If you are a pervert who has stumbled across this blog, I am sorry to inform you that you will be greatly disappointed by this entry.
Alex instant messaged me on jdate this morning. His pictures were cute, nice dimples, full head of hair (rare on this site), 6 foot 1, works in finance (my weakness). So, I gladly responded.
After a brief chat (brief is my new goal so that I won't be disappointed), we agreed to meet up this Saturday evening.
That's when the conversation took a turn for the worst...who knew a single letter could change the meaning of a word so significantly...
Here is the conversation, cut and pasted straight from my instant message window with only the screennames changed for this poor fellow's protection...
Alex: Are you a wine person? A beer drinker? Cocktails?
Me: Wine and cocktails. I hate beer.
Alex: Hate?
Me: Hate.
Alex: As in ALL beer?
Me: Yup. It tastes like dirty cocks.
Alex: Like dirty cocks??????
Me: OMG, I meant socks! I meant socks!!!!
So, I'm still meeting Alex this Saturday. And I'm prepared to get mocked to the full extent for my typo.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Uncle...or should I say Grandpa?
I tutor a darling boy named Bobby on Saturdays. So, when his very attractive mother asked me if she could set me up with her brother (Bobby's uncle,) I immediately responded "Sure!"
"He's 38 though - is that too old? You're what -- 26? He looks really young," she assured me.
Awkwardly, without thinking, I responded, "I'll take anything at this point."
Note to self: Think before speaking.
A few days later Uncle called me. We talked for hours. He sounded cute (I've learned that a man's voice can tell you a lot about their appearance), and had a wide variety of young-sounding interests. Over the next couple of days we talked on the phone, texted back and forth, and instant messaged. On a good note, no e-cards were involved.
We agreed to meet a few days later.
Thus began one of the most awkward dates of my life.
For starters, we agreed to meet at Bobby's family's apartment. The family was out of town for the weekend, and Uncle was babysitting their pet guinea pig. (Weird? Perhaps, but I found it endearing.)
The plan was to go out for drinks after meeting up at the apartment, but it was teeming outside, and neither one of us had the motivation to go anywhere.
So, instead we sat on the family's couch for 4 hours, forcing interaction and quickly realizing that a 12 year age difference is a lot of ground to cover. He kept referencing movies, people, and things I've never heard of.
The least awkward part of our date, was the time spent playing with Chuck, the gunea pig. I lay on the floor of Bobby's room for as long as I could without being rude, trying to coax Chuck out of his little gunea pig house, so that I would have something to do.
Why didn't I just leave, you ask?
Well for starters, when I say it was teeming, I mean like torential downpour. Second, I didn't want to be rude. I love Bobby's family, and I didn't want Uncle to tell his mom that I ran out after 20 minutes.
Finally, after four hours, I decided it was time to get the hell out of there.
With a quick awkward goodbye (I believe "uh, take it easy" was muttered from his neckless head) I ventured out into the rain.
Lesson learned? Well there are two.
One: Chemistry over the phone and instant messager does not determine chemistry in person.
Two: 38 is just too damn old.
"He's 38 though - is that too old? You're what -- 26? He looks really young," she assured me.
Awkwardly, without thinking, I responded, "I'll take anything at this point."
Note to self: Think before speaking.
A few days later Uncle called me. We talked for hours. He sounded cute (I've learned that a man's voice can tell you a lot about their appearance), and had a wide variety of young-sounding interests. Over the next couple of days we talked on the phone, texted back and forth, and instant messaged. On a good note, no e-cards were involved.
We agreed to meet a few days later.
Thus began one of the most awkward dates of my life.
For starters, we agreed to meet at Bobby's family's apartment. The family was out of town for the weekend, and Uncle was babysitting their pet guinea pig. (Weird? Perhaps, but I found it endearing.)
Uncle was about 5 foot 7 (I'm 5 foot 8), and appeared to have lost his neck somewhere along the way. With his head planted awkwardly into his shoulders, slightly hunched over, and wearing an old tee shirt, he greeted me at the door.
The plan was to go out for drinks after meeting up at the apartment, but it was teeming outside, and neither one of us had the motivation to go anywhere.
So, instead we sat on the family's couch for 4 hours, forcing interaction and quickly realizing that a 12 year age difference is a lot of ground to cover. He kept referencing movies, people, and things I've never heard of.
The least awkward part of our date, was the time spent playing with Chuck, the gunea pig. I lay on the floor of Bobby's room for as long as I could without being rude, trying to coax Chuck out of his little gunea pig house, so that I would have something to do.
Why didn't I just leave, you ask?
Well for starters, when I say it was teeming, I mean like torential downpour. Second, I didn't want to be rude. I love Bobby's family, and I didn't want Uncle to tell his mom that I ran out after 20 minutes.
Finally, after four hours, I decided it was time to get the hell out of there.
With a quick awkward goodbye (I believe "uh, take it easy" was muttered from his neckless head) I ventured out into the rain.
Lesson learned? Well there are two.
One: Chemistry over the phone and instant messager does not determine chemistry in person.
Two: 38 is just too damn old.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Hipster phase? Check.
It had been two days with no word from hipster. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not insane. As a semi-rational human being, I recognize that two days is not a long time to go without hearing from someone. People are busy, people have commitments, people get hit by buses...
But I knew that hipster had not gotten hit by a bus. As I sat gloomily at my work holiday party, sipping on a glass of pinot grigio (did I mention that pinot grigio is my poison of choice?), I just knew something was up.
"Don't worry," my work friends assured me. "It's only been two days!"
The next day, I still hadn't heard from hipster. As I sat on my computer, parousing facebook, I noticed he was online.
The conversation went something like this:
Me: What are you up to?
H: Nothing.
Me: Oh, ok.
H: Sorry if I've been kinda distant.
Me: Yeah.
H: It's just that, we have nothing in common.
Me: Um, ok.
H: I think you're really cool, but it's just not gonna work. I mean, if I
don't have 'that feeling' after 2 weeks, I'm definitely not gonna have it in the long run, ya know?
Me: Right. Well, take care.
H: Yeah, you too!
Within seconds he had been defriended on facebook, deleted in my phone, and all but erased from my life. (I promise I'm not crazy, but who wants memories of a romance gone bad?)
Goodbye hipster phase. You were fun while you lasted.
But I knew that hipster had not gotten hit by a bus. As I sat gloomily at my work holiday party, sipping on a glass of pinot grigio (did I mention that pinot grigio is my poison of choice?), I just knew something was up.
"Don't worry," my work friends assured me. "It's only been two days!"
The next day, I still hadn't heard from hipster. As I sat on my computer, parousing facebook, I noticed he was online.
The conversation went something like this:
Me: What are you up to?
H: Nothing.
Me: Oh, ok.
H: Sorry if I've been kinda distant.
Me: Yeah.
H: It's just that, we have nothing in common.
Me: Um, ok.
H: I think you're really cool, but it's just not gonna work. I mean, if I
don't have 'that feeling' after 2 weeks, I'm definitely not gonna have it in the long run, ya know?
Me: Right. Well, take care.
H: Yeah, you too!
Within seconds he had been defriended on facebook, deleted in my phone, and all but erased from my life. (I promise I'm not crazy, but who wants memories of a romance gone bad?)
Goodbye hipster phase. You were fun while you lasted.
Phone calls and text messages and e-cards, oh my!
When is the last time you got an e-card? And I'm not talking about an e-card from a grandma, or crazy aunt, I'm talking about an e-card from a romantic contender.
My answer? 2 weeks ago.
Things took off with the hipster. After meeting at the bar (remember, "you rode that bull really well"?) we were inseperable.
Hipster and I were complete opposites, but I didn't care. I tried to tone down my love of Justin Timberlake and all things pop, and pretended to be interested in his hipstery techno music and beer brewing hobby.
We went on a number of dates, after which he always called, texted, or sent an e-card. He friended me on facebook within 24 hours of our first meeting.
As I opened up my email, and saw the e-card waiting, butterflies fluttered through my stomach. Always the pessimist, I thought, Is he seriously ending things with me over an e-card?
"I had a great time on our date," I relayed to my mom via telephone. "Unless of course you didn't. In that case I didn't either."
Silence.
Finally: "I don't get it."
"It's cool mom," I explained. "Get it? It's kind of ironically funny."
"I still don't get it."
Truthfully, neither did I.
My answer? 2 weeks ago.
Things took off with the hipster. After meeting at the bar (remember, "you rode that bull really well"?) we were inseperable.
Hipster and I were complete opposites, but I didn't care. I tried to tone down my love of Justin Timberlake and all things pop, and pretended to be interested in his hipstery techno music and beer brewing hobby.
We went on a number of dates, after which he always called, texted, or sent an e-card. He friended me on facebook within 24 hours of our first meeting.
As I opened up my email, and saw the e-card waiting, butterflies fluttered through my stomach. Always the pessimist, I thought, Is he seriously ending things with me over an e-card?
"I had a great time on our date," I relayed to my mom via telephone. "Unless of course you didn't. In that case I didn't either."
Silence.
Finally: "I don't get it."
"It's cool mom," I explained. "Get it? It's kind of ironically funny."
"I still don't get it."
Truthfully, neither did I.
Send me men
So my friend Cybil just had a great point.
In Julie and Julia, her loyal fans send her cooking supplies. Nothing crazy, just some olive oil and other ingredients.
Once I have some loyal readers (and not just my two friends who I forced to become followers), what can they send me in support?
"Men," she said.
So, send me your tired, your poor. Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free. The wretched refuse of your teeming shore...
...unless it's the Jersey shore we're talking about. Those guys skeeve me out.
I'll be here waiting.
In Julie and Julia, her loyal fans send her cooking supplies. Nothing crazy, just some olive oil and other ingredients.
Once I have some loyal readers (and not just my two friends who I forced to become followers), what can they send me in support?
"Men," she said.
So, send me your tired, your poor. Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free. The wretched refuse of your teeming shore...
...unless it's the Jersey shore we're talking about. Those guys skeeve me out.
I'll be here waiting.
Is this fictional or real?
I lied.
I tend to do that.
I said that I would not show anyone this blog, until under the influence of copious amounts of alcohol.
But then I realized, what fun is a blog, without some fans?
So, I showed it to my three best friends, and emailed it to my best college friend.
Her response?
"Is this fictional or real?"
So let me address that. The only things that have been changed in these entries are names. The rest is pure fact.
Welcome to my life.
I tend to do that.
I said that I would not show anyone this blog, until under the influence of copious amounts of alcohol.
But then I realized, what fun is a blog, without some fans?
So, I showed it to my three best friends, and emailed it to my best college friend.
Her response?
"Is this fictional or real?"
So let me address that. The only things that have been changed in these entries are names. The rest is pure fact.
Welcome to my life.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Hipster Heaven
There are very few bars that my friends and I can agree on.
I like frat boy, bright, crowded, pop-music-playing, trendy places.
They like hipstery, dark, empty, weird-music-playing, obscure places.
So, it's pretty much a miracle when we find a bar we can agree on. But somehow, we managed to find one place.
The bar was a mixture of all the things we love. Some neighborhood hipsters lingered, looking lost, some frat boys make the long pilgrimage from the upper east side, it is dark yet crowded and I am drunk enough that I don't care what type of music is playing. All in all, it is the perfect middle of a rarely overlapping Venn Diagram.
We had already had a bunch of drinks as we approached the mechanical bull. Yes, that's right, I said mechanical bull. I immediately noticed the guy riding it - tall, in good shape, great smile, with greenish eyes and blondish hair. He wore tightish jeans (not usually my thing, but if it works it works), along with a white button down shirt, a skinny tie (again, really guys? But again, it worked), and a blazer. As he dismounted the bull and passed by me, I very smoothly said "Hey...you were really good on that bull."
And thus began a week-long whirlwind romance with the hipster, that I will write more about later.
I like frat boy, bright, crowded, pop-music-playing, trendy places.
They like hipstery, dark, empty, weird-music-playing, obscure places.
So, it's pretty much a miracle when we find a bar we can agree on. But somehow, we managed to find one place.
The bar was a mixture of all the things we love. Some neighborhood hipsters lingered, looking lost, some frat boys make the long pilgrimage from the upper east side, it is dark yet crowded and I am drunk enough that I don't care what type of music is playing. All in all, it is the perfect middle of a rarely overlapping Venn Diagram.
We had already had a bunch of drinks as we approached the mechanical bull. Yes, that's right, I said mechanical bull. I immediately noticed the guy riding it - tall, in good shape, great smile, with greenish eyes and blondish hair. He wore tightish jeans (not usually my thing, but if it works it works), along with a white button down shirt, a skinny tie (again, really guys? But again, it worked), and a blazer. As he dismounted the bull and passed by me, I very smoothly said "Hey...you were really good on that bull."
And thus began a week-long whirlwind romance with the hipster, that I will write more about later.
Rob
Rob and I agreed to meet around 9 oclock, after dinner with my friends. He seemed cute enough from his profile. 5' 11" (my expert dating has taught me that that usually means more like 5' 9"), in a band (nothing hotter than a guy who can sing and/or play guitar!), and not too into Judeism.
A word about that: I am Jewish. I went to Hebrew School for years, got Bat Mitvahed, and celebrate Chanukah. Celebrate is a term I use loosely, however, because I haven't been around a menorah since I was living at home. My parents want nothing more than for me to marry a Jewish man. However, I just can't seem to get down with that. I am generally attracted to Catholic boys, especially Irish Catholic ones. But, hey, everyone deserves a chance, so here I was, agreeing to meet Rob, straight from the world of JDate.
As I finished up my chicken and eggplant, I texted Rob that I was just about ready. We agreed to meet at 10 oclock at a bar in West Village. When I wrote that I would see him there, he responded "It's a plan, Stan! Stan is your name, right? ;)" Now there is nothing I love more than a man who is not afraid to use emoticons. However, the whole "Stan" joke seemed like a joke my dad would make (I adore my dad more than any man in the world, but I don't want to DATE him). It was a little too dorky even for me, and so I was already having doubts.
"I have a great idea," my friend Liz said. "Let's go have a drink at the bar you guys are gonna meet at. Then at about 5 minutes to 10 we will run to the other side of the bar, so we can spy on you!"
"And we can throw popcorn at his head!" Maria added enthusiastically. I'm not going to bother getting in to the popcorn story, but let's just say I had a passion for dating even in my earlier years, and there may or may not have been an unfortunate spying situation that involved my date getting hit with popcorn...
I love my friends, and the whole dating thing has gotten pretty boring, so I figured it might be fun to spice things up. I agreed, and off we went.
As we finished up our drink, at exactly 5 minutes to 10, I scooted to the other side of the bar, where I appeared to be alone, and waiting for my date. My friends and I texted across the bar (yeah, we're dorks), until the second he walked in.
Rob. I don't quite know how to describe him. He was cute, kind of feminine, which is not really my thing. After an awkward hug hello, he sat down across from me. Rob turned out to be a really bright guy, in graduate school for something art related (I'm not that great of a listener), and had witty banter and responses to everything. For example, I commented that his 30th birthday was coming up in a few weeks (JDate tells you people's birthdays, I'm not a stalker, I swear). His response was "I feel like I've already accomplished so much and come so far, that 30 is not even a landmark for me." To this I had no response. Just an awkward smile and a sip of my wine.
2 glasses of wine and 2 hours later, Rob suggested that we take a walk. Two things about me: I am lazy, and I hate the cold. However, being that Rob didn't know either of these important facts, I put on a smile, and said "sure."
We walked a few blocks, and I noticed that the street numbers were going up. Rob lived downtown. "Wow," I thought. "This guy genuinely wants to take a walk." I had figured his goal was to walk in the direction of his apartment, and then suggest we warm up inside or something. Maybe I should be a man...
After walking for about 15 minutes, we were at a crosswalk, when Rob grabbed the collar of my coat and pulled me in for a kiss. It was a nice kiss. I didn't have very high expectations, and I was pleasantly surprised. We made out on that corner for at least 15 minutes. While I wouldn't call it a perfect date, I definitely can't complain...
A word about that: I am Jewish. I went to Hebrew School for years, got Bat Mitvahed, and celebrate Chanukah. Celebrate is a term I use loosely, however, because I haven't been around a menorah since I was living at home. My parents want nothing more than for me to marry a Jewish man. However, I just can't seem to get down with that. I am generally attracted to Catholic boys, especially Irish Catholic ones. But, hey, everyone deserves a chance, so here I was, agreeing to meet Rob, straight from the world of JDate.
As I finished up my chicken and eggplant, I texted Rob that I was just about ready. We agreed to meet at 10 oclock at a bar in West Village. When I wrote that I would see him there, he responded "It's a plan, Stan! Stan is your name, right? ;)" Now there is nothing I love more than a man who is not afraid to use emoticons. However, the whole "Stan" joke seemed like a joke my dad would make (I adore my dad more than any man in the world, but I don't want to DATE him). It was a little too dorky even for me, and so I was already having doubts.
"I have a great idea," my friend Liz said. "Let's go have a drink at the bar you guys are gonna meet at. Then at about 5 minutes to 10 we will run to the other side of the bar, so we can spy on you!"
"And we can throw popcorn at his head!" Maria added enthusiastically. I'm not going to bother getting in to the popcorn story, but let's just say I had a passion for dating even in my earlier years, and there may or may not have been an unfortunate spying situation that involved my date getting hit with popcorn...
I love my friends, and the whole dating thing has gotten pretty boring, so I figured it might be fun to spice things up. I agreed, and off we went.
As we finished up our drink, at exactly 5 minutes to 10, I scooted to the other side of the bar, where I appeared to be alone, and waiting for my date. My friends and I texted across the bar (yeah, we're dorks), until the second he walked in.
Rob. I don't quite know how to describe him. He was cute, kind of feminine, which is not really my thing. After an awkward hug hello, he sat down across from me. Rob turned out to be a really bright guy, in graduate school for something art related (I'm not that great of a listener), and had witty banter and responses to everything. For example, I commented that his 30th birthday was coming up in a few weeks (JDate tells you people's birthdays, I'm not a stalker, I swear). His response was "I feel like I've already accomplished so much and come so far, that 30 is not even a landmark for me." To this I had no response. Just an awkward smile and a sip of my wine.
2 glasses of wine and 2 hours later, Rob suggested that we take a walk. Two things about me: I am lazy, and I hate the cold. However, being that Rob didn't know either of these important facts, I put on a smile, and said "sure."
We walked a few blocks, and I noticed that the street numbers were going up. Rob lived downtown. "Wow," I thought. "This guy genuinely wants to take a walk." I had figured his goal was to walk in the direction of his apartment, and then suggest we warm up inside or something. Maybe I should be a man...
After walking for about 15 minutes, we were at a crosswalk, when Rob grabbed the collar of my coat and pulled me in for a kiss. It was a nice kiss. I didn't have very high expectations, and I was pleasantly surprised. We made out on that corner for at least 15 minutes. While I wouldn't call it a perfect date, I definitely can't complain...
The Mission
Well, here I am. I've now been single for just over a year.
As 27 gets eerily closer, I am dating up a storm. Between meeting men in bars, through mutual friends, and the world of online dating, I've been rather busy.
After watching Julie and Julia for the second time yesterday, and realizing that I desperately need a hobby aside from online dating (does that even count as a hobby?) I decided to take it to the world wide web. Will anyone read it? Doubtful. I mean, my friends would kill to read it, but I am a wee bit too insecure for that at this point. However, I'm sure on a drunken night, after three or four glasses of Pinot Grigio, I will cave in and show them.
My goal is not actually to go on 365 dates in one year. Between work, pretending that I go to the gym, and maintaining a somewhat active social life, that would be pretty much impossible. My goal is simply to date as many men as possible, and to document the many stories that I currently save only for my closest friends. There are the funny dates, the awkward dates, the he's-clearly-not-into-me dates, the 5 foot 9? More like 5 foot 6 dates, the whirlwind romance dates, the I-think-he-may-be-gay dates...I could go on and on.
So I will start now, in the present, with last night's date. And thus it begins...
As 27 gets eerily closer, I am dating up a storm. Between meeting men in bars, through mutual friends, and the world of online dating, I've been rather busy.
After watching Julie and Julia for the second time yesterday, and realizing that I desperately need a hobby aside from online dating (does that even count as a hobby?) I decided to take it to the world wide web. Will anyone read it? Doubtful. I mean, my friends would kill to read it, but I am a wee bit too insecure for that at this point. However, I'm sure on a drunken night, after three or four glasses of Pinot Grigio, I will cave in and show them.
My goal is not actually to go on 365 dates in one year. Between work, pretending that I go to the gym, and maintaining a somewhat active social life, that would be pretty much impossible. My goal is simply to date as many men as possible, and to document the many stories that I currently save only for my closest friends. There are the funny dates, the awkward dates, the he's-clearly-not-into-me dates, the 5 foot 9? More like 5 foot 6 dates, the whirlwind romance dates, the I-think-he-may-be-gay dates...I could go on and on.
So I will start now, in the present, with last night's date. And thus it begins...
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