Trader Joe goes Broadway!

For our third date, Trader Joe offered lunch and a movie and I accepted, thinking either (a) the previous date was a fluke, and he's actually a really mature guy who isn't at all desperate or clingy and we could have a great time and keep dating, or

(b) I could get a free lunch and movie, and would only have to talk to him for half of the afternoon.

So, we met at the train station and started walking towards a French restaurant I had suggested. As we were walking, he retold the same stories he had told me on the previous two dates...

Actually, let's discuss that for a minute. If someone is retelling stories on the third date, they either lead an incredibly boring life, or have an atrocious memory. Or both, and are pathological liars who cannot remember that they already invented that story to cover up for their otherwise boring life. I don't know which affliction Trader Joe was suffering from, but it was bad.

And perhaps contagious. I suggest staying away from all men showing signs of this disease.

Anyway, I zoned out until we reached Times Square, when he started gawking like a tourist (remember...born and raised in New York) and exclaimed:

"I know! Let's see a show!"

Ok...I thought. I would generally rather see a Broadway show than a movie, and I still don't have to talk to him. Sweet! This may turn out well after all!

"Sounds great! Let's go to the TKTS booth!" (where they sell discounted same-day tickets)

We went to the booth, and after talking with some of the volunteers, we decided to see High, starring Kathleen Turner. As you know from reading the link (or being one of the approximately 10 people who managed to catch the show before it closed), High is an intense drama discussing rape, drugs, prostitution, religion...name a controversial topic, it was in this show. There is also a scene featuring extended full-frontal nudity.

I was intrigued. Joe was giggling like a school girl at the prospect of seeing someone naked.

And (supposedly) he's the one who's not a virgin in this conversation...

So, we get the tickets. Ok, I get the tickets, because he had a heart attack with his eyes when the guy told him the price (which was 50% of the actual price, by the way). So he suggested that he pay for lunch. But not at the (delicious) French place I had suggested.

At the burger joint  down the block. Because it was "closer to the theatre".

By one avenue block.

*sigh*

So, we see the show, which was very powerful and very well-acted and contained a very large naked male penis.

By the way, I have now seen four Broadway shows with male nudity, and all four men were extremely well-endowed. I would really like to know how they cast these roles...

Wait...what was I doing? Oh, blogging. Right...

Remember when I said the show discussed things like rape and drug use? Romantic, sexy topics, right?

Joe seemed to think so, because he put his hand on my thigh at EVERY dramatic pause. And when do dramatic pauses happen? After something dramatic.

Like...

A character revealing that he was raped at the age of 14 by his mother's john.
Joe's hand goes to my thigh.


A character revealing that her younger sister was murdered by a man she invited into the house while high. Joe's hand goes to my thigh.


After the fourth time, when I was certain it could not possibly be a coincidence (unless he was too stupid to be following the plot of the show, which may actually be worse), I moved as far away as I could while still staying in my seat and tried to enjoy the rest of the show.


Afterwards, as we were walking back to the train station, I asked how he liked he show.


His response?


"Well...that guy...he was naked. Really naked. Wow."


Which he repeated like a mantra until I dropped the 28-year-old man-child off at his train.

Just when you thought it was safe

to re-enter the dating pool...

But it is not sharks we fear, is it? Sharks, after all, are awesome. They have an entire amazing week of ridiculous programming devoted to them on the Discovery Channel. And *identifying detail alert!* I have one tattooed on my foot.

It is, in fact, the frogs, lurking in their muddy bogs, waiting to pounce and give you warts.

Or at least a really awkward date.

So, as you may have noticed, I haven't posted (*cough* been on a date *cough cough*) in a while. Like I said in November, I started graduate school, and have been collecting part-time jobs like a 12 year old boy collects Pokemon (wait...do those even exist anymore?), so I haven't really had time to seriously pursue meeting any of the guys I've been speaking to occasionally online.

But Trader Joe (named for the location of a particularly weird story which Blonde Roommate loves to re-tell!) was very persuasive. We spoke a few times on OkCupid and GChat, and he seemed funny, interesting, and intelligent, and we had quite a few things in common. So, when he asked if we could meet for dinner, I was happy to agree. I was even more happy when he brought me a pink rose and insisted on paying! In any case, we had a very nice time, and I was actually excited to go out again.

I should have known better. The second date started out just as well as the first- nice restaurant, a rose, a promise to pay the bill. But the conversation took an extremely odd turn. He told me a story about his best friend and a trip he was going to take to visit him.

In California.

That's weird, I thought. He was born and raised in New York, and has lived here his whole life. How did his best friend come to be in California?

"So, you know him from college?" I asked.

He laughed. Loudly. Never a good sign.

"Oh, of course not. He's only 17!"

I'll give you the moment I did not have to process that.

Immediately, all of the horrible thoughts that could possibly come up when a 28 year old man describes a 17 year old boy as his best friend began galloping through my head, just in time for them to be replaced with the only thing that could possibly be worse:

"I met him playing Call of Duty on XBox Live"

Ummm...

Uhhh...

Well...

What?...

I literally have no more words for that.

The rest of the conversation was him describing the importance of XBox in his life, and other such fascinating subjects.

I tried to bow out of the remainder of the afternoon by telling him I needed to go clothes shopping for an upcoming trip (which was, incidentally, true). He asked to come with me.

Ummm...

Uhhh...

Well...

If you want...?

And we thus embarked on the fastest trip to Macy's ever, in which I ran through the Women's section, narrating my thoughts like a homeless person so that he wouldn't feel like I was ignoring him, and purchased the first things I saw that had a chance in hell of fitting (AND were on sale- even distracted by a bad date, the Jew in me will save money!).

And then I dropped him off at the train station and left, vowing never to see him again.

Did I keep that vow? Are you really even asking that? Have you read this blog? Go back and read a few entries. Go ahead. I'll wait.

....
....
...

You're back? Excellent. Then you know that there is a part II to this story coming soon...

A Glee-ful Addendum

Still nothing on the ladies, but seems the delicious Matthew Morrison kept his v-card until he was 21...

http://www.eonline.com/uberblog/marc_malkin/b211740_matthew_morrison_keeps_showing_off.html

Reflections

I'll go ahead and admit it- I am a full-blown, bona-fide Gleek. I love everything about Glee- the storylines, the music, the acting...occasionally the lack thereof. And seeing as how I haven't been dating lately (blah blah blah grad school blah blah blah work blah blah blah I'd really just rather stay home), I have had a lot of time to watch (and reflect upon) Glee.

Nota Bene: If you've never seen Glee, or if you don't like it, you'll probably want to skip this post. I'll try my hardest to snag myself an interesting date for your reading pleasure real soon...

Particularly the appearance of not one, but TWO adult female virgins! When Emma Pillsbury (played by Jayma Mays) admitted to being a virgin last season, I immediately began scouring the internet for opinions. What did people think? Were they shocked? Angry? Disgusted? Did they even care?

Apparently, not really. I have not been able to find a single comment, negative or positive, on this development, on the ENTIRE INTERNET!

Ok, on the first page of a Google search of "emma pillsbury virgin". Same diff.

But I was shocked. Sure, this woman has some serious issues, but she's sweet and gorgeous and thin- I would have thought at least ONE man would have had sex with her in spite of her issues.

But not a one. Not even sweet Will Schuester (Matthew Morrison). And no one on the internet finds this mentionable. It's as if this is totally and completely expected...

In which case I am SOOO totally screwed. I may as well be Coach Beiste (Dot-Marie Jones), McKinley High School's startlingly masculine football coach, whose physical appearance is supposedly so abhorrent as to be able to calm the raging sex hormones of the school's teenagers. She admitted two episodes ago that she has never been kissed, and was subsequently granted a tender peck by (apparent virgin magnet) Mr. Schuester.

What does the Internet have to say about this? They mostly feel bad for Coach Beiste because her first kiss was a "pity kiss". Which, I admit, was pretty much my feeling, too.

However, a few folks have chimed in that the kiss in question might not have been a pity kiss at all. It could have been a friendly, platonic kiss. There might have even been some romantic intention...

To which I say bullshit. First of all, a platonic kiss on the lips? Call me old fashioned, but I don't go around kissing my platonic male friends on the lips. And romantic intention? The man wouldn't even mess with the hot virgin!!!

But you know what? The fact that he's been messing with virgins at all is good enough for me. Because even though popular media is portraying adult victims of unintentional virginity as neurotic and/or unattractive, the fact that they are being portrayed at all gives me a solid case of the warm fuzzies.

And isn't that what television is supposed to do?

Out of the mouths of babes...

When I'm not out trolling for gentleman (gentle-ing for trolls would be more like it...), I work as a private duty nurse. One of my clients, an older woman, likes for me to sit with her during meals and chat. We discuss a variety of topics, and today she broached the subject of my love life:

Client: So, do you have a boyfriend?

Me: No, not right now.

Client: You know, that's the problem with your generation. You're all looking for love. Love isn't what's important. It's good communication and great sex.

Me: (stifling a laugh by stuffing cereal into my mouth) So, you think communication and sex are more important than love?

Client: (shrugs) What is love? I don't know, and I've been married and had lovers. Did I love them? Who knows? But I enjoyed talking to them and sleeping with them.


May I someday have as vital a "love" life as my dear client.

Apparently, my blog is in communication with species from another planet

w I7( ?? y??????? DE?A??X?.??s ?lN???2; B????? z?A??N? ]?a?i ???r?;?.?@?7(????a{ ??y?<]v? ? ? ?A??? J???? d~??? ] ???9H?@ ?tP> ??

Or, I tried to post to my blog from my phone, and it didn't work.

One or the other.

Here's what this post was ACTUALLY supposed to say:

In a cab right now. The cabbie is definitely hitting on me:

"What's your name? Do you have a boyfriend? Do you like Indian food?" says the (Indian) cab driver.

I'm playing along...what else am I gonna do while trapped in a cab? Blog? (Editor's note: Apparently, can't do that either...)

Then he asks my age. So I coyly reply, "Guess.."

He guessed 35!!!!!! Then mentioned that drinking Diet Coke makes you fat! Guess what I'm drinking right now!!!!

Smooth, Cabbie frog...real smooth. You don't even get a fake number now...

(Editor's note, part 2: Although he did give me his "business card" at the end of the ride, which I promptly trashed.)

How to lose a girl in 10 seconds

As you may have noticed from the lack of posts lately, I have not been dating recently. Not that I don't want to, but with starting school and a new job, I just haven't had the time.

But now that things are finally starting to calm down, I am back on the prowl. Blonde Roommate suggested I try OkCupid for my next venture, so I put up a profile, answering questions like "What do you like to do on Friday nights?" by explaining that I often throw a potluck dinner for my friends, and other things like that which make me awesome.

Less than an hour later, I had a new message in my inbox.

Woohoo! Maybe this is the website I've been looking for!

What did the message say?

"Whoa pot luck dinners? R u 50? Ha"

Charming...

An Oldie, but a Goodie

Wow...it's been a long time since my last post! I don't really have an excuse, except for this week, when my adorable 3-year-old goddaughter came to visit (with her parents, of course...but she's much cuter).

As I was chasing this beautiful baby girl around New York City, I realized that the experience was very similar to being on a date- it's a very exciting prospect which sometimes becomes a wonderful, magical experience, but sometimes just tires you out and wears you down until you just want to crawl under your comforter for a week to get some peace and quiet

You may have noticed that the majority of my dates are in the later category.

Including one which took place many moons ago (about three years, to be precise). I had recently attended my very first speed dating event, where I met a guy who we'll call Bob the Builder Frog, as an homage to his job in construction and the fact that I watched way too much Nick Jr. this weekend. Bob seemed nice enough during our five minute conversation, so I agreed to meet him for drinks later that week.

Bob emailed me and asked if I liked beer. I told him that I did not. He then suggested a bar in the West Village well known for its beer variety. I reiterated that I do not like beer.

"Oh" he said, "Well, I think they have wine, too"

Turns out they did have wine- one type of red sold by the glass from a bottle that tasted like it had been left out for days. I sipped from my glass sullenly while I waited for Bob to show up. When he finally approached, I was shocked by how much shorter he was than I had remembered.

Well, I am on a barstool...

So I climbed down...and realized that he was still a solid 6 inches shorter than me. And I was wearing flats.

I guess I should have thought to stand up at some point during our speed date.

We proceeded to a table where he ordered three different beers "so I could try them".

Did I mention I don't like beer?

I could tell this was not going to be a very productive evening, but figured I might as well see if I could get some free appetizers or something out of it.

That didn't happen, of course, but I did find out that Bob can down him some beer, and that he has tattoos on his calf and his shoulder, neither of which his parents know about.

Which is interesting, because he

Say it with me now!

LIVES WITH HIS PARENTS!

I really need to start making different mistakes...

Anyway, the date ended abruptly when I went to the restroom and came back to Bob already standing and heading towards the door, having thrown some cash onto the table.

His last words before he turned and walked away?

"Nice to meet you. You can finish my beer if you want."

A Modest Proposal

Loyal Readers, I am happy to inform you that Librarian Frog has been officially dumped back into the dating pond.

But not without a final dose of supreme awkwardness...

Sunday afternoon marked Date #4, and I was completely prepared to enjoy a delicious lunch (because I picked the restaurant) and then politely inform Librarian that I did not ever want to see him again.

But my plan was foiled when I turned the corner to the restaurant and saw him waiting outside

with flowers.

Call me a softy, but I just can't bring myself to tell a guy who has just brought me flowers to take a hike...

So we finally reach the end of the date. He attempts to make out with me in front of the building where the family I was about to meet for a potential babysitting job lives, then he proceeds to grab my shoulders, look me straight in the eyes, and say

"I think we should make this official"

wha wha wha WHAT?!?!?!

My incredibly eloquent response? "I...ummm...gotta go!"

At which point I turned, ran into the building, gave the flowers to my potential employer (it was, coincidentally, her birthday, so bonus points for me!) and began to draft the "it's not you...well, actually, it is you" email that I sent today.

A Dilemma

We are now approaching date #4 with Librarian Frog, and frankly, I don't know what to do about this one...

You see, I'm used to my usual pattern of one or two dates, followed by some crazy and ridiculous happening on the part of the Frog that makes it very easy for me to run screaming into the hills (or across avenues, as the case may be).

Don't get me wrong; Librarian has had his fair share of weirdness- the stalker phone calls continued until the second date, at which point I told him to cease and desist. But then he just came up with new ways to be clingy. Note that these events happened after date #3:

Example #1: We're chatting online, sending links to each other with date activity suggestions, and he sends me a link to a weekend wine tour in the Finger Lakes of Upstate New York. I respond that I don't think I know him well enough to go on a weekend trip. He responds, "Maybe next month".

Example #2: I am discussing a kayaking trip that a friend and I have been planning for weeks, and Librarian Frog says, "Well, it's a good thing you didn't invite me, because I'm scared of water."

Why in the WORLD would I invite someone I've met three times to come with me on a previously-arranged day trip? Who in their right mind goes on a weekend trip with someone they've only met THREE TIMES?!?!?

Also, who develops a phobia to water after falling out of a bunk bed during a storm on a cruise at the age of nine? Yes, that was Librarian's explanation for his fear of water...

sigh On the other hand (paw? flipper? webbed foot? What is that part of frog anatomy called?), he is a good conversationalist and is obviously either really interested or really desperate (and what's the difference, really?), so I feel bad turning those good traits down...

Yet I have a feeling that this Librarian could very easily recategorize himself from "Goofy Romantic" to "Creepy Glenn-Close-in-Fatal-Attraction Psycho".

I think it's time to hop to the next lily pad...

Speaking of stalking...

So, I went on a date yesterday with a gentleman we'll call Librarian Frog, after his chosen profession. It was pretty uneventful- some decent conversation, some awkward moments (especially at the end, when he went in for a kiss, I turned, and he caught one-third of my bottom lip and half of my chin). Not blog-worthy, but not fantastic. I figure I'll give the guy at least one more chance to become one or the other.

That is, if he doesn't have some kind of psychotic break because I didn't talk to him immediately after our date.

It started harmlessly enough with an email he sent after last night's date, simply saying he had a great time and hoped to see me again blah blah blah. A little soon after the date to initiate contact in my opinion, but at least an email is relatively unobtrusive. And it just feels less creepy and stalker-ish.

Then I missed a call from him today at 9am. And 11am. And 2pm. And 9:45pm (ok, that one I saw and ignored).

After the last call, he left the following message, as transcribed from my answering machine (because I am that devoted to you, loyal readers):

Hello Sexless, How are you? It's Librarian Frog. It is about a quarter to ten Sunday night. Umm...I didn't hear back from you, umm...I hope it's not a bad thing, umm...I hope you had a good time yesterday because I did and I was hoping to talk to you today...umm...I don't wanna make this more complicated than it has to be. If for whatever reason you're not interested, I understand. If you could just send me a quick email, and I will go away. But I hope you're just busy and haven't gotten around to calling me back. So one way or another, I look forward to hearing from you soon. Have a good night, and Bye.

Well, damn. Talk about low self-esteem! I called the poor kid back so that he wouldn't be tempted to leap out a window or anything, and set up a date for Thursday, at which point he thought it prudent to remind me that, if I wanted to talk to him before then, just to say hi or whatever, I could call. Or email.

Or presumably send one of the carrier pigeons I have left over from Raspberry Beret.

Did I mention that this poor kid is 36 years old?

Oh, I didn't?

Maybe he is blog-worthy after all...

A Raspberry Beret Update

Remember this frog?

After our ill-fated date, I severed all contact- blocked his Yahoo messages, Gmail chats, and Facebook friend requests, burned his letters and shot down his carrier pigeons.

Ok, he didn't actually try to Gmail Chat with me...

He did, however, send a Facebook friend request

To my dog.

I leave it to you to decide whether it is more pathetic that my dog has a Facebook, or that my awful date tried to stalk me through my dog.

Where do I get me one of these?!?

If only it came with an attractive partner...

http://www.yourtango.com/20086626/lose-your-virginity-kit

Cake Conundrum

Sometimes a frog does something so weird, so random, so downright strange that you can do nothing but stare at him in amazement and wonder how in the world you could be dating someone who would do something like that.

Let's take the case of Cake Frog. I had been on a few dates with him, and things were going well. His only real flaw at this point seemed to be chronic extreme tardiness- we're talking 2 or 3 hours late for plans.

When I invited him over for dinner at my place with some friends, I begged him to be on time because I wanted him to make a good impression on my friends...

By which, of course, I mean The Roommates.

Hell hath no fury like roommates who don't like your new date.

He promised that he would be on time, even early. In addition, he promised that he would bring a homemade cake. He boasted about his secret recipe to making a delicious vegan banana-filled layer cake, which sounded intriguing, if not delicious, because really?

Vegan cake? It's like decaffeinated coffee- it works, but what's the point?

But I digress.

So, the big day finally comes. I get a call an hour before dinner from Cake Frog saying that he'll be a few minutes late because he is dropping his sister off at a friend's house and still needs to run home to get the cake.

Alright, I say. That's fine. He's helping out family, and he called in advance.

An hour passes. Then two. I call again. He's hit traffic and will be another hour.

Mind you he lives in Queens. Remember our geography lesson? There would have had to have been a 75 car pile up hit by a train on fire during a hail storm to keep someone in traffic for three hours.

I'm starting to get very nervous. Then he finally shows up

With a beautiful white cake box, inside of which was a perfectly decorated layer cake resting on a silver doily.

He apologized profusely for being late and immediately began trying to charm my roommates when Brunette asked what had made him so late (subtle, that one...)

"Oh, I had to drop my sister off at a friend's. And I was working so hard on this cake..."

Brunette stares at it and asks, as sweetly as she can, "Wow! You made that?"

"Yes," he grins proudly. "And there's no butter and no eggs."

"Amazing!" adds Blonde. "And what's inside?"

"Bananas" states Cake Frog.

When we finally slice into the cake, we discover that, not only is it WAY too fluffy to be vegan, but the filling is

Strawberries and Pineapple.

As soon as Cake Frog departs, the Roommates descend on the cake remains of the cake like buzzards.

"There is NO way he made that! It looks too nice!"

"He didn't even know what was in it!"

"He was three hours late and didn't even bother to bring a homemade cake?"

"And then OBVIOUSLY lied about it?"

"Why would someone do that?!?!"

Dear reader, rest assured that I did not stick around long enough to find out what would possess a person to do such a silly, silly thing...

The Aftermath

Luckily, our high school's Drama Club was also in New York that week, so we spent a lot of time running around the city with them. He largely ignored me, and I busied myself with volunteering to chaperone some of the kids to various tourist sites. I sent him back home with a kiss and the hope that we could figure out exactly what was going on once he was back at college and we had some time and space separating us from the awkwardness of the situation.

We spoke on the phone a few times over the next week. He blamed his behavior on stress, feeling uncomfortable with a new place and new situation...frankly, everything except alien abduction.

As I was hanging up the phone after one of our talks, I said "I love you", as I had plenty of times before. And he did not respond.

Then he didn't answer or return my calls for the next few days.

Then I received a Facebook message from a friend of mine who also happened to be one of Broadway's housemates. In the message, she expressed her condolences on Broadway and I's breakup.

Wait....

What?!?!?!? When did we break up?!?!?

These were my first words to my dear, sweet friend when I called her and demanded to know what Broadway had told her. She hemmed and hawed and insisted that I talk to him directly.

Of course, he ignored my call, but I left a message demanding that we talk NOW and, low and behold, I received a call about an hour later.

At first, he refused to acknowledge that he had told his friends at school that we had broken up. When directly confronted, he hemmed and hawed and finally, FINALLY (I'll spare you all of the details of this three hour call, dear readers) admitted that

You (and my roommates, and my brother, and...well...any of my friends or family members who had met him) guessed it...he's gay.

I know, I know...I should have known. Everyone else did. But what could I do? He was popular, attractive, friendly, intelligent, fun...and he really, genuinely seemed to like me.

Right up until the point when he decided to leave me lying half naked in a pool of my own naivete because he had a mutual male friend of ours who was equally unclothed and willing back at school.

To be fair, I didn't find out about that until much later.

It also took me a while to find out that my roommates had used a gay male friend of ours to try to seduce him over spring break to find out if he really was gay or not. At first, I was upset by this, and if I had written this post a year ago, I probably would have suggested to anyone in a similar situation to tell your friend that the person she's dating isn't *ahem* right for her.

But, you know? I wouldn't have listened if they had. I probably just would have been angry and resentful. And I might have lost wonderful friends who were helping in the best way they knew how.

Which brings me to the morals of this tale:

If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it's almost certainly a duck.

and

Good friends are always there fore you, whereas boyfriends my hop away at any moment.

The Spring Break from Hell, Part III

Later that evening, after a sullen dinner at New York's famous Stardust Diner (a 50's themed restaurant featuring waiters/waitresses who sing and dance),

...oh, why was it sullen? Because I refused to let Broadway pay for dinner, and I suppose he felt emasculated...

we got back to the dorm, and he said that he was going to go down to one of the practice rooms to "sing off some steam"...

Remember, we met in Drama club, and he was a theatre major in school.

And yes, my dorm had practice rooms. I'm not even going to lie and say that wasn't a major factor in my college decision making.

Anyway, back to lil' ol' me, alone in my bedroom while Broadway was belting out showtunes downstairs to repair his damaged manhood. I went to my dresser and reached deep down into the bottom of my underwear drawer, where I had hidden a lacy white bra and panty set that I had found in the sale bin at Victoria's Secret the month before, and a condom that I had snagged from the student health center- if I recall correctly, it might even have been flavored.

I snuck into the bathroom and donned my lacy ensemble. I sucked in my gut, touched up my mascara and put on some sexy red lipstick purchased just for the occasion. Then I decided that the lipstick was a bit much and blotted it down to almost nothing before applying my usual pink gloss.

I brushed and touseled my hair, applied some glitter lotion to the curve of my breasts (I had read in Cosmo that it makes your cleavage look better), and smiled at the sexy girl in the mirror who would, soon enough, become a woman.

After a quick glance to see if any of my suitemates were lurking in the hallway, I dashed into my bedroom and arranged myself on my bed in a way (probably suggested by Cosmo) that I hoped would maximize my curves while minimizing my, well, less-desirable curves. I had just finished fanning my hair across the pillow and placing the condom in an accessible, yet not too obvious position on my dresser when I heard the door open.

I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep as I listened to Broadway's footsteps approach the bed. I heard them stop and opened my eyes slowly, trying to feign both sleepiness and surprise.

As Broadway's form appeared in my vision, I glanced up at him in what I hoped was a seductive manner and smiled.

He glared back and sighed.

"Move over. And please cover up. We obviously need to talk."


...


...





Go ahead. Listen to as many types of crickets as you need to before continuing. I'll understand, because I was hearing nothing but crickets and the sound of shame flushing over my cheeks as I pulled myself into as tiny a ball as I could and cocooned myself in my comforter.

Broadway then proceeded to explain how he was sorry for the way he reacted, he was just so shocked because he wasn't ready to take our relationship that far, blah blah blah. All I could really hear was the sound of my own voice berating myself for being so stupid to think that anyone would want to sleep with me and for being so damn needy and for wasting all of that money on my sexy underwear, even if it was on sale...

Yes, even in moments of shame and guilt (hell...ESPECIALLY in moments of shame and guilt), I remain a stereotypical Jew.

Next thing I knew, Broadway put his arm around my shoulders and placed my head on his chest. I suppose it was supposed to be a consolation prize. I suppose I should have been happy for any physical intimacy at all. But all I could do was lie still and try not to cry my girlish tears for the woman I was supposed to become with the man I thought I loved.

The Spring Break from Hell, Part II

The anxiously awaited day finally arrived- at T-minus 4 hours to Broadway's arrival, I went to my favorite salon to get my nails "did" (as we say down here beneath the Mason-Dixon), fixed my hair and makeup just so, and put on a brand new outfit made of one of Broadway's favorite fabrics in his favorite color.

I took the train to Newark Airport and nervously played with my hair and re-applied lipstick until his plane arrived. My heart was leaping from my chest as I imagined our reunion: I would run straight into his arms, where he would lift me into a passionate embrace and treat me to the type of kiss that makes cameras pan and spin.

When I saw his lithe form walking across the terminal, I prepared for my running leap,

then quickly backpedaled as I saw him in deep conversation with an "old friend" he had run into on the plane. When they finally completed their conversation, he obligingly turned his attention to me and gave me a sweet, yet completely undeserving of creative camera angles, kiss.

We chatted and held hands as we waited for his luggage, got in the cab, and drove back to my dorm, where Broadway promptly curled up on the couch we had set up for him and fell asleep.

"Alright, that's fine", I thought. "He's had a long day. We'll make up for it tomorrow!"

For you see, dear readers, Broadway was sleeping on the couch that night out of respect for Blonde Roommate (yep...we were randomly assigned as freshman roommates and have been attached at the hip ever since!). However, Blonde would be gone for the next few nights and had graciously given her consent for Broadway to sleep in her bed.

I hope I don't need to explain the thought process behind that.

So, the next morning, I woke Broadway up with the best wake-up call a man can get:

Tickets to The Lion King!

What did you think I was going to say?

Anyway, he was thrilled, and we had a wonderful time at the show, which he enjoyed immensely. All he could talk about the rest of the day was how much fun he had and how awesome I was. I wouldn't have been able to wipe the smile off my face with an ice skate blade.

Until I was.

After the show, I decided to take Broadway ice skating. We had tried to go a few times back home, but it had never worked out, so I figured this was a perfect opportunity. I am a decently okay figure skater (read: I can do basic jumps and spins, but they ain't pretty), and was looking forward to a romantic, hand-in-hand skate while I showed him the ropes.

Little did I know that he was a competitive roller-blader as a kid. He jumped on the ice at full speed and never even glanced back as I sullenly practiced my spins and jumps.

Now, I know what you're thinking: "Really, Sexless? This is the Spring Break from Hell? I'll admit it's not picture perfect, but come on..."

Well, put yourself in the mindset of a lonely, virginal college freshman who has spent a large sum of cash to fly your long-distance boyfriend up to visit you, and all he has done the entire time is act standoffish. Wouldn't you be a little pissed?

Well, I was. But I wasn't giving up yet. Remember...this evening, the bedroom would be all mine, and I had quite an attention-grabber up my sleeve.

Unfortunately, I was the one whose attention would get a whiplash-inducing grab.

A Confession

I must admit, my dear readers, that I have been misleading you over the last few weeks:

I have not been truly single. I was actually dating a gentleman who I will call Exotic Frog, as he hails from a mysterious, far-away land.

And yes, he has an accent. And is extremely sweet and patient and understanding and attractive...pretty much perfect in every way.

Except that he's...well...

Boring.

This guy carries on a conversation the way a rusty bucket carries water; he tries, but it just doesn't work. He has the uncanny ability to answer the most probing, open-ended questions with a simple yes or no before steering the conversation to such fascinating topics as "How was your day?" and "What class do you have tomorrow?"

I've never understood when people say that they like bad boys- it seemed so stupid. Why in the world would any girl in her right mind push aside a sweet, wonderful guy in favor of an asshole?

Well, now I know. At least assholes are entertaining.

At least I get good stories out of assholes.

In any case, I ended it with Exotic Frog this weekend, so now I'm free to go on even more miserable dates for your reading pleasure!

But first, stay tuned for Part II of the Spring Break from Hell...coming soon!

The Spring Break from Hell, Part I

Before I start this story, let me apologize for taking a bit of a break from blogging; I was busy GRADUATING FROM COLLEGE! As Conveniently Located Friend told me the night of graduation, "Even if you don't ever accomplish anything else in your life, at least you have a college degree!"

Quite the motivational speaker, that one...

The conferring of my undergraduate degree has me reminiscing about the beginning of my college career- an innocent time in which subways were foreboding tunnels of mystery, swiping my ID card in at the library was thrilling, and going to a Ukrainian diner for milkshakes at 4am seemed to be a perfectly reasonable thing to do. But my freshman year was not without its trials and tribulations.

As you may recall from this story, my first high school relationship got off to quite an...ummm...interesting start. But Broadway Frog and I did eventually start dating, and continued our relationship long distance when I moved to NYC for college and he stayed in our home state.

Living so far apart, we missed each other terribly, but only saw each other on school holidays. Broadway was your typical broke college student working in a restaurant on weekends, while I was lucky to have secured an interest-free loan from the Bank of Mom and Dad to support me through school. So for Broadway's birthday I surprised him with a trip to New York to visit me! I bought his plane ticket and tickets to two shows that I knew he would want to see. He was thrilled, and I was so excited I could hardly stand the month-long wait until his arrival and the subsequent departure of my virginity.

Well, we all know that didn't happen. But what did? Stay tuned to find out!

I am not the world's oldest virgin!

And, as I've mentioned before, there's always Julia Child.

But a woman should never let facts get in the way of some good ol' fashioned "Oh crap! I'm getting older and I'm going to be sad and alone for the rest of my life!" birthday angst.

I never thought of myself as the kind of person to have birthday angst. I've always loved my birthday. I had epic birthday parties as a kid, including a Nickelodeon themed party complete with a giant food fight and slime! I thought I was above all of that nonsense...plus, Blonde Roommate is a professional birthday angster, so I kinda figured I'd leave it up to her.

But then came the dreaded 2-3. Yeah, I know...it's not actually a significant birthday, but it hit me all at once that I'm graduating from college, going to graduate school, and that my next big birthday will be *gasp* 30!

All of that, combined with the fact that my mom got married when she was 24, led to a series of minor freak-outs culminating in my seriously considering having sex with a guy I barely know just so I would no longer be the weird virgin in my group of friends.

Luckily, I came to my senses and went speed dating instead.

Where I was involved in this little gem of a conversation:

Guy: "I want something to drink. What are you drinking?"
Me: "Rum and Coke"
Guy: "Oh, that sounds good. I like rum and coke. Maybe I'll get a rum and coke."
starts to walk towards bar
Guy: "Or a beer. Should I get a beer?"
Me: "Do you want a beer?"
Guy: "No. I hate beer."
Me: "Then why would you get it?"
Guy: "It comes in a bottle. Bottles are harder to spill. I don't want to spill my drink. That would be embarrassing." mimes staggering around and spilling a glass

On second thought, maybe being alone for the rest of my life isn't such a bad idea. I wonder how my dog would get along with cats...