Earlier this year, when we were still relative online dating newbies, L told me about a new site that she’d just heard of. “It’s like Okcupid,” she explained, “except everyone suggests an idea for a first date.”
Color me intrigued! I remember thinking the concept of men having to provide a date idea up front was not only incredibly attractive, but also borderline genius. I’d do pretty much anything to avoid receiving one or all of the following texts from my date prior to meeting him:
“So what do you want to do?”
“Got any ideas about where we should go?”
“I don’t know the city that well, so I’ll leave the planning to you.”*
*(This one infuriates me. Do you also not have the internet? Have you never heard of Yelp? Are you not in fact texting me from an iPhone 5, but from a Zack Morris monstrosity circa ’91?)
The thing is, I am not looking for some over the top first date featuring like, a hot air balloon ride (real talk,that ideawas legitimately suggested byD, of movie theater yelling fame. He’s a rare date planning gem, that one. We never went, but I kind of secretly still want to. If it ever happens I’ll be sure to share with the class.) Drinks at a chill bar are fine. with. me. It’s not rocket science, gentlemen.
I realize we co-bloggers complain about the inability of men to plan dates pretty muchevery week, but my job involves a significant amount of event planning, plus I’ve been in a number of weddings this year. Like L, I am a bossy oldest child, so in many cases the logistics of making plans naturally fall to me. This is fine, and most of the time I prefer it that way (again, bossy older child). But I also absolutely love when someone else takes the reigns for a bit. Love.
Between my excitement over dudes doing the planning and my excitement over cutting down on senseless messaging before meeting in person, I was sold. I signed up for HowAboutWe (which I will henceforth refer to as HAW), since it was “free to try”.
“Free to try” is the favorite term of most online dating sites, with the exception of Okc (the cheap single 20-something’s dream). Basically, you sign up for the site and quickly discover that in order to do pretty much anything besides creep on the home page, you need to fork over actual money. And yet, even with your low level security clearance that gives you access to little more than theirblog(responsible for groundbreaking journalism such asthis) the site proceeds to bombard you with 1,500 daily emails about your “matches” (who you aren’t allowed to contact until you provide them with your credit card card number).
Here’s a sample of what’s been hitting my inbox at least once a day since I signed up:
Okay. As you can see, those are three fairly normal, innocuous date suggestions. Totally vague, yes, but they basically make sense.
More often than not though, there’s at least one dude in the mix who has managed to miss the site’s concept completely:
Sure, I’ve seen some decent answers:
Simple. Specific. Involving alcohol. Not bad.
But for every date idea I’ve come across that’s half decent, there are countless that fall into either of the following categories:
1. Uncomfortable/creepy
(Actually worried for the welfare of that child in the picture. Are you okay, kid?)
2. Nonsensical/Insane
Due to the underwhelming nature of these prospects, combined with my proclivity to be distrustful of dating sites that cost money following The Great Match.com Debacle of 2013, I decided not to spring for the paid membership to HAW. I feel good about my decision, or at least I did until I stumbled upon one dude’s answer while doing research for this post:
Be still my heart. I’ve loved the Gin Blossoms (unironically) since preteen S first heard Hey Jealousy on Y100 all those years ago. (True story: senior year of high school, a friend and I made the wise decision to memorize the lyrics instead of study for our AP Calculus final. How did that work out for us? FANFUCKINGTASTICALLY. We’re both successful adults, and we both know every word to one of the sweetest 90s jams of all time).
What I’m saying is, I get this person. And I’d totally date this person. The question is, would I fork over a membership to this seemingly shitty dating site just to message him? The cheapo in me says hell no, although a Gin Blossoms themed wedding would be pretty epic. All that long flowing hair and loose fitting button downs, just in time for fall…
What do you think, dear readers? Has anyone out there tried HAW for real? Am I missing out?
Happy Hump Day, guys and gals. Don’t worry, I’m not going to bring up thatGeico camel, tempting though it may be, but I would like to discuss another controversial animal: the common house cat.
Unlike my co-blogger L, whose hatred for felines has been well covered, I happen to like cats. I grew up with them and I never understood why they get such a bad rap, especially from smug, superior dog owners (you know who you are, guys.) Cats are clean, adorable, quiet, and soft. I enjoy them.
So I’ve established that I like cats. And that I’m single. I’m sure now (logically) you’re probably assuming that a typical night in my apartment looks a little something like this:
For your information, I actually don’t currently own any cats, Nor do I own a recliner. But show me someone who doesn’t enjoy vanilla frosting and Goldie Hawn portraying a deranged shut in with a death wish for Meryl Streep, and I’ll show you a liar.
Now, why am I going on this cat tangent before 10 am on a Wednesday morning? GREAT question. Last weekend I was lying in bed after a night out, waiting to get sleepy, and passing the time (naturally) by cruising Okcupid on my phone. I’ve recently discovered the app’s semi-new location feature, which is basicallyTinder.In other words, Okc finds your location and shows you the profile pics of other dudes who are close by. Pics only. And you either say nope, not interested, and trash their pic, or say yes, I’m into that. When you pick someone, Okc will then let you know if that person, while scrolling through their local matches, picks you as well. This is a pretty senseless concept as I’m pretty sure most people on Okc aren’t even using the feature, and mama needs more than a pic to decide if I want to go out with someone.
Having said that, scrolling through these pics and tossing them into the yay or nay column has become one of my favorite ‘bored and playing with my phone’ pastimes. Take this night in question, for instance, when literally in the span of four minutes I happened upon three amazing/terrifying/creepy profile pics featuring men and CATS. Please note the time on each screen cap; when I say one right after the other I’m not joking. And please. Enjoy.
Creepy Cat Profile Pic #1:
Well that is… a face that not even a cat lover, and dare I say not even a mother could love. Terrifying. Also made me immediately think of this wildly racist, infinitely creepy little jaunt from a seminal Disney classic that yes, I’ve already referenced on the blog:
I was going to get all high and mighty about the cats being the villains in every movie but actually, looking at that creature perched on Beardsy McHipster, I totally believe that it’s an evil killing machine. Like, I’m assuming our man friend took it into the bathroom because he’s afraid if he leaves it alone it will figure out a way to kill him? And you know how I feel about bathroom selfies… a bathroom selfie with a terrifying animal perched on one’s shoulders is some next level shit.
Creepy Cat Profile Pic #2:
Ha. This one actually cracks me up. That kitty is adorable and I’m pretttyyyy sure this gentleman is driving. So wait, actually I’m a little alarmed… and come to think of it, he’s smiling for the camera, not looking at the road. That can’t be safe. Also, who’s taking the picture? Why is the cat out of a carrier and just like, straight chillin’ in the car? Where are you guys going? You’re not one of those creepy people who walks his cat on a leash, are you? Because even I’m scared of that.
Creepy Cat Pic #3:
If this find doesn’t call for a mic drop, I don’t know what does.
A few weeks ago I was home on a Friday night doing some hardcore crafting (who has two thumbs and is doing her part to fulfill every stereotype about single women out there? This gal! Just give it another month or so before I splurge on a subscription to Cat Fancy.) I was watching Comcast On Demand (The Newsroom is back, bitches. McKenzie McHale 4 life) when I realized all three of the movies they were promo-ing the hell out of were movies I had seen on dates. And uh, hello, I have a dating blog, so I think it’s high time I dished to you guys about them. Shall we?
Movie Date #1: Moonrise Kingdom
This date was over a year ago, last June to be exact. It was a third date with J, who I’ve mentioned on the blog before (more on him later). We had dinner beforehand and had a really nice time… good conversation, playful banter, flirting etc. It bore more of a resemblance to those dreaded Match.com commercials than any date I’d had before. It was so fun that we totally lost track of time and basically had to run down the street to the theater to make the movie. The tiny theater was full so I grabbed us two seats in the back while J ran to the bathroom.
The previews had started and I was just catching my breath and getting settled when J appeared and asked me to switch sweats. Judging him immediately for being a seating prima donna, I thought, ‘Uggghhhh can this dude just sit down, Jesus’ and audibly sighed, gathering my popcorn, diet coke and purse dramatically. J looked really sheepish as he explained, in the quiet theater, ‘Yeahhh, sorry to be a pain, but I’m actually deaf in my left ear so… I won’t be able to hear you if we sit this way. That’s why I wanted to switch. ‘
Face palm. FACE. PALM.
So let’s review. I threw my date some serious shade for making a simple request, and it turns out he was making that request to accommodate an actual disability. Liz, if I may call upon your wisdom once again:
After that special little exchange, the date was (mercifully) uneventful. Fun, but uneventful. We switched seats, got settled, and enjoyed the movie. BONUS, J was able to hear me.It was actually a good date flick… fun, ridiculous, and sweetly romantic. J drove my home afterwards and we kissed in his car.
Date rating: 8/10. Good date, good conversation beforehand, good movie, good makeout session. Only one wildly awkward faux pas by yours truly.
What happened with J? In case you don’t recall, J happens to be the dude I mentioned a few months ago who after casually dating for most of the summer broke it off with me in a crowded bar. He literally drove into the city during rush hour, found parking, and met me in a popular place for happy hour, just to tell me he didn’t want to see me anymore. Yeesh, that was rough. So actually I don’t know why I was still feeling bad about my theater behavior because it turns out, J deserved to feel a little embarrassment.
Movie Date #2: This is 40
This was a second date back in January. The most comical thing about this outing was the fact that my date, A, was 39, by far the oldest guy I’ve ever gone out with. Naturally, our asses had barely hit our seats before I started a relentless barrage of jokes at A’s expense, featuring me pointing over at him repeating, ‘THIS is forty. This right here, people!” and LOLing obnoxiously to myself. That shtick carried us through the previews and well past the credits rolling at the end. Luckily A was a pretty good sport, all things considered. Incidentally the movie wasn’t great… mama loves me some Rudd and those Apatow nuggets couldn’t have been cuter, but it was essentially a movie about two people struggling with their long term relationship and the misery of middle age. Depressing date fodder, needless to say.
The movie ended, I continued to ham it up with the old age jokes as we walked out, and then we (drumroll please) made out in A’s car in the empty parking lot. Yup, I went out with a 40 year old and then made out with him in his parked vehicle like we were both 17. Or should I say, barely 17…
I’m sorry (I’m not sorry), but Meatloaf just makes everything better. You’re welcome.
Date rating: 8/10. Despite the meh movie, the date was fun, non-awkward and basically stress free. And a little making out in an empty Loews parking lot on a weeknight never hurt anyone, AMIRITE?
What happened with A? We casually dated on and off for months, but homeboy claimed he didn’t want a serious relationship despite legitimately being over the hill. I honestly didn’t want to seriously date him either; he was a little wild for my taste and seemed to have a serious Peter Pan thing going on. After losing touch with him for a while I did discover (thank you, Internet. Judgers of my stalking can move right along, please) that he is now (another drumroll, por favor) seriously dating someone. And although his real life Mr. Big impression turned out to be bullshit, I honestly do wish him the best. It was fun, A, and I hope you do find true love before you’re old enough to score an AARP card. Because that’s seriously right around the corner.
Movie Date # 3: Admission
This was also a second date with a guy named D who was fun but who I didn’t think I wanted to date seriously. Our shared obsession with Tina Fey prompted him to suggest this movie. It was one of the first things we discussed, probably because my Okcupid profile opens with an over the top anecdote about how my life’s dream is to become the third sidekick to Amy Poehler and Tina Fey’s dynamic duo. My girl crush on Tina knows no bounds, and the fact that she’s from Philly is just icing on the big lesbian cake I’ve baked in her honor.
To quote Elizabeth Banks in Pitch Perfect: this girl could turn me.
Now, speaking of Philly, there’s something I need to explain about my city. And I say this with all the love in my heart of a parent talking about their least successful (but secret favorite) kid: Philly is lacking some…seemingly basic amenities that any outsider would ASSUME a major city would have. Such as a normal, large movie theater centrally located anywhere downtown. There are tiny Ritz theaters showing a bevy of independent flicks, and then there’s the dreaded UA Riverview. Please, if you have a moment, enjoy these stellar yelp reviews of the Riverview (or as I’ve heard it referred to, the Riverspew).*
*Disclaimer: Any insane, bigoted rants possibly seen on that yelp page are not the opinion of this blog.
Long story short: I hate the Riverview. It’s dirty, noisy, and someone makes a scene pretty much every time I go. Naturally, it was the site of my date with D. Luckily, the movie wasn’t exactly popular, and we went pretty early on a weeknight, so when we walked into the theater there were only two other people there. Phew, I thought. At least we can watch the movie without any wild disruptions. Or maybe make out if it’s bad? In the back of an empty theater that could be fun.
My date, however, had other ideas. There’s no delicate, PC way to share this fact, so I’m just going to throw it out there as it pertains to my story. For those of you who don’t know me personally (all three of you): I’m white. Painfully white. I mean, I did open this blog post with the phrase ‘hardcore crafting’ and then proceed to embed a Meatloaf music video, so this should not come as a shock to anyone at this juncture. My date, D, is black. So anyway, about a minute into the previews, D turned to me, chuckling sheepishly, and said:
D: I have to warn you about something before the movie starts.
S: Okay?
D: You know how a stereotype can be racist, but also true?
S: …I guess?
D: Well… I kind of talk at the movies. A lot.
S: You do?
D: I know it’s the biggest cliche in the world, but when this gets going I guarantee I will end up commenting out loud and not even realize I’m doing it. Just let me know if I’m bugging the shit out of you, okay?
S: O…kay.
He said this entire thing in a jokey way, so I honestly had NO clue if he was pulling my leg. Any minute I thought he was going to turn to me and be like HAH! I got you good. Of course I don’t shout at the movies.
What actually happened was the movie started, and not 10 minutes in, D started shouting. Okay, maybe not shouting. But commenting VERY loudly, sometimes to me but sometimes just to the air/universe, about things that were happening in the movie. I was paralyzed, again not sure if I was being Punk’d, trying to figure out if I should laugh, roll my eyes, or tell him to shut the f*ck up. The theater was mostly empty, but this honestly made it even more awkward when the couple five rows in front of us turned around at the noise. Because who is it causing the disturbance? Oh hey just the ONLY OTHER PEOPLE IN THE THEATER. The other thing that made this behavior particularly ridiculous was the genre of movie… we weren’t watching like, an action or a horror movie where surprising or crazy things even happened. We were watching a dull, semi serious romantic comedy about APPLYING TO COLLEGE.
The thing is, D was actually really sweet. Case in point: he told me when we started messaging that he was trying his hand at baking for the first time, and I joked that he owed me cookies after revealing that fact. Well sure enough, he showed up to our first date with homemade cookies. And then at the movies, he smuggled a new, delicious, still warm batch into the theater for us to snack on. I mean, thoughtful, right? So I decided to laugh off this ridiculous turn of events. Actually by the end I was laughing harder at the spectacle my date was making than at the actual movie. I even made some loud commentary of my own towards the end, because ‘When in the Riverview’, right?
Date rating: 7/10. As always, Tina was a vision, but the movie itself was bad (what I could hear of it at least). And my date caused a bit of a scene. However, he also made me LOL more than once and fed me fresh homemade cookies. It was an unexpectedly fun night.
What happened with D?
Funny you should ask (I know, no one asked) but I actually saw D yesterday. We’re not exclusively dating–not even close. I hadn’t seen him in over a month before we met for happy hour last night. And I still don’t think I’ll ever seriously date him; I just don’t feel a crazy connection with him. But he’s a nice, fun, funny dude who lives in my ‘hood and we get along well. I’m dating other people, and I have no doubt that he is, too. But as a painfully single 28 year old, it’s always nice to have that one ace in the hole (that’s what she said) who you can keep around to have fun with without any complications or drama. Unless, of course, disrupting a mediocre romcom counts as drama.
Hey there, loyal readers. Just a heads up, LSD are busy ladies at the moment. Between moving, vacays, bridal showers and bdays, we may be a bit light on posts this week. Thanks for your patience 🙂 (L, I know how much you appreciated that emoticon).
Anyway, happy Message Monday! This one hits close to home for me–literally.
The part of the message that I blacked out? You guessed it: my high school.
Running into someone you know on okcupid is a very real fear of mine, much like being murdered by a date and becoming the subject of a Lifetime movie. You put your profile out there, and sure it’s “anonymous”, but your picture is still attached to it. And it’s the f-cking internet; nothing is really anonymous (except, we hope, this blog!). So yes, sometimes I worry that my boss could stumble upon my profile and read the sex questions I answered. Or a co-worker. Or a family member. Or a crush or hook up from back in the day. Basically anyone I’ve met, ever. Because of this fear, the number of questions about sex (there are hundreds) that I’ve actually answered basically amount to:
Also at the top of this list: former classmates. And don’t worry, this isn’t the first time this has happened to me, or even the second. TWICE before I’ve run into dudes I went to high school with, I guess hardly surprising given the fact that my hometown is less than 10 miles outside of Philly. L and I went to a pretty small high school, though; I believe our graduating class was 175-ish people. We literally know every single person in our class and in the classes 1-2 grades below and above. So I honestly wasn’t expecting to have to play the ‘who the eff is that?’ game until this fall at my (drumroll please) ten year reunion. (F-ck, I’m old). And I figured at least then I’d be with my friends, we’d be drunk, and possibly decide to perform an impromptu interpretive dance:
So when this dude messaged me and I didn’t recognize him at all, I figured I was just having a brain fart and that my friends would ID him immediately. I sent out the appropriate mass text with that screen cap, plus his full profile picture which it’s worth noting is a legitimate head shot/glamour shot (which you may recall is on my list of profile pic no no’s from back in the day).
Can’t say it any better than my friend did:
Anyway, no one had ANY IDEA who this terrifying 29 year old bisexual claiming to be our classmate was. So I responded to him, curious now about this mystery:
Ummm okay.
1. ‘We probably never crossed paths in school’–Creepy, slash you’re obviously right since I have NO IDEA who you are.
2, ‘You clearly appear to be the best looking’
Hey, asshole. First of all, that’s not even true. My friends are mad cute. And since you claim to have such a stellar memory, they were also adorable in high school, even though we all had slightly more questionable fashion sense back then.
Second, based on your picture I would bet that you’re probably on a registered sex offenders list somewhere, so I’m not really sure you’re in the position to judge anyone on their looks. Third, do you think that I’m actually pathetic enough to fall for this blatantly disingenuous, totally lame attempt at flattery? Oh gee, a creepy stranger on okcupid claiming to know me from 10 years ago insulted my friends, but he thinks I’m cute! BE STILL MY HEART.
Men.
I was officially grossed out by this mystery acquaintance, but now it was basically my mission in life to figure out who he was. I was this close to making my mom go into our attic, find one of my yearbooks and flip through the entire class of 2002 over the phone with me, but I figured I’d save her that trip if I could and check with some other friends from high school first (you’re welcome, mom).
I saw some of those friends on Saturday night, and the search continued. We named every kid we could think of with that first name, but nothing checked out. We texted another friend who lives in NYC and put her on the task force. She thought she had a guess, but then someone actually did consult a yearbook upon returning home and ruled it out:
So as of Monday, July 29th at 12:30 pm, the case of the creepy classmate remains open. If anyone from my high school has any leads, they can leave an anonymous tip in the comments section. We’ll see you next time on…
First of all, not sure what our friend here means by ‘waw waw waw’… why why why? Wow wow wow? Is he trying to reference a certain beloved PA/NJ convenience store? Either way, English is clearly this Italian stallion’s second language (his first being the language of loooove… yes it’s 1 am and that joke sounded like a great idea to me. As did this snazzy gif:)
Second. Believe mi [sic], sir. No one understands how much of a shame it “is a really” more than yours truly. I am a “nice and sweet girl” (except for first thing in the morning. My morning rage is legendary). And I have wasted what probably adds up to a frightening amount of time dealing with “losers here”. Preach.
Third, you said the word bella. That fact plus the whole Italian theme we’ve got going on here means I’m pretty much morally obligated to post the following, one of the most romantic movie scenes of all time:
Okay, that was truly beautiful but back to the message. I appreciate the solidarity, Italian stallion. I really do. I appreciate that you seem to understand my single gal plight. Because the fact is, that animated Disney date featuring two dogs was more lovely and romantic than anything I’ve encountered on Okc thus far. The problem is, you didn’t follow this observation up with anything constructive. Are you trying to say, in broken English, that you’re different than the average run of the mill Okc loser? Well that’s great, except your profile pictures all feature you creepily posing with various foreign cars while wearing Adidas track pants in front of a house that I’m 78% sure isn’t yours.
I promise there are two more glamour shots where this came from, I’m just too tired/lazy to add them. So anyway I’m not sure, given this evidence, how likely it is that you’ve broken the douchebag mold and are in fact the breath of online dating fresh air I’ve been waiting for.
Verdict: I think I’m going to have to waste a little more time with the losers here. Still holding out hope for my very own Bella Notte. Waw waw waw, indeed.
One of the first questions I’m asked when people learn that I co-author a dating blog is: do you tell the guys you go out with about it? The answer, to many people’s surprise, is yes. Have Iactually allowed my dates to read our blog? No, no I have not. I struggled with what to do about this in the beginning. Common sense told me that revealing to a near stranger that I have a dating blog on a first date might not be the most stellar addition to my five year “Operation: Do Not Become a Crazy Cat Lady” plan, but over time I changed my tune. Here’s why:
1. It’s something to talk about. Dear God, it’s something to talk about. I’ll talk about the Taft Hartley Act if it means we can avoid awkward silences where we both take huge gulps of our drinks and glance nervously around for the nearest fire alarm we can pull.
2. It’s something (sort of) interesting about me. Real talk: I don’t have many “hobbies”. Sure, I have interests. I do things with my friends. I read and keep up on the news and see movies and go to bars and restaurants and cook and take trips and bla bla bla, but so do most people. Things that can actually be classified as true hobbies, though…I kind of come up short.
I’m not aDJ or local acting sensation. I don’t run marathons (ha! I’d rather be killed). I’m not a classically trained pianist (incidentally my neighbor downstairs actually is, and I feel like I’m living out the plot to Anna Karenina every night when I get home and Rachmaninoff is coming through my floor).
My point is, sometimes dating feels a little like that first job interview after college when you’re basically trying to convince a potential employer that you’re totally qualified and skilled and amazing, even though you’re also not providing them with a tonnnnnn of evidence to support those claims. It’s hard to find a happy medium between selling yourself like a Billy Mays infomercial (oh man he’s dead isn’t he? Whoops.) and coming off as the girl who legitimately spends 80% of her life watching DVR (FYI, it’s really more like 30% when you factor in work and sleep). So this is something interesting about me. And I want to share it, however much it may potentially horrify or scare my date. Mind you, I don’t shout at the first possible moment: FYI I HAVE A DATING BLOG. I try to let it happen more…organically. E.g:
S: So, you’re a journalist? Very cool. I like to write, too. What do you typically write about?
Date: Blablabla small talk. So, you mentioned you like to write?
S: I do.
Date: What do you write about?
S: Well actually, my two friends and I started a blog earlier this year.
Date: That’s awesome! What’s it about?
Which brings me to…
3. It’s a test. If you follow this blog, you may recall that I’m a huge fan of tests. Basically I like to administer small social experiments on my subjects (I’m sorry, dates) and make conclusions based on my data. These may or may not be accurate conclusions, but let’s not ruin the fun by worrying about that! Here’s what I tell my date (in my own brand of breezy hilarity):
My two friends and I have an online dating blog
We have a lot of fun writing it
it’s totally anonymous. We don’t use our names or the names of our dates.
We do it because we’re interested in sharing our experiences and talking about all the funny, crazy things that happen to us.
Once I’ve laid out those basic facts, there’s no need to freak out. Because frankly, it’s really not that big of a deal. I’m not revealing to you that I’m Gossip Girl (also can we talk about how Gossip Girl was Dan Humphrey and not Dorota? What’s that, you say? I’m literally the only person in my age bracket who watched that awful show til the bitter end?)
After I drop the “blog bomb”, most guys are a little taken aback at first but quickly recover and then want to know every detail. A brief Q&A with my date typically follows:
Date: Can I read it?
S: No, sorry, I don’t think it’s a good idea at this point.
Date: What’s it called?
S: Again, nope.
Date: Can you tell me a funny dating story?
S: Sure.(*Insert dating story*)
Date: Wow that is pretty funny. Are you trying to turn it into a book or something?
S: Absolutely. Mindy Kaling is our spirit animal.
Date: Are you going to write about me?
This is my cue to sassily (and somewhat gleefully) say:
Only if you do something worth writing about.
To soften that blow, I follow it up by letting dudes know this policy: I try not to write about anyone in real time. In other words, if I’m going out with you, I’m not going to run home after every date and immediately spill all the dirty deets to the internet (unlesswe’re working on a post about who pays and my date asks me to split the sushi.Sorry, K). In general, though, I’ll wait until I know I’m definitely not seeing the guy again to dish to you lovely readers.
I know. Thanks, Shoshanna.
4. Calm down. We’re not exactly famous. Yet. Yet, damn it. Give us time. This is certainly not a slight against our excellent and loyal readers who for reasons beyond comprehension keep coming back three times a week to hear us complain about boys (you guys are the best!). But let’s be real. If we took away our family, friends and the people reading who are directly connected with our family and friends, oh and let’s not forget the pitchfork wielding people of Reddit, we’d have what? Four readers? Maybe? So it’s not like this shit is being published in Vanity Fair (again, yet). Although my mom, ever our biggest cheerleader, seems to think we’re mere moments away from getting our big break. A few months ago L and I were at my parents’ house and the following exchange occurred:
Mom: I think you guys should write for a magazine.
L and S: We’d love to.
Mom: You should get that going soon. Maybe Vogue (Vogue. Omg she’s my favorite).
S: How, mom?
Mom: Who do we know in publishing?
S: …No one?
Clearly my mother was having a Miranda Priestley moment (happens to the best of us):
So unless my mom is spreading wild rumors to the men of OKC that Stucu is being courted by major publishers, which let’s be honest she may actually be doing, our humble little WordPress blog should not send grown ass men into a tailspin.
5. If you’re a nice guy, I probably won’t talk about you.Well, that’s not exactly true.The guy who couldn’t find his carwas technically a nice guy, but he also lost his automobile in broad daylight and suffered from crippling social anxiety, so my hands were kind of tied with that one. What I’m trying to say is, I’ve been out with a number of nice, normal dudes who I’ve never mentioned on this blog, because there was nothing worth mentioning. But if something goes down on a date, pretty much the first thing that pops into my head is ‘Yup. This is definitely going on the blog.’
In fact, this has become a running joke with more than one guy I’ve gone out with. If something awkward or weird happens, multiple guys have been like, “Uh ohhhh, this is so going on your blog, I know it is!” One guy even called me out on our first date when the check came. He looked at me and said, “I bet you and your friends talk about who pays on your blog. I bet there’s a right and a wrong way for me to handle this….hmmm what to do, what to do.” I actually enjoy this reaction the most… it should be something we can joke about. Because come on, it’s funny! Guys who show me that they’re cool with it earn major points in my book (I told you it was a test!).
I do wonder sometimes if any of the guys I’ve told have found the blog. They’d have to care an awful lot, and be pretty good sleuths, but I guess it’s possible. In fact, I was going out with a guy recently who called me to tell me that he’d started seeing someone else (music to a single 28 year old’s ears), and after dropping that bomb on me he proceeded to smugly predict that I’d write about the whole experience (what a narcissist! although obviously yes, he was correct). Here’s what he actually said:
H: I’m sure you’ll write about this whole thing on your blog, and I’m sure it will be really funny and great. I can’t wait to read it.
Me: Except I never actually told you my blog’s name.
H: Oh, I’m really good with computers. I don’t think I’ll have any trouble finding it.
Me: It’s anonymous. So I think you will.
H: Oh. Damn it.
Me: Yeah. This exchange is also going on there, FYI. Have a nice life, dickweed*.
*I didn’t say dickweed. I should have said dickweed! Because what a jerk. As always, Mindy says it best:
Hey, guys. I know most of you come to our site generally looking for a quick laugh, and we love (attempting to) deliver that to you. But as you may have noticed, the subject matter here at Stucu has turned a biiiit serious at times. Between L’sMessage Mondayand myuppity Match.com manifesto, we’re quickly gunning for the ‘co-bloggers who are most likely to hop on the nearest soap box at a moment’s notice” award. So if LSD are coming off as weirdly morbid, super serious buzzkills these days, I apologize. In reality I promise you we are actually a LOT of fun and not as Debbie Downer in training as we’re probably coming off.
So thanks for sticking with us, even when our posts are accompanied by that magical WOMP WOMP noise. I promise you, more fun, light-hearted dating high jinx than can be found in your run of the mill Kate Hudson romcom will be posted in the near future. Having said that…
I’m sorry. Clearly I’m supposed to take this as a joke, but how about you don’t voluntarily put a picture of you wielding a knife on your online dating profile when the Craigslist Killer was an ACTUAL PERSON and expect me to be charmed by it, faceless dude? I’m sure you probably chuckled when you posted this, pleased at the irony, thinking girls would find you hilarious. And maybe some do. But here’s a fact:
Most young women I know who are online dating are legitimately afraid of being assaulted, raped, or murdered. Is this fear probably exaggerated by too many episodes of SVU and Criminal Minds? Sure. Is this guy probably a totally normal non-murderer? Yup. But does him playing on this very real fear of mine in the name of irony and humor make me want to go out with him? Not so much.
I hear all you dudes out there telling me to lighten up. Well, you don’t see me posting a profile pic that features me suggestively wielding a pair of sharpened gardening sheers over some dude’s crotch with a caption that reads “HAHA JUST BEING FUNNY TOTES WON’T GO ALL LORENA BOBBITT AND LOP OFF YOUR DICK WITH THIS SHARP WEAPON LULZZZZ”. Would the men of Okcupid find that funny, or would they think I’m a psycho? Pretttyyyy sure it would be the latter.
Okay, this is actually a fun game. Let’s think of some other things that men typically fear about dating. How about I post a picture of myself jabbing a few holes in a condom with one hand and flashing a positive pregnancy test with the other. Maybe I’ll be giving a thumbs up to the camera. Then in the caption I’ll say, “IT’S JUST A JOKE, GUYS! RELAX. AND DEFINITELY ASK ME OUT BECAUSE I TOTALLY WON’T DO THIS IN REAL LIFE 🙂 :).”
Last scenario: Hold up a fake restraining order that prevents me from being within 100 feet of a man, while simultaneously watching Fatal Attraction and taking notes.
Happy almost Fourth of July, Stucu readers! I figured since we’re hours away from the holiday and I’m writing to you from the cradle of the American Revolution, what better way to celebrate our independence from a tyrannical, oppressive government than to write a post about my independence from a…well not tyrannical, or oppressive date. But a bad one. Yeah, pretty much just bad.
Fact: I am a huge Anglophile. Huge. D and I spent a semester in London in college, and four months was all it took to convert us to PMQ watching, Strongbow drinking,chocolate digestive eating fanatics.
It was the time of our lives. I still daydream about our favorite neighborhood pub, the Dev, and our favorite place for a spot of tea, the Muffin Man. I miss the high streets and the tube and the night bus and the free museums and the history and the parks and even the shitty weather and perhaps most of all, the lovely people with their lovely accents.
So after reading that little rant, you can probably guess my reaction when a real live British dude messaged me on okc last fall.
If you suspect that I just described multiple plot lines from the cinematic masterpiece known as Love Actually, you would be correct.
So anyway, back to this Brit, N. I’ll be totally up front here and admit that if he hadn’t been British, I wouldn’t have gone out with him. There was nothing wrong with him, per se, his profile was just….dull. And he did seem to have that typical British boy look that we’d encountered while abroad: pale, pasty, slightly effeminate. What some people might call “milk toast” (and by some people I mean my mother). To look at him you’d assume he owned a lot of pink shirts and ties and listened to Abba with no sense of shame or irony, and from my experience that assessment would probably be correct. But… British. So there was NO WAY, short of him showing signs of being the next Hannibal Lecter, that I was going to turn down a date with him. If you don’t understand my shameless accent sluttiness, please refer to this comprehensive scientific graph that I found on the interwebs. See, I’m not the only one:
So I said yes to a date. And what transpired next was totally alarming. He called me. Not to make plans, because we’d already done that over text, but to chat. On the phone. Before we’d met. I’m aware that many women find this behavior desirable, even necessary. But the level of sheer awkwardness involved in something like this cannot be understated. Neither party knows what to say. Neither has heard the other’s voice before. Neither knows when to talk, when to listen, and the entire thing is a clusterfuck of “Oh sorry, what? No you go ahead. No really”s. Gah. Again, the only reason I even picked up instead of letting his call roll to voicemail and texting later claiming I’d been busy was to hear that voice and picture Mark Darcy on the other end of the line. Mmmmmm.
So anyway, the conversation was painfully awkward, but I did get a preview of his accent. N had moved to the states as a young adult so it was a bitttt muddled, but still definitely there.
Our date kept getting pushed back, though, first because I was sick (ahem, I actually was unlike some people) and then because of Hurricane Sandy. I couldn’t believe all the forces that were trying to keep me apart from my English destiny! Finally, on ELECTION NIGHT, the only night we were both available, I met N at a Mexican restaurant. Over margaritas and guac, I asked N about his childhood in the UK, moving to the states, college, his current job, and a bevy of other topics. Here’s a little sampling of what transpired:
S: “So do you still miss England a lot?”
N: “Sometimes.”
S: “What do you miss most?”
N: “Being able to watch football all the time.”
S: “Oh, what’s your team? I tried to read that Nick Hornby book Fever Pitch about Arsenal fans because I love his other books, but I had no idea he was talking about since I’m clueless about British football. Haha.” (Time out, you guys. Apparently Colin Firth stars in the British version of this movie which I’ve never seen. Mark my words, this will be happening on Netflix Instant ASAP. Time in.)
N: “I like Arsenal.”
S: “Cool!”
Silence. N stares. S glugs her margarita. Waitress refills our water glasses. S pretends to be super engrossed in election returns on TV behind N.
S: So…what did you think of the London Olympics?
N: They were good. My parents went actually.
S: Awesome! Which events?
N: I don’t remember.
S: When was the last time you went back?
N: About a year ago.
S: Do you have to go back periodically? Are you on a work visa or something?
N: I actually have dual citizenship.
At this point I SHOUTED: DUAL CITIZENSHIP?!?!?! just to bring some goddamn excitement into the conversation, startling both N and the couple sitting next to us. The conversation went on exactly like this for an hour plus.
Guys. This was quite possibly the most excruciatingly boring date I’d ever been on. This f-cking Brit was apparently so jazzed to meet me that he had to call me and chat with me OVER THE PHONE beforehand, and then in person proceeded to give one word answers to everything I asked and offer no conversation topics in return. It was horrribbbble. So please know out of sheer boredom I resorted to recreating the scene in Love Actually where Colin Frizzle comes to America and hot girls fawn all over him. Charmed by his accent, they make him senselessly repeat words just to giggle at how he pronounces them. Yes, I reenacted this exchange with my date (minus the group sex at the end):
I actually physically pointed to his beer and said ‘What’s this?’ And he actually said, ‘bottle’ (adorably, damn it). Am I proud of this airheaded behavior? Not particularly, no. But frankly N shouldn’t be proud of his sub par social skills, either.
Finally, exhausted from basically performing a Vaudeville act to keep the date going while my date lazily sipped his Corona, and wanting to get home to watch the election results, I told him that I was tired and must be going. We got our coats and walked outside, where N tried to kiss me on a crowded street corner and I awkwardly rolled his advance into a hug. ‘Thanks again, nice meeting you!’ I shouted and basically ran down the street. There is no way I am hearing from him again, I thought, and I’m glad. That was excruciating. Not even the promise of a glamorous bicontinental lifestyle could make me go through that again.
Of course he enjoyed our date. Of COURSE. He essentially got a free viewing of my one woman show, The Many Personalities of S: Filling Awkward Silences by Any Means Necessary. He did nothing, and I did all the work. If he hadn’t picked up the tab, I would have actually considered sending him a bill.
Needless to say I politely declined a second date, as I already have a full time job and don’t need a part time gig coming up with conversation starters for Milk Toast McGee. So that was my one (and so far, only) date with a (sort of) foreigner. And as much as I still adore the UK, I’ll think twice before trying to date a British dude again. Unless, of course, one of these gentlemen comes a-calling:
Date rating: 4.5/10. I got to listen to the accent and enjoy a few margs, which upped his score from a literal goose egg, but dear God was N boring.
I know. That was a lot of British talk. Let’s cleanse our palates, shall we, my fellow patriots?
Good morning and Happy Monday! (Ugh). Everyone had their coffee? Great. Here’s a little treat to ease you into the work week:
First of all, the worst part of this message is so not the message itself. It’s the fact that I’m allegedly a 74% match with this assclown. Second, if you’ll notice I didn’t block out his “profile pic” aka head shot for an amateur body building competition sponsored by Monster Energy Drink and/or Grindr profile pic that he recycled upon deciding to try out the ladies for a while. In fact, let’s turn this into a combined Message Monday/pic of the week post and check out his sweet bod, shall we?
Wow. Nice tribal tattoo, bro. Very 2001. Also, nice toilet.
Now, while I’m busy befuddling the men of okcupid with my unattractiveness, let’s see what this guy is up to. Take a look at some of his answers to questions:
I am shocked by this. Shocked.
Again, are you serious? I was about to ask your opinion on the NSA leak.
You’d probably have to put on a shirt, though. Radiation and all. So that would be a bummer.
That’s a shame, not because you’re an ignorant racist, but because women of color are really missing out by not having the chance to date you. What a loss.
Well, we’ve all been lucky enough to discover yours already, and may I just say it’s been an honor.
PREACH. Superficial people are the worst. I’m thrilled that we see eye to eye on this issue, headless tool with a shirtless selfie profile pic who just called a stranger ugly on an online dating site.
Well that’s… terrifying. Please stay right where you are, which I can only assume is first in line at Mike “The Situation” Sorrentino’s book signing.
As I may have mentioned onceor twice, I’m going through a bit of a dating dry spell at the moment. What typically happens when I tell people this is they immediately instruct me to join Match.com. Well, bossy advice givers, I’ll have you know that I actually already did. Last fall I was going through a similar dry spell. Fueled by over-exposure tothose commercialswhere everyone looks super happy and attractive, and depressed over my lack of action otherwise, I came to the conclusion that Match must be where it’s at. I had two theories:
1. Match is a paying site so it must weed out at least SOME of the losers and deadbeats I was encountering on okc. If you’re 30, sleeping on your parents’ couch, and can’t afford ramen noodles, you’re probably going to opt for the free dating site, right?
2. Since people are paying, they must be at least a little more serious/proactive about going out and not spending 12 years nonsensically sending messages back and forth online. Paid subscription = we all want to get our money’s worth = no one is f-cking around.
So how was my experience on Match.com? Let’s just say I would have been better off setting that $75 on fire. But before I tell you about the actual men I went out with (and get excited because they were winners), I’d like to review the actual website for you fine people.
Why Match.com was a supreme waste of my money:
The site is laughably ghetto. A friend of mine joined Match literally 4-5 years ago (coincidentally she also hated it) and I remember it being EXACTLY the same as it is today. Not one update or aesthetic makeover. It looks like something that was super cool and cutting edge in 1998, and the profile pics are smaller and blurrier than on okc.
They delete your messages after a month. I went back to look up an old message and was like waittttt….where are they?? I know you’re thinking what the hell do you need old messages for, and the answer is THIS BLOG, people! Also, I paid for the stupid service, don’t delete my shit! Okcupid is free and I can still access the first message I received and every one in between. And without that technology I could never have accurately brought the worldthe story of the guy who couldn’t find his car.
They make you answer inane questions and then clumsily use them to try to set you up with matches. For instance, they ask you if you like animals, you say yes, and suddenly you will get matched with someone and it will say ‘He’s a dog lover like you!’ with a dog icon next to it. Actually, Match, I wouldn’t call myself a dog lover. Those are your words, not mine. Corgis, yes. Dogs in general, meh. I don’t even want to answer the stupid animals question because I don’t care; stop trying to push people together based on these lame forced conversation starters.
There are “like” buttons literally everywhere. We get it, you’re trying to be Facebook, but what happens when you put that button all over your site is some of us accidentally click it while cruising for dudes three glass of Sutter Home Pinot Grigio deep and end up liking a stranger’s photo of him tailgating with his dad and what looks to be his hot ex-girlfriend. Hypothetically speaking, of course. Here’s what I think of that, Match:
They try to upgrade you/sell you something every five minutes. Besides the “stir” events, which are their own brand of hideous, (I was routinely invited to “singles mixers” at my local Banana Republic. Banana. Republic.) there are approximately 15 levels of membership and a bevy of stupid shit around every corner including “professional profile writing” for FORTY DOLLARS. The best (i.e. most insulting) ploy they use to make more money is you can actually pay to have your profile highlighted in an obnoxious day glow green color. This, according to the good people of Match, increases your visibility and the likelihood of someone clicking on your profile. And people pay for it! Tons of dudes had those awful green profiles. Also, I’m no dating guru, but I’m thinking sporting a profile the color of Nickelodeon slime in order to garner male attention might come off a tad desperate. And I’m sorry, but if I have to resort to visual tricks to get a date with someone, I’d rather sit at home on my couch and watch House Hunters: International, a-thank you very much. In summary, Match.com is basically a PBS telethon: annoying and relentless. The whole time I wanted to be like listen, Match, I already gave you my hard earned money, and I got my commemorative coffee mug in return. Now let me get back towatching Anne of Green Gables, for f-ck’s sake!
Those were all annoyances, but the real test of an online dating site’s worth is obvious: did I actually get dates? The answer is a weak yes. I went out with three people from match.com in four months.
Before I tell you about my dates, I just want you to take a look one more time at Match’s stellar marketing campaign and the types of encounters they’re telling single people they’re going to have if they join their site.
Wow, those looked fun. So excited to share my real dates with you guys! You ready? Okay, without further ado:
S’s Match.com Dates
Match.com Date #1: Awkward guy who had what turned out to be crippling social anxiety and who in the first 11 minutes of our date launched into a HORRIFYING story about him having some sort of blood clot thing that paralyzed half of his body suddenly and he had to go to rehab and learn how to walk again and then was in massive medical debt and had to move back home with his parents for two years and became severely depressed and would I like to go watch a movie at his twin sister’s apartment who lives around the corner after we finished our drinks? That was a first date. I’m SERIOUS, guys. That’s how my first Match.com date went down.
Match.com Date # 2: Guy who was nice enough but who was also half a foot shorter than he described himself online and who was so boring I kept having to literally pinch the skin on my arm to stay awake. He loved to talk and told me in excruciating detail about his dad’s lighting(..?) business that he was going to inherit and his hobbies which included following Phish around the country on tour. I believe he’d seen them 33 times. Ugh. Jam bands.
So. Yeah. I’ve actually referenced this date before (although I can’t remember the post where I did, sorry) because it took a truly comical and somewhat epic turn, but I don’t think it would be smart to share it on the interwebs, anonymous or not. But here’s how it ended: my date bought us gelato, and I then stole that gelato, hopped in a cab, and never saw him again. I considered it payment for the 2+ excruciating hours I spent listening to him talk about Phish. #winning
Match.com Date # 3: Dude who grew up one town away from me in Jersey so we awkwardly knew some of the same people from high school. We had like four dates dates, and they were fine, but it was nothing special. He was a terrible kisser at first, so bad that he earned himself the nickname ‘trouty mouth’. We started going out right before my birthday which he insisted on taking me out for (I swear I was not trying to garner a weird birthday date with a guy I was still in the early stages of dating). HE planned this whole night, then proceeded to cancel at the last minute because of “work things”, then broke it off with me the day after my birthday. Which I was furious about, but only because I didn’t get to do it first. I think I responded with something to the tune of, “Just so you know I didn’t even like you and was planning on ending it, too. Kthx! xoxo”
Obviously I need to be in their next commercial. People of Match.com, feel free to contact me about reenacting any of the above encounters. I think it would be a stellar addition to your marketing efforts.
Besides the wonderful dates, I also received far fewer messages on Match than I have on okc. True, that means I received fewer messages that were completelynonsensicalandwildly inappropriate, but it also means fewer decent messages that I’d actually reply to. And I also sent fewer, because I struggled to find anyone half decent who I might be interested in. Messaging highlights included:
A guy who canceled and then RE-CANCELED plans for a first date but continued to bug me for weeks via text even when it became abundantly clear that he didn’t actually intend to meet up and that I was probably beingcatfished.
A cute guy who sent me a really lovely message and when I wrote back, mere hours later, he replied with something to the tune of “Actually my subscription runs out tomorrow and I haven’t found anyone on this site so I’m not going to renew my membership. Good luck, though.” What in the fuckity fuck? Then WHY DID YOU MESSAGE ME?!
So. That pool of men which I thought would be so much better than okcupid’s? Here’s the actual breakdown:
The most important point here is the okcupid overlap. I saw literally almost every guy I’ve ever been out with or messaged on okcupid on Match. Besides the fact that running into these dudes can be supremely awkward, it made me wonder why the eff I’m paying for the site when basically everyone on Match seems to also be on okcupid. And why wouldn’t they be? It’s FREE.
Finally, last but certainly not least, Match.com: do you have an adorable robot mascot who will cheerfully reassure me that she’s off looking for more matches and that she won’t, in fact, let me become an old crazy cat lady in a mumu?
Adorable
Lol
I didn’t think so.
**Disclaimer**
Look, I know I just went off on a long ass anti-Match.com tirade, and I stand by it 100%, but I would probably still tell someone who’s never used it/isn’t having luck on okc to give it a try for a few months. Purely because everyone is different, and everyone is looking for someone different, so who knows if your future husband/wife/life partner/no strings attached sex buddy is sitting on the site, having a similarly miserable experience, just waiting for you to come along. When D told me she was thinking about joining Match I encouraged her to do it, but I also regaled her with the many cautionary tales I have from my Match days. I am crossing all my fingers and toes that it works out better for her than it did for me. Either way, we’ll all be able to read her review in the coming months and if we’re lucky, it will be slightly less angry (and verbose) than mine.
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Stupid Cupid 