Saturday, February 27, 2010

Shot Down for the 975,000th* Time

*approximately

So, loyal readers, today I made yet another attempt to gather a good date story for you by talking to (rather, instant messaging) a young gentleman from eHarmony.

A cute, intellectual type who looks vaguely like Blonde's baby brother (wait? Is that weird?), we hit it off over a helping of eHarmony's expertly crafted pre-made questions, through which we discovered our shared interest in travel.

It was going swimmingly...

Until he asked for my picture.

Ready for another of Sexless's love lessons? When an online suitor asks for your picture, it's normally a bad sign. At best, it means they're kinda shallow. At worst, it means that they are willing to ignore good conversation and shared interests if you're "not their type".

Which is exactly what happened.

Rather, I assume that's what happened, since I sent him my picture and he immediately disconnected.

Oh, well.

Rest in peace, Frog-Who-Looks-Like-Blonde's-Baby-Brother. We hardly knew ye.

Thursday, February 25, 2010

The Imperial Dating March




Now, I know what you're thinking: "Seriously? A Star Wars Geek. You didn't have the slightest inkling that that wasn't going to end well?"
Well, in my defense, this gentleman is SO much more than a Star Wars Geek. And I'm a bit of a geek myself, so I figured this had the potential to be a match made in Sci Fi heaven!

Star Wars Frog was yet another eHarmony conquest, and he seemed perfect on paper- an older, relatively attractive (albeit short) Jewish documentary film maker with family money. On the phone, he sounded extremely intelligent and had an adorable stutter. (Yes, gentlemen who stutter- girls think it's adorable!)

The trouble began when I texted that I would be about 10 minutes late, as my train was deciding to take its good sweet time showing up.

When I finally arrived (exactly 10 minutes late), I walked over to the table to find that Star Wars Frog had his napkin tucked into his shirt and was nearly finished eating his salad. When he saw me, he was gracious enough to drop his fork momentarily to shake my hand and offer this charming statement:

"So, I already started."

I was completely shocked, and probably should have turned around and walked away right then and there.

But then I wouldn't have such a great story for you folks!

So I sat down and attempted to make small talk:

"Have you been here before?"

"munch No munch munch munch"

"Oh, ok. Well, how was your day at work? Guess you were pretty busy?"

"munch munch No, it was fine. Why? munch"

"Well, you must have skipped lunch..."

"munch No, just hungry. munchity munch munch munch"

So, I ordered my meal and got my own salad to munch on while he regaled me with tales of his latest family vacation...

Now, remember Jersey Frog? And how I said you should be wary of adults who still live with their parents? I am officially extending this rule to include adults who still travel with their parents and bitch about it.

Granted, I still travel with my parents- because they can afford much nicer vacations than I can on my own. And yes, it can get irritating, but I suck it up because I love my parents and the fact that they are still willing to pay to take me to exotic locales.

See what I just did there? Interrupting my own conversation? That's exactly what Star Wars Frog did when he pulled out this gem in the middle of his fascinating vacation story:

"Sorry, I need to go to the bathroom."

Right. Now, as you may recall from previous experience, I just don't know when to quit. But I did have the common sense at this point to text my friend, who lives near the restaurant, to warn him that I would be coming over after dinner to consume his alcohol supply.

Upon Star Wars Frog's return from the restroom, he began to hum. First, under his breath. Then louder.

Loudly enough for the surrounding tables to hear and turn around to glare at us.

"Uh....what are you doing?" I asked with as much of a smile as I could muster through my gritted teeth.

"Oh...well, if I told you, it would probably scare you away."

"Try me."

"It's a song. From Star Wars. From the third movie..."

And then he goes into a long explanation of the exact location in the movie of the song. I fixed an interested half-smile on my face and let my eyes glaze over while I dreamed of all of the drinks I would make at Conveniently Located Friend's house

This conversation was mercifully interrupted by yet another bathroom break on the Frog's part.

From which he returned with his shirt tucked into his underwear.

I politely declined dessert and pleaded for the check with my eyes while Frog derided the role of my home state in the election of President George W. Bush loudly enough to elicit more awkward glares from surrounding tables.

Finally, the check was paid and we left. I asked which direction he was going so that I could ensure that I walked in the opposite direction. Rather then answer, he stuck out his hand, hailed a cab,

And got in. Without a single word.

All I could do was laugh as I jogged away to console myself with free alcohol.



Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Julie and Julia and Me

Tonight was date night! Unfortunately for you, it was date night with Blonde roommate. We had intended to go out and see a movie, but it is disgusting up here in NYC, so we stayed in with pizza and a movie on TV. The movie? Julie and Julia.

Duh, says Blonde as she reads over my shoulder.

Anyway, I figured it would be kind of funny to blog about a movie about a blog- it's very meta.

You're such a nerd! cries the peanut gallery.

As I was saying, it was a cute movie, and I especially liked the premise...

You mean promise...of love... swoons Blonde with a sarcastic sigh.

No, I mean premise, as in someone becoming rich and famous by writing a blog about something crappy in their life.

Yeah, whiny people get rich and famous!

Thanks for the vote of confidence, Blonde. This shall be the last time we team blog.

Unless, of course, you loyal readers tell me you like it, and that you would buy a book of this particular form of hilarity and make me so rich that I forget about my miserable personal life...

Any takers?

Thought not.

In any case, another interesting fact that I learned from the movie is that the great and fabulous Julia Child herself was a virgin until the age of 40!

Is that 40 factorial?

Who's the nerd now, Blondie?!?!

So yes, Julia Child was also afflicted with this particular curse. And she cooks better than I do.

That's debatable...

Oh, that you're going to put in!

Of course I am, darling Blonde. My blog, my rules. And I like compliments.

Also, Paul Child was kind of a douche about her virginity. Take this passage from Laura Shapiro's Julia Child (thanks, Google Books!):

"Paul found Julia 'extremely likeable and pleasant to have around,' but he had no intention of pursuing her romantically. She was a virgin,  he reported to Charlie, [his twin brother] and probably afraid of sex- [...] Here, he decided, was 'the traditional old maid of song and story,' subconsciously obsessed with sex but unable to handle the reality. 'I feel very sorry for her because while I see clearly what the cure is, I do not see clearly who will apply it,' he wrote."

And this is the guy who married her?!?!? What the hell did the people who didn't marry her think of her?!?

I'm screwed...

In fact, you're not.

Well, date night is still young, my dear...

*Technorati Claim Code YKQT53ATBGZ8
If you're not from Technorati, please ignore! 

Sunday, February 21, 2010

Kourtney Kardashian and I are Soulmates

So, I'm watching "Kourtney and Khloe Take Miami", thanks to my dear roommate who thoroughly enjoys keeping up with the Kardashians. I refuse to admit that I secretly enjoy this schlock...

Anyway, in this riveting episode, Khloe auditions men to date her sister Kourtney, much to Kourtney's chagrin. Kourtney explicitly talks about her hatred of dating, particularly awkward first dates (ie my entire dating life). When Khloe tries to pump Kourtney up for her date, Kourtney just seems pissed.

I so relate to that. My other roommate...

You know what? This whole two roommate thing is going to get confusing. So, starting now, they will be Blonde Roommate and Brunette Roommate. Brunette is the one who keeps up with the Kardashians; Blonde is the one who tries to make me keep up to Kardashian-esque levels of mayhem.

So, my other roommate Blonde roommate likes to try to pump me up for dates by doing exactly what Khloe did- coming in while I'm getting dressed and asking me if I'm excited and making kissy faces.

I react the same way Kourtney does- whining and making sad faces and threatening to punch any man who comes anywhere near me with a kissy face.

Blonde seems to think this is a bad reaction. But I say, if it's good enough for Kourtney Kardashian, it's good enough for me! She has a baby, so she's definitely gotten laid at least once...

Fixed?

Went to an engagement party last night for two wonderful friends of mine. It was a lovely dinner, but it seems there is nothing like celebrating another persons' future happiness with alcohol to bring out the bitter in a bunch of single girls...

Case in point: I got at least three compliments on this here blog (Yay, ego points!) from various party goers. However, they all mentioned that they were not able to post comments. I guess now would be a good time to mention that, in addition to being stupid in love, I'm tech stupid. So, I played with some settings, and I think I have fixed the problem...

So, let me know what you think! Comment away!

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

A Trip to the Jersey Frog Pond (Part III)

So, we made it to date three. I dragged myself onto NJ Transit upon his request to not always be the one traveling, which was really a mistake on his part, as the humidity of public transportation melts not only my hair and make-up, but a good portion of my goodwill towards men.

So I arrive in Jersey City (or was it Newark? Paramus? Who the hell cares?) where Jersey Frog declares that he will be taking me to a great little restaurant he's picked out.

"Wow!" I think, "This is turning out really well!"

And as we waltz hand-in-hand down the sidewalk of Main Street Jersey-Newark-Paramus City, visions of wedding bells dancing in my head, we turn in to an adorable little pub, decorated with dark wood and faux gas lanterns.

The hostess leads us up a winding staircase to a spacious, elegantly decorated room with floor-to-ceiling picture windows looking out to the water and the Manhattan skyline. I am extremely impressed, and say as much to Jersey Frog, who I notice is shifting uneasily in his chair.

Just as I begin to glance at the scrumptious looking menu, I hear a whisper from his end of the table.

"Ummm....do you want to stay here?"

"Of course!" I blurt out, "It's beautiful, and the menu looks great!" I tear my eyes away from the menu and towards his face, where I notice beads of sweat forming on his brow.

"What's wrong?"

At this point, I am getting a little annoyed. I understand that he didn't realize how expensive the place was (which it was, but only as compared to the burger joints we had eaten in on our first two dates), but I was also curious as to why he did not research that in the first place, if money was such an issue.

So, we had arrived at a crossroads. The way I saw it, he could either suck up his mistake and treat me to a nice meal, or he could ask if I might mind paying my half. I figured either choice was the acceptable, manly thing to do.

And then he decided to go for option three:

"Well...um...I...uh...I don't like this kind of food..."

I glanced at the menu again. "Really? You don't like steak? Or chicken?..."

"I...uhhh...you know...fancy food. I don't like fancy food."

At which point I had to literally bite the inside of my cheek to keep from saying, "Oh! You mean good food! You don't like good food! Got it!" But I refrained and instead tried to lead him towards one of the more acceptable options:

"Well, if you're concerned about the price, I would be happy to pay for myself."

At this point, he turns bright red and glares at me. "It's not the money. It's the food. Let's go." He then abruptly pushes himself away from the table, almost knocking over the startled waitress who was trying to bring us some water.

"Is everything alright, sir?"

"We...uhh....we need to leave. Bye," he stammers as he literally runs down the stairs.

Mortified, I apologize to the waitress and follow him out the door, where I walk in stony silence as he leads me to a dingy sports bar, where he proceeds to order yet another burger and scarf it down without even a morsel of good conversation. I had a better chat with the waiter, who would have made the much better date except that he looked like a pirate (not in the Johnny Depp sense- in the long hair, long beard, haven't-showered-for-days sense).

At the end of the meal, Cheapo Frog walked me to the train station, where he proceeded to grab me and lock me into the most slobbery, disgusting, needlessly long kiss I have ever had the displeasure of being involved in. As he tried to reach for more, I wiggled out of his grip and ran down the stairs as fast as I could.

As I sat in the disgusting humidity of the train, obsessively chewing gum to try to rid my mouth of the taste of frog breath, I tried to at least think of something I had learned from this experience. I came up with the following words of wisdom:

  • If you get a weird vibe on the first date, he might be worth a second chance. But if he's still weird on the second date, RUN!
  •  If a man has never moved out of his parents' house, RUN!
And, read carefully, gents:
  • If you want a taste of that sweet, sweet milk, you would be wise not to trick your cow into thinking you're capable of providing the Prime Rib when all you're really worth is a burger. 

Thursday, February 11, 2010

A Trip to the Jersey Frog Pond (Part II)

So, Jersey Frog got a second chance. Despite the minor annoyances of the first date, he seemed like a nice guy, if a bit shy and withdrawn. I was convinced that if I could just pull him out of his shell, he might be my dream guy- the love of my life, the ice cream to my apple pie...

I suppose I should take a moment to mention that I don't really have a "dating" mindset. I tend to think of men as either total losers, great friends or future husbands; there's no real middle ground in my twisted brain.

There's nothing wrong with that, right? Men aren't totally freaked out by that, right?

Crap.

Anyway, my brilliant plan was to bring along two friends of mine to make it a double date. The male half of this particular couple worked in the same field as Jersey Frog, a field about which I know nothing and care even less, as it deals with numbers, which may be the scariest objects on the planet, and I hoped that the presence of other people would take some pressure off so that his sparkling personality could shine through.

Which is exactly what happened...in an alternate reality in which this is a blog about my awesome dating life.

What actually happened is that Jersey Frog became even more closed off than before. He chewed on yet another cheeseburger and gave one word answers and assorted grunts to any question posed to him while awkwardly trying to cozy up to me. When I didn't return his displays of affection, he pouted and, according to my friends, made pathetic puppy dog faces.

As a matter of fact, the only time his answers became more elaborate was when he was discussing his family, which he did almost exclusively. Now, don't get me wrong- I love my family. They're big and loud and they drive me crazy, and I couldn't imagine life without them. But as much as I adore them, I don't talk about them

All the time and to the exclusion of nearly everything else.

Especially not in elaborate detail requiring the use of family trees in order to avoid the stifling of yawns and such fascinating statements as "Wait, whose brother is Uncle Larry? And he's the diabetic? Oh, that's right...he's a dietitian..."

It was at this point that he also revealed that he still lives with his parents.

Now, before I get shouts of outrage from all of you in the North East, I am fully willing to admit that living in the Tri-State area is stupidly expensive, and that it is completely rational to stay at home for a little while in order to save money. But I draw the line at living with your parents not only throughout college, but during the first five years after graduation, when you have a job that pays perfectly adequately, with no solid plan to move out.

But hindsight is 20/20, and I was willing to overlook yet another annoying and suspicious trait in the hopes that it would turn out to be a cute (yet still suspicious) trait. Keep in mind the amount of desperation at play here.

So, you guessed it...Jersey Frog gets another chance...

But just as in baseball (another topic about which I know nearly nothing...), there's only three strikes before you're out...

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Apparently, I'm not the only one having problems!

A New York Times report on the shortage of good, college-aged men.

Sigh.


http://www.nytimes.com/2010/02/07/fashion/07campus.html?scp=6&sq=college&st=cse

A Trip to the Jersey Frog Pond (Part I)

Every once in a while, a gentleman takes a while to reveal his warts and actually cons me into more than one date. Our dear Jersey Frog was one such guy.

This one was found wallowing in the pond known as JDate.

"Oh, a nice Jewish boy!" you (and my mom) exclaim.

Nope. A nice Christian boy. Who likes Jewish girls. Because he enjoys being nagged and force fed?

This should have been my first clue.

But he was tall and cute, if a bit overweight. Not that that matters to me. If anything, I like when a guy is fatter than me, because it makes me look thin.

Unfortunately, he didn't share this opinion. From the beginning of the evening, all he would talk about was how much he was trying to lose weight, and exercise, and diet. Actually, he only paused this topic of conversation to order and eat his dinner.

A bacon cheeseburger and onion rings.

Annoying? A bit. But not a deal breaker. So, after a sweet little hug, I agreed to meet him again.

What an adventure that would turn out to be...

Let's Start At The Very Beginning

It is, after all, a very good place to start. And yes, I have considered that one of the reasons I am single is my propensity for quoting musicals.

It also does not help that I don't love to drink, hate clubs, and rarely leave my house except to attend school, theatre and classical music concerts (see the above musicals comment).

"So how do you expect to meet straight, single men?" you (and my roommates and my mom) cry.

Why, the internet, of course!

You can see where this is going...

The subject of Story Number One, who will be referred to as Acne Frog, was one such internet meeting. He was tall and handsome...in his picture, anyway. In real life, he was short, had horrific breath, and was covered in the kind of acne that gets your head flushed in a toilet in middle school.

But he seemed so nice online, and I was still a gullible girl from south of the Mason-Dixon line, so I went to Starbucks with him anyway.

Where twenty minutes into our date, he leans over and attempts to stick his disgusting, presumably acne covered, tongue down my throat!

And if that doesn't seem sufficiently inappropriate to you, you are not from the South. Find your closest redneck or belle and have them explain good ol' fashioned Southern manners to you.

It's ok. I'll wait.

Of course, you're thinking "So, that's it, right? You slapped him and stormed out of Starbucks!"

Wrong.

This poor, gullible Southern belle thought that he might reform his ways after being told (very politely, I might add) to back the hell off. But of course he didn't. As we walked out of the Starbucks towards a park, he grabbed my hand. I, stupidly, let him. And to my great relief, once we sat on a park bench, he let go of my hand.

To grab my breast.

"Have you slapped him yet?"

Nope. Poor, gullible and, might I add, desperate.

I waited until he grabbed my thigh, tried to pull me into him, and told me that he wanted to get to know me better physically to run straight for the nearest subway train.

Lesson learned: Even the thickest layer of Southern charm cannot turn a frog into a prince.

Monday, February 8, 2010

Once Upon a Time...

there was a beautiful princess who lived in a magical land. Ok, she was overweight and average-looking on a good day. And she lived in a podunk Southern town most well-known for bible colleges and military presence.

Anyway, she was very unlucky in love. Try as she might, she just could not find the prince to sweep her off her feet. It probably didn't help that the first prince she dated turned out to be a Queen.

So she decided to try her luck in the far away and truly magical land of New York City. Because she somehow thought that being a Nursing major with an Educational Theatre minor at one of the most openly gay universities in the United States would help her find the heterosexual man of her dreams.

Obviously, that worked out.

As depressing as she finds her horrific dating misadventures to be, her friends and family find them hilarious, and encouraged her to compose a blog to share the hilarity with others.

Enjoy.