Slow Down, Hoss!



Submitted by an NYC gal.

Whoa! When a friend shared this with me, my reactions went like this:

  1. Too soon, dude.  — Asking to hang out in the initial text is, to me, a little aggressive.  I suppose some may like face-to-face interaction immediately, so ok.
  2. This guy is odd. — Talk of how you’d wake someone up from a cuddle nap before you’ve met is odd enough. But with iced tea seems especially random.
  3. What the actual shit?? — You haven’t even met and you’re saying she’s “gotta come next time” you go away for the weekend to Boston?  Are you nuts?  And you’re going to keep her posted on her travels? Why?! She doesn’t care because she DOESNT KNOW YOU.  Stage 5 Clinger.

“Let’s play a game! Which body part do you need the least?” – RB

Confession: you’re psychotic??

The creepiest part about this Bumble profile is that the main photo was a close-up of one of the most fucked up TV show characters of all-time: Ramsay Bolton.  (Remember when we all thought Joffrey was as bad as it could get??).


Wally the Weirdo

It’s easy to not care about dating during the summer.  Or at least I find that to be the season when, if I’m not seeing someone, I’m least likely to go looking.  There are so many activities and hobbies and trips to be play or participate in or go on.  Also, nights are hot and sticky and my A/C unit barely keeps the room cool enough when I’m not pressed up against someone else all night.

However, once fall rolls around, it starts to get cooler and I start to think it might be nice if I had someone to put their arm around my shoulder, or go to apple orchards with, or to hold my hand while sitting around the fire-pit in my backyard.  Fall-induced male companion syndrome is what led me to OkCupid when I met Wally.

I wouldn’t say I have a “type,” really, but Wally was definitely on the outer rim of the realm of qualities I usually go for.  But whenever I think, “nahhh not my type,” I always hear this little voice in the back of my head that says, “B…clearly what you’ve gone for in the past has never worked out, so maybe what you think you need and what you really do need are different!”  Fair point, Devil’s Advocate B, fair point.

So what wasn’t ” my type” about Wally?  Well:

1) He was on OkCupid, which has never been a hotbed of potential (for me, anyhow).

2) All of his pictures looked pretty old.  I know men don’t always have as many photos of themselves as women, but for dating site purposes, get a buddy to take a few recent shots. Thanks.

3) He was not making a move.  I’m the type who likes to have several days of short back and forth convos before meeting someone off a dating site.  I’ve even kept in text contact for 2-3 weeks before meeting if we’re both busy and scheduling is difficult.  So I’m not expecting anyone to say “let’s meet” three sentences in, but Wally was sending me OkCupid messages that were 6-7 paragraphs long (full paragraphs with 3-4 sentences), and after several of these novellas, I was on team Let’s Meet Already.  Why keep investing time if we may not even like one another?

I suggest we meet, and we settle on getting a drink at a local bar that coming Sunday.  From the moment I walk to the bar, things are not going swimmingly.

Homeboy has a shaved head.  Now I don’t care if someone has a shaved head — plenty of men look attractive that way — but all of his photos showed a full head of hair.  I don’t know about you, but I feel that’s a noteworthy change that should be included in photos, or at least mentioned, if only for the fact that finding someone in a crowded bar is hard when you’re looking for someone who has hair and they in fact do not.  It’s also hard to find someone when they don’t stand up when they see you.  I’m not a huge hugger on first dates because I don’t always want to physically touch someone I don’t know, so I’m down to skip that part.  However, I think it’s polite to stand up and greet the person instead of staying in your seat while you sit there already having your drink.  He doesn’t offer to get me anything, so I go up to the bar alone to buy my beverage.

I come to the early conclusion that this will be a one-drink-then-leave kind of night.  This plan hits a road-block when I realize my drink is 3/4 gone and Wally’s is barely 1/4 gone.  Why?  Because he’s babbling on and on, and apparently when he’s talking he isn’t drinking.  What is he talking about?  Oh, you know, he touches on a variety of things (musical interests, his hometown, how he works with kids).  Once he hits on the working with kids angle, he veers off into story after story about them.  This wouldn’t usually be a problem — I used to work with kids and found it to be highly enjoyable, and so very often, working with kids provides funny or cute anecdotes.  But Wally works at a home for foster children and the story he is most invested in telling is one about a little boy who was brought in because his mom was a drug addict and his step-father was molesting him.  While he begins delving into the deep and dark details of the molestation, I am certain that everything he is saying is a massive breach of confidentiality.

I am also longing to be rid of him.  His drink is still 1/3 full.  I come up with a brilliant plan: go to the bathroom!  I do, immediately send “good lord help me,” texts to any friend who will listen, and take my sweet time so that Wally can guzzle that beer.  Proud of my ingenuity in fast-fowarding this date, I practically skip back to our table, only to feel my stomach sink to the floor when I see a full beer in front of him.  “I ordered another!” he announces happily.

I switched to water after my first drink in an attempt to convey, “I’m not having a great time.”  Throughout the slow process of him drinking 3/4 of this next beer, I lay down more hints.  I fake a yawn and ask what time it is.  He says 9, and I say, “Ooooh it makes sense why I’m so tired, then, it’s almost time for me to get to bed.  Early Monday morning!”  I mention a couple other times how, “I can’t believe I’m so tired,” and I try to talk more so that he’ll stop flapping his lips and instead wrap them around the neck of that bottle and gulp gulp gulp.  Around 1/4 to go, I need a mental break and excuse myself to the bathroom again.  This time I don’t even go into the stall, I just stand in a corner texting and tapping my foot.

I bet you can guess what happens when I go back out.  Yep, he has another new beer.  FML.  In hindsight, this is when I should’ve said I had a lovely evening but have to go.  Nowhere in the first-date handbook does it say: and the date, whether going well or poorly, must last the length of three beers drank at a snail’s pace.  Unfortunately, I’m too nice and felt it would be rude to leave him sitting there alone.  I was past the point of being able to talk to try and make him drink more quickly.  Instead I sat there and took my punishment.  I did go to the bathroom 2-3 more times.  I wondered if he thought I had a UTI or bladder infection, because who goes to the bathroom that many times, but I didn’t give a shit what he thought of me.

Eventually a small miracle occurs — I return from the bathroom and he says the waitress came to ask if he wanted another drink but he probably shouldn’t because he had an hour drive home.  Yay!  Freedom.  I remind him that I paid at the bar upon arriving so my bill is all set and he says, “sounds good,” and stands up to put on his coat.  We get nearly to the door when the flustered waitress comes running over and reminds him that he didn’t pay his bill.  I’m not sure if he was planning to skip out on the check or if he legit forgot, but how do you forget to pay for your 3 drinks??

He hugs me and says he had a really great time.  I mumble something similar because saying, “OMG YOU ARE THE MOST SOCIALLY UNAWARE, SLOW-DRINKING, AWKWARD CONVERSATIONALIST I HAVE EVER MET AND I HOPE ONE DAY I FORGET YOU EVEN EXIST,” doesn’t seem appropriate.  Then he points in the direction of my house and says, “I’m parked a few blocks this way, where do you need to go?”

I don’t miss a beat before saying, “Oh, I’m the other way.”  We head in opposite directions, I walk around the block before doubling back toward my house.  On the way I stop at a 7-Eleven.  It’s 10:30, meaning I was on that awful date for 3.5 hours.  In order to compensate for my terrible evening, I allow myself to buy Twinkies, Hostess Cupcakes, and a pack of chocolate frosted Donettes.  I lean against the side of 7-Eleven and one-by-one eat all three cellophane-wrapped treats, not even caring about how much saturated fat I’ve just consumed — I deserved it, dammit!

Then I walk home and promise myself that I’ll never sit through three drinks with someone that bad again.  Aside from texting Wally to say I’m not interested in going out on a second date, I never had another interaction with that weirdo.

Love, B!

Online Wingmen Exist?

1) Are you 26 or 16? Because this is some high school stuff  2) If your friend is so shy that he can’t send a woman a message via the Internet, how would he meet someone after you set them up? Do you come on first dates, too?

This counts as a Meatless Monday because while it is involving a guy, it only involves one acting as a friend on his apparently too-shy-to-type-to-females-via-a-keyboard friend’s behalf.

My First Experience with a Ghost

I have never really believed in ghosts or anything like that, however I am able to admit that I am terrified of the dark and the idea of ghosts while I am in the dark makes me want to pee my pants, which is a whole other story as I wear dresses every day and never wear underwear. The thought of wetting myself with nothing to catch it is in itself, terrifying.

That bring said, I do remember my first experience with a ghost–though at the time I did not know there was a name for this type of ghost (or action). Yes, unfortunately the norm these days is an action known as, ghosting. I apologize to anyone who has ever experienced this because it sucks, though I would be lying if I said I had never done it myself.

Let us first visit my initial encounter with this. I had just moved back to the big city after years in the mountains–most of which was spent in an almost 5-year relationship–followed by an entertaining “downward spiral” that we will hear about another day. When I moved back to the city, it was to take a new job, but the combination of the short notice and lack of a substantial savings account meant I was going to stay with my parents for a while. Side note: it was awesome that my parents let me stay there and helped me through this transition. It was not awesome to live with my parents after almost a decade of living on my own.

 Even though I was 28 and under their roof again, I was still a woman who had needs and wanted to find a nice man to date. Since it seems nice men do not exist, I found the next best thing: Jerome. It was early July, on a Friday, and I was on my way to a party with my parents, which may sound lame to some people however my parents and their friends are an f’ing blast and I was so excited to have a night of drinking, complete with a DD (thanks mom!) and fireworks. On the way there, right as we stopped at the liquor store–because my dad said we needed our own bottle of Crown since, “his friends don’t share well”–I saw Jerome on POF.

Jerome had a great smile, was attractive, a single dad (I had not yet ever dated someone with kids), and was the same religion as myself–pause for reaction from all our readers, but yes, I do go to church, and thus far it has never burnt down upon my entering into it.

Anyway, I sent him a generic “Hey, how are you?” I know, a real hook, line and sinker! He instantly replied and we ended up exchanging numbers and then nonstop texting all night. I learned more about him: he grew up in the same suburb as I did, went to a rival high school, and even went to the same church as I did. We quickly made plans for Monday night, but Sunday night after church (where we both were but did not see each other), and after my dinner with my family, we decided we couldn’t wait and decided to meet up and grab a drink. I remember telling my mom I was going to get coffee with a friend, which makes perfect sense, since who doesn’t drink coffee on a Sunday night at 8:30?

I met Jerome at a nearby bar and when I walked in and saw him I was very happy with my life choice. We talked and flirted for a couple hours and then when it was time to go he walked me to my car and after a very nice make out session we went our separate ways, with plans to still hangout the next night, as originally planned.

Over the next few months we were together all the time. We would go to church, go on dates, he would make me dinner, watch movies, sleepovers and all the typical couple stuff. I even met his daughter and won her over with ice cream and playing dolls. Things seemed to be going very well, until one day there was nothing. Radio silence. No response to phone calls or texts. It was like he disappeared.

There was one drunken night where I was in the backyard with my friends, and Warren told me I should drunk dial Jerome. I did, but Jerome did not answer, and Drunk J somehow let it go and didn’t even leave an angry message! That was a real growing moment for me! Still, I had never experienced anything like this and it was strange to have someone just disappear, especially after a few months.

Life went on and about 6 months later, after I had moved out of my parents’ home, I got a call from my brother who told me he saw Jerome show up to church again. I did not give it much thought but a couple weeks later, I was at church when I literally ran into him in the lobby. It was such an odd, surreal moment. Being in the lobby at church, it did not seem appropriate to tell him to “Fuck Off,” so as he hugged me, I hugged back, and went on my way…smiling at the fact that I looked good, and hoping it made him crazy!

After church, I saw him waiting around, which is unlike him. As I got in my car to go to my parents’ for dinner, I found myself texting him. It went something like this:

Me: “Hey…it was good to see you…”

Him: “Hey you! It was really good to see you! I waited for you after church, but I did not see you!”

Me: “Yep. I left.”

Him: “I am happy you texted me, I did not have your number anymore.”

Me: “Yep.”

Him: “I really owe you an apology!”

Me: “Really, over text? Classy.”

We met for drinks later that night. I was curious as to what he had to say, and free beer always sounds good. Maybe it was the Bud Light I was nursing or the fact that I am not a mean person and forgive easily, but that’s what I did. I forgave him. He told me stories of why he ghosted, reasons that did not seem outrageous or like reasons to hate him. I made him promise to never do it again, and then laughed when he asked if I had any friends I could hook him up with, since I was now dating Noah.

A few weeks later is when Noah and were on the rocks. I had seen him out on a date with someone else and although we had not broken up yet, I left his house knowing it was only a matter of days before we did. So, I texted Jerome. We made plans to go to the driving range after church, which then lead to dinner, which then lead to him dropping me off at my car in the church parking lot…and making out like we were in high school.

We started hanging out again, but I was never able to fully trust him. He promised that he was no longer going to moonlight as a magician and disappear, which was nice to hear–but not good enough to make me fully trust him. Besides, my family would not be supporters of this re-connection. On the bright side though, I did now have someone I trusted enough to watch movies with and bang.

Because we were not getting serious, I also didn’t feel bad when, on his birthday the next month, I texted to say hi, completely forgetting it was his birthday. He was at home and his daughter had just gone to bed. I said, “Well, everyone needs birthday sex, I am on my way over!”

I show up, we smoke some weed, chat, then go upstairs, and it goes like this: We make out. Clothes off. He goes down on me. I do not go down on him. He does all the work. We finish. He asks me to stay the night. I decline. Mic drop. J out.

I am such a man sometimes. A man and someone no longer afraid of ghosts–though I do have some faith that they exist, now!

With love, J!