starbucks near Canal Street. Now, I don't drink coffee - but I'm not at all opposed to coffee-dates.

I took my time walking over from my apartment in Alphabet City. What was supposed to be a leisurely stroll quickly became a lesson in directing someone around Manhattan. Model texted every minute or two asking which subway line he should take and ok, when he gets out, where should he go? and how many blocks away is the Starbucks? and is there another stop that's closer? and what color is that line?

Hi, I'm HopStop. Nice to meet you.

I got to the Starbucks early and received an "I'm so sorry, I'm going to be late" text. No biggie - plenty of "shopping" to do.

Then another text message - 30 minutes later.

I feel terrible - I'm not going to make it.


It's OK. We can do it another time. (You could have saved me the walk, the directions and the coffee smell.)

Let me just say it involves SERIOUS drugs - my ex-girlfriend is in trouble.

Whatever. OK. Let me know when you can get together another time.

That night he called, apologized profusely and we decided we'd meet on Wednesday. Oh - and the ex-girlfriend? She was threatening to do coke...yeah.

So Wednesday came and it was 4:30 pm before I remembered I had a date. Gap cableknit sweater that I accidentally shrunk? Check. Forget to wear make-up? Check. Unbrushed hair? Check. Horrifying day and even more horrifying mood? Check, check. Date with guy that stood me up due to ex girlfriend drug threats? Check. Date location in the same building as my office - increasing the odds of co-worker spying? Check.

It was going to be a good date.

He was off to Long Island after our date to work a party, so he warned me he'd be in his monkey suit. I interpreted "monkey suit" to mean a) literally a monkey costume or b) he was a confused kid from Maine and meant to say penguin suit. I was wrong on both counts.

He was wearing pleated black pants, a black belt with a silver cap at the end, black Dr. Marten's and a black t-shirt. He was holding a black button down.

"Oh I'm so embarassed to be in this monkey suit - you look cute!" he oozed.

I laughed uncomfortably, "I don't think it looks like a monkey suit."

We walked into Juan Valdez Times Square, where I was not going to be ordering coffee. 79 cent Chammomile Tea - represent! As we got closer to the cashier, where we'd be ordering, Model let a little distance slide.

Is he seriously not going to cough up 79 cents?

Yes. He seriously did not cough up the 79 cents. It being the 21st Century and all, I let it go.

He ordered a coffee and we found a table near the window.

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

This Week

Hollerrrr

This week I'm nuts-o so I won't be posting. Take some time to read through "oldies" ( you know from like, November) but goodies.

Hi-ho

Thursday, March 19, 2009

Blue Aluminum

I like to think it’s a right of passage to date a model if you live in New York. Naturally, the model I dated was a poor-girl’s model – but a model none-the-less (if you’re thinking this is cool or impressive in any way, you’re misguided).

I met model-in-question at a bar with friends. We were at one of my favorite places in Manhattan, The Back Fence. This place has sawdust and peanut shells on the floor, bowls of salted peanuts (in the shell) on every table and dancing is outlawed (Hellooooo Footloose).

My friend nudged me and let me know that there was a “sexy” guy looking at me. I had a few initial thoughts:

1. He isn’t looking at me, I’m probably blocking someone he was trying to scope out
2. He has a lazy eye and the “bad” one juts out in my direction
3. He is, in fact, looking at me and there is something severely wrong with him

“You have to go over and talk to him,” my drunk friend urged.

“No I don’t.”

“If you don’t, I will.”

“Promise? Be my guest,” I laughed.

“OK, but if I go, I’m going to tell him you really like him and are too shy to approach him.”

That got my attention.

“Fine, I’ll go over that way and get a beer – what do you want?”

She told me to get “whatever” and I made my way over. Before I had a chance to belly up to the bar, he initiated conversation.

“I know this is corny, but I’ve been looking at you.”

Blank stare from yours truly.

“I wanted to come talk to you, but you looked like you were having so much fun with your friend. I got nervous. Then you came over here. “

“Oh yeah, I’m just getting a drink.” Smooth.

“Oh – right. Sorry.”

“No, no – I’m sorry,” I said as I told him my name.

We struck up a conversation and he was beautiful (not my type). He told me he was a model and I laughed hysterically, assuming he was kidding. I was wrong (clearly). My friend came over and joined the conversation and talked to one of his friends.

“Well, I think I’m going to head home,” I said, totally uncharaceristicly – I’m notorious for never being the one to call it a night.

“I’ll walk you.” Fauxlander said.

“You don’t have to do that. It’s a little walk and I’m a big girl.”

“I know I don’t, I’d like to. I’m having fun talking to you.” My friend shot me a glance that clearly communicated if you say no I will pluck your eyes out and kill you right here.

“Ok. It’s a free country.” What a jerk I was.

So we left the bar and started walking toward my apartment. It had stopped raining, making it a little easier to navigate the sidewalk in my flip flops.

In one of my less than elegant moments, I turned to him and said, “So, you’re a model. I bet you date a lot of skinny girls.”

“Oh I never date models.” Mmmm-hmm.

Then, as I laughed and attempted to say “I’m not judging, you probably date a lot of ‘skinny bitch –,” my foot hit a wet patch. My legs flew to eye height – I was parallel to the ground, waving my arms and legs like a cartoon and I landed flat on my ass.

“Ooh,” I said as I looked up at him and burst into laughter.

I was entertaining a crowd, all laughing as soon as I did (thank GOD).

“Oh my gosh, are you ok?”

I assured model I was perfectly fine – still on my butt.

He lifted me up, “That was the most elegant slip I’ve ever seen.” I have to give him credit, he said it with a straight face and appeared to be serious.

We made it back to my building with his arm around my waist – more for protection than to show affection, I’m sure.

He wasn’t invited up, but asked for my number. I gave it to him. He was a saint. If I’d been more interested or concerned, I’m sure I would have been humiliated.

When he called the next day to set up a date, I agreed. I shouldn’t have.

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Gal Smiley

Play with fire, you're going to get burned, fellas. If you use a predictable pick up line, this is your likely fate...


Guy in bar: Why aren't you smiling?
W.I.S. reader: Because you're talking to me.

What are some of your pet peeves? Any zinger responses to pick up attempts?

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Happy St. Patrick's Day


Kiss me - I'm single.
Oh - and Irish.

Didn’t I Mention… Part 2

Thursday arrived and I was ready to go meet schoolteacher-pizza-delivery-Jason-Varitek. I got out of work on time, which was a modern day miracle, got changed in the bathroom and made my way over to Dave & Busters Times Square.

Being one of my first blind dates (with some pictures exchanged), I was still self conscious enough that even if I was looking my date in the eyes, I would call and pretend I didn’t see him so he could come find me.

I was pretty sure I saw him, but made the call, looked in the other direction, and he “found me.” He was cute – tall and big with a nice smile and white teeth (and no, that isn’t redundant) – and friendly. And he seemed normal. Ahhh, I was so na├»ve back then – guys don’t tend to a) self-diagnose, b) recognize or c) advertise that they are weirdos.

We made our way into the building, up the series of escalators and into the one of the bars (which, until recently, I thought was the only bar in D&B). We each ordered a drink and grabbed a table.

Good, we’ll have a drink, loosen up a bit, get the conversation going before we play games.

“Man, I can’t believe I’m finally here. I’ve been dying to come for so long.”

“I know – you mentioned that. Is it everything you hoped it would be?”

He laughed, “We’ll see! We just got here.”

“True, can’t make any final calls till you’ve played some of the games. Right?” I thought I was being clever.

“Oh, nah. I don’t care so much about playing the games. I’ve just wanted to come to this bar.”

I don't get it.

Silence.

Oh! My turn.


“Oh yeah, totally," we ARE in Times Square - not the Twlight Zone, right? "Great bar."

“Right?”

“For sure!”

More silence.

Aaaaaaaaawkward.

The conversation picked back up and we were having fun – despite the fact that Mr. New York chose Dave and Busters BAR in Times Square for our first date with no intention of actually partaking in activities (I love activities, by the way).

We shared funny/awkward dating stories.

“So I have to admit something,” he said.

I was ready. I thought I was ready, “OK.”

“I saw my ex today.”

I could empathize.

“Oh yikes. How was it?”

“Well, it was the firs time we’ve seen each other since it was finalized.”

I was a little confused by his word choice, but soldiered on.

“That couldn’t have been easy. First time since you broke it off.”

“Yeah,” he shook his head. “First time since we signed the divorce papers.”

Um.

“And it was an ugly divorce, so you can imagine what it was like to see her after all this time.”

Be cool.

“How long has it been?”

“About 2 years.”

He was 28.

“Oh wow. How long were you together?”

“We dated for three years, were engaged for one and married for one.”

Shit, yo.

“Wow.”

“Yeah. She went all possessive - psycho - bitch on me.”

Does she have a history of violence? Been there, done that.

“Oh?”

“Yeah total crazy psychotic blonde,” he paused. “Actually, come to think of it, all the girls I’ve dated who are blonde end up being crazy - just abso-fucking-lutely crazy.”

Insert Anna Faris “I don’t know what’s happening” laugh here.

He continued, “You’re not going to become obsessed with me and turn into a mega psycho bitch too, are you?”

“Huh?”

“Well you’re blonde!” he threw in a laugh for good measure.

Listen brosef, I'm so not a possessive psycho bitch that you will, in fact, never hear from me again - but thanks for setting the bar so high.

“Oh, hah, no-no. You don’t need to worry about that.”

“Good – I mean you seem normal now, but you never know.”

Yeah. You seemed normal until you revealed that you double as a pizza delivery boy, lust after the bar at Dave & Busters in Times Square, got a divorce and therefore, you were married...and then accused me of being psychotic.

It's true, you never know - until you do.

Monday, March 16, 2009

Didn’t I Mention…

One of my first blind dates on the two-year blind date binge was with a nice guy from Brooklyn. Having lived in New York his whole life, I was looking forward to our first date. We talked on the phone a few times; he looked like Jason Varitek (guilty pleasure white trash “yay”), was funny and had a close-knit family. On top of that, he was a schoolteacher – which I thought was awesome.

During conversation number 3, we decided to take the plunge and set a date to get together. He told great stories and I was ready to hear a couple in person – see if he could deliver live.

“Where do you want to go? You live in Manhattan and you’re pretty new to the city, so go ahead and pick anywhere,” he suggested.

Being completely insecure about how to handle first blind dates – and wanting him to choose to flex his man-decision-making muscles, I resisted.

“Oh I don’t know. Like you said I’m new to the city – I basically am at home or work or the gym if I’m not out with friends. You probably have a much better idea of where we’d have fun.”

Read between the lines, I’m being coy and girly and simple. Don’t you like it?

“OK, I’ll come up with something fun.” Fun? Fun! Great – how could fun be bad? “Let’s still plan on Thursday night – I’ll give you a call in the next day or so and let you know where we’ll go.”

I ate it up. He was going to put some thought into it, not make some gut decision to go to the only bar he could think of or somewhere the average girl would think is “impressive.” I was stoked.

As promised (see, nice guy), he called the next day.

“So I’ve been thinking since our last conversation and I think I have the perfect place.”

“Great! Let’s hear it – anything is fine with me.”

“Well, it’s been around for a while. I’ve always wanted to go – my friends have always said I’d have so much fun there.”

“Hah – you’re killing me! Sounds fantastic – what area of the city is it?”

“You work in Times Square right?”

Oh. No.

“Yeah. Is it in the area?”

Say no, say no, say no, say no.

“Perfect – yeah!”

“Oh great – what’s the place called?”

“Dave & Busters Times Square!”

Of course.

“Fun,” was all I could muster.

Our conversation continued – and the further we moved from the topic of this native New Yorker’s choice to have our first date at a glorified arcade in Times Square, the better the conversation got.

I realized Dave & Busters could probably be a lot of fun for a date. There were games and drinks and plenty to distract us. He’d have the opportunity to let me win a game or two and I’d have the opportunity to drink my face off if the evening was a nightmare.

As I was feeling pretty good, faux Varitek interrupted, “Oh, can I call you right back? I’m at the house.”

“The house? What do you mean?”

“I have a delivery.”

“Delivery?”

“Yeah, didn’t I mention that I deliver pizza’s?”

“Oh. No, you didn’t,” don’t judge don’t judge.

“Yeah! It’s just something I do. I’ll call you right back.”

He kept his word and called right back. The surprise 2nd career was nothing compared to what I was in for on our date.

Thursday, March 12, 2009

Who "Makes Love" Nowadays?

This one calls for participation.

For reasons I won't pretend to understand, different circles of friends tend to debate the same topic at the same time. Recently, conversation came up about "making love" versus, well anything else.

Particularly, we talked about when guys use the term when you barely know each other, are clearly just sleeping together or they think they're being suave. [Side note, do I believe that you can "make love" with someone you really care about and it can be special and not like it is with anyone else? Sure. That's not what we're talking about here.]

When I think "make love," I imagine a man standing on top of some rocky point, hair flowing in the breeze, a billowy shirt unbuttoned to his belly button, tucked into some tight purple crushed velvet pants - oh and he's wearing boots (obviously).

I haven't had a man of that description ever ask me to make love (thank God) - but I've had plenty of guys who I barely know or have been dating (in no way exclusively) suggest it. In my experience, it is nothing short of terribly awkward. I've laughed, I've given the gut reaction "no," I've pretended not to hear.

I guess guys think it is romantic, or maybe that we'd be offended if they said anything else or that it's simply what we want to hear. My question - what need is there to discuss it? What ever happened to just connecting the dots?

I was seeing this guy we called Big (ugh, I know, so Sex and the City - but this isn't because he's a big shot...see I'm letting you connect the dots). We were hanging out at his apartment watching Benji - yes, Benji - which happens to be one of my favorite childhood movie stars! After Benj made it past the cougar, through the river and to the top of the mountain, we were Benji'd out.

Big mumbled something so I said something adorable like, "Whaaa?"

Then he motioned toward his bedroom, grabbed my hand and, looking at the ground like a 5 year old boy asking to have ice cream for breakfast and anticipating a scowl, he said, "Do you want to go make love?"

I smiled then immediately looked at my feet - a move I hope came across as sweet, innocent and bashful. The reality is that the "aw shucks move" (as any girl would know), was an attempt to cover up a goofy, admittedly unfair, patronizing "isn't that adorable" smile.

No, I didn't want to make love - have a little fun? move to the bedroom? go to bed? Sure! But make love? Nope.

I think it is endearing when guys do what they think we want them to do - but man, oh man, sometimes they miss the mark.

Does every girl have a dream of being swept off her feet by the perfect guy? Absolutely (right?)! But guys, if this girl isn't someone you are CRAZY about and you haven't had conversations about your collective future, "making love" is definitely out.

Here's a good example of when it's appropriate...


Wednesday, March 11, 2009

January 1, 2008 12:14 AM


So, are your legs going to be wrapped around my head in '08?

- Text from our dear friend Vagina Hat

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Look Deeeeep Into My...

Well, the guy from the Chinese place has competition.

Last night I finished a positively lovely run from Times Square down to Soho over to the LES and up into my hood, ABCity. Well, lovely aside from the fact I was attacked (and I don't mean barked at) by a pit bull when I was in No Man's Land.

Donned in my capri spandex, long sleeved t-shirt and puffy vest, I made a pit stop at Duane Reade to pick up things I didn't need (what recession?) simply to make it to the "Hey you've managed to spend another $100 here so we'll give you $5 off your next purchase" coupon, which somehow still excites me.

With one ear bud blaring something like "Whisky Lullabye," I left the store - relieved no one looked at me too suspiciously in my spandex. Then I turned the corner.

"Baby, baby," the most grizzly-voiced homeless man ever attempted to "coo" at me.

"Ohhh," escaped my mouth before it registered in my one good ear.

"Baby, can you help me with something?"

I had been tricked by this before - remember the door man from last weekend?

"I'm sorry," I tried.

"I'm just, I'm hungry baby. I gots to eat..." he trailed off a bit as I continued to walk, shaking my head and apologizing.

Then some mumbles - completely indecipherable - well , indecipherable to one ear.

A tall cute guy walking toward me let out a laugh and glanced at me - not in a check yourself, you have TP on your shoe way. It was more Ha poor chick, getting harassed by a man who never says anything to people other than to ask for money.

I took out my other earbud, keeping my pace.

"Oh! OH!"

Uh oh.

"Baby, I ain't need money, food or nothing else from you."

I'd heard things like thisbefore from homeless dudes, I knew I was in for a doozie.

"Baby I just watch you walk away till I die. Yo' butt is HYPnotizing! Hm! Dang. Sway sway sway. I hypnotized and I love it!"

I dropped my head, laughed to myself, and continued on.

"Ha! Yeah, you know you got the power!"

Ohhh, the power. Sure, call me She-Ra.

Monday, March 9, 2009

Man Tears

I came across this article and thought it was interesting - curious about what anyone else out there thinks...

Men, Don't Wipe Away Your Man Tears
By Brian Childs
Mar 4th 2009
Asylum

Ever since that sorry bastard on "The Bachelor" apparently cried a bunch on national television, there's been a lot of Internet hateration directed at male tears.

First off, let me say this: I do not endorse men weeping. If another man is crying, I will quickly leave the room. If I am trapped with this wet blanket I will look away and ignore him, even going so far as to whistle to indicate that I do not notice he is dying inside. But, in spite of being remarkably uncomfortable with the human emotion known as sadness, I will say this: Drop this whole real-men-don't-cry BS.

Sure, no one wants to cry. No one wants to poop their pants either. But if you live long enough, no matter how manly you are, both of these two things will happen to you. Sorry. It's one of the unfortunate consequences of being alive.

If you disagree with me, know this: One day you will cry. And it probably won't be after a big game like Brett Favre or when talking about prisoner torture like George H. W. Bush. It'll probably be because you're exhausted and your boss insults you after busting your ass at work. Or because you're drunk and the girl you're supposed to meet up with stops returning your phone calls. Or because your friend publicly humiliates you, films it and puts it online.

My one piece of advice is this: Lie to yourself and everyone else if you want, but when you do cry, don't do it on television unless you want people on YouTube making fun of you for the rest of your life.

And if you need to cry, it certainly helps to make sure your moment drenched in tears fits into one of the following occasions:

Five Times It's OK for Men to Cry

1. When your dog dies.
2. After any permanent penile-related injury.
3. While watching "Brian's Song."
4. When you're talking about how much you love America.
5. When you're trying to convince your girlfriend you're truly sorry you cheated on her.

Friday, March 6, 2009

Chubs 3: Accessorize

So we left off with Chubs pledging to no longer send dirty texts.

We had tentative plans to get together on Thursday night - he had dinner with client and didn't know how long it would go. I was somewhat relieved - it gave me plenty of time to grab dinner and a few drinks with my friend before I had to meet him.

So we went to a restaurant, ordered some aps and drinks and discussed whether he was a pervert or had a serious addiction to drugs and alcohol - and when I'd be meeting up with him. He started texting, letting me know the status of dinner: Going to be longer than I thought but please don't go home - I want to see you; Hey, getting ready to leave soon - but client is still boozing hard. You get the picture.

My friend and I thought, "Wow, maybe he actually is a normal dude and I will actually see him tonight."

He sent another: I can't wait to see you - feel those smooth legs.

Therrrrrre's the Chubs I knew.

Well, don't expect too much - it's only date number two I replied.

Then...

So am I going to wear your vagina as a hat tonight?

That's right - my vagina. As a hat. Now, there is the obvious interpretation of what was intended. But let's consider the alternative - this guy said he wanted to wear my lady part as an accessory for his head. All I could think was It's July, there should be no need for head gear whatsoever! And Um ouch. And Getting into my pants isn't enough? You want to get into my WOMB?

My response: No. No you will not be wearing my vagina as a hat tonight.

So. Why am I single? Because grown men (32 years old) ask me if they can wear my vagina...as a hat. That's why.

Oh - and don't worry. That wasn't the last I heard from Vagina Hat - he kept in frequent contact for over a year. More of his raunchy texts of 2007/2008 are being saved for other posts.

Thursday, March 5, 2009

Pick Up Artist

This is hysterical - and terrifying. I think this might be one of the only pick up lines I've yet to receive. Gotta love the Brits.


Wednesday, March 4, 2009

How Could I Resist?

Barred

The second I saw you, I decided we were getting married. I was 11. Years later, I’m still in love with you, and you’re in prison.

-Favorite Website Dear Old Love

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

Weekend Answers

This weekend provided three reminders of why I'm still single:

1. Midtown doormen who ask me out on dates when all I'm trying to accomplish is to walk from 6th Ave to Madison Square Park with my iPod in while reading a book. He actually got me to stop - I thought he needed help.

2. Crazy men around Times Square who literally hobble over to me and get close enough to blow me kisses at point blank - while I'm talking to a friend.

3. Saturday night dream: harmonizing with a room full of family and other characters (including Carlton Banks, who is apparently a family friend, an opera singer, and Wanda Sykes as someone named Shaunda) to Whitney Houston's Didn't We Almost Have It All



Seriously?

Monday, March 2, 2009

Chubs 2: The Eve of a New Nickname

So yes, the texting began. Harmless at first: Really excited to see you again. What night should we get together? Great, Thursday it is. etc. I was excited. We'd picked a day.

As Thursday approached, the text "intimacy level" picked up. Which I was not prepared for. Ok ok ok. By intimacy level, I mean he went from Hero to Zero.

The texts, which took place during the work day, started to escalate slowly.

What color?

What color what?

Panties.

I must digress here. Feel free to comment a response, but how many girls can actually stomach the word "panties?" Most every girl I know is weirded out by it.

Back to the topic at hand. I didn't know how to answer, but knew that one date didn't warrant work-time texts messages about my underwear. I played it coy at first, not quite sure how to respond. There were a lot of "ha"s preceding and following the meat of my response texts. Little did I know, or intend, this only encouraged Chubs. This landed him on a path to a new nickname.

The dirty factor increased, turning into things I only imagine he heard in pornos and thought would work on a girl in real life. I tried to justify them by thinking either he had a severe drug and alcohol problem and wasn't sober when sending (which, HELLO should tell me to run for my life) OR he was kidding.

Now, I have two brothers and am not easily embarrassed or made to feel uncomfortable. But Chubs managed to do both with his texts. I ran them by my friends to see if I was just being prude. I received a resounding no.

So I responded to one of his texts, "Listen, I don't mean to make a big deal out of anything, but those text messages make me feel kinda uncomfortable." I patted myself on the back for addressing it - being that I have a tendency to just let things slide even if they bother me.

As I was feeling good about myself, I got his response. "Oh, you're just being shy!"

My gut reaction was panic. Shit. I am? I guess I am really prude or juvenile or something. Then I realized, Hey this fatty is manipulating. I'm not being shy; I'm being honest.

"I don't think I'm being shy. You're making me feel uncomfortable."

"Ha ha I'm just kidding. I won't do it anymore."

And he didn't. For a couple days.