Why I'm Single

Scaredy...

2011-03-14T08:00:00.007-04:00

This gem came from a good pal of mine who recently joined PlentyofFish - a website I still get weekly matches from despite my attempts to unsubscribe. Enjoy!

I went on the blind date last night with a guy and it was terribly interesting. He ended up being exactly like his emails, funny and sarcastic. He's at least 6'1", maybe taller, built and kinda nerdy-cute with Clark Kent glasses. BUT, get this, he's got more phobias and issues than anyone I have ever met:

he doesn't go in the ocean because of sharks
he's afraid of heights
he gets sea sick and car sick
he’s vegetarian/vegan because he loves animals
he has asthma
he refuses do drink beer or wine - only booze
the only vacation he's ever really been on was to Disney World two years ago
he loves Comicon and Star Wars (the home image on his phone is Anakin Skywalker after he became Darth Vader)
he was obese as a child so he doesn't ever over-eat and that's why he initially became vegetarian to lower his cholesterol
he doesn’t eat junk food. Ever.
he grew up in Staten Island and has all kinds of problems with that (especially that his parents are racist)
his best friend may be gay and he's worried about that because his friend won’t admit it
he's obsessed with fish (like as pets) and has a huge fish tank in his apt.
he's furious people think he's a certain ethnicity because of his last name (maybe the apple doesn't fall so far from the tree)

What is the weirdest thing you ever discovered about someone on a first date? Was it enough to keep you from going on a second date? And yes, there will be a second date for my friend...can't wait to tell you all how it goes!

2010: The Year of Zero First Dates

2011-01-03T09:00:00.004-05:00

Well, here we are. 2011 has arrived and it's only natural to look back on the last year and think about what we did and didn't do. What didn't I do? Well, I didn't stick to my blogging resolutions (duh). But also, 2010 was the first year since I moved to New York that I didn't go on a single first date. Not one. Zero.

You may be thinking, "Well that explains the lack of new material." And you're right...but it's no excuse, really, for not posting. I have ammo that would last years of date-free living.

There's a good reason I haven't been on any first dates this year, though. Apparently the dating gods felt I finally kissed enough frogs - so they delivered a dude to my doorstep. Well, I guess they dropped him in my Match.com inbox (modern day doorstep, if you will). He's wonderful, amazing, fabulous, blah blah blah - everything a girl (this girl) could want. I won't gush on and on, no need to induce vomiting, but suffice to say, I'm happily stumbling along the relationship yellow brick road.

This gem of a guy even knows about my blog (found it before I had the chance to tell him about it - go me). And better yet - is supportive of it (he hasn't read every post...)! So now that we've got that year under our belt, I'm back to the bloggosphere.

Here's the thing: I have plenty of stories, and I will regale you with them on a weekly basis. But let's cut my man a little slack...send me your stories (bullet them out, I'll make sure they're HILARIOUS before they post), we'll keep it all anonymous and everyone can have a good time. This way, if I write anything too risque and he reads it, I can say "Uhhh that post was contributed..."

My point of view on dating hasn't changed the slightest, and in fact, having found myself in a happy relationship, I feel more strongly than ever that it's better to be single and laughing than coupled and complacent.Trust me, it's worth the wait.

Happy New Year folks!

"'lord' pasonal saviour" - That's me!

2010-12-17T09:03:00.000-05:00

Someone didn't take the time to read my posts before sending this email to my Why I'm Single account on Facebook. I guess this is the price of accepting a friend request...

CYBERSPACE!

2010-05-05T07:21:00.000-04:00

Yessssssssssssssss! I have internet at my apartment after 5 grueling months of unsuccessfully trying to kidnap access from other people. Hold on to your hats, Las Vegas Vol. 2, Ch. 2 coming next week!!!

Thanks to those of you who are sending in your stories - I'm queuing them up! For the rest of you with funny, miserable dating stories: I'm waaaaaaiting...

Update

2010-04-20T07:00:00.002-04:00

Hey guys,

This has been one MAJOR hiatus, huh?! Don't fret - there's a light at the end of the tunnel. Between an exploded MacBook Pro battery and no internet, blogging has been...a challenge. That's the dark part of the tunnel.

The light at the end is this: I have internet installation scheduled! Yesssssssssss! And I have big ol' plans to go to hit up Mac and get my laptop fixed.

In the mean time, I'm writing. During my days without Why I'm Single, I've had some amazing conversations with readers about your awful/funny/embarrassing dates. What's more, I know there are more stories out there! So pleaaaaaaaaaaaase share them with me.

You don't need to be a great writer - just a catastrophic dater (like yours truly). Send your e-mails to whyimsingle@gmail.com. I'll help you tell your story (no I won't post the e-mail on the blog - this all stays anonymous folks).

Also, this isn't limited to girls. Guys, we know we're psychotic. And to tell the truth, hearing stories about other nutso girls makes us feel way better about ourselves.

Much love.

Las Vegas Vol. 2, Chapter 1

2010-02-10T07:00:00.004-05:00

You might remember my last Las Vegas adventure. Yup, that's where I spent Valentine's Day last year...with my dad.

Well, I took another trip to the City of Sin recently to celebrate the great Kaedy Kiely's birthday in style. Because we were celebrating a fantastic 50 year young lady, I expected and uneventful (in terms of bloggable stories) weekend. If not for the flight, I would have been right. Fear not, this was hands-down the weirdest flight of all time.

Now, we all have different preferences when it comes to flying buddies - particularly when they are strangers. No one wants to be in the middle seat with obese/smelly/loud/obnoxious (take your pick) neighbors. Some people are talkers. Some are not. I can be happy either way (those of you who know me aren't suprised to read that). True, sometimes people talk too much or people are rudley silent. But how many times have you been in a position like this? (And no, that is not a rhetorical question. I really want to know - and if you have stories, share them dang it!)

To say I was pumped about getting on the plane would be a gross understatement. My flight had been delayed for more than six hours (thank goodness I got up at 4:30 am to get to the airport on time), there were no alternate flights and I was sure to miss night #1 festivities. Oh, and when I get stressed, I break out in hives (it's even more attractive than it sounds). I was also jazzed because KK hooked up a first class ticket for me - and that meant a big(ger) seat, lower likelihood of encountering a "talker" and free drinks to help me unwind and fall asleep.

I quickly settled in to my front row seat and waited patiently to find out who my seat partner would be.

"Welp! Looks lke we're sitting next to each other." The voice was friendly and belonged to a beer bellied dude, probably in his 40s, moustached, wearing a ballcap that said something about the military and some college t-shirt.

"Hi!" I said cheerily. Clearly this dude was going to read a hunting magazine, drink some beers and conk out.

He sat down and we each situated ourselves with necessary items for the flight: music, reading material, disengaged stares at the wall in front of us.

"Hope you won't think I'm rude," said Billy Bob. "I'm not much of an airplane talker, I'll probably just fall right asleep."

"Oh, don't worry about it. I'm sure I'll sleep most of the way too."

"Whew, glad we got that out of the way then. No awkward airplane conversation," he kinda joked. "If you need to get up and I'm asleep, just nudge me."

"Ok, " I said with a laugh. As far as I was concerned, I had the perfect traveling buddy. We both wanted to just fall asleep, he was a normal guy - not some Richie Rich type who was going to look down at me for wearing leggings and a sweater on the plane.

The stewardess came by asking if we wanted a drink. I ordered a beer and he followed suit. She asked if I wanted a cup. He laughed. I said no thank you.

I cracked it open, ready for some "Shutter Island" and silence.

"Peace and quiet and a good beer. Right?" he said.

I smiled.

The thing is, the peace and quiet lasted an entire 90 seconds.

"So what's your situation?"

"Excuse me?"

"Are you single? Or...in a relationship? No wedding band, I see."

The doors to the plane weren't closed. The final passengers weren't even seated.

I fastened my seat belt.

Thanks J.D.

2010-02-01T07:00:00.001-05:00

This was posted a while back, but I thought Holden could pass on some parting wisdom from the late great J.D. Salinger...

Granted, today he'd be in his 80's, but Holden Caulfield's take on women throughout Catcher in the Rye is honest and absolutely hysterical.

Here's a passage I was reading recently and thought you might get a kick out of it - Holden talking about gettin' it on:

The thing is, most of the time when you're coming pretty close to doing it with a girl - a girl that isn't a prostitute or anything, I mean - she keeps telling you to stop. The trouble with me is, I stop. Most guys don't. I can't help it. You never know when they really want you to stop, or whether they're just scared as hell, or whether they're just telling you to stop so that if you do go through with it, the blame'll be on you, not them. Anyway, I keep stopping. The trouble is, I get to feeling sorry for them. I mean most girls are so dumb and all. After you neck them for a while, you can really watch them lose their brains. You take a girl when she really gets passionate, she just hasn't any brains. I don't know. They tell me to stop, so I stop. I always wish I hadn't, after I take them home, but I keep doing it anyway.

Salinger, J.D. The Catcher in the Rye. Boston: Little, Brown and Company, 1951

formspring.me

2010-01-14T12:59:00.001-05:00

Ask me anything http://formspring.me/WIScheese

formspring.me

2010-01-14T12:58:00.001-05:00

uh. er. you any good at blowing bubble gum?

I'm going to go ahead and assume this question is alluding to something other than bubble gum - because really, who cares about that? And as a result, the only response I have is this: folks, THIS is why I'm single. (I'll bet we've even been on a date)

Ask me anything

formspring.me

2010-01-11T17:26:00.001-05:00

tea or coffee?

Tea - for whatever reason I associate coffee with moms. Obviously mom's are NOT the only coffee drinkers in the world. I made it through college without coffee, I can at least finish up my twenties without it!

Ask me anything

2010 WIS Resolutions!

2010-01-06T07:00:00.000-05:00

Well, well, well - you probably thought I forgot that I have a blog. I did not.

It's a new year folks, which means extra motivation and all that jazz! I've started a new job (woohoo), moved into a new apartment (yipee) and signed a new lease on life. This all means, it's time to start blogging again!

Two of my New Year's resolutions revolve around Why I'm Single, and here they are:

1) Post at least once a week - baby steps, ok? If I "pledge" to post every day, I'm doomed to failure and bi-monthly posts.

2) Why I'm Single Memoir - yup. I'm going compile these nightmares and attempt to turn them into a memoir.

Look forward to your Wednesday mornings, gang, Why I'm Single is BAAAAACK.

Christopher Robin on Match.com

2009-11-05T07:00:00.001-05:00

Dating headline:

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

Boobs.com

2009-11-04T07:00:00.000-05:00

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

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

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

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

Ladylike Behavior

2009-11-02T07:00:00.001-05:00

After a bout with food poisoning...

Friend: Yes for sure....ugh. Do u feel skinny?

Me: no. not even. i wish.

Me: Too fat to even feel skinny after barfing...

Aren't I charming?

ADAT: Strike Three

2009-10-30T07:00:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Me: Yeah, we must be using different dictionaries.

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

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

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

STRIKE 3 - Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee's outta here!

ADAT: Strike Two

2009-10-29T07:00:00.000-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I agreed to go out with him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Moving on.

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

I smiled awkwardly. "Thanks."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No."

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

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

I pulled away. His hand remained.

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

Strike 2.

ADAT: Strike One

2009-10-28T07:00:00.004-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There it is.

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

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

"Well you are very well endowed."

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

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

"No - no. I really like it."

OK.

"So how big are they?"

Who? Thelma and Louise?

"They are big."

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

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

"Like, what size are they?"

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

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

And I told him.

"Wow. That's great!"

WHAT!?

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

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

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

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

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

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

He waited.

"I have boobs and hips and a waist."

You got served.

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

"And what about your booty?"

"I mean, it exists."

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

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

"Whatever you want to tell me."

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

Snooooooze.

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah," flex well defined arms.

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

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

Times Square Shoulder Tap

2009-10-27T07:00:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Say what?

"Excuse me?"

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

This isn't happening.

"Wow that's very flattering."

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

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

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

Fabulous.

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

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

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

Wow - now THAT is a lie.

"Is it serious?"

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

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

"I'm sorry?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I laughed...uncomfortably.

"Well I am very flattered."

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

"Aw thank you."

I. Am. So. Uncomfortable.

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

What was YOUR morning commute like today?

Facebook Chat = The Devil

2009-10-26T07:00:00.000-04:00

Boy: still up for hanging out Friday?

Boy: Friday still good?

Me: yeah

I didn't mean it

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

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

Me: Nah

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

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

Boy: So would u do that for me?

Me: Wear a skirt?

Boy: So would u do that for me? Yea

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

Boy: Got kicked off- missed if u said anything

Me: Oh no - watching Glee at the same time

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

Boy: It’s cool

Thank goodness.

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

Boy: Ok to call u?

Here it comes, bud.

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

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

Me: Totally understand and that's fine

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

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

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

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

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

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

No.

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

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

Um, is that an emoticon?

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

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

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

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

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

Me: Please don't feel dumb

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

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

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

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

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

Me: I understand

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

Me: G'night

THIS IS WHY I'M SINGLE Part 2

2009-10-23T07:00:00.003-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

What would you have said to this a-hole?

THIS IS WHY I'M SINGLE

2009-10-22T07:00:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

hey

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

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

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

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

regards

A few things:

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

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

Jury's Almost Out!!!

2009-10-09T11:30:00.002-04:00

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

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

What to expect:

A conspiracy theorist
A salsa-dancing peer pressurer
The re-emergence of Seandian
50% off sushi dinner
Additional running cat-calls

Stay tuned!! And thanks for being patient while I complete my civic duty.

Served

2009-09-15T07:13:00.002-04:00

Hey all -

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

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

xx

Active Produce?

2009-09-04T07:00:00.004-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

Polltastic

2009-09-03T07:56:00.003-04:00

Hey guys -

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

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

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

xx

Riddle Me This...

2009-09-02T07:00:00.002-04:00

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

And what's the rationale for your pick?

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

AC Epiphany

2009-09-01T07:00:00.000-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Find your friends?" I asked.

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

"OK, well, bye."

Then he turned to Lauren and asked for a hug.

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

I should take lessons from her.

Then he asked me for a hug.

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

Then he squeezed a little tighter.

Then he pulled away.

Then he looked at my chest.

"Hey!" He was shocked.

"Yes?"

"Wow." He was mystified.

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

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

Dining

2009-08-31T07:00:00.000-04:00

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

- Carrie, Sex and the City

Chubs Strikes Again

2009-08-25T07:15:00.002-04:00

I truly thought Chubs had run his course.

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

Fast forward to 10:41 pm yesterday.

You want to have some fun?

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

A Personal Titstory

2009-08-24T07:00:00.000-04:00

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

(I LOVE Dear Old Love)

Penance Part 2

2009-08-20T07:00:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

Thursday

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

My eyes are green.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I didn't respond.

Seandian (9:41 pm): Wha u doin

No response from me.

Saturday

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

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

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

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

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

Seandian (2:46 pm): U welcome.

Sunday

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

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

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

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

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

I don't respond.

Monday

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

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

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

Penance

2009-08-19T07:00:00.003-04:00

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

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

Not actual photo of the offense in action

These are the nights made for blackmail.

Flash forward to Wednesday.

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

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

Wrong choice.

"Hello?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another weird coo - followed quickly by a squeal.

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

I should hang up.

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

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

Never. And stop making those sounds.

He continued, "Friday?"

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

"Saturday?"

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

"Sunday?"

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

"Monday?"

Good Allah!

"Maybe Monday will work."

"Great so where? What time?"

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

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

"Sounds great."

"So what are you doing now?"

"Hanging out with my roommate."

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

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

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

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

I want that blue eyes and an "Irish kiss"

It was just the beginning.

BAAAAAAACK

2009-08-17T12:11:00.002-04:00

Well, Cheese's back.

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

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

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

xx,

Queso

Blue Aluminum Part FOUR!!!

2009-04-16T07:00:00.000-04:00

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

“Houston and Ludlow.”

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

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

“Well, where are you now?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, are you here?” I asked.

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

Seriously? You ask. Seriously.

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

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

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

Please stop talking.

I gave him the “ok” sign and smiled.

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

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

Gonna punk out again, Model?

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

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

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

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

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

I should have known better – no wallet.

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

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

“Ten cents…” out came a dime.

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

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

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

“So how was apartment hunting with your dad?”

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

Ughhhhhhhhh – boring.

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

“No.” he snapped.

Guess I struck a chord there.

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

So I said, naturally, “Right.”

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

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

“Ok, I’ll walk you.”

“It’s a bit of a hike…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hah – what?”

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

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

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

Any other interpretations are welcome – please comment.

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

Susan Boyle

2009-04-15T07:00:00.001-04:00

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

This is Susan Boyle, a homely (to say the least) woman who appeared on Britian's Got Talent. She is NOT easy to understand but there were three key speaking points:

"Never been kissed" (take that Drew Barrymore)
"I live alone with my cat named Pebbles, never been married"
"Nearly 48, unemployed but still looking"

She sings "I Dreamed a Dream" - lyrics are posted below the video. Truly worth watching the whole thing - trust me!

Damn Girl!
(click here)

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

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

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

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

Blue Aluminum Part 3

2009-04-13T07:00:00.000-04:00

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

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

“Oh?”

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

Charming.

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

“No. No.” Model got defensive.

“I’m just kidding.”

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

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

“Well what do you mean by that?”

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

Ok, I guess I can live with that.

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

I can’t introduce this guy to my family.

“That’s really nice.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Compliment in model speak?

“Hmm. Thanks?” I laughed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anyway.

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

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

Musick

2009-04-10T07:23:00.003-04:00

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

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

What do you think?

2009-04-08T07:00:00.000-04:00

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

Asked by Carrie Bradshaw

Clueless

2009-04-01T07:00:00.000-04:00

Text Conversation 3/31/09

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

Me: Taking a break from dating.

Toe Sucker: ? This is a beer. Funny.

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

Followed by sweet silence.

Blue Aluminum Part 2

2009-03-31T07:00:00.000-04:00

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

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

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

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

Then another text message - 30 minutes later.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was going to be a good date.

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

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

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

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

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

Is he seriously not going to cough up 79 cents?

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

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

This Week

2009-03-24T07:00:00.000-04:00

Hollerrrr

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

Hi-ho

Blue Aluminum

2009-03-19T07:00:00.001-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

“No I don’t.”

“If you don’t, I will.”

“Promise? Be my guest,” I laughed.

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

That got my attention.

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

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

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

Blank stare from yours truly.

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

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

“Oh – right. Sorry.”

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

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

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

“I’ll walk you.” Fauxlander said.

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh I never date models.” Mmmm-hmm.

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

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

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

“Oh my gosh, are you ok?”

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

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

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

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

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

Gal Smiley

2009-03-18T07:00:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

Happy St. Patrick's Day

2009-03-17T09:30:00.000-04:00

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

Didn’t I Mention… Part 2

2009-03-17T07:00:00.003-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I don't get it.

Silence.

Oh! My turn.

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

“Right?”

“For sure!”

More silence.

Aaaaaaaaawkward.

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

We shared funny/awkward dating stories.

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

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

“I saw my ex today.”

I could empathize.

“Oh yikes. How was it?”

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

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

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

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

Um.

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

Be cool.

“How long has it been?”

“About 2 years.”

He was 28.

“Oh wow. How long were you together?”

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

Shit, yo.

“Wow.”

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

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

“Oh?”

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

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

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

“Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Didn’t I Mention…

2009-03-16T07:00:00.001-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You work in Times Square right?”

Oh. No.

“Yeah. Is it in the area?”

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

“Perfect – yeah!”

“Oh great – what’s the place called?”

“Dave & Busters Times Square!”

Of course.

“Fun,” was all I could muster.

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

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

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

“The house? What do you mean?”

“I have a delivery.”

“Delivery?”

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

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

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

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

Who "Makes Love" Nowadays?

2009-03-12T07:00:00.002-04:00

This one calls for participation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

January 1, 2008 12:14 AM

2009-03-11T07:00:00.004-04:00

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

- Text from our dear friend Vagina Hat

Look Deeeeep Into My...

2009-03-10T07:00:00.003-04:00

Well, the guy from the Chinese place has competition.

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

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

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

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

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

"Baby, can you help me with something?"

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

"I'm sorry," I tried.

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

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

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

I took out my other earbud, keeping my pace.

"Oh! OH!"

Uh oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Man Tears

2009-03-09T07:27:00.004-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Five Times It's OK for Men to Cry

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

Chubs 3: Accessorize

2009-03-06T07:00:00.007-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

Therrrrrre's the Chubs I knew.

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

Then...

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

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

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

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

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

Pick Up Artist

2009-03-05T07:00:00.000-05:00

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

How Could I Resist?

2009-03-04T07:00:00.003-05:00

Barred

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

-Favorite Website Dear Old Love

Weekend Answers

2009-03-03T07:00:00.001-05:00

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

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

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

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

Seriously?

Chubs 2: The Eve of a New Nickname

2009-03-02T07:00:00.002-05:00

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

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

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

What color?

What color what?

Panties.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he didn't. For a couple days.

Chubs

2009-02-27T07:00:00.002-05:00

Ok kiddies - so this is a special one. He'll get more than one post...I mean, this fella has more than one nickname. Impressive.

Chubs - not particularly good looking or "fit." Extremely funny. I was actually nervous for my first date with him - something that isn't typical for me, being that I no longer have high expectations for any sort of chemistry with the brainiacs I meet. Our e-mails back and forth had me cracking up and he seemed mostly normal with just a dash of quirkiness.

Chubs was 5 years older than me - a nice little age buffer - not too old, not too young. He decided on Vig 27 for our meeting place. It didn't matter to me that he was going to be fat and goofy looking, I labored over what outfit to wear with my trusty friends on gchat and the phone. I was confident in the would-be conservative wrap sweater t-shirt thing (my friends will probably tell me there is a technical name for this type of garment) that, on me and my giant boobs, was a little suggestive.

I got to the bar before him and debated what to order. It's a weird thing, trying to decipher what type of drinks the night will lead to. I'm a beer girl, but looove me my G&Ts and wine (doesn't even have to be a "great" one). On dates I usually take the guy's lead when ordering (a la Julia Roberts' character in Runaway Bride with her eggs), but figured since he wasn't there, I would go ahead and order something I thought a "lady" would get: white wine.

Chubs arrived moments later and the date was great. He looked like a blond John Belushi, but I didn't care. In fact, I found it endearing. He was hilarious. We drank beer, then gin and tonics (which he had served up with a lemon) and then PBR. Theeeeen things got hazy. I remember clearly that he walked with his arm around me.

Minor make out sesh, a plan to get together again that week, and we parted ways.

Then we entered the dangerous world of texting...

Taking it to the Tweets

2009-02-26T09:00:00.000-05:00

Happy Thursday Kiddos -

In lieu of posting a dating story or things to getcha thinking today, I'm doing a little self-promotion (so sue me)!

Why I'm Single has taken to Twitter. If you tweet then look me up and start following.

You'll find updates that give mini anecdotes (last week I was asked about by a cab driver...again), links to stories, other blogs I've been following, and on and on.

My username is (wait for it, wait for it) WhyImSingle.

Scope it!

Can Anyone Hear Me?

2009-02-25T07:00:00.000-05:00

Is it me? Is it like I have a beacon that only dogs and men with severe emotional problems can hear?

- Monica, Friends

New Categories

2009-02-24T07:00:00.001-05:00

Keeping up with the latest news is an occupational hazard of mine. Sometimes, however, it pays off. Take for example, this doozie I stumbled upon from US News & World Report.

This isn't exactly US Weekly, but for those of you who need to draw a parallel - think of it as Stars are Just Like Us: they fit into one of four categories of women.

Forget trying to peg your posse as Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte or Samantha; the real way to i.d. yourself (and your friends) is by deciphering who is the Explorer, Builder, Director or Negotiator. These are the four "types" of women, as explained by Helen Fisher, professor at Rutgers.

The Professor explains that any individual woman can be a mix of these, but there will be one dominant character.

As reported by Deborah Kotz, here are descriptors of each:

The Explorer: driven by the "excitement" brain chemical dopamine and seeks out novelty, adventure, and spontaneity;
The Builder: runs on the "soothing" brain chemical serotonin and tends to be calm, social, and orderly;
The Director: fueled by the "male" hormone testosterone and is analytical, logical, focused, and tough-minded; and
The Negotiator: guided by the "female" hormone estrogen to be verbal, imaginative, and compassionate.

I thought this was really interesting. I think I'm a Director (with the others mixed in), but only because my friends and I have identified that I have "girl brain" and "boy brain."

I'd love to hear what category people think they fall into and why!

Which of these is the "Carrie" - you know, the one everyone claims to be, but really not everyone possibly can be.

Use the link above to check out the whole article. And holla with your category...

Set Him Up

2009-02-23T07:00:00.001-05:00

I know quotes are typically reserved for Wednesdays, but I couldn't wait to pass this gem along.

Thanks to Molly for sending it my way!

If You're Gonna Leave Me (Set Me Up With One Of Your Friends)
"It's okay it just sucks to hear it on the phone
Goin' from town to town knowin' you won't be there when I get back home
Gonna be so lonely and so lost there without you
Who'm I gonna take to the movie
Who'm I gonna make out with at the end
If you're gonna leave me, set me up with one of your friends"
- Chris Thile

Check out a link to the song, here.

Man with a Pearl Earring

2009-02-20T07:00:00.000-05:00

I was on the train coming home from work the other night when I received a screaming reminder of why I'm single, and why some women are not.

I was minding my own business, leaning against the subway door (the best standing spot in a subway if you ask me) when a couple entered the train. At first blush they appeared normal: middle aged, nondescript, man and woman.

Then something caught my eye - the man was wearing a single pearl earring. Now, either he missed the memo that pearls are not "bling" or he was staging some sort of revolution against diamonds (ok, ok CZ). I had to look away in order to assess the situation.

When my gaze shifted, it landed on his shoes. Girls, we know footwear for men is not to be taken lightly. I've seen sandals with socks, weird hiking sandals that just don't fit in on the streets of New York, men in heels (and full drag) and other noteworthy "fashions." This particular man was wearing MBTs. Yes, the ones that are worn (to my knowledge) only by women in order to tone your legs, get rid of cellulite, correct posture and all that jazz.

I desperately tried to remove my gaze from him, but landed on his neck wear. One beaded necklace. Two beaded necklaces. Another necklace - leather strap with shell dangling from it.

Lord give me strength to keep my eyes in my head and my jaw from hitting the floor.

These accessories are worn only by teens on the Jersey Shore or boys in the mid (to late?) 90s.

When I believed I couldn't find anything else that would shock me, I landed on his bracelet. Now, this bracelet alone would be kinda bad ass. On him, it just perfected the oxymoronic state of this man. It was a LIVESTRONG type bracelet with "IRON MAN COMPETITION 2008" on it. What?

Trying to take all of this in, I look to the woman he entered the train with. She was wearing one of those scarves that can only be described as far too colorful - and hairy. It was like confetti exploded all over this chick.

So yes, she was wearing this cheesy scarf - but even better - she was wearing it as a sling for her arm...very nonchalant. Bizarre.

I guess there is a pot for every lid. And a confetti scarf for every felt birthday cake hat.

Vivaaaa Las Vegas 2

2009-02-19T07:00:00.001-05:00

So, I was signed up for my cellutox treatment (sounds terrifying and incredible all at once, right?) and was told it would be an hour after my electrocution treatment was supposed to take place.

I passed time reading magazines and listening to hung over girls talk piece their Friday night activities together. Glad that I was able to remember every moment of my Vegas experience (thanks Dad), I waited patiently for my name to be called. 20 minutes after my treatment was supposed to begin, I approached a woman behind the desk who can only be described as a giant blond Clydesdale of a chick.

After giving her my name, she revealed that Oopsie, I am giving you the treatment - guess we were both just waiting for the other to say something. I don't know about you, but that made no sense to me whatsoever. Was I supposed to summon my psychic powers to determine who would be giving me this cellutox treatment?

Annnnyway, Clydesdale Kendra explained that the 50 minute massage post-treatment would be taken down to 30 minutes. Fine Flicka, let's get this show on the road. I was whisked into a back room and we got underway.

As I was scrubbed down, Kendra flipped me on my back and covered up my tatas. Not realizing their size (I don't know how there can be confusion when they are right in front of your face), she folded the towel in half and re-covered.

"Oh goodness, looks like we'll need to use the whole towel to cover you up!"

Ughhhhh.

"Ha," I managed. "Yeah."

Covered up, scrubbed down, immersed in water and rinsed off, I was moved to a second room for the massage. I should have ducked out.

Kendra gave an alright massage, fairly uneventful. Until the end.

On my back, it was time for the neck/head massage. I LOVE this point of any massage. However, from time to time, my hair has gotten a little pull unintentionally. I was at the peak of relaxation when Kendra gave a little tug. I was a little startled but relaxed again quickly, making a little note to myself that she didn't acknowledge it.

She was finishing my scalp massage, running her fingers up through my hair when she tightened her grip and yanked my hair. Not once, but twice.

Now, call me crazy, but the only times my hair has been tugged like that have been by guys during, ummm "intimate" moments.

My entire body tensed. I couldn't get out of there soon enough. Between the lack of boob coverage and the hair pull, I'd had enough of my treatment.

Anyone else have awkward massage/treatment stories? There have to be some good ones out there...

Possibilities

2009-02-18T07:00:00.001-05:00

Love is possible - even when you have a bottom the size of two bowling balls.

- Bridget Jones, The Edge of Reason

Vivaaaa Las Vegas

2009-02-17T10:20:00.002-05:00

I recently returned from my first trip to Las Vegas. It wasn't exactly your traditional trip - there was nothing that happened in Vegas that needed to stay in Vegas.

1) Travel companion: my dad
2) Weather: cold
3) Gambling: one night at the Black Jack table
4) Clubbing: none

Now, this wouldn't be a relevant post if there wasn't something to say about dating/singledom/etc.

First, I know "Virginia is for lovers," but Vegas is too. This fun little fact made traveling with Dad a little awkward. We were asked if we wanted to "spice things up," have a "romantic, unforgettable evening," and "make things as hot as they were on our honeymoon." No. No I don't want to spice things up in an impassioned unforgettable evening with my DAD. Thanks though.

I think, truly, those were the most uncomfortable moments in my life. Thanks, Las Vegas.

Second, we had a day at the spa (which of course, because neither of us actually uses our brain, was on Saturday - Valentine's Day). After clearing up why we were not interested in a couples massage, we booked our appointments. I chose this very complex sounding thing that involved electrodes - not your average Swedish Massage.

Before getting my treatment, I went to the gym, got a 4 mile run under my belt, sat in the steam room and the hot tub and took a shower. Rough, right? In the waiting room, I took the form I had to fill out and quickly realized this might not be the treatment for me. At the end of the piece of paper was a warning for what people should not have the treatment. Of the few things listed, I could tick off two: IUD and skin problems (aka hives that attack for no apparent reason).

I spoke to the woman who would be torturing/relaxing me, asking her what reason there was for the complication. She explained I would basically be electrocuted from the electrodes working against my copper IUD and that the pressure and allergy triggers were "fierce." OK Tyra.

I was told that in an hour I could have a similar treatment that would not be life threatening. I signed up...

Too late?

2009-02-16T07:00:00.000-05:00

I hope everyone had a LOVELY Valentine's Day!

We Met

2009-02-13T07:00:00.000-05:00

For any of you who are daring enough to be meeting people the same way, it would seem obvious that you should have a contingency plan when someone asks, "How did you two meet?"

In fact, my dating headline was "For the record, we met at a bar or the gym or wherever. I'm not above making something up." Clever? I'd like to think so.

A few weeks ago I was out on date number whatever with a guy I guess you could say I've been "seeing." We went to Bleeker Bar to shoot some pool and met up with two of his friends/co-workers.

Every girl knows the importance of impressing the friends and getting along with them - so I wore my terrible pool skills on my sleeve, talked about things we were mutually interested in (Boston, being realtively new to New York) and crossed my fingers.

Before I knew it, I was being told "You're so great! Why is it you're not around more often? Hey - buddy - this chick should be haning out with us all the time!" and "You know what? I'm having a party tomorrow in Williamsburg, you should totally come - even if he can't!"

I was feeling high and mighty and fabulous and funny and engaging and everything.

Then...

"So how did you two meet anyway?"

Panic.

My eyes bolted to my date (one of the few guys who doesn't really have a nickname), who was completely engrossed in his shot and completely unaware of my inability to make something up on the spot.

We'd never come up with our "meeting" story.

"So?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, what?" Please please please say you forgot what you asked me two seconds ago.

"I was wondering how you guys met." Shit.

"Ooh. Yeah. Well, you know. We just...met. Yeah, we met."

"Cool," he was trying to process it. "So you just like, met?"

"Yeah pretty much. You know, same old story." Riiiight, you know, I have no idea what I'm talking about.

By this time, my dude had taken his shot and was rejoining the conversation.

"What are you guys talking about?"

"Oh, she was just telling us how you guys met."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," my mouth responded, while my face screamed I'm fucked! Help!

"You can't remember the name of the bar, can you?" Genius move.

"No I never can!" I laughed, relieved that we may actually dodge the .com dating bullet.

Then turning to his friend, the questionaire, he said, "Ha, nah man. We didn't meet at a bar. We met online! Hah everyone's doing it now."

His friend cracked up then proceeded to tell us about some "pathetic" guy he know who was online dating.

We dodged the bullet - miraculously.

So today's lesson: when blind dating, allllllways have a plan of attack - gotta get your lies straight before you can tell them to potential new friends.

NONoNYmous

2009-02-12T07:00:00.000-05:00

While some of us try meeting people in bars, or through friends, or (gasp!) online, one of my good friends has taken a completely new route: in print. This issue of Time Out New York lists eligible singles, providing a photo and some stats.

Alex is Mr. New Media, with phone in hand for his picture and all!

True, there is a way to reach him by e-mail, but if you'd rather say you "met through a friend," holla at me at whyimsingle@gmail.com and I'll hook it up.

He's a catch!

If Only We Knew

2009-02-11T07:00:00.001-05:00

The great question, which I have not been able to answer, is, "What does a woman want?''

- Freud

Bad Action Part 2: Gyno Nursery Rhymes

2009-02-10T07:00:00.000-05:00

So after calling me a chubby alcoholic, all it took was taking off my top for the doctor's attitude to do a complete 180.

Being "well endowed," I have grown to expect certain populations to be taken a-back and overly excited when they are granted full access to the girls. Doctors were never part of that group - so needless to say, when my doctor's eyes lit up it didn't exactly put me at ease.

We were done with paperwork and on to the actual exam. The doctor began the breast exam (gotta have healthy boobs!!!) and as soon as she made contact, immediately hesitated. Naturally, I took this as a bad sign and shot her a concerned look.

"Oh, nothing to worry about honey," she said, trailing off at the end. "Do you know what you should be feeling for?"

"If I found anything it would feel like a raisin in oatmeal right?" Thanks Mum!

"Mm-hmm."

"I'm sorry is something wrong?"

"Oh, no dear. Quite the opposite."

Uhhh what the hell is going on?

She proudly reported, "You have the most supple, smooth breasts I may have ever felt."

Um, say what? Is this supposed to somehow ease my mind?

"Women with breasts as big as yours tend to be lumpy and bumpy!" Oh goody!

"Well," she continued, "you pass that checkpoint with flying colors."

Bizarre.

Then...the stirrups.

No woman on the face of the planet enjoys being in this position in a doctors office. So I put my head, held my breath and counted ceiling tiles. I didn't get past two.

"Oopsie!" The now-chipper doctor said. "I forgot all my utensils! Looks like the fork ran away with the spoon!"

"Huh?"

"Back in a flash!" She said as she walked out the door, refraining from closing it completely and leaving me as emotionally and physically as exposed as I have ever felt on Valentine's Day.

"Oh goodness, I didn't close the door all the way!" She said with a giggle as she saw me, legs crossed and arms folded.

We finished what can only loosely be referred to as my annual lady doctor appointment and I ran, yes literally ran out of the office, never to return to my school's health center again.

So when I start to cringe at the idea of being single on Valentine's Day, I remind myself it could be worse - I could be single, insulted, complimented, mortified, and stuck with an insane doctor on Valentine's Day.

Just being single ain't so bad...

Bad Action...

2009-02-09T07:00:00.000-05:00

My friends and were recently talking about boonie health, which led to conversation about going to see your "lady doctor." I was reminded of one of my favorite visits when I was in college.

It was Valentines Day 2004 (good start, right?) and I had a 7:30 AM appointment at my school's health center. I don't know quite what I was thinking, deciding that in a town full of incredible hospitals, I took my precious parts to the dingy "health" center at NU. What can I say, I guess I live on the edge.

It wasn't long before my name was called. I had filled out the sheet saying who I am, what I was doing there, allergies, etc. A very nice woman led me to a small office and gave me a gown to change into. After I changed, she knocked on the door and let herself back into the office, taking a seat and looking through my chart.

She weighed me (ughhhhhh) and took down my height (which has been reported as anywhere between 5'6 and just over 5'8). She then turned the page on my chart...

"Oopsie daisy."

Blank stare back from me.

"I see you forgot to fill in the back sides of the pages."

Of course I did, brilliant. I crossed my fingers, hoping these would be easy questions - ones I didn't need to think about whether or not to make up answers.

"Oh I did? I'm sorry. I can fill it out after."

"Oh don't be silly, I'll just ask you the questions."

After a series of innocent questions, she got to alcohol intake.

"How many drinks do you have a week?"

OK, I can tell her the truth and see if she tells me I'm an alcoholic or doesn't judge me and just moves on. Orrrr I can tell her some lie so I know she will stay off my back. Then I figured, it's Valentines Day, I'm 21, it's early as hell - let's throw caution to the wind and give full disclosure.

She wasn't pleased. "Hmm, and how many nights a week do you drink?"

I told her two times a week - thinking I would at least get points for not drinking every night.

"Ok. You consume that many beverages in just two nights?"

Oops. The questions continued and with each answer, I could see her disappointment mounting.

"You know, your drinking habits probably have a lot to do with your current weight."

Happy f-ing Valentines Day to you too. OUCH.

"OK." Seriously, how else was I supposed to respond? The doctor not only judged my every answer, but then told me I have a drinking problem and am fat because of it. Fabulous.

Then came the actual exam...the most uncomfortable one of my life. If any of you have to endure being poked, prodded and felt up by your doctor on V-Day, my heart goes out to you.

Details of my Valentines Day "action" to come...

Complete: He's Just Not...

2009-02-06T07:00:00.000-05:00

That into you.

This has been a mantra for women for the past few years - ever since some dude "liberated" us with a book by the same name. Today, the message leaves print and explodes on the big screen.

I know people who live and die by this book and people who think it's malarkey. I'm kinda on the fence.

On one hand, we've got to admit that us ladies can make excuses for everything. We can literally explain away anything - it's a blessing and a curse. A lot of us do need to take more time to reflect on situations involving guys. If he hasn't called you in three weeks and you met once, he PROBABLY isn't that into you. But your friends will be loyal to a "t" and tell you he might have lost your number, or gotten back with his girlfriend, or lost his phone or was busy working on his acceptance speech for the Nobel Prize he is receiving for creating a cure for cancer.

On the other hand - listen - guys are insecure weirdos too. They get nervous, act like idiots and chicken out.

Now that this movie is out, all I know is this: I hope we don't collapse under our own pressure and lose faith completely.

There are great guys out there...and hey - if you want to be set up with any of the ones I've blogged about - I'm happy to play matchmaker!

Home Run In Part 2

2009-02-05T07:00:00.000-05:00

Where was I? Oh right, thinking I could somehow avoid my man for the rest of the night.

Now, of course I knew in my heart of hearts that I wouldn't escape biggie so easily. I made it back to the table, sat and looked back to see if he was coming.

When I turned my head, he was already knelt down by my side. I was flabbergasted at how quickly he must have moved.

My friend yelled across the table, "Why did you bring him over here?"

"Umm, I didn't exactly send him an invitation."

He was drunk and slow, "You talkin about me?"

"Yup."

"OK, I have a joke for you."

Fantastic, he was a comedian too.

"Wait, actually no I don't - I just want to see you smile."

"Well, I'm smiling."

He let out a foolish sigh and put his gigantic arm around me.

"OK that's it buddy!"

Now, God knows I love my friends, but you know how there is always the friend who "knows how to handle" a situation? Yeah, the one who usually just makes it worse? That was this friend.

She marched over, pissed that this person was touching me.

"Get your hands off my friend."

His grip tightened. "I'm not letting her go!"

So this is what it was like sharing King Kong's comany at the top of the Empire State Building.

My friend grabbed his arm, like the jaws of death, trying to pry him off me. What did he do? You guessed it, squeezed me so tight I had bruises to show for it.

"You know what? It's ok," I said to my friend. My eyes met King's and the hope that glimmered was...desperate...and only the look you see on the face of a man in love, in lust, or intoxicated.

"I knew you were happy I'm here!"

"You know, I am very happy to have met you, but I'm afraid I'm trying to catch up with some old friends and they're a little hesitant to have another person join the conversation."

"Oooooh. You mean you're talking about, like, lady things?"

Ummm what?

"Yes. Exactly. We're talking about lady things. I would be glad to talk to you when the lady talk is over."

"OK." He stood up and walked away.

Luckily I made it out of the bar about an hour later undetected. He only made one more attempt to crash our party. I gave him a look and mouthed "lady stuff" and he retreated.

So girls, whenever you need to get out of a sticky situation, forget crying wolf or screaming bloody murder - simply whispering "lady stuff" will get the job done.

Anon.

2009-02-04T07:00:00.003-05:00

This is from a blog about loves - unrequited, over-requited, kinda-requited and any other sort of requited you can think about. Each note is written anonymously.

Dear Old Love

Cyber Summary

Online: you were perfect. Then: distaster.

I KNOW there have to be some folks who can relate to this one...

Home Run In

2009-02-03T07:00:00.001-05:00

When I was home over Christmas, I met up with a small posse of friends at a local bar. Being that we're "old now" (anything over 24 in a suburban college town), we found a table and caught up. As the night progressed, the bar filled with the younger sisters of girls 2 years my junior when we were in high school.

We turned a blind eye and deaf ear to all the kids and talked about work, boyfriends (ahem, or lack-thereof), family and life. Around 12:30 I made my way to the bathroom, avoiding eye contact with the younger brothers of my younger brother's friends and the girls I would have to pretend to be excited to see.

Naturally, the bathroom was allllll the way in the rear of the narrow bar. After pushing through the masses (something I've gotten good at while working in Times Square), I made it to the Ladies'. Immediately there was a girl behind me in line wearing a $350 sequined dress, holding her crotch and doing the pee-pee dance. Two girls emerge from the ONLY stall, mascara everywhere - drunk and drunker.

On my way back to the table, I squeezed past people fairly easily. Then, like a brick wall spread out in front of me, I met an obstacle I knew I wouldnot quickly overcome: a gigantic brotha (who puts the guy at the Chinese food place to shame). His arms are stretched out, creating a blockade.

I smile, avoiding eye contact yet again. "Oh, excuse me."

"No I will not excuse you."

Here we go.

"I been looking at you since you got up to go potty, just waiting for you to come back so I could look at you close up."

Potty?

"Ok." Wasn't exactly sure what response he expected.

He exhaled a cigarette stained "Heh!" laugh type of noise and stared.

"Um, I'm sorry but I need to get by - my friends are waiting for me."

"Oh your friends? In that case I'll come with you so they can meet me."

Ah yes, you are exactly the man my friends are hoping to grace with your presence. Fantastic.

I pushed past him, hoping there was no way homes was going to follow me to the table...

Overheard

2009-02-02T07:00:00.000-05:00

This was sent to me from a co-worker sitting in Penn Station, waiting to catch his train.

SUBJECT: Some people

Well, it's hard to believe they are even real. Case in pt: guy waiting in the Amtrak lounge with the trucker hat that says "I Heart Haters" talking into his bluetooth earphone and saying, "I don't know baby. All I know is that I'm not into her anymore and I'm way into you. But you don't wanna believe that."

Before SatC there was the BSC...

2009-01-14T07:00:00.001-05:00

Luca: Why don't we go out on Saturday? We could go to the movies or if nothing is playing, you could show me around Stoneybrook.

Stacey: Well, this is kind of it. I mean, it's not like New York City or anything. That's where I grew up. Have you ever been there?

Luca: No, not yet.

Stacey: It's the best!

Luca: You mean, like you?

The Babysitters Club

More About Bobs

2009-01-09T11:08:00.002-05:00

Direct from the keyboard of the lady who only dates Bobs...

Yes Bob #3 is just as real as #1 and #2. He wasn't the guilty party but how was I to know that?

Bob #1's also had brain surgery and asked me to be his caretaker. The instructions I recieved upon leaving the hospital were, "If he starts bleeding and you are close by, bring him back immediately. There won't be time for the ambulance to revive him."

A bit too much pressure for a new relationship.

What About Bob?

2009-01-08T07:00:00.004-05:00

Well folks, here is the first post about someone else's dating disasters. The gal, who shall remain nameless, has identified a trend among men named Bob: they're all a mess.

Bob #1:

She says - he looks like Crocodile Dundee

I say - he looks like Bob Barker (ok, ok not that old)

Game changing moments:

Bob asks her to take him to his colonoscopy...about 10 days after meeting
Bob begins falling apart, requests her aide at the hospital after multiple surgeries that are par for the course when becoming an antique
Bob peer pressures her family member to sing Christmas Carols. When said family member refuses, she is punished by listening to his rendition of Ave Maria (as he sang it 3,000 years ago when he was in the city's boys choir). He holds "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-veeeeeeeeeeeee Maaaa-RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII" far too long and is left gasping for breath before picking up where he left off "IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-EEEEE-yah." He admits is voice isn't what it used to be.

Bob #2:

On date 2, he told her to let him know when she's "ready" and he'll take his "helpful little friend, the magic blue pill." Yeah.

Bob #3:

Generally speaking, a cool guy. He mentions that she looks a lot like his last girlfriend and shares the same name. They decide to go to the New Jersey shore for date #3. She jokes "I'll ride with you as long as you promise not to chop me up into little pieces and put me in the trunk of your car." They go on date. They talk about past relationships and he reveals his ex has been missing.

The following week his ex is found chopped up in the trunk of her own car near a motel.

They stop dating.

UPDATE: ktmccoy made a very good point. I should mention the gal in this post is now in a great relationship with a guy who does not go by the cursed name Bob.

UPDATE #2: I've just been informed that the middle name of the current boyf is...you guessed it...ROBERT.

Kraft Singles

2009-01-07T07:00:00.002-05:00

Right now, I'm as single as a slice of American cheese.

Nick Carey - I mean, Cannon

Sabotage

2009-01-06T07:00:00.001-05:00

I'm a girl. Therefore, from time to time, I get in my own way and create awkward situations.

Case and point: date #3 with Jerry Junior.

I had two pleasant dates with Jerry Junior, thought he was a good guy and agreed to date #3. Jerry was the first guy I met online who I went on more than two dates with met (yes, yes, I have turned to the internet to find dates because reality hasn't done me any favors). We met at a bar on the Upper West Side for a couple of drinks. Equipped with the knowledge that I am a Red Sox fan, JJ showed up donning his Yankees hat and forcing it upon my head (sacrilege) a number of times.

We were having a good time at the UWS dive, getting to know more about each other and JJ asked me my middle name.

"Oh, Judith," I told him with some hesitation, knowing the name belongs to a girl who wears poodle skirts and saddle shoes while listening to Buddy Holly.

His face dropped for an instant then he smiled a ridiculously awkward smile.

"There's only one other person I know with that name."

"Oh, really? Yeah it was my grandmother's name," I replied, not knowing how to react to his reaction.

"Yeah, only one other person I have ever met with the name Judith." He stared at me. This was weird. I couldn't face him, but kinda looked at him out of the corner of my eye, confused (cue Anna Faris "I have no idea what's going on" laugh).

"OK."

He swiveled my chair to face him. "You can ask me anything you want, you know."

Uhhhh.

"Well you can tell me anything you want."

"I mean, anything. You can ask anything."

Lordy. I don't know, was it the name of your ex-girlfr-

"Judy is the name of my ex-wife."

I choked on my Yuengling. Literally.

"Oh!" I said trying to smile and act like I had the faintest idea of what the HELL was going on.

"Are you surprised?"

"Umm, yeah. I just - I mean - I didn't - your ex-wife?"

"You know I'm divorced."

Crickets....Oh - my turn to talk.

"No. No, I didn't know that."

"I didn't hide it from you, I swear!" he sounded like a five year old, doing damage control like it was his job. "It's on my profile!*"

Ooopsie. Classic. Forget reading the fine print, I apparently lost focus before the third line.

"Oh, I'm sure it is. I just - I didn't see it - I didn't notice."

"Do you want to leave now?"

Yes.

"No. I'm just - I'm kinda taking it in. Wow."

I tried to smile, but probably just looked confused (which I was) or constipated or something. More awkward silence.

"You haven't been like this since I met you."

Oh you mean as compared to the two other times we've hung out? I just found out you're divorced, homeslice.

"I know, I'm sorry. I just am kinda surprised."

"Well I am 35. Did you think I had never been married?"

Duh. "Yeah I guess I did."

"I don't have kids or anything. My emotional and financial responsibility to her is over."

Ohhhh, in that case...wait, nope, it's still weird for 25 year old me to realize I'm dating a divorcee.

We made it through the rest of the date unscathed. On date #4 I got the dish on what happened and it was clear she handed JJ his heart in a doggy bag.

Lesson in online dating: READ EVERY WORD OF THAT GODFORSAKEN PROFILE. Knowledge is power.

*Note: For those of you less pathetic than I, internet profiles list "Status" as in Separated, Single, Widow(er), Divorced, you get it.

Wild Horses

2008-12-31T07:00:00.000-05:00

"Maybe some women aren't meant to be tamed. Maybe they just need to run free till they find someone just as wild to run with them."

- Sex and the City

Coal?

2008-12-25T07:00:00.001-05:00

Merry Christmas everyone! Hope you behaved well this year...I'm expecting a coal-free Christmas (renewable energy only, please)

Accessorize

2008-12-24T07:00:00.001-05:00

"If you are single there is always one thing you should take out with you on a Saturday night... your friends."

- Sex and the City

Line Up

2008-12-19T07:00:00.000-05:00

Saturday night my friend Katie and I went to dinner at this great place L'Artusi - just opened a few weeks ago in the West Village. After dinner, we hopped to a few different bars (our top choices - The Back Room and Lolita) only to find they were closed for holiday parties. Well, closed until 2 AM, when they would open to the public. We ended up hitting Spring Lounge and Puck Fair.

I think a simple rap sheet of the guys we met sums up our night nicely.

L'Artusi -

Not SUCH a bad start...

Boy at the Bar #1: After we explained a dish he asked about he said, "I don't like cheesy - even though I am from Jersey." He gets points for creativity - and being impressed that I got the joke.

Boy at the Bar #2: He didn't say anything particularly interesting, but what he did say, he said in an indistinguishable accent. Probably a faker.

Spring Lounge -

Ahhh, this was an experience. Particularly because the conversation began by Brian (roughly 45) and Declan (same age) moving their conversation closer and closer to us, stopping to catch their breath, and us overhearing Brian say "Fuck it, I'm just going to do this" before turning and reaching out his hand for an introduction.

Brian: After the glowing intro, told us they had been "staring" at us for about 30 minutes. Note to guys - it's one thing you say "I noticed you earlier" and quite another to say "We've been staring at you for 30 minutes." The only other thing Brian contributed to conversation was "So are you from the neighborhood?" He must have thought it would eventually get him somewhere - there is no other explanation for the fact that he asked the question on repeat.

Declan: Van Helsing hair, curly and long with gel in the front. Left eye: glass. As I know from past experience, just because it doesn't move doesn't mean it's glass. The give-a-way for me was the fact that his pupils were dilated completely differently.

Puck Fair -

Anyone who knows me knows I have had late nights (early mornings) at this place and it is near and dear to my heart.

Boy with moustache: 23 years old. Moustache. Need I say more?

Drew: Friends with boy with moustache. Also 23. After 5 minutes of conversation and the age reveal, and before he started introducing me to people as his wife, he had a little brainstorm. "Hey, I have an idea. What do you say I rent a room at Trump (with my parents credit card) and we fuck?" I said no.

Here's to another weekend!

You Married My Husband!

2008-12-17T07:00:00.001-05:00

All I'm saying is that somewhere out there is the man you are supposed to marry. And if you don't get him first, somebody else will, and you'll have to spend the rest of your life knowing that somebody else is married to your husband.

Carrie Fischer as Marie in When Harry Met Sally

Pfffft-pft-pfttt goes Jerry Junior (Meet Jerry Jr. Part 2)

2008-12-16T07:00:00.002-05:00

Jerry demanded that I carry the box of pizza and hand over a slice immediately. I obeyed. We crossed the street, his eyes were closed. I guided him safely to home as he blindly inhaled his meat-lovers.

We got into his apartment and he went after slice #2. It was like watching a baby testing out his I can feed myself chops, trying to get dry Cheerios into his mouth - miss, miss, miss, bite. He had sauce all over his face.

I tried to focus on the task at hand, getting aspirin and water in his system ASAP and getting him into bed. I turned to the faucet, filled up the glass, and when I turned around Jerry had (in some fast-forward time-warp manner) managed to change from what he'd been wearing into backwards mesh shorts and a t-shirt. He never, ever slept in anything else.

Baffled, I asked him how he changed so quickly.

"I should change?" he mumbled.

"No, no. You already changed."

He looked down at his clothes, smiled to himself with a giggle, turned around and took off toward the bedroom. Now, this is a guy who would be devastated if any imperfection was detected in him. His apartment was always spotless, he was always "put together," and he took pride in being a gentleman (for anyone who knows me - those are three red flags that the dude just ain't my style).

Enter: Jerry Junior's crowning moment of our "relationship," as he seemed to be pulled to his room by some magnetic force. With each step, a fart. He took a lot of steps. Short ones. Each time his foot slapped against his wood floors, a fart of a different tone escaped.

I stifled my laughter - sure that he'd forgotten I was there or perhaps he thought, in his drunken state, the sounds were coming from somewhere else. I think among all the revealing conversations and honest discussions we had, there was no single moment he was more vulnerable than when he ripped 'em, letting them reverb through his apartment that hot July night. Blacked-out as he was.

Meet Jerry Junior

2008-12-15T07:00:00.000-05:00

It's time you were introduced to Jerry Junior. There will be many-a-post about him. I guess before anything else, I should give you a basic overview of JJ. He is in his mid-30s, a lawyer, divorced, terribly nice, straightforward and pot-bellied. Why the nickname Jerry Junior? Well, remember the movie Jerry McGuire? Ya know the little kid? That is who Jerry Junior looks like - glasses, spiky hair and all. Just 36. (See youtube clip for a refresher)

We'd been dating for a couple months and one night poor JJ had too much to drink (we will go into stories from earlier the same night another day). He tore out of the bar, towing me behind him. Eyes barely open, arms dangling lifelessly at his side, Jerry Jr. followed his protruding belly like a drunk pregnant lady - shuffling his feet and somehow managing to remain standing as he zig-zagged down the sidewalk. I kept up, simply by walking a straight line.

"Hey!" He spit out. "Are you coming?"

"I'm right here."

"I know. But. Are you coming? Are you?"

"Coming where?" I knew he wasn't asking whether I was going home with him - that was a given. Having the motor skills to walk is one thing, but being able to open doors, hit elevator buttons and get in bed? That was asking a bit much. He was hammered.

"Where? Ughhhhh," clearly, he was frustrated with my inability to read his mind. "To get pizzaaaaaa. We need pizza. I need pizza."

"OK, sure. I will take you to get pi-" he was on the move before I finished my sentence, following his stomach across the street. Shit - I need to get one of those telephone chord wrist leashes for this guy.

"Hey, come this way. This is where we get pizza."

I ran after him, completely clueless as to how he managed to move so swiftly while making about two inches of progress with each step.

Jerry disappeared into the pizza joint. After a close encounter with a cab as I ran across the street, I walked into the place to find him swaying frontwards and backwards and trying to pull the wallet out of his linen Brooks Brothers shorts (a little safari looking for me, but he was so excited about those shorts and wore them proudly all summer).

Off the street and indoors, JJ forgot to adapt his volume before speaking. "I NNNEED TWO SLICSSS," he slurred. Turning to me, "TWO."

"Hah, ok you can have two slices. Whatever you want." So this is what it will be like raising children.

He ordered, paid and proceeded to ask "Wellisitready?" every 30 seconds until I sat him down and diverted his attention with a story. I was successful for about 45 seconds. "Welllll?" I apologized for him.

"Don't sayyoursorry ferme."

"Ready, sir."

We got the pizza and headed out the door. Our journey on the mean streets of the Upper West Side continued.

Don't Call Me Carrie...

2008-12-12T07:00:00.001-05:00

I know I run the risk of being perceived as a Carrie Bradshaw wanna-be with what I'm about to do, but I ain't care. While being single isn't always the best - I'm lucky enough to have some incredible single friends to live through these horror stories with me.

Being a fairly level headed person, I acknowledge that I'm not only single because the guys who as me out are weirdos (or incarcerated). Women are crazy. Seriously. And while my friends and I fall on the less crazy end of the spectrum, we've still got it in us. So we're to blame in this finger pointing game, too.

In the coming weeks I am going to sprinkle in some thoughts/funny stories about me and my friends. These tales just might reveal some answers to the dreaded "why are you single?" question.

So begins the postulating...

Coming Soon: Playing deaf, BUFFALO, Non-game games, Mr. Wrong

STAG DRAG

2008-12-11T07:00:00.003-05:00

So last week I posted about a singles party I was planning to attend (see STAG below). Here's the follow up.

In keeping with girl tradition, I rolled into the party with a posse of other single friends. One left after 10 minutes. She had the right idea. The venue was Van Diemens in Murray Hill. It also happens to be location for date #2 with a guy my friends and I warmly refer to as Vagina Hat.

The bar wasn't terribly big. As we approached STAG's hostess, she bragged that there were "So many people that we spilled into the rest of the bar! Can you believe it? We were just supposed to have enough for upstairs!" Woop-de-doo lady. They're all old(er)!

A quick scan revealed men and women in the 30s (and, dare I say, 40s). We missed the age memo: If you look like you could be carded, this ain't the singles party for you.

We did end up talking to some guys - who, by the looks of it were foreign but had no accents (other than Juan Carlos who was both foreign and accented). My friends and I were sitting near them, debating whether - and how - we should approach them. Tired of waiting, I hopped up, walked over to the bar and squeezed by one of them to grab a drink. It worked. Just not the way I'd thought it would. One of them almost elbowed me in the head and another stopped him in the nick of time - though I'm not so sure it would have done that much damage.

They were alright, but nothing to write home about. That doesn't mean, of course, that one of them wasn't worthy of being brought home (no, not by me). At 11:00 I left. No better or worse off than when I'd arrived.

The GREAT thing that did come out of this, though, is this: my friends and I are going to have our own go at the concept. Here's where you come in. While we have brilliant ideas about venue, spreading the word, etc., we are clueless about a name. Please please please offer suggestions either by commenting on this post or sending them to whyimsingle@gmail.com.

Can't wait to see what you come up with!

Irresistible

2008-12-09T07:15:00.001-05:00

Maybe it's my current whooping cough and 2-packs-a-day voice...

Sucker Part 2

2008-12-08T07:00:00.005-05:00

OK, where were we? Oh, right, kissing Steve Buscemi's doppelganger. Good thinking.

Before I knew it, kissing turned into making out (we went past 1st base - I know, I'm a floozy). We were in Q's room, on his bed, fooling around. He started moving downward and then made a move I've never experience before.

He pushed up my pant legs. Confusing? Yes. I had no idea what the hell was about to transpire. Hadn't heard of the ol' pushin' up the pant leg trick.

He stared at my legs like it was Thanksgiving and he scored dark meat turkey leg. It was slightly off-putting, to say the least.

Q was kissing my calves and making his way to my feet. Yes, the same feet that had walked the streets of Manhattan all day in flip-flips about 3 cm thick. Then, like a kid with a lollipop, Q popped my big toe in his mouth and started SUCKING.

I froze. Aside from the fact that this creeped me out on a larger scale, I am one of the most ticklish people I know - particularly my feet (ask anyone who has sat through a pedicure with me).

He kissed my arch. Moved on to smaller toes and then the other big toe.

I unfroze.

"Ha - ahhh, I don't think you should do that..." There is no guide or how-to book for telling someone to please not slobber on your feet.

"Why not? You have sexy feet." Great - guy with a name so weird I can't come up with a nickname also has a foot fetish.

"Oh. Thank you. Actually, I think it's a little dangerous."

"Why's that? It turns me on."

"Well, I might kick you in the face - I'm really ticklish."

"You haven't kicked me in the face yet..." he said as he literally licked between my toes.

"Oh. No. No you can't do that. I am going to seriously like, kick your face and knock some teeth out."

He made the move back up to kiss my mouth. There was no way in hell that was going to happen. No. Way. In. Hell.

"I think the booze is starting to hit me. I'm pretty tired," I lied.

"Well at least sleep over."

"Nah, I'll probably head home."

"Come on, just stay over. I will keep my hands to myself." Uhh and you better give Scout's Honor that your mouth won't touch my feet again.

After a few more back and forths, I fell asleep.

At 9:00 AM Q's alarm goes off.

After learning that his housekeeper was on her way over, I told him I had to go.

"I'm really glad I met you. You're the first person I've been interested in since my last relationship."

"Yeah, it was fun." Weirdo.

"I mean, to think my ex-girlfriend moved out only 10 days ago and now I've met a great girl..."

"Excuse me?"

"Yeah, I'm a lucky guy."

Not that lucky.

I got a few texts from him asking to hang out - which I declined. Then one letting me know he was moving to London for a while. I wished him luck.

Two months later (about a month ago), he cropped up, announcing he is back in New York and would like to pick up where we left off...

He's pretty persistent - no second date - but still sending texts to grab a beer and a hockey game. In fact, heard from him just yesterday.

I think he pushed me to the point that I am breaking my "at least 2 dates" rule. If toe-sucking is going to be part of foreplay, I think I have to pass...

Mum

2008-12-05T07:00:00.001-05:00

My birthday is this weekend. Here's the card I got from my mom...

...Hope you don't run into any big boobs on your birthday.

Thanks Mum...hopefully, the only ones I run into will be my own.

STAG

2008-12-04T07:00:00.002-05:00

STAG. Defined by Merriam-Webster as unaccompanied by someone of the opposite sex. It's a concept I'm all to familiar with and a phrase I hadn't heard for a long time.

Until, that is, I received what can only be described as a chain-mail e-vite.

Pure brilliance on the part of whatever brainiac came up with this. Sure, we've heard of singles groups, but this is a nice new little spin on it.

I received the e-vite from my friend Katie (not to be confused with Katherine or any of my Kates), who received it from someone else and on and on the trail goes.

Apparently about 80 people have RSVP'd and the organizer is being sure to keep the boy-girl ratio as even as possible (thank you dear lord baby Jesus). The event is tonight in midtown.

I'll be sure to let y'all know how it goes - maybe I will even get a good post out of it (though I think the point is to actually meet someone)!

If it's a grand old time, I will forward the next e-vite to any other struggling singles out there who want to meet someone the old fashioned way - face to face, on your own accord.

Sucker

2008-12-03T07:00:00.002-05:00

The guy in this story has a name so absurd, my friends and I didn't have to come up with a nickname. For the sake of this post, we'll call him Q.

Q is a self-described 33 year old banker, living in an "impressive apartment" on Astor Place. Our first date was a long time coming, but very last minute (around 2:30 am). He is a hockey fan, went to school in Boston and is from an obnoxious town similar to the one where my family lives and I went to high school.

I left my friends and planted myself at first and first, just outside the cleverly named One and One. I realized I may be coming off as a bit hooker, standing on the corner and all, looking around for someone I barely knew. So I struck up a conversation with a guy who was wearing a Red Sox hat...that was baby blue. I'm sorry, I just do NOT get wearing the wrong color for a team...maybe I'm just simple. I asked him to explain and as he did, someone grabbed my hand while speed walking past me, spun me in a circle, and ended with his arm around my shoulder and his lips on my neck. Wait, am I in a relationship?

I looked at the culprit. Wait wait wait - am I in a relationship with Steve Buscemi???

"Beautiful." Oh man.

"Hi, nice to meet you," I said. I may be a little drunk but I know you ain't my man.

"Why all the formalities?" Apparently Q forgot that we barely KNOW EACH OTHER.

We went to a nearby sports bar. I talked about hockey and books and avoided anything slightly suggestive. He, meanwhile, stared into my eyes, smiled and told me how interesting I am - for knowing anything about hockey and, apparently, being literate.

"Want to grab a drink somewhere else?"

Ehh, nothing better to do. "OK."

Little did I know he was going to whisk me away to his apartment.

So there we were, in his amazing apartment, separated by a kitchen counter. He looked ready to pounce.

"So I have to ask, Q, what's with your name?" Holy rudeness on my part. He explained it is a family name, then proceeded to tell me his full name. Would have been quicker if he'd just introduced himself as WASPy McGee from the get-go.

"It's so nice to meet someone who comes from the same background, you know?" Excuse me? "You know? From the same type of area."

"How do you know we have the same background?"

"Well, your family's financial situation is probably the same as mine, given where you're from, so our circles are similar. You know, so we 'get' each other."

What what WHAT?

"Uhh, well my ancestors are Irish immigrants who did lawn work and stole everything from chandeliers to furniture from the people who employed them."

Silence.

"I just may have to come over there and kiss you." Oh. Yes. I can hardly contain myself, Mr. Bond.

This man was clueless. I felt bad. We made out. Here's where it gets interesting...

Postman Delivers (Slammer Part Two)

2008-12-02T07:00:00.003-05:00

About 4 days after the run-in with the convict (whose name will be withheld to protect his identity and, potentially, my life), a letter arrived at the station. I was away with my mom and received a frantic call from my friend, begging me to let her open and read the letter. Naturally, I said hell yes.

Here it is folks...

Back of envelope: THIS CORRESPONDENCE IS FORWARDED FROM A MASSACHUSETTS CORRECTIONAL INSTITUTION; THE CONTENTS MAY NOT HAVE BEEN EVALUATED AND THE DEPARTMENT OF CORRECTION IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR THE SUBSTANCE OR CONTENT OF THE ENCLOSED MATERIAL.

Ok ok - you know what, kids? I started typing the letter and realized it just isn't fair to post on this crazy world wide web. BUT - I am going to post some of the highlights.

Each page is numbered (in case I got confused or couldn't follow the story somehow)
Throughout the letter is the unknown contraction was'nt (sorry sorry, I was an English minor)
Every 5 or 6 lines, I am addressed directly by name
He was caught during high school with 13 lbs of marijuana and 23 grams of crack, "individually packaged up"
I was assured "This will be my only time in prison."
He didn't bring a kid in this world while he was doing bad - and wondered if I have kids...
He apologized if he stuttered when he was talking to me, he was intimidated (guys - if you are reading this, is that true? Can girls actually be intimidating? This is debated ad nauseam by ladies.)
He would be released in 2 years (he's out now, folks)
He thought I was "gorgous" (maybe that is some combo of attractive and ginormous)
He signed in cursive (somebody gots skillz)

And, the ony fullllll chunk I will give you (spelling and grammar true to form):
My name, if you take a chance on getting to know me I promise you will not regret it. I know you are getting ready to go away but we could get to know each other until you leave if you want to. You can drop me a card or a letter when ever you get a chance when your away. Then when you come back, hopefully you will come back, then it will be about time for me to come home. Then I can take you out spoil you and treat you like a queen, just how you should be treated.

That's right folks - just picture a baby-tee with glitter letters QUEEN, with me in a tiara and platform flip-flops with a baby on each hip, rocking feathered bangs...maybe it isn't too late for me to find him.

Slammer Part One

2008-12-01T07:00:00.003-05:00

Ahhh, the convict story. This is a family favorite. Really, actually.

When I was in college, I interned at a radio station in Boston. One of the biggest shows we put on for the year was Earthfest - a giant free concert at the Hatch Shell along the Charles. As you can imagine it take a lot of planning and labor. Luckily, interns weren't charged with doing too much heavy lifting. The state of Massachusetts was gracious enough to lend us some of their finest...convicts. I mean, these guys would be getting out soon on good behavior, so they weren't so bad for felons.

Our work together began 2 days before the concert. Weather was nasty, it had been raining for days, so I came equipped with raincoat and giant yellow galoshes. When I arrived, my friend charged me with managing the convicts - state issued jump suits and all. I talked to the warden, who explained they shouldn't be any trouble and, if they were, I should let the ol' warden know immediately.

By end of the day, they were calling me by my shortened name, which only my extended family still uses. I was a little disappointed because there were 2 convicts who didn't open up to me at all (who do I think I am?).

Day 2 on the job, one of the two started asking me where to put a table and where to set up chairs. He was a big guy - you know the "I played football in high school and now I lift weights in the slammer" type - with a crazy Boston accent. At the end of the day, my friend thought it would be a good idea to give her card to the warden with the hopes of setting up a pen-pal system between station interns and convicts (not one of her brightest ideas, sorry M).

***6 months pass***

I'm back at the good old Hatch Shell where we're preparing for the final Dispatch show, ever. I was just swinging by to drop of beverages to put backstage for the band. I opened the back of the Suburban and stared at the vast sea of water, soda, sports drinks and booze. I walked backstage and grabbed a dolly (not a baby doll, smartypants) to unload the truck. I felt defeated before I even lifted my first case. I knew it would take forever.

"Do you need help, miss?" I turned to see a stocky man in an orange jump suit. Convict.

"Oh, no I'm fine thank you."

"Sure?"

"Yeah, just a couple cases. I should be able to handle it with this dolly. I'm in no big rush." So sue me, I lied.

A few more convicts offered to help me out and I politely declined them one by one.

Then, "Excuse me miss, can I help you with those?"

I turned to explain, yet again, that I was ok. Before I could get a word out I heard "Oh, no. She won't need your help. She's a strong independent woman."

Uhhhh. The convict behind the voice walked over, extended his hand. "Hi, [insert my name here], right? I remember you from the other concert we helped with."

He was giant.

"Oh sure." How in God's name do you remember my name, scary spice?

"Oh wow, I'm surprised you remember me. I was too shy to talk to you the first day."

Oh. my.

After a minute or two of small talk with this convicted felon, the conversation took an unexpected turn.

"So do you have a boyfriend?" Now, when in a bar, girls are crafty and know how to lie on the spot. At this moment, in broad daylight and caught completely off guard, I couldn't do it.

"Oh, no. I don't."

A "shocked" look crossed his face (note: guys, even if you are shocked, don't say you can't believe we're single. We can't believe it either and being reminded of it isn't terribly rewarding). "How can you be single?"

"Oh, I don't know." ugh.

"Well, if I wasn't in the situation I'm in, I would ask you out. I can't believe it."

What the HELL do you say to that?

"Actually, I'm getting closer and closer to release. I'd love to take you out when I get out."

"Oh, well, it's tough. I'm going to be studying in London next semester then I'll be interning in New York."

"Well, if you don't meet anyone there, then. When I get out would you like to go out sometime?"

Seriously? This is what it has come to? And, helloooooo, I don't know what this guy is in for...stalking, killing his ex, removing mattress labels...Think non-committal response, think non-committal response.

"That sounds nice..."

"Wow, really? You mean, you don't think your parents or family would disapprove - me being in this situation and all..."

shit shit shit.

"I mean, you seem to be a nice guy." SHIT.

"Great! Ok. Wow!" Lord, he was like a kid in a candy store. "Well, I have the card for your station, could I write you?"

"Sure."

"Oh good. Are there any other people with your name at the station? I want to make sure you get anything I write."

I assured him I was the only me, told him I should get back to work, unloaded the Suburban and hightailed it out of there...

EmotiCONs

2008-11-28T07:00:00.000-05:00

I think I speak for 90% of women when I say "Enough with the emoticons already!"

Please guys, stop.

Gals, if I'm wrong, for God's sake, please let me know what about those pesky little smiley faces (sent from MEN) is endearing!

Happy Thanksgiving

2008-11-27T11:29:00.001-05:00

Dinner and a Song

2008-11-21T06:48:00.003-05:00

OK - embarrassing story for me. But I think it's one that must be told as an illustration of just how single I've become. Move over Sandra Bullock (Two Weeks Notice and Miss Congeniality characters), here I come - bringing a whole new level of real life pathetic to the table.

I love me some Subway. It's "fresh," it's economical ($5 foot long, anyone?), and at the Subway near me, I don't have to utter a word beyond "6 inch" or "12 inch." That's right folks, I have my very own personal Subway sandwich builder.

It has become commonplace for him to pass off whatever sandwich he's working on to another employee when I walk in - or place himself in the correct strategic order so that when he's finished with his sandwich I will be next in line. He doesn't even try to confirm what I want anymore, just peers up from under his snugly-fit Subway visor with a (somewhat off putting) smile.

About a week or two ago, I waltz in and he's over like a rocket to build me magnificence on wheat bread. He grabs the roll, ever so carefully folds the turkey on then loads me up with some provolone cheese. On to lettuce (extra - thank you very much), pickles, light mayo and a touch of yellow mustard. All the while, gazing up from under his brim.

I slide along with my sandwich, giving an encouraging "You've got it!" and "That's it." until we land at the cashier. I'm happy as can be and prepare to tell him exactly what I have. As I open my mouth, he stops me - bellowing out lyrics to what I can only imagine is some Jonas Brothers song.

I am slightly uncomfortable - with one man building me the sandwich he knows I love and the other serenading me in front of a long line of patrons.

"Umm, I have..."

"No need to tell me - he took care of letting me know," he sang, pointing at my main man.

"Oh, ok." Ummm...sweet?

"And can I please have chips and a bottle of Diet Coke," you have to specify or they'll toss a cup your way and you run the risk of flat and/or super syrupy soda.

"Yes, yes I know that's what you wanted, he told me." I looked over at my sandwich constructor and he gave me a sweet little smile and a knowing nod. I look back at the cashier and he smiled ad belted out the crescendo of Teeny-boppers Delight (or whatever it was called).

And then it happened - I blushed. Uncontrollably. I felt my entire face turn Flatter Red. Because the men at Subway have memorized not only my favorite sandwich, but also my fixin's. Then they took it a step further and serenaded me.

Who says there's no more romance in the world?

Then again, get these guys out from behind the counter and I'm sure it falls to pieces.

It's All English to Me

2008-11-20T07:00:00.002-05:00

When I was studying in London I realized there are a number of big differences between the English and Americans. You're thinking No duh, big woop! Yeah they call bathrooms loos and elevators lifts - and I still can't get things straight when it comes to pants/knickers/trousers...They drive on the left and have no traffic pattern on sidewalks.

So why should being picked up in bars be the same there as it is here? During my Junior year in college, I decided to take a hike over the Atlantic and study abroad. I chose beautiful Goldsmith's College, part of the University of London. Its concrete campus is tucked into the ghetto of New Cross.

Immediately my newfound friends and I adopted Goldsmith's Tavern (GMT - why is was not called GT or GST, we didn't know), which was home to locals, students and some of the most curious people I've ever seen in my life.

One of our first nights venturing into the bar, past the bullet-proof vest toting bouncers, I had my first experience being picked up by a New Crosser. I was minding my own (annnnd everyone else's) business, taking pictures with friends, sitting on a bar stool and drinking Carling.

Then it hit me. Literally. A balled up napkin bounced off my back.

"How rude!" I said channeling my inner Stephanie Judith Tanner and laughing with my friends. The another hit me.

I swung around just in time for a third napkin to ricochet off my chest (that was a crowd pleaser).

I saw the culprits - two juvenile delinquents with grown out mohallets (you know, the weird mohawk-mullet thing) - giggling like little girls.

"Dude, what the hell?" Oh yes, I was a charming little blonde American girl.

Dumb and dumber motioned to open the napkin. Scrawled in 3rd grade penmanship, "Hi, I'm Jimy."

Well well well Jimy, aren't you just the spelling bee champ. I know a guy in New York I should introduce you to - your spelling and his extensive vocabulary would be a force to be reckoned with.

I got up, walked over, "So which one of you is Jimy?"

"Oy! She thinks your name is Jimy. And she's American." And she can hear you, boy genius. "She can't even read."

"Hi Jimy."

"Umm it's Jimmy, but if you want me to be Jimy, I will be. Want a pint?"

Charming.

"Don't ya know how to say names?" Dumber weighed in. Another zinger.

"Yes, and I know how to read." I put the napkin in front of him.

He closed one eye, focused and burst out laughing. "Jim - ya spelled yar name wrong!"

"Yeah, but I got her to come over and talk to us! High-five."

Annnnnnd curtain.

Closing thought: If you're picking up what a dude's putting down when he hits on you, just make sure it isn't garbage, figurative or literal.