Brent, the nice blogger over at Brent in Progress gave “match me, please” the Honesty Scrap Award! Thanks Brent!
Okay, I didn’t know what it was either but apparently it’s kinda like an award chain-letter. Bloggers share what blogs are influential to them and the recipients carry on the tradition.
The Rules of the Award
1) Thank the person who gave the award and list their blog and link it.
2) Share “10 Honest Things” about yourself.
3) Present this award to 7 others whose blogs you find brilliant in content and/or design, or those who have encouraged you.
4) Tell those 7 people they’ve been awarded HONEST SCRAP and inform them of these guidelines in receiving the award.
I’ve completed number 1. I’ll get to 2,3,4 as soon as possible
Hipster asked me to hangout last week. It’s weird that now that we’re “friends”, he plans things a week ahead.
After we called off the romance, Hipster started to open up and actually be a nice guy. I think we both hated the pressure. However, when he was away with the family for Thanksgiving he told he’d been having dreams… and I was in them. Upon further inquiry I find out they are sex dreams. I play it off jokingly, trying to get him to divulge info but I’m thinking — Why are you telling me this? I mean, if I wanted to have sex with you, I would.
So I subtly explained that I don’t do friends with benefits anymore. It’s too complicated. Either date or don’t date. If I have to worry about buying an EPT test, you better be worth my time. My right hand hasn’t failed me yet.
Supposedly we’re having an OC night, tonight. We’re both obsessed with the show. He tries to keep it a secret. You can tell he has a pretty exciting life.
It’s the first time we’ve hungout “as friends” since I cut the cord. This will be interesting.
I know I’m gonna drink but I CANNOT spend the night. Under any circumstances. So I think I’ll just have a couple drinks then stop and drive home later. Even though I’m good at closing up shop, I just don’t want things to get any weirder.
I think he still believes it was a mutual thing. He probably tells his friends, “Well, we didn’t really break up. We just both aren’t really ready. Plus I’m sooo busy.” Oh please.
I’m fine with being friends. He’s much easier to handle. Now I can endlessly banter while “It’s Always Sunny” is on and I don’t have to plate his food. I can tell him in all honesty that he wants a 1950s housewife and he can laugh. He got drunk the other night and texted me — “I think you’re a great girl. I’d like to keep dating you.”
Um, nice one. I mean, I’m totally in love with you so just say the word and I’ll jump in the wagon. Buddy– I DUMPED YOU. Would you like me to order a fancy stamp and punch you in the forehead? Jesus.
I texted him back and it felt so good. “I’d like to be friends”.
The next morning he pleads the fifth. Of course, he thinks the ball’s in his court. I also mentioned this since my newfound bluntness is oddly exhilarating, “So you think you can just TELL me to date you, eh? I think you’re supposed to ask a girl.” He finds this amusing and tries to weasel out of his faux-pas but whatever.
We play scrabble via iPhone app everyday. It’s kinda creepy. He also has started to be oddly fascinated by who I am, as a person. GASP. He asks me questions like, do you sew?… do you want a pet? …Why don’t you like [token indie band]?
What I’ve realized about myself in this incredibly confusing and depressing process we call dating, is that we don’t spend enough time getting to know each other. If I have to be romantic on the first date, it’s so much pressure! It’s gonna be years before you see me air guitar or put straws in my nose — common occurrences for many of my friends. Whatever happened to courtship?
I’ve decided to stop dating for now and to stop building this wall. All women have this idea about how we have to be to date. We can’t be overbearing or too invested. We must be confident and sexual. However, we can’t date other people, then we’re sluts. And we can’t be too shy, then we’re just boring.
We’re not allowed to fall in love.
I’m sick of dumbing myself down or being belittled. Fix your own damn plate, I’m gonna go sing to some Britney. Yeah I said it, Britney Spears.
So I dumped the hipster. Oh it felt so good. How you may ask? Via text message.
I don’t know if I told you, but the hipster has never been dumped. He tried to weasel his way out by telling me he totally understands and he is just soooo busy. I’m like shut up fool, I’m too busy for YOU. I told him I didn’t want to burn any bridges. We still play online scrabble together and he texts me almost everyday. It’s this weird friendship that I’m totally okay with.
I had a sort of epiphany last night. Some say that you always date some manifestation of either your mother or your father. I know it sounds freudian and trendy but I think it’s true. In my case, my parents have always been on the verge of divorce so neither sounds like a healthy counterpart. What caused this thinking is that today I’m meeting my ex from 4 years ago. He’s the only man I’ve ever dated for over a year and the only one that’s said he wanted to marry me. He loved me more than I could love him. Since then I’ve been pawning myself off to guys that try to fit me in between trips to New York and late nights at the office aka non-committal jerks. Good ol’ NCJ’s.
My ex was my mother. Nurturing, kind, attentive, jealous and emotional. You’d never guess at first glance. He tried to be tough. Now I’m dating my father. Emotionally cut-off, self-absorbed and egotistical. It’s self destructive. What am I doing? If I date anyone like my parents, I’d like it to be a combination of their best traits. My dad’s seriousness and intelligence… my mother’s care and unrequited love. But we all know that’s positive thinking.
So I’m meeting him for lunch today. I haven’t seen him since I broke his heart in the fall of 2005. I’m terrified and excited. I’m worried to see a changed man. I hope he’s exactly the same. I don’t want to date him but I want to remember him fondly. Because I do.
I’ve decided to let the dates come to me. This go-getter attitude has left me exhausted and self-defeated. I’m ambitious, attractive and intelligent. Momma said guys would be lined up around the corner?
So I realized I have this friend that I should basically marry. He’d be perfect for me. He’s totally into me too… which is even worse. When I first met him I wanted to date him. He has this way about him. He’s sophisticated. He’s smart. He always wears button ups and those cute saggy beanie hats. He writes in a journal, like me. He constantly asks my opinion on things and actually listens. It’s weird. He remembers things I say and will bring them up later. I remind him of things. He’s thoughtful.
He’s good-looking. He’s kinda petite though. I’m 5′5, he’s 5′9. If he was a normal build it’d be okay but he’s skinny and too close to my size. Freaks me out. I feel like he’d need start heaving if he had to hold me. Ok I’m 110 lbs, I’m exaggerating. But still.
He invites me to gallery openings and private movie screenings. He likes the things I like.
He kissed me. I felt nothing. It was awful. So naturally, I tried again. Still…nothing.
What is wrong with me? I’m dating a guy I find a big fat joke and then this guy that would date me in a heartbeat… kinda repulses me. I mean I literally don’t even wanna imagine stripping down. It makes me slightly nauseated.
Am I afraid of intimacy? Do I enjoy sabotaging myself? Am I enormously shallow? Or is it just really really hard to find someone and I need to get over it?
Who knows.
I just wish I liked him. I wish I did. He’d be great and I could get rid of stupid hipster and his stupid t-shirts.
Where do I start? I’m dating the hipster. Something about his arrogance and his propensity towards expensive scotch pulled me under his hairy arm.
It’s weird because the hipster is very contradictory in his ways. He’ll be rude but he calls me almost every night, which I usually find excessive.
We did have a slight text fight a couple weeks ago. We hadn’t been doing much in bed, it was only the 2nd time I’d been at his house but I guess he was bitter I didn’t suck his… Being the feminist I am I was extremely offended. I can go down south when I want to. It’s not like he was Houdini in the sack. Gimme a break. After I told him to stick it up his ass, he apologized and said that I misunderstood and that he wasn’t saying that at all. That he liked me a lot more than that. I like how it’s me that misunderstood.
As I was saying before, he calls me almost every night. He goes on business trips every week to different cities in the U.S. so I see him on the weekends. He calls, usually a few drinks under, and goes on and on about how much his boss adores him. They apparently say he’s “moppy” or something? It’s about his hair. Which I found really awkward because he doesn’t have a lot of hair…. but I didn’t know how to word that without saying BUT YOU’RE GOING BALD. So I was just like oh that’s weird…
Hipster never introduces his girls to the parents. He’s told me this before. Which didn’t really offend me because first of all — his parents live in Texas. Secondly, I don’t want to introduce him to mine. I realized, why the hell should I care about that crap if I won’t do the same for him? I mean, I’m basically just waiting for a better guy to come around. Or a new shallow, vapid man I can waste more of my time with. Let’s be realistic here.
But one night when he called he was asking if I mind his traveling. I said no, that it’s fine because I’m busy during the week. It gives me a chance to get my mind off dating.
He said “Some girls think it’s hard.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not around the corner.”
“You’re a phone call away. I don’t mind. I’m sometimes jealous you get to go to cool cities and I’m stuck at home watching Seinfeld reruns.”
“Well, you should come.”
“Come…?”
“Come with me…”
I laughed, a little too loud.
“What?”
“Well I mean, that’s crazy.”
“No, it’s not. Not for the whole week. Just come up a couple days.”
I have always wanted to go to Seattle.
“Ha ya. Your company could hire me as a temp.”
“Come on…”
I stealthily changed subjects. I thought this was the part where I realize he’s only using me for sex, then my friend Brian brilliantly pointed out — we hadn’t had sex yet.
The other night we didn’t feel like going out so I ordered Thai take-out and we watched a movie. I get out the food and plate some on mine. He’s in his room doing god-knows-what. He comes and sits down next to me.
He smirked, “Not going to do mine?”
“Oh. I thought you could do your own.” I say this as pad-se-ewe enters my mouth.
“AND you’re starting without me?”
“I’m sorry…your royal heiness?”
“It’s just a little rude…”
What the fuck, are we in charm school?
“Just practicing a little feminism. I think you can scoop noodles on a plate.”
He laughs. I have no idea if he’s joking. I know he’s fucking with me. I wanna punch him in the balls.
I take a long swig of wine. “What’s that for?” he asked. “Getting through tonight”, I replied.
Let’s move to the bedroom. Hipster does this weird neck-kissing thing where I feel like a starfish is trying to mate with my collar. It’s not sucking that would give you a hickey, it just feels like suction…vacuum suction… and it’s weird. Hipster never takes off his shirt. I took it off once and he was like “You’re taking off my shirt”. Thank you captain obvious, I hope you went for Yale to get those deductive reasoning skills. “Yes”, I said. It’s weird being fully naked next to a bottomless dude. I don’t really get it. He’s in good shape and no farmer’s tan. Either be naked or be clothed, DECIDE.
The reason I think I keep dating hipster is because I’m bored. I think men and women can both agree with me that as we get older, people we would normally slam the door on start to linger around the bedside a little longer. It’s depressing. But I feel if I date enough jerks I’ll learn my lesson and I’ll never marry one (ha). The fact that I don’t want to introduce him to friends or family makes me happy that deep down I know this isn’t serious. I don’t think he’s the one. So I’m sane, I’m just wasting my time. Why do I waste my time? Because we all do.
Seriously. I’ve gone on so many dates with him I can’t count them now. It’s bizarre.
So after dinner one night, we finally go back to his place. I’m kinda nervous about it. I mean, the first night at someone’s place is always awkward and I’ve never gone home with a guy I met online. This is my first. For all I know he could have like taxidermied cats or live with his grandma.
I went to a show with him last week. You knew that was coming, the music snobbery had to take us somewhere. His roommate was there too, waiting for a girl with a very suggestive screen-name. It turns out he had never actually called the girl, only talked via text. When he called to ask where the hell she was — a guy answered. He hasn’t really seen body shots so the idea of she being a him wasn’t entirely implausible. It’s funny because he’s a good looking guy but apparently he’s just down to hookup whenever with whatever. I’m just washing myself down in Purell when I sit on their couch.
Anyway. Back to the other night — We stood on his balcony and drank wine and talked. If I summarized everything he said about relationships — it would sound awful.
As we’re standing there (he’s a little drunk) he says “I wonder if it’s possible to just have a girl to have sex with and just hangout with your friends. You know, I have great friends. I don’t really need a relationship.” Once it came out, I think he wished he could stuff it back in but, too late. He also said he broke up with flight attendant girl because she said she could see herself with him. Forever. He also mentioned how they dated for 5 months and technically were “bf/gf” but they never called each other that. I admit that stuff freaks me out too but it seems his track record is getting scared and running away. I have my guard up. I don’t want to waste my time and really like this guy.
So last night I bring it up at dinner. I’m just honest. I’m like “What do you want? It seems like you just get freaked out. That these girls are too intense. I mean to be honest, the stuff you’ve said — it’s not really lulling me into dating you.”
We talked about it and he admitted he just dated the wrong girls. He tried to make it work when it wasn’t and was bored/complacent too much of the time. He said it’s not a matter of him not wanting a girlfriend, it’s that he just hasn’t met her.
Last night we were hooking up and he knees me in the vagina. I’m not even kidding. He gave it to me in the baby maker. It was so awkward. Apparently my pussy is made of steel because it didn’t really hurt for more than a moment.
We almost had sex and I knew we shouldn’t. I want to take things slow. I want to know where things are going before we’re jumping into bed and cooking pancakes. Honestly, pancakes in the morning are such a convincing way to get me to sleep with you. I told him I had a rule. I didn’t want to go on about but I was just like “Nah we shouldn’t…I can’t.”
He’s like “Well come on, what’s the rule? Do you not want to?”
“Well I don’t just have sex with people…”
“Okay…I respect that. How do they go from a person to someone you’d have sex with…?”
“I’d be with them. We’d be together.”
“How do you both know when you’re with … each other?”
“I think you should both know. Talk about it. You’re on the same page.”
“Well I’m willing to wait until we both know.”
I don’t know why, but I thought that was a very nice thing to say.
He wants to hangout all the time which is nice. But at the same time it worries me. I don’t want it to burnout. I want to take it slow.
I’ll take it slow..
PS. this is for you Blondie.
PPS. I don’t offer to pay anymore. I don’t even touch my wallet.
A writer from Marie Claire put up his top 11 reasons why he dumps a girl. I thought they were really good because they ring true for most people. Click here to read full feature. I’ll list them below.
1. I got bored.
2. Either I’m too serious or you are.
3. Burnout. We rushed into it too fast, now there isn’t much left.
4. I was tempted to cheat.
5. All my friends are single.
6. Divergent lives.
7. I’m feeling selfish.
8. I misread my feelings.
9. My family or friends didn’t like him/her.
10. I took him/her for granted.
11. He/She was too negative.
We make last minute plans to get a drink after work. The last date went pretty well. My opinion of The Hipster has flipped so I figure I’d give it a shot.
I’m early so I naturally sit alone in my car and read my horoscope on my iPhone. He taps on my car window and I shriek. Please don’t tap on car windows.
We talk about everything from religion to politics. Flight attendant girl comes up again. I try to pretend it’s not worrisome.
“I brought a girl here once…blah blah blah.”
“What girl?” I ask.
“Well, it was ‘flight attendant’…”
“Oh.”
I was telling him this story about how for a long time I thought I had a spider in my ear. After months, I finally go to the doctor and I don’t but apparently a lot of people have this paranoia. Or so my doctor said. During my story I said something along the lines of “I was just really freaking out because your ear is really close to your BRAIN”.
“It is?” he asks.
“YES!”
“No I was joking. I know that your ear is close to your brain. I think everyone knows that.”
That’s just a sparkling example of what a smartass this kid is. I mean OK I assume people know their ear is close to their brain. My point was that having a spider in your ear is a lot worse than swallowing it or it getting stuck in a booger. He does this kind of thing a lot. It’s belittling. I don’t know if I should take it as sarcasm and not personally or if I should see it as the potential to be slightly verbally abusive? I’m not really attracted to guys that are super complimentary. It always seems false to me. But at the same time I want to feel that someone is proud to be with me. Everyone does.
That’s not to say he doesn’t compliment me. I told him about how a magazine I started in college got money from the Democratic Party and they actually invited us to Washington D.C. for a journalism summit. He was impressed.
After a couple drinks he says we probably should keep it dry. We’re driving. I figure that means leave so we head out. We’re standing by my car and he asks if I can stay out longer. He doesn’t want me to leave. I say okay.
We end up at another bar. It’s a pub around the corner from his house. He’s on his 3rd bourbon and I’m drinking my 3rd Jack and coke.
He’s only taken a few sips of his drink and looks over at mine. It’s half empty. He picks it up and shakes it.
“You can really hold your liquor. I don’t even know if I’ll finish this—you can have the rest if you want it.’
“Oh no, I’m fine.”
Because he’s drunk he starts to clarify on the whole nervous thing. I said he really didn’t have to but apparently he’s willing to do me the honor nonetheless.
“You just seemed totally different on our first date. You were a nervous person. You talked a lot. Then on our second date—it was like night and day. You were really calm and easy to talk to. A good listener. I honestly wouldn’t have thought you were the same person,” he says.
“Well I think that might be kind of drastic. I mean maybe I was nervous but…why did you go on another date with me then?”
“I probably wouldn’t have but there was something about you. I knew you were funny. I read your blog… You’re cute. I felt like something was missing. Then I found it.”
“You read my blog?”
“Yeah well the music playlist you gave me was connected to it.”
“Oh.”
I have a personal blog that apparently he found through my radio site. I just felt really awkward. He made me sound so awful on the first date.
We walked back to my car and stood there for a really long time chatting. “I know I kissed you last time. I don’t usually do that on the second date….it’s just some stuff you said and I don’t know… it just seemed….”
“It’s fine. I wasn’t offended by it or anything. I kissed you back.”
“I know. I just usually wait several dates…I don’t want you to think…”
“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. What was it I said?”
“I don’t know. A story you told.”
“Gay guy? Was that why?”
“Kind of. I mean, yeah I guess. It seemed like you really wanted him to kiss you.”
“Well that was on like date 5.”
“Yeah. I don’t know why I did.”
We get off the subject. I open the door of my car and sit on the seat as we’re talking. He’s slurring his words by now. This goodbye is taking a long time.
“Well, thanks for the drinks. I’ll talk to you soon?”
“Do you still want to come to the show with me tomorrow night?”
“Sure.”
“Ok.” He stands awkwardly, smiling and backing up. He waves goodnight.
A couple days before we’re set to hangout, we’re texting and he randomly says, “You were pretty nervous on our first date.” Apparently, he was drunk but I didn’t know this. It pissed me off. How would he know if I was nervous? He didn’t pay and now he’s trying to call me out? Who is this guy?
But I decide to just get over it. I told him I thought being nervous on a blind date is pretty normal but I didn’t really know what else to say.
We met for dinner at a brewery. I think having the whole “fuck it” attitude actually made things better. It was more comfortable because I didn’t really care what happened. I didn’t have really high expectations.
I’ll have to admit. I didn’t behave the best texting either. Please take it from me, don’t text people when you’re drunk. I was out clubbing with friends and apparently I texted him “I’m drunnnk”, “ya ummo” and “hahaha wow”. At least I didn’t say anything gross. Thank god.
Conversation is good and I try to ask a lot of questions. I have a feeling I talked too much last time. I ask him if he has any good internet dating stories. He says what most guys say – that girls are usually fatter in person. I just find it funny. I mean why would you put up pictures that don’t look like you? Do you really want them to squint when you get out of your car?
I say how I’m a little apprehensive about online dating. Even though I’ve gone on my fair share of online dates, it never gets “normal” for me. The first date is always awkward and I dread the moment where we have to kiss in his car.
I catch TH’s gaze and see he’s staring at my hands… He asks me, “Do you always hold a glass with two hands?” I look down at my tight grip on thepint. “Um, sometimes?” I have really small hands and pints are heavy. Now I have to use one hand since he commented.
I tell him about maybe gay guy. It’s always awkward telling the kissing story. I feel like it makes people a little comfortable knowing that I’m open and obviously enjoy kissing but I feel like it makes awkward allusions.
Apparently he met his last girlfriend on the internet. She was a redheaded flight attendant. She backpacked all over the world and worked for celebrities. What a hard life. I wonder how he describes me to people? I need to beef up my resume.
Dinner is going well so we decide to head out and get a drink.
The check comes – HE PAYS. Horray. You do not understand my joy. I was like “Okay, red flag 1 down.” Maybe it was because he wasn’t sure about our first date. I still don’t really know what it means.
Somehow we get on the topic of marriage. He says the classic guy thing “But I don’t get why we have to get married? Why can’t being together be enough?” For me, that’s fine but I want children and I don’t wanna get knocked up so I’d like to know he’s committed. I think marriage is a good sign of that. He was like, “Oh yeah, I mean kids are different. I’m not talking about kids.” But if you don’t get married before you have kids…then you have to get married when you have them… it was all very confusing. He thought we were on the same page. I guess he wants someone equally scared of marriage.
I’ve had a couple drinks so here come the inappropriate stories. At the gym the other day I saw a little person on the elliptical. Nothing wrong with that. But it was just funny to me because it made working out seem like such a chore. The machine was SO huge compared to her. If I had to reach above my head and stare at a post when I worked out, I’d be so over it. I plan my runs depending on when Ellen or Anderson Cooper is on. If TV didn’t exist, working out would be obsolete for me. She is way more dedicated than I’ll ever be.
Well apparently this brings the subject of my hands full circle. He segweys from my story to the fact that my hands are really small. I’m a pretty small person so I don’t expect them to be too big but he’s fascinated by this. It’s freaking me out so of course I want to hide them. I don’t notice but I guess I start drinking my glass by the straw directly from the table. Like I just do the lazy lean-over and don’t even pick the glass up. First I was using two hands, then one, now none.
He walks me over to my car. We’re in a parking structure and we’re pretty much the only people there. Parking structures freak me out, especially at night. Of course, he decides this would be a great time to plant one on me. It totally came out of left field so I was kind of awkward about it. Then I kissed him again to be like “ah sorry”.
He says to me, “I had a good time. You really opened up tonight. You weren’t like last time…”
Um. Thanks?
I just say I had a good time too and head off. He’s kinda sassy but I kinda like him.
The Hipster was one of those music snobs where instead of asking what you listen to, they just constantly namedrop and ask you if you know the musician. I’m a dj at the college radio station so I guess they look at me as fun competition. Of course I never knew who he was talking about.
He always talked about his trendy hipster friends that live in Silverlake. He’s always so exhausted because he goes to shows every weekend and pulls all-nighters in LA.
“Are you into David Bazan?”
“Um. I like the name David?”
Turns out I did know David Bazan. He’s the lead singer of Pedro The Lion. Sorry we’re not on a first name basis yet. He then told me how they spoke at a urinal once. In Silverlake, of course.
“Have you heard of Soko?”
“I love whiskey.”
“Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros?”
“I love the Magnetic Fields.”
For our first date we met at a trendy hipster hangout. It has lots of shops including Buffalo Exchange and a store where they have old school Nikes in refrigerators. We agree on a Cuban restaurant we both know.
We talk at the bar and the conversation is going really well. We both seem smart and motivated but not nerds. He’s attractive but a little on the short side. It’s obvious he tries to make up for it in style. Short guys love to be stylish. They love hair products too.
After a drink at the bar, we finally get settled at a table. All of a sudden I feel like it’s the Spanish Inquisition. He bombards me with questions and I end up talking about my ex which I HATE to do. I feel like it’s just so unattractive to go on about an ex on a date. I didn’t even get to eat my friend plantains between my favorite Tarantino movie and what I think of southern accents.
The check comes up and I do the usual flinch. I almost said “you going to let me pay?” but usually the flinch is enough. By the time the card is leaving my wallet, they’re swatting me away and telling me I can get it next time. The hipster was different.
He didn’t say a word.
I slid my card over his and for the first time in recorded history — I paid for my own date. I died.
He was talking and it was obvious I wasn’t paying attention. I was just thinking “is he serious right now?” He has a successful job and it seemed like he was having a good time. Maybe I’m old fashioned but I think the guy should always pay on the first date. I mean, from his standpoint he only has something to gain. By stiffing, it can only look bad. What girl says, “Yay, we went dutch!”
The best part was after the waiter goes off with BOTH cards and comes back with the receipts, he turns to TH and says, “I’m sorry sir. Your MasterCard was declined.” HA.
Karma.
I don’t look up at all during this interaction. I just take my tab and pay it. He is mumbling something about this never happening and is holding onto the waiter, keeping him there until he can find one that works. Sweet Jesus.
He finally finds a card and pulls out his iPhone and tells me he wants to check something. We just paid so I don’t see why I have to sit here while he emails MasterCard but I guess he’s not the most chivalrous guy. He realizes this a moment later. It could have been because I was staring at him in disbelief.
We hug goodbye and he says he hopes we can do it again sometime. I’m just thinking we’re going to have to eat someplace cheaper.
The thing is, I really liked him. We had a lot in common and he was nice to talk to. He had a good sense of humor and he was intelligent. But that money thing seriously turned me off. It’s not that I’m poor or expect guys to front me. It’s just courtesy. It’s manners.
I don’t know. This dating stuff isn’t getting easier.
So I get messages from followers all the time with such positive, great feedback. The blogging community is so supportive and awesome. Please comment on my posts! I love input, advice or just commentary. It gives me motivation to keep going and it’s a great way to connect with other bloggers.
For our first date he wanted to go go-kart racing. I suggested something more low-key like a meal, just in case we hated each other.
He used emoticons in his text messages. I have a theory about emoticons. Usually if someone is really expressive in text messages, they aren’t in real life. It’s totally true. Take my father. He loves the smiley face and he is a very quiet guy. Then there’s me — I’m a pretty expressive, talkative person. I hate emoticons. Texts should be short and sweet.
Anyway. We meet for sushi. I was 30 minutes late. I felt awful. I hate people who are late. On the way there I manage to hit the girl behind me while parking. However we exchanged 5 words or so and it turned out fine. Nothing was wrong with my car or hers and we went our separate ways.
I see him approach me and he looks fine. He’s a good-looking guy but sharper features than in his pictures. He’s more square, less lived in.
I ordered a beer and he ordered pink lemonade. I ask him if he drinks alcohol. “Yeah, I mean not a lot but when the situation calls for it.”
See, along with emoticons I have a theory about drinking. If you don’t drink you are either an ex-addict, overly pious or strange. None of those categories appeal to me.
I almost asked him if he was a virgin after that. I’m really glad I didn’t. I just imagined him to be like, “Oh sex is okay. I mean when the situation calls for it.”
He works for a social networking site. He mentioned that for this week, much like a surgeon, he would be on call. I made a joke about how he could just bring his laptop up to the restaurant and I’d let him work. He apologized and didn’t get it.
I accidentally interrupted him a couple times. It happens. Especially when you’re trying to get stuff out so fast. It’s a first date for Christ’s sake. However, instead of being like “oh don’t worry about it” and feigning interest in what I said…he would pretend he had no recollection of everything he said. I just stole his moment. I would tell him verbatim what he was saying prior and he would say he had no idea. I apologized for interrupting profusely and he just said, “Hmmm yeah I don’t remember what I was saying.”
We were so awkward. We kept walking in doorways at the same time and almost knocking into each other. He would hold doors open and scoot my chair out. Very chivalrous. We almost got stuck in one of those revolving doors because he tried to open it for me.
After dinner we went to the “Ripley’s Believe Or Not” museum. I felt like I was on a 6th grade field trip with some kid I just met. Times like that I just feel like dating isn’t for me. I need to get to know you before doing shit like that. Otherwise it’s just tedious and weird. He’d put his hand on the small of my back as we looked at a man with a spear driven through his chest and an 8-legged pig.
He was kind, smart and understanding but I was just kind of bored.
I certainly can’t imagine having sex with him. Isn’t that awful? It kills me. It really makes me feel lousy.
But really. I want to have that feeling where you just want to jump their bones. Chemistry. I just didn’t feel it.
I feel bad because he seemed really keen on hanging out again and I gave him the indication that I was down but really I just don’t see it going the romantic route. Should I give him one more chance? I told him “maybe” about go-kart racing.
So I kinda left the whole online dating scene for a while. As you can see, it wasn’t going so great. But I found a new site and decided I might as well try it out. Go on a date when I’m bored. I kinda took a hiatus during spring and summer because I went off and on seeing other people. I just feel meeting people in person, not online, is easier. The chemistry isn’t so forced. But the reality of our society is that we’re busy, we’re shy and self absorbed. The guys you want to approach you at bars never do and the ones that do are huge tool bags. We don’t want to make the same mistakes our friends or parents make. We need to stop running back to our exes. So maybe online dating is smart. We meet people with the same beliefs and interests. We can even weed out the uglies.
I’m just worried about people finding me. I hate that.
Needless to say, things didn’t work out so well with eyebrow guy. He sent me a text one day. It was a picture and of course I have a cheap phone plan so I had to go online to view it. He was wearing a suit, off to some business dinner and was saying hi. I was like “what is this?” Who takes pictures of themselves? It’s so strange. Wanna see me in my sweats watching Mad Men right now? I know you do.
The best part is that I was living in a beach house at the time. I just moved. But I was sitting out on my porch, reading and drinking coffee and saw him walk on the boardwalk ON A DATE with ANOTHER GIRL. I died. It’s not that I cared that he was on a date. It’s that he KNEW where I lived. I mean, come on. Luckily he was on the other side of the street so he didn’t see me.
Best of luck to him. He was a nice guy. But the pursed lips and eyebrows got to me.
I had told him about this cool Chinese restaurant by the water that my family used to always go to. He left a message asking if I’d be interested in going sometime that week and I said sure. He calls me and leaves a message when I’m in class, “Hey. You’re probably in class. Just wanted to talk about dinner. I think we might go out with my roommate and this girl he’s seeing if that’s okay with you. Double date. Call me back and we can figure it out.”
Double date. The friend test. I felt like that was moving a little fast. Isn’t that like pre-girlfriend status?
I call Jane, “We’re going on a double date with his roommate and his girlfriend.”
“Wow, that’s fast. That’s a good sign. You know, that he’s introducing you to his friends. It means he likes you.”
“I know. It is. It kind of freaks me out a little. I feel like there’s more pressure there.”
“Pressure on what?”
“On me to like him.”
“Don’t you already like him? I mean you are going on dates.”
“I mean I guess. I don’t really like the whole culture of internet dating. It is so methodical. You only really have 1 date to be strictly platonic, the 2nd one determines your goodbye and by the third date you’re already making out. I’m already on the fourth. We’re gonna be married soon.”
“I don’t know. It might be fun. Don’t think about it.”
“Yeah I’m excited for food. I’m a little nervous about other people coming with us.”
I’m about to make a right turn onto his street when a bum walks in front of my car. He fixes his stained index finger at my face. His gaze is stern but slightly unhinged. I contemplate gently pushing him with my car towards the 7/11 on the corner. I bet that’s where he’s going anyways. I go around instead. I have to cut people off last minute in order to make the turn.
He meets me at the gate to his apartment complex. He’s wearing a short-sleeved white button up with an orange print on it. His jeans are True Religion, 2 huge pockets blanket his butt cheeks. I have a thing with men and embroidery. They should not wear it.
His roommate meets us in the courtyard, he is the type of guy that always wears a goofy grin on his face. A brunette sits on the couch inside their apartment. We lock eyes and scream each other’s names in unison. Great. Now we have a person in common. I’m telling her we met through friends.
The last time I went to Benihana’s I was twelve years old. At the time, foreign accents, bad hair pieces and shouting weren’t obnoxious but incredibly entertaining. I really wanted to get to drink from a Buddha but I knew he’d pay and I didn’t want to seem greedy. I stick to water. He orders a Mai Tai. The drink comes over with an umbrella, slices of pineapple and maraschino cherries spilling over the edges. I was hoping the lady with the tambourine would trail behind the waitress and embarrass him for ordering such a sassy drink. She didn’t.
I nervously drank too much water, trying to keep up with conversation and not have breath that smells like fried rice.
Later, I’m talking to my friend Sophia who lives in another state, “Like what is wrong with me? It’s as if I want someone that treats me like a piece of meat.”
“Sweety, I know the attraction. Look at my track record.”
Sophia has had her share of bad boyfriends. She’s been attracted to liars and cheaters. She’s finally dating a really great guy and I’m really happy for her. To be frank, I’m quite jealous as well. Who wouldn’t be.
“Well I guess it’s hard to find the right guy, or else we’d be with him. It’s just I know for a fact, I would much rather date a supermodel with slight drug dependency and a great smile over a totally great, dependable nice guy that kisses me like a baby. That’s fucked up. I know it’s fucked up.”
Jane asks, “Well, do you get butterflies around him? Like are you excited?”
“I don’t know. No. I guess not. I don’t think I get like that for guys.”
“Are you kidding me? Remember John? You were freaking the fuck out over him. I’d never seen you so giddy. You were wearing perfume at two o’clock.”
“Oh. Well John was gorgeous! He was a model! God, I still swoon over John. Have I showed you his new pictures online? I seriously almost creamed my pants.”
“See, you were all about him.”
“Yeah until I hung out with him in that weekend and he told me the porn industry was a viable option. I felt bad for him. He was so jaded. Not to mention we hooked up and I don’t remember it. God, that weekend was ridiculous.”
“Yeah I cannot even believe that all happened. Oh well at least you realized he was crazy pretty quickly. Sometimes you’re not that lucky.”
“Dating is horrible. Maybe I should just date eyebrow guy. You know, he’s a nice guy. Guys do that, right? Just have girlfriends for fun? Ugh I just don’t want to even think about having sex with him. I imagine he has a small penis. What if he has a small penis?
“Uh… I don’t know. That might be a deal breaker.”
“He’ll probably talk baby talk and tell me to suck his schmotzy poo or something.”
“Ok seriously, stop. You’re grossing me out. Just go on one more date. You don’t have to have sex with him. He’ll just think you’re the slow, classy type.”
“Yeah one more date is okay I guess. Then maybe I’ll figure it out.”
He calls me over the weekend and I’m excited. Hey, this must mean I’m normal because as far as I know, the ballstomper and me are the only ones that have gotten a number 2.
He picks me up at my house and we go to this bar/lounge that is covertly situated in a strip mall. The lights are dimmed so it’s slightly more hospitable than a cave. The tables are big enough to balance a cocktail and a white votive candle. The demographic is pretty noticeable. Asian hipsters hang out at one end, balancing martinis and adjusting their Gucci glasses. The other end sit bored thirty-somethings. They drink way too many cocktails thus investing at least $50 in getting wasted. I watch them go through all the phases of inebriation. First comes the excited dancing. They point at the DJ in approval as he puts an LP by The Cure on. Many of them have lost full control of their extremities so moving is really the only way to keep from falling down. As the depressant element of alcohol seems to kick in and they begin slow dancing to the techno.
We sit at a table in the back and he gets up to get our drinks. Somehow we get into exchanging stories from high school. He asks me not to judge his experimental drug use. He grew up in a huge Mediterranean mansion in the desert. They started drinking his parents booze when he was fifteen. When he was heading up to the mountains with some buddies, they decided to do lines in the car. I guess they were really excited to snowboard. A cop pulled them over and thankfully turned away when he opened the glove box and a couple ounces of weed fell out.
I always feel disadvantaged for not having coke stories. Growing up in where I did, it seems everyone you meet has a great story revolving around sniffing powder off their car key. All mine start or end with me being too drunk or too high. I never was dropping E at a rave or doing lines off a toilet in Soho or peyote in Cabo on spring break. I have some good ones from my younger days but my most common debauchery involves too many beers and blockbuster.
I’m glad this guy matches my drinking. I always come off as a lush and he is keeping up. We’re on our third drink. I switched from Jack & Coke to beer and I’m wasted. I’m a small person. I weigh about 110 lbs so a beer & a half usually has me dancing on your coffee table. I get my second beer and I think well it’s okay, I’m pacing myself. Usually four drinks is extremely excessive when you’re getting to know someone but I’m completely sober and he offered. As he is talking, I look down to find myself cradling my beer in my arms like a baby. I try to pretend like I had no idea what I was doing, as if it is a totally normal gesture. I was just showing my love of ale.
He looks and starts laughing, “haha, are you okay?”
“Me? Oh yeah, totally fine. Just checking to see you were paying attention.”
Then a few minutes later I realize I’m drinking my beer with both hands, fingers woven together. I have no idea how my hands assumed that position but I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t be allowed to use my arms. He does it back at me to mock. Thank god he’s drunk, he totally won’t remember this.
A while later he drops me at my place. It’s the second date, I don’t really know how to say goodbye in cars. It’s never comfortable especially when the e-brake is digging into your side but I didn’t have much of a choice. I realize I can’t just jump out like last time so I go for a hug.
He kisses me on the cheek and then turns back to me, “I want to kiss you.”
“Okay.”
It’s alright. I imagine that is what it feels like to kiss a 13 year old girl. He was so tight-lipped, it was like prying open a clamshell. Not to mention, after we kissed he tilted his head to one side and in a voice, very similar to how 60 year old men talk to small dogs, he says “you’re so cute. I like kissing you”. Writing it down makes me cringe a little.
The moniker given is really the only thing I could find wrong on his profile. His pictures were normal. He posed with friends, family, and teenagers. He wore American Apparel hoodies and dressed up for weddings. He had a good education and a well-paying job. His screen name didn’t include sexy, 69 or big. However, two large black caterpillars found solace above his eyes. They stared at you dauntingly as he peered over a mug of beer. One would rise when he was clever or march downward in anger.
We exchanged casual emails over the course of a month and after a while I was confused as to why he hadn’t asked me out. So finally at the end of my message I suggested coffee and left him my cell phone number. A couple days later I receive a call. We have good conversation on the phone and set up a date for the next night.
“Well he’s definitely attractive”, I tell Jane over the phone. “Like he’s one of those guys that if you dated, people would be like ‘oh that’s a cute couple’. It’s just his eyebrows…they’re really intense and dark.”
Before the date I keep having flashbacks of The Muppet Show. The furry puppets with felt velcro’d above their shiny white eyeballs are holding hands and singing in unison. They sway and mock me mercilessly.
“Could you ask him to lighten them? You know, that way maybe they wouldn’t look so bad…” she asks.
“I can’t ask him ‘Hey, how do you feel about lightening your eyebrows?’ on the first date. That’s like what you suggest after you have one in the oven. God, I need to be less superficial.”
The bar we were going to meet at was overcrowded so he came by to pick me up to find someplace else. I get in the car and we have the first look. On blind dates, you really sum them up in that first 30 second shot. You find some flaw he was able to photoshop out; a pockmark, a tattoo, an earring. Or sometimes they are things you could only discover in person, like a speech impediment (“I’m frum Saam Framcisko”) or latent homosexuality (“I only date girls with style”).
His profile is okay. At first he definitely looks different from his page. He looks older, not like an old man, just aged a little. His nose is more striking. His eyebrows seem appropriate for his face. Like an adornment on a Christmas tree or something, it adds character. It’s comforting.
We go to this TexMex restaurant by the mall that supposedly has good margaritas. We get along really well. He’s easy to talk to. I’m worried I’ll get drunk and say something bad. We talk about our site* dates. I relate the gay guy I went out with and my mortifying car make-out rejection.
“I think I can top that. I have some good stories,” he claims.
“Really? Okay, come on. Let’s hear it.”
“I don’t know. It’s weird.”
“Can’t be that weird…”
“No, they’re really weird…”
“Spill it.”
“Okay well in no way should this reflect on me. Like seriously, they seemed normal online so I agreed to go on a date with them.”
“Alright… Just tell me already.”
“Okay. So we meet at a bar and right when I see her I’m blown away. She’s absolutely gorgeous. Like she could be in Playboy or something. I was beside myself and felt totally not on the same level. We start talking and she just unloads her entire past and how she’s been raped three times.”
“She’s been raped three times? What? She told you this on a first date? I think rape is probably off limits.”
“Yeah and she just tells me everything. Like I guess the first guy was in her choir in high school. She confronts the choir teacher about it and the choir teacher rapes her.”
“No…”
“Yeah, and then I think the third guy was in college. She became incredibly insecure afterwards. Starting dating this guy that was physically abusive and then developed anorexia. She’s been in rehab and is still seeking treatment.”
“Wow. That’s a lot.”
“Yeah so it’s horrible to say, but she had a lot of baggage.”
“Yeah, I think that’s safe to say. Well, I’m sorry. You definitely have me beat.”
“Well it gets worse.”
“How can it get worse?
“Okay so there was this other girl. We went on a couple dates and on the 2nd one she invited me over to her place for dinner. We’re talking and she says something pseudo-sexual or something. So just jokingly I say ‘oh you sexual deviant’. And she says, ‘Oh you want to know a sexual deviant…you should have met my ex-husband.’ I realize I just opened Pandora’s box but you can’t not ask. So I’m like ‘what do you mean?’ and she’s like ‘well he was a little kinky’. ‘Okay.’ ‘Well, more than a little I guess. He was really into bondage.’ Then she starts going into detail. They had hooks on the ceiling where they’d tie up his nipples and she’d put a rubber band around his balls and stomp on them with stiletto heels.”
“Holy shit. That’s insane.”
“Yeah, it was so awkward. Right when I finished my food I just told her I really had to get going. I had to get up early for work. Even though it was probably 9 o’clock. I felt bad. I saw she rented a movie from Blockbuster.”
We move on from his weird dates and have easy conversation. We bond over our needy over-bearing mothers and selfish egotistical fathers. I taught him how him being directionally challenged makes sense, with him being a Libra and all. He earned points by telling me I should write for Rolling Stone. He too hates the word career. He wants to travel more. He’s tall and doesn’t lie about his height.
It was wierding me out how normal he was. It’s been a couple hours and after those margaritas, I am about to burst.
“I’m sorry, I really have to go pee.”
“Really, me too. Let’s both go.”
“Alright.”
I go in and text Jane. SMS: He’s super normal. I just hope he’s not gay.
The tequila has soaked up all the moisture on my lips and I’m desperately searching in my bag for my carmex. I realize this is taking entirely too long and I don’t want him to think I took a shit. That’s gross. So I brush my hair really fast and try to freshen up so maybe he’ll believe I’m high maintenance, even though I don’t even carry lip gloss.
He’s standing in the hallway. “There you are. Didn’t know if you had walked back to the table or not.”
Everyone has probably dated a filmmaker from LA. About 7 out of 10 men in LA will tell you they are a filmmaker, producer or writer. Of course it’s usually freelance. Oh and they work during the day as a waiter or as an IT guy at google.
I’m not going to say the trendy neighborhood he name dropped. There are a few parts of LA, namely Silverlake, Los Feliz and Hollywood, that hipsters infiltrate and turn into mass markets for American Apparel and tofurkey. He seemed to be one of them. He told me he had a nice bungalow and lived alone. Alright, sounds good.
I exit the freeway and make a sharp turn. I’m confused why I’m driving alongside the freeway. Shouldn’t I be driving in more? I find his bungalow” sitting by the shade of the 101. You could literally see the cars flying by from his stoop. Oh and this “bungalow” was an old shack divided in 3 parts. He greeted me at his door and I came in. He was making me dinner. There were various frozen packages from trader joes strewn around. I was guessing it wasn’t from scratch. He offered me a glass of 2 buck chuck. Wow, was I impressed. I’m always down for a home-cooked meal but actually COOK IT and if you buy a bottle of wine… maybe splurge for a $4 bottle? Maybe that’s too high maintenance.
He apologized a lot about how he overcooked the chicken and burned the carrots. It’s fine, just keep the wine coming.
We had good conversation. I felt like he asked me a lot of questions. He had his legs crossed and his knees were always pointing at me judgmentally, as if he’d kick me if I wasn’t interesting enough.
We had both lived abroad in the same country for a while and he was showing me stuff he bought there. I asked what bars he went to and where he lived and he had a hard time coming up with things. He said he just hungout with his roommate and they didn’t go out or something. It was odd. He also had no idea what this shit was that he collected. The magazines weren’t in english and he didn’t understand them.
I saw a hairdryer lying on his bed and asked “so I didn’t know guys blow dried their hair…”
“What?” he asked. I clarified. “Oh I see the hairdryer on your bed. I thought guys just air dry.”
“Oh that’s not for my hair.”
“What’s it for?”
“I sleep with it.”
“You sleep with it… on?”
“Yeah. It’s like a comfort thing. The warmth. It helps me fall asleep.”
Strange.
We began to talk in depth about things. After a bottle of wine I probably divulged too much information about family and friends but I thought it was good that we felt comfortable together. He brought absinthe he bought in Europe and we had a glass. I thought it was weird we weren’t watching that documentary but I also didn’t see a tv in his humble abode.
All of a sudden, out of left field, he gets this weird look on his face. Almost angry or offended. It was strange because we were talking about something mundane. He had just poured more wine.
“You know what? I’m not feeling too good.”
“Oh that’s too bad. Do you want some water?”
“No I think I’m just exhausted. I haven’t been getting much sleep. I think sleep will do it.”
“Right. So I should leave.”
He was silent. I used the bathroom before he kicked me out. I like how I was 4 drinks under when he decided to do this. What a great guy.
He seemed harmless enough. He was a little hesitant about meeting because I was 5 years younger. I’ve dated guys 10 years older so I didn’t really understand it. What does coffee hurt?
I met him at this coffeeshop halfway between both our houses. I was fucking nervous. However, my nerves calmed when I saw because he looked worse off. The entire time he talked he could barely make eye contact. He had this numerology book with him. I guess it was supposed to be a conversation starter. It wasn’t a bad idea except his hands visibly shook as he turned the pages. Man, this guy is a mess. I felt better.
He talked about making his first documentary and how life changing blah blah blah. Let’s just get married already.
We had a bit in common and he seemed very sweet. The only thing that came up that I found a bit strange was that he said he went on a date with this chick and dumped on account of who she voted for. Ya see, he campaigned for Obama. I’m liberal but I think it’s dangerous to be polarizing about any belief. Give people a chance. I guess she called him up and admitted to him that she voted for McCain and he was like shocked and hung up. I was like are you serious? He was like you could date a republican? I’m like yes. I mean I couldn’t date a pro-life homophobe but I think we can agree to disagree on taxes. I’ll deal. Maybe we can learn from each other. It’s good to have a challenge.
He said there were these documentaries he thought “I would love” and hinted at a second date. I said sure.
“So did you smoke a bunch of pot this weekend?” he snickers as we merge onto the 405.
I had gone up to Northern California a couple days prior and I guess I had mentioned that my friends smoked weed every now and then. I hadn’t heard that word since my sophomore year in High School when my dad could smell me burning incense in my room and inquired, “what is that, a pot farm in there?”
I didn’t know if gay guy was being judgmental or jovial. I reply, “Well uh, actually yeah. I got high one day.”
“Haha! Oh yeah!?”
I was a little creeped out. I waited for him to slap his knee in delight. That wouldn’t be safe in a stick shift.
“Yeah. Not a big deal. Just my first night there. We watched 40 Year Old Virgin. Ha. Not too exciting.”
“Yeah, you want to know something funny? I got high this weekend too.”
Congratulations. “Ha. Really. Why?”
“You know my Christmas work party I told you about? Well I ended up getting pretty hammered then heading out with some co-workers. One of ‘em actually lives right by you.”
“Oh really? How funny.”
“Yeah. Like directly behind you actually.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah when we got out of the car I wanted to run inside because I was like ‘Oh I don’t want her to think I’m stalking her!’”
“Oh…ha, no.”
I ordered a margarita at dinner. He does the same and then informs me he has never been a big fan of tequila. Ironically, all the gay guys I know hate tequila. I loathe the mechanics of my brain right now.
“So how long have you been living with your parents now…?”
“Hmmm. I haven’t really thought about. Well. I guess ever since I got this job. So about two years.”
“Oh okay, do you have an exit strategy?”
“Ha not really. You know, I save a lot of money with ‘the roommates’.”
“Yeah, that would save money. But it does have setbacks. Do you have people over …often?”
“No, not really. I mean they are always there. I’d rather get out of the house. I don’t hang out there much.”
“Right. So you never bring…a friend back to your house?”
“Nah, I tend to go to their houses.”
“To your guy friends houses?”
“Right.”
“Yeah, right. That makes sense. Ha.”
He never caught on. He is twenty-five years old, hates to kiss girls, lives with his parents and loves a good dinner. I’d be the June to his Ward, the Lucy to his Ricky. Every morning we’d each awake from our individual twin beds, read the newspaper and chat about the neighbors over hot coffee. During our nights we’d play bridge and watch black and white television. We would miraculously reproduce miniature clones of ourselves without the distasteful exchange of bodily fluids. I’d call him darling, he’d call me dear.
I’m about to vomit.
Dinner is set to autopilot for men. It’s the appetizer to the main course they’ve been dying to dig into, aka fuck. I know this, so it’s not offensive anymore. Usually it’s sushi. It shows they’re not stingy, a bit “cultured” and no one’s breath smells afterward. Also, every place is usually walking distance from their downtown loft.
With gay guy, dinner is the climax.
“How is the smoked salmon?” he asks.
“Great, really moist. How’s your pork?”
“Good, really good.”
It’s like watching my parents eat dinner, yesterday. This guy; my future- homosexual- foodie- stylish husband.
My sexless marriage starts now.
Well I got a good dinner out of it, I say to myself as he walks me to the car. On the drive home I really wish he were straight, it’d just be so much easier. If only I had some ruby red slippers to clink together, don’t be gay don’t be gay. Whatever. He’d probably steal them and sell them on his Judy Garland eBay store.
He goes in for the peck but this time he stays.Okay, I think. Maybe he is just timid. He starts the pre-make out kissing, his hands are still in his lap and I awkwardly still have mine on the door handle. I move toward him, anticipating the same then MWAH. Goodbye peck. Out of fucking nowhere. I laugh to myself in disbelief and stare straight ahead. “OK”, I say. I get out and slam the door behind me.
He texts me an hour later, “Sorry if I’m awkward.”
“Why do you think you’re awkward?”
“Oh good, it’s just me.”
“No. Why do you think you are?”
“I feel like I always give you an awkward goodbye in the car.”
“I’d call it disinterested.”
“Oh, that’s worse than awkward!”
“Guess so.”
“I am interested so I’m going to have do a better job of showing it.”
“Yeah, you’ve had a while.”
“Ha, you’re a tough critic.”
“True.”
Then I send another, “I just think it’s confusing when you ask me out on a date and then you aren’t down…”
“Yeah I thought that had to do with 2 brunch dates, but maybe I didn’t do any better this time.”
“Usually men do not care about the time of day.”
“Haha guess not.”
“I’m just being honest. I like hanging out with you but I don’t really know what’s up.”
“Ya, sorry. Wasn’t going for that. I am interested in you. Oh and your honesty is a good thing.”
The next evening while I’m at Thai with my parents I see I have a missed call and voicemail. He says he wants to take me on another date. Gay guy jokingly refers to our text and says he will try to show more interest. I don’t know what to say. A date isn’t a recipe. I want to shake him by the shoulders. I have sleazebags wanting me only for sex and then this guy wanting me for chaste chitchat.
I text back the next morning, “Gay guy, I’d love to hangout but I just don’t think we have chemistry and it shouldn’t be forced. But I’d like to keep hanging out as friends if that’s possible.”
He responds, “Yeah, no worries. Just call me when you have time and want to hang out.”
Follow Up Love 2 Hear From You ! Call Me ! I read your profile and you got my attention. Lets meet chat and get acquainted and perhaps date and go out and spend quality together. Write I am interested. I love to explore and expriment in a relationship and try new things.
My name iscurrently living in , but can travel to meet and date. I am single, hispanic, 5′8″ 180lbs college graduate, career professional very polite easy going, I am also very romantic, sensual and very passionate love dinning out, going to the movies, theater, the beach, traveling and spend quality time together.
On a more personal side . I love holding hands, kisssing, cuddling and love to express my feelings and emotions on very physical fashion. I love to explore and experiment in a relationship and also love to try new things, hope you do to. I also love sensual body massages both giiving and receiving and much more to mention now. I am a very passionate, sensual and sexual person hope you are to.
Hope you don’t mind honesty I love to express my feelings and emotions in a physical fashion.
I believe in pleasing a woman totally and completely emotionally, socially and physcially.
Write love to be your best friend, lover, teacher, mentor and spend quality time together enjoying each others company together…
Write lets meet and make it happen. Love to hear from you – write or call me – I am very interested, I can travel to meet and date – open for long term relations or short term relationship to go out and date and spend quality time together – with or without strings attached – depending on your interest or perference.
Also if your interested in modeling let me know love to take digital photos and video swimwear and lingerie if you like to explore and exeriment modeling etc… I am professional photographer and videographer….
Bye for now – Call me Lets meet for coffee, happy hour or dinner to chat and get acquainted. [spells out number here]
Ph. (000) 000 0000 – Call Me !
P.S. Check my profile for photo you will find it inside, my primary photo is not up yet don’t have one at this time.
Get back to me if you like to meet for coffee and/or happy hour for drinks to chat and get acquainted and plan our date and adventure together. I am ope to long term or short term relationship or dating depending on your current situation or interests.. Write lets meet and make it happen !
My personal email address if you like to write to me direct:
___________@blah.com
This guy claimed he was in his early thirties but could easily pass for fifty, at LEAST. His picture had him posed in front of a small palm tree wearing high waisted chinos and a black polo shirt. He was probably about 5’6” but posted 6’0” on his profile.
I’m totally going to write to him. I’ve needed to drive 6 hours to get those professional lingerie shots for a while now. And who can turn down a sensual body massage? Who ever taught this man to write an email, let alone be equipped to use the English language, should be given a medal.
I accepted a date with REA after one email. I guess I was feeling low after a few dates with gay guy and figured I should take a chance. His occupation would normally turn me off. I associate Real Estate agents with Mercedes S-Body’s, gold pinky rings and bleached teeth. His hair didn’t look foreign to hair spray or mousse, two things that have never found my grip. I think conditioner is a splurge. However, he had a picture wearing a corduroy blazer with a buzz-cut and I figured Hey, maybe that’s his “work” persona. Wrong.
Also, I think I need to be more careful about giving out my number or perhaps send a set of rules on how to use it. REA would text me and if I didn’t respond, he’d text again. The style was playful at first, then annoying, then flat out creepy. “Will you be excited?” When I was short I got, “Someone’s snarky ”. “Are you still having a tough time containing your excitement?” “You’ll probably have a hard time sleeping tonight”.
You’re right about that.
He told me about this cool vegan teashop he frequents, it made the whole dual persona thing seem more likely. It was located in a strip mall crammed between a Brazilian tailor and an Asian fast-food joint. The place was awkwardly vacant, bright and the tables were collapsible. He stands up as I walk in. He’s wearing a black suit and shoes that look at least a half size too big. He’s tall which is a plus but I’m not sure how accurate my assessment was since his hair added at least three inches. I gave him an acquaintance hug so our audience (the two people working) didn’t become riveted to our internet date.
I try to imagine him typing smiley faces into his Blackberry.
I stare at the long list of herbal teas, “What tea do you usually get?”
“I usually go for the Yerba Mate.’
“Right… Yeah I’ll have the Oolong.”
As we sit down he starts to chat.
“Yeah my ex-girlfriend got me into Yerba. She was Argentinean. That was my last serious relationship, lasted about 2 years.
“Oh okay, when was this?”
“Um ages 19-21.”
I expected a reference to time, not an age gap. This man is 26 years old. His last relationship consisted of watching Family guy and holding hands on park swings, maybe he fed her ramen while they cuddled in his beanbag. He explains the painful breakup but says they are now friends. He recently sold her house. How nice of him.
My tea is cold after an hour, “want to head out?”
“Sure… You probably have another site* date after this, haha.”
“Oh no. I just have a dinner in a bit, I should get going.”
But he was right. I did. But with gay guy, so it didn’t really count.
“Well thank you for the tea. It was nice meeting you.”
“Yeah you too…maybe I’ll see you around.”
He looks awkward and uncomfortable. I hate men like this. It reminds me of being twelve and wearing braces.
“Sure, you have my number.” I will soon regret this statement.
“So I can call you?”
“Um yeah. You don’t have to be so you know…shy.”
“About asking you out?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh I’m not shy. I’m far from it. Ha”
Great. I offended REA. I envision him taking that cookie dough smell spray out of his pocket and aiming at my retinas.
“Oh okay.” I smile and tell him to have a nice night. Then I run away, sit in my car for 5 minutes saying oh my god 10 times fast.
“When I was in Middle School I remember my mom coming into my bedroom and saying, ‘You know…I want you to know…if are you are gay it’s okay.’” He throws his head back and chuckles, “she must have seen something on tv or…I don’t know”. Some of my hot coffee spills over onto my wrist. I wipe it away. This story was following my recollection of bathroom talk with my mother when I was 10. She was sitting on the toilet and I was playing with her rouge. She looked at me and said, “You know, if you ever want to have sex you can tell me. Be safe. I’ll get you birth control.” I figured his would be the male version, the alpha testosterone packed father telling the “if you ever get a young lady pregnant…” lecture. This information caught me a little off guard. But at the same time it didn’t, which annoyed me.
“I think I’m going to ditch it soon”, he says.
“Ditch what…?’
“The site*.”
“Oh…why?”
“Oh I don’t know. I’m just tired of it I guess. I’ve been meaning to kick it for a while. I think my subscription is coming up soon.”
“Right. Yeah. Understandable.”
He talks about it as an addiction or something. Eh, heroin, not for me. Been meaning to kick it, the track marks make it so I can never roll up my plaid Levi wovens. As if the site* has a real impact on his life. Then I realize, maybe it has. Maybe it has made him realize that his affinity for anal was not just a little kinky but a definite preference. He had gone on quite a few dates, more than me. I always find reasons not to, it’s very easy to come up with excuses. Three emails? Wow, desperate. Wants to know my first name? Um ew stalker. You have a beautiful smile, what a creep.
Maybe that is why I fell for gay guy. His email was polite, non-threatening. Want to get coffee sometime? Sure. Coffee is like getting gas. I have to do it so I might as well run into someone while I’m at it. However, the polite and non-aggressive demeanor evolved in tiresome and passionless and obviously G A Y.
He often asks me about my success on the site*. I try to be nonchalant about it. Some freaks, some squares…whatever. It’s reality being auctioned to the most desperate bidder. Sometimes these inquiries give me the slight hope that he is the perfect straight man. He’s just a tad shy. I shouldn’t be so hard on him. He’s been hurt, dumped, dragged through the mud emotionally. He wants to have a real connection, not just some sexual codependent dysfunctional rendezvous. One problem though, sex is really important to me. If I didn’t have a good sex life with my significant other, I would break it off. I’m too ethical for cheating. Plus, isn’t it supposed to start out passionate and then fizzle? Not permanently set to low. I’m twenty-two, I’m too young for this. I should just buy a vibrator like my girlfriends.
As his white truck pulls to a stop outside my house, I feel a lump in my throat. It’s not my gum. The voice in my head won’t shut up. I’m an attractive person. Men like me. How long will this strange aversion to kissing last? Luckily I have sunglasses on.
I turn to face him, “Well thanks for breakfast, it was really good.”
“Yeah, thanks for coming with me.”
I stare somewhat vacantly into his eyes. I move a little closer. Come on. Come on. Don’t be gay.
Here comes the peck. It could have easily been a finger poking me on the lips but my eyes were open and it smelled like Chapstick. The only way you’d call that a kiss is if you analyzed it technically. Yes, there was contact between his lips and mine (for about a second). Yes, saliva was exchanged. However, I felt nothing and I knew this had to be stopped soon before I became Julianne Moore in Far from Heaven.
I call Jane.
“A LOT of guys wear tight v-necks. He’s shy and …trendy. Maybe I intimidate him?”
I balance my Blackberry on my shoulder. I’m painting my nails since I bit them off 10 minutes earlier.
“I don’t know…it sounds like maybe you were right. You don’t want to be one of those chicks stuck with a gay guy.”
She’s right.
I receive a text after I hang up. How about a dinner date after these lunch dates, haha.
I really wanted to text him and tell him I had a good time but Jane said I couldn’t. I need to be more aloof. Guys want to be kept guessing. Stop being so transparent.
By 6pm I have a text from him saying he had a great time. I was ecstatic. Finally, someone normal to date. He knows I have finals but he mentions a concert he’s going to and I am more than welcome to join. I take him up on it. I was never big on studying.
The venue is like an old Italian mobster lounge in mafia movies. The booths are poofy red leather, gaudy gold chandeliers hang above your heads, and the bar is piled high with hard liquor. However instead of Sicilian, everyone is gorgeous and trendy as hell. We sit at a booth with his friends. One of them works at Urban Outfitters, he is Asian and wears a fedora with a feather in it. I’m just glad I wore boots. His best friend is a screenwriter who just directed an indie music video, the band is playing in an hour.
After knocking back three Stella’s I’m convinced I have this in the bag. This guy loves me. We’re so getting married.
He drops me off at my house and I go in for the hug. I feel his face turn as I bring my arm up and I feel stupid. Well I can’t just avoid the kiss. That’s awkward. So I lock eyes with him and can tell he wants to. I initiate.
It is the most mortifying feeling to kiss a boy and feel absolutely nothing. I expected him to grab my face, try to cop a feel or at least call me hot. Nothing. We were in high school and I was the whore. I try to use tongue but it’s not really reciprocated. I bite his lip, he does the ending peck and I uncomfortably retreat back to my passenger seat.
“I really want to take you to that restaurant I told you about.”
“Yeah, that sounds nice.” I try not to run out the door. Then I call Jane.
“IS HE GAY?” I scream.
“No, I mean that’s weird though. A guy rejecting a girl? And he did say gay guys like him. You talked about underwear?”
“No he can’t be. Gosh he looks exactly like someone too. Like an actor. I think it’s that guy from Clueless. Christian? Yeah well European underwear. I don’t know how we got there.”
“Oh my god.”
“What?”
“The one person he reminds you of is a closet gay. European underwear?!”
“That doesn’t mean he is gay. It’s not like the actor himself is gay. Maybe if it was someone else… I don’t know. Can I text him? I want to text him. I feel awkward.”
“NO, whatever you do- DO NOT text him.”
I drunk text him- “Hey thanks for the invite. I had fun.”
The next day at 11am I receive a text, “Me too. ”
What the fuck does this mean.
I don’t want to be objectified but it is nice to think your date wants to grab your face in a moment of passion, or lets face it, fuck you in the back of his car.
I’m not being mature about this. Maybe he’s a slow mover. You don’t have to have sexual chemistry on your 3rd date, right? Well I’m taking him up on part four, let’s cross our fingers.
I thought the concert might not be the best idea since it’s loud. It is awkward to hangout with someone you just met and have to scream your zodiac sign or favorite movie over an amp.
I suggest going out and getting a couple drinks if he is still available.
I find a bar on yelp that’s supposed to have more of a lounge feel. He likes music. It has a DJ. He’s down.
My friend Jane gives me advice on what to do in life. She’s my rock, my figurative Buddha belly. I was worried because I hadn’t changed my outfit.
“He’s not going to expect you to change. He knows you haven’t gone home. He probably is wearing the same thing too. He’s a guy. You don’t want to look like you’re trying too hard.”
She’s right. I’m so casual. Dates are nothing.
I get in the car and he’s changed. He’s wearing different glasses and smells like a mixture of Armani cologne and Old Spice. I probably smell like Wrigley’s because I’ve been chewing it nervously for 15 minutes straight. The conversation flows. I slouch to avoid thinking about the height issue.
I get up to use the restroom after my second rum & coke. I’m only gone about five minutes and a gay Asian man is hitting on him.
“I like your glasses. You look smart or something. Are you a writer?”
I don’t know how to get into this conversation verbally or physically as he has moved into my seat. I have to hit elbows with my butt to reclaim it.
“Wow, is your name German? I lived in Germany for twenty years… I love it there.”
I look over at him to kind of hint hey, shut up bitch. He puts a limp hand in my face and mouths THOMAS with very little sound coming out. He asks me if I’m German too. I say no, I guess that makes me less interesting. That, and my vagina.
My date suggested we meet someplace by the beach since it was a nice day. He chooses a local breakfast joint. I had been there one other occasion, coincidently on a blind date. That date did not go so well. It started off by him ordering me a mimosa. I was twenty and it was 10 am. He asked what I thought about reincarnation. I thought he was just having one of those humor me conversations where you just say things that pop into your head.
I laugh, “maybe a turtle.”
“Oh okay. Yeah. I was a crow in my past life.”
He goes on to explain how admirable it is of me to have so many goals when the world is ending in 2012. I noticed a horizontal scar on his right wrist. He said he had a rough patch in his life. He has a mirror above his bed so that his soul won’t leave his body in his sleep. Acid flashbacks are too rational an explanation. I had just gotten out of a serious relationship + he was an underwear model + I was superficial = I went on another date. However, I learned that a good body can only take you so far, in his case, not much farther than his parents garage.
Back to my date. I end up being about 15 minutes late due to extenuating circumstances that involved two cats and severe cursing. Don’t worry, I don’t own cats.
He calls to tell me what he is wearing. Green shirt, jeans. Sounds harmless enough.
I didn’t have many expectations for the date. He was attractive enough, we had similar interests, he has lived abroad, he had male reproductive organs, free breakfast… What’s to lose?
I was pleasantly surprised when I walked up and he was actually more attractive than his picture.Once a girl told me she could only date people with symmetrical faces and I found her absurd. However his face was noticeably even and there was something comforting about it. He was wearing sunglasses and was the type where eyewear can really bring him up a notch. One small problem, he is short. Not like I guess he’s no basketball player short, but like I don’t have to look up and I’m 5’5 short. But I told myself there are more important things. However, I value honesty and his profile said 5’9.
I pick a table outside and we talk.He shares a story about dating a “pear-shaped” nympho that recounted her past obesity.I told him about the underwear model, leaving out the second date part.
Five cups of coffee and I realize I like this guy. He’s so easy to talk to and I just want to stay. He’s so agreeable and easy-going. Usually when that’s the case their tongue is down my throat by the check.
We (or I) decide to walk around downtown. We reveal things we shouldn’t on a first date; alcoholic friends, past relationships, fears. I think this is a good sign. I jokingly mention to him he has a similar voice to a gay friend of mine. He says how he gets hit on a lot by gay guys. His ex-coworker grabbed his ass once or something.
Somehow four hours roll by and I’m back at my car. I told him about a concert going on and he mentioned if I didn’t have a person to go with, he would be down.
I’m calling my friend on the way home with the usual post date recap “O M G, I like him! He’s cute and nice and isn’t a drug addict or a porn star! He lives close to me! He wants to hangout again! O M G this is SO weird”. Then I hear sirens.
I’ve never been pulled over before. Apparently talking on your cell phone is illegal. Thanks Americans for telling me about new laws when I move back to the states.
I will try to put up a favorite funny email a week for your viewing pleasure.
whats up? i just got home from Portland. I was up there and Seattle for work. Portland was cool. Whatcha up to this weekend? im getn up early to go surfing with my neighbors. i like biking hiking and seeing natural wonders. i love Discovery and Nat Geo channel. lol I like to cook lots of stuff. i’v been into Italian lately. i love Mexican, Greek, steak, lamb… seems like we like a lot of the same things.
[Backstory: We only exchange a few emails via the site*. He seems pretty cute in his pictures. He enjoys sushi and coffee. He lives by the beach. He must be normal. Yeah. Hmm. I agree to meet up for a drink on a weeknight.]
“Do you dance? My ex-girlfriend didn’t dance”, he says slightly irritably.
“Yeah. I mean I love dancing but I’m not like… an amazing dancer. I’m perfectly fine with making a fool of myself. I just dance for fun.”
“Yeah, I love to dance. I teach ballroom and swing classes.”
“Oh right. I think I saw that on your page. That’s so cool.”
“Yeah my ex never danced.”
The bar is crowded. It’s the type of place that’s out of character for our suburban city but somehow it’s been around for fifty years. Everything is red velvet. Checkered tablecloths and red votive holders adorn every table. There’s a tiny stage where a forty-year-old woman is singing Tom’s Diner with a fan positioned in front of her face. I scream above wannabe Suzanne Vega for a rum and coke. I’m definitely the youngest person there. I shouldn’t have worn flats.
“Are you familiar with Benji Schwimmer?”
“Who…?”
He sighs disapprovingly, “He’s a very famous swing dancer.”
“I’m sorry. I’m just not that educated in the dancing world.”
“Do you watch So You Think You Can Dance?”
“No. The only show I really watch is The Office.
“Oh. I’ve never seen that.”
“You should. It’s hilarious.”
“Well anyways, he dances west coast swing, it’s a different style. It’s really new right now. I’m getting into it. It’s fun.”
“Oh okay, that’s cool.”
“Yeah you should youtube him. He’s a really talented artist.”
I don’t mind a snob. Sometimes they can be quite hot. But I’m a little annoyed with his elitism since he is definitely not as attractive as his pictures and I know for a fact I’m a lot cuter in person. People tell me these things. I also didn’t know dancing was so essential to this guy. He mentioned some classes but I can tell he is no stranger to spandex and shaving cream. The only red flag I could remember was a picture showcasing him shooting a rifle. I had shifted my focus to his Diesel Jeans. I’ve always been a glass half full kind of person.
I try to change gears.
“So…you went to college, right?”
“Yeah. I went to community college for three years and then transferred. I got a BA in Poli Sci with an emphasis in Legal Studies.”
“Oh, that’s impressive. Have you thought about grad school?”
“Yeah. I mean I thought about getting a law degree but eh… I don’t know if that’s for me. It’s like so much school. I like working for the city right now. The pay isn’t good but it’s something. The dance classes are a good escape. I live day by day, ya know?”
“Right…”
“It’s just kind of hard with my degree. Sometimes I wish I could have gone back and made some different decisions.”
“Really?”
“Yeah I mean I was learning about apartheid in Africa when I should have been learning about finance. Something that would make me money.”
“Ha, right. Money. I’m an anthropology major. Totally in it for the big bucks.” I try not to act offended.
I ask him about leaving our city.
“Leave? Why would I want to leave?” He sounds astonished.
“Oh I don’t know. Experience new things. Burst the bubble.”
“Yeah, I love it here. I guess I’d need a good reason.”
“Do you get a chance to travel?”
“Nah, I don’t really have the time. I’d like to. I mostly go to the river, the mountains, Las Vegas. I go there with my friends a lot.”
“Oh that’s cool… Las Vegas is fun.”
The river? Oh geez. He’s a dance instructor and a bro. I imagine his lifted truck dragging an ATV covered in Coors Light stickers. His white mesh trucker hat fashionably tilted over his Von Zipper aviators.
I cough on a lime seed and try to pretend I’m not sucking on ice. I can totally survive this date with one cocktail.
“Do you have any plans for winter break?”
“Yeah actually one of my buddies has a place in mountains. I think we’re gonna just kick it up there for a week around New Years. It’s great up there. I love it.”
“That sounds fun. Do you snowboard or ski…”
“Yeah I board. I’ve never skied. We’re actually going to do an 80s ski day. We have like neon one-pieces. It’s gonna be awesome. Just be wasted skiing down the mountain.”
The waitress brings the check over and apparently ran off with his etiquette as well. Typically, when a guy gets a check he holds it up facing him, away from you. He looks at it casually, keeps the conversation going, signs it and hands it to the waiter as they pass. Dance instructor laid the bill flat in the middle of the table and stared at it for an unnecessary duration. I sat there long enough to have the dollar amount burned in my memory. $34.65.
“Oh, here.” I pull my visa out realizing this date is dutcher than my front door. He motions away with his hand.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, just get me next time. Heh.”
Right.
After a couple minutes he still seems to be calculating and I’m ready to just walk out. This is ridiculous.
“I’m trying to think how I could write this off as a work dinner… We talked about dancing, right?” A sly laugh escapes the corner of his mouth.
“Yeah, I’m sure. Totally”, as I feel my key in the palm of my hand.
Our cars are parked close to each other so he walks me to mine.
“Well, it was nice meeting you. Have a nice weekend.” I try to avoid open-ended goodbyes.
“Yeah, you too. Call me this weekend or something. Maybe I can work you in between my beach volleyball game and working on my car.”
So a few months ago I was experiencing the all-so-common dating hump. I met 2 total losers. One was a egotistical film producer and another was a drug dependent gorgeous model who was thinking about tapping into the porn industry. My good girlfriend suggested I try online. What can it hurt? Those commercials are just so cute. Black and white ads with blonde haired babes rolling on the grass. I’m totally gonna meet my man. Well, let’s just say I have some good stories. And I want to share them with you.
I won’t insinuate or directly state the site I used or name the men. I want to keep it as anonymous as possible.
”. “Are you still having a tough time containing your excitement?” “You’ll probably have a hard time sleeping tonight”. 