Tag Archives: D

The exclusivity talk (and other new relationship concerns)

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One of the things I find to be most stressful about dating is the uncertainty. There is no one set of rules or guidelines to follow, so it’s basically the wild goddamn west out there–everyone is playing by their own rules and timelines, and you’re constantly wondering if you and another human being are on the same page. Naturally, this lends itself (at least in my case) to the following:

  • stress
  • wine drinking
  • constantly consulting one’s girlfriends on gchat
  • comical misunderstandings

Just off the top of my head, here are some timing-related questions that have come up in my few months of dating D:

  • When can you start packing an overnight bag to stay at the other person’s place? The first time I slept over at D’s I wasn’t sure if I was invited to stay the night (we had made plans to watch movies and that’s it). I didn’t want to be presumptuous, so I stuffed underwear, a toothbrush, face wash and Lord knows what else into my purse like a legit call girl. When he was all, “of course you’re invited to stay the night!” I started to pull random items out of my bag like I was Mary Poppins’ slutty niece. (I’m sure this is a proud moment for you, mom.) Of course now my overnight bag resembles something settlers would take on the Oregon Trail, complete with a full bevy of toiletries. #noshame
  • When is it cool to leave something AT the other person’s place, like a toothbrush or a hair dryer? We all (and by “we all” I mean TV loving ladies and gays in our late 20s and 30s) remember that SATC episode where Big presents Carrie with a pink toothbrush head and it might as well be a flawless 3 carat Tiffany cushion cut, it’s so significant. Also, FUN FACT: as L recently discovered, finding hair and beauty products in a guy’s apartment is a great way to spot a cheater.  

  carrie big toothrbush

  • When does the inaugural fart happen? And who farts first? (again, time to swell with pride, mom). FYI, if you just answered ‘never’, you are reading the wrong blog. I assure you. I actually have a soul crushing story about this that I’m not going to tell you all out of sheer humiliation. UGH fine, if you must know, it was me. I farted first. Super early on, too. For the record, it was IN MY SLEEP and I wouldn’t have even known about it if D hadn’t decided to fully traumatize me by telling me (In a totally teasing way, but still. FML).
  • When do you introduce your significant other to your friends and/or family?
  • When do you start referring to that person as your boyfriend/girlfriend/boo?

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Before many if not most of those questions can be addressed, there’s this fun little doozy:

When do you have the exclusivity talk?

If you haven’t been out in the dating world recently (you lucky bastard), you may think that after a certain stretch of time it’s just implied that you and the other person are exclusive. Let me assure you:

nope

First rule of online dating: assume nothing. We here at StuCu have learned that the hard way. For instance: don’t assume your date is single, and definitely don’t assume they’re not a serial killer until you can do a full background check. And of course, don’t assume if you’re dating someone for an extended period of time that they’re dating just you. Because if you haven’t talked about it, they’re probably not. #jaded

My experience with the ‘are we exclusive’ talk is comically limited. I’ve gotten really used to (and honestly, really comfortable with) some variation of the following:

Okc dude: Hey so, I really like you.

Me: I like you, too.

Okc dude: I just want to be completely honest: I’m not looking for anything super serious at the moment.

Me: Okay. Thanks for being honest.

Okc dude: But let’s keep seeing each other and see what happens?

Me: Sounds great.

In summary, the noncommittal dating anthem of our generation. I mean, thinking back on these conversations with guys is actually fairly depressing in hindsight. Not that there’s anything wrong with casual dating…

seinfeld

But if I’m being totally honest (with myself and you guys) on at least one occasion I definitely told myself I was cool with this arrangement when in reality I wasn’t, because I liked the person and didn’t want things to end. I know. Pathetic. But to quote a 90s goddess:

Back in January, D and I had this very talk (and by “talk” I mean the whole thing went down over text. Oh, modern dating.) As much as I’d like to say it just came up organically or I was brave and breezy enough to be direct with him over drinks, of course the reality was totally random and awkward. I wish I could screen cap the entire thing for your viewing pleasure, but my phone decided to wipe all my texts when I updated my iOs, so this is me paraphrasing. Here’s how it went down:

Random Weeknight in Early January

Me: (in the middle of how’s your day type small talk) What are you up to tonight?

D: I have a date.

Me (internally): ……….. bridesmaids-what is happening

Me (trying to be breezy while I figure out what the eff to say): Oh, really? Where is it?

D: blablabla date details.

Me: Well, uh…have fun?

D: Thanks.

After that supremely awkward exchange, I sat and stewed. Wtf was he getting at, telling me he had a date? Is that what people do now? They just go out with each other and then openly share when they’re going out with someone else? I was pissed. Not about the date (okay, maybe a little about the date), because to be fair we hadn’t had an exclusivity talk at that point. I was still active on Okc, and I too had been out with someone else recently. And I of course didn’t know this at the time, but by this point D had already found the blog and was reading all about my dating shenanigans. 

I guess I was just… insulted. Why was it necessary to tell me that instead of just saying he had dinner plans? Most people get that until you have the exclusivity talk, dating other people is basically a don’t ask/don’t tell situation. I knew, despite my instincts to not make a big deal out of things like this, that I’d have to talk to him about it.

Again, paraphrasing:

Me: So listen. I know we haven’t had any sort of talk about exclusivity, and that’s fine. You’re well within your rights to be seeing other people at this point. But could you just not tell me? I was a little taken aback when you did, and I think I’d just appreciate it if we didn’t bring it up to each other.

D: Of course. But to be fair, you asked what I was doing, and I wanted to be honest.

Me: I think this is a great example of being a little too honest. And I’m not trying to rush things. If you need time…

D: I don’t need time. I know who I like. (not gonna lie, I swooned a bit when he said this. It’s only after remembering it months later that I realized D never actually said he liked ME. He could have technically been talking about some other girl. Glad that worked out!)

D: I’m going to go on this date, because I don’t want to be rude and cancel the same day. But after that I’m done.

Me: Me too. So…we’re officially just seeing each other, then.

D: Yup.

So there you have it. Our first date was in mid-November so we had “the talk” about a month and a half into seeing each other. Now if D hadn’t created an opportunity, albeit an awkward one, for us to talk about this, I’m not sure how long I would have waited to say something. Probably another few weeks, tops.

What about you, readers? How long do you wait before having the exclusivity talk with someone? Do you just go for it or do you wait for the other person to bring it up first? Leave us a comment!

PS – this is completely unrelated to the subject of the post, but I can’t not bring it up. When I asked D about his date during our original convo, he revealed that they were going to a restaurant IN MY HOME TOWN in Jersey. The second he said that, I was positive I knew the girl (my little town is not exactly a hot date destination). Naturally, the next time I saw D I completely grilled him about his date. He was all waaaaaait, I thought you didn’t want to know about it and I was all dude, of course I do, because

crazy

I told him about my theory that I knew his date and he was all ‘Pssshhhh no way’. But you know what?

I WAS RIGHT. I TOTALLY KNOW HER. We went to high school together. Boom. I called it. Just had to gloat.

high five

God, being right is the best.

Message Monday: “very rude”

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How are we doing out there, readers? Does everyone have a bleary-eyed, DST fueled case of the Mondays? Me too, friends. Me too. Well let’s take those feelings out on a total stranger, shall we?

As you loyal readers know, I’m seeing someone, but I’ve kept my Okc profile active for blogging purposes. I feel slightly sketchy about this, but D and I talked about it and he understands that my interests are purely professional/research related. As a certain hyperbolic but wise co-blogger of mine put it:

L: THIS IS YOUR CAREER

I have noticed recently that there’s a ‘seeing someone’ option that you can choose on your profile. The other day I clicked it on a whim, but I have to be honest, I don’t get it. What kind of weirdo would announce that they’re seeing someone on their profile, and then just stay on the site? (besides dating bloggers, of course.) I know, I know. The answer, obviously, is cheaters. Except if you’re in the market to step out on your S.O., why not just pull a J and lie about being single? Don’t misunderstand me; I’m not encouraging people to lie. Hell no. I just don’t understand the logic behind being perfectly willing to lie to your significant other but not to complete strangers.

Maybe I’m just super old fashioned/naive/jaded/need to read more Dan Savage. Maybe there’s a sea of people in open relationships out there, happily looking for some consensual, mutually agreed upon fun on the side via Okcupid. In which case, mazel tov! Truth be told, I have come across people in arrangements like that, but they’re always super up front about their unique situations on their profiles, I’m sure to avoid being thrown shade by people like me. So when that isn’t the case, and they don’t say a word about their ‘seeing someone’ or even ‘married’ status, I can only assume I’m dealing with a sketchball. Also, as we’ve experienced time and time again, the internet is full of liars. So there’s that.

I know, I know, I was technically lying for that month or so when I was no longer single and still on Okc as ‘single’. And my profile doesn’t explain my ‘seeing someone’ status either. I hear you. Good point. Huge hypocrite. That’s me.

pot kettle

Via: http://frombeginningtoendandbackagain.blogspot.com/2012/06/and-once-againpot-and-kettle-meet.html

Sorry, that was a serious tangent I just took you all on. What can I say? I’m easily distracted. In writing; in life.

squirrel-up-dog-gif

Via: http://belieber.files.wordpress.com/2011/02/squirrel-up-dog-gif.gif?w=500&h=250

Let’s move on, shall we? When I mentioned to D that I’d picked the ‘seeing someone’ option on my profile, he was confused.

D: But wait… won’t that prevent you from getting more crazy messages from dudes? Won’t they stop?

Me: I dunno. Maybe. Only one way to find out.

FYI, they did not stop. My message volume actually increased. I mean, the quality of the messages didn’t increase; if anything, that decreased, which I wasn’t even aware was possible given some of my past encounters.

Obviously, it’s Message Monday, so I have an example for you. I received a pretty standard one the other night, right as I was getting home from work. I clicked it open briefly on my phone to read:

snowman

I mean, certainly not the best message ever, but CERTAINLY not the worst. Semi complete sentences. Mostly correct spelling and grammar. Polite. Because I was heading out, I closed the Okc app for the time being, intending to reply later. I really do try to respond to anyone who writes me more than two words and appears to be reasonably sane, and tell them thanks but I’m just not interested. I think it’s only fair/polite, especially given the fact that I’ve been a non single person posing as single for the past few months.

Also, I didn’t forget to censor his profile pic; there was no need. More on that later.

Later that night, I noticed that I had a second message from the same dude:

snowman2

What in the fuckity fuck? First of all, crazypants, less than two hours had gone by when you sent that. Some people have lives they’re trying to live. To quote a comedy great:

simma down now

Via: http://gimme-gifs.tumblr.com/post/41451599851

Second, I know all too well the experience of sending a message to someone you’re into and getting this response:

tumbleweed

Via: http://giphy.com/search/tumbleweed

But that doesn’t mean I write a hostile follow up message to a total stranger an hour later calling them out like a mentally unstable lunatic. That’s not how this online dating thing works, because if it was, I’d have to quit my job to make time for all of the mentally unstable replies I’d be writing to people who were “very rude”.

Third, let’s consider the actual message sender for a moment, shall we? Take a look at his profile picture (his ONLY picture), which as I mentioned I’m able to show you all in its full, uncensored glory:

snowman3

Ummmmmm…………………?

Real talk: that’s straight up the saddest excuse for a snowman that I’ve ever seen in my life. Here’s a tip: if you want to entice me with a snow creature, might I suggest this guy:

Frozen-Movie-Olaf-HD-Wallpaper1

Olaf 4 Life.

And the final thing I noticed about this dude, which brings us back to my rant at the beginning of this post:

married

Oh, cute! Adorable. Now my blood was officially boiling. I had to respond. And I did:

rude

My original reply was littered with obscenities, but I decided that restraint would be more effective. I sent this knowing it was self indulgent of me and totally unnecessary, but I didn’t GAF. I reaaaaally didn’t.

I blame my blinding rage on behalf of women everywhere for the fact that I didn’t even put two and two together at first. Sadly, it only occurred to me as I was writing this post that this dude totally messaged me because my status is ‘seeing someone’, and he (fairly) assumed I was also looking for some fun on the side. Yup. That’s definitely what happened.

oops

Via: http://ineedthisforreactions.tumblr.com/post/39598152479

Lol. Oh me. Do I feel bad about sassing him? Of course not! He was still an asshole and he still deserved to be put in his place. I regret nothing. But maybe I’ll just go back to my good old ‘single’ status for the time being, so as not to attract and get into a fight with every cheating douchebag in the tri-state area. Good call, right?

beyonce

Via: http://gossipgirl.alloyentertainment.com/the-top-grammy-moments-presented-in-gifs/#1

Lady B agrees. It shall be so.

Coffee Meets Bagel and The story of the Woodpecker

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Remember that groove I was talking about getting back into? It continues to slowly right its course. I’ve progressed from just messaging before things turn sour, to actually going on dates again. Yay for progress!

A few months back, I joined Coffee Meets Bagel. A newer free dating site that I read about. Here’s the gist: profiles are pretty bare bones, and each day at noon the site sends me a new “bagel.” I can only view the profile they send me that day, which consists of a couple pictures and some basic info. I choose like or pass. If we both like each other, we’re “connected” and the site sends us an email, and sends us both a text that we can communicate through for 5 days. This sounded awesome, it’s free, and requires MINIMAL effort on my part. Dating, and online dating especially, is time consuming. And it can sometimes be exhausting perusing profile after profile. This site wasn’t going to make me do a thing. I could just sit back and wait for a match to be sent to me each day! Sign me up!

Cut to a few weeks ago. I had gone into my office on a Saturday to try to catch up on the disaster that was my desk after vacation. I get my bagel, check him out, and click “like.” A couple hours later, I get a notification that we’ve connected! We start chatting via text and plan a date for Tuesday night. But a little while later, he says “why wait until Tuesday, want to grab a drink tonight?” The old me would have scoffed at that suggestion, while righteously screaming “who is he to assume I’m free on a Saturday night?!” But really – who cares? In reality, I had no plans for that night, and this actually took a lot of pressure off the night. No awkward texting for a few days, no nervous build up the day of the date. I was in, with the caveat that since I had spent the whole day at my office, I was wearing jeans and a hoodie (and going home to the ‘burbs to change would have taken 2 hours). He said he wouldn’t judge, and we made plans to meet at a bar out by BC (gross) at around 6.

We met at the bar, and after an awkward hug (ugh – why do strangers love to hug so much? We don’t know each other!), we proceeded to have a pleasant couple of beers. L was a grad student who was easy to talk to. Conversation was interesting and covered a variety of topics. I was having a nice time! After two beers he asked if I’d like to go back to his apartment for another drink.

Now, normally I would have said no to this, as it involved breaking two of the safety rules that I adhere pretty strictly to because I’m a total square. But I figured – hey, I’m doing everything different tonight, and I like him, so why not?! We hopped in his car and he drove into one of the adorable little neighborhoods of Brookline where he rented the top floor of a house. This is where the evening went downhill.

We walked up the private back stairs to his apartment, and the first thing I saw when we entered was a giant piece of plywood and a white sheet covering what he claimed was interior stairs from the house below, while I silently panicked that I was going to be murdered and hidden below the floorboards. The rest of the apartment wasn’t that comforting either. It was sparse. Mismatched furniture that was probably acquired on Allston Christmas. Multiple floor lamps, with cords everywhere. Dirty dishes overflowing out of the sink. Nothing on the walls. A giant leather couch across from a big screen tv. An area rug that was just slightly too big to fit between the couch and the TV stand, so rather than being tucked under one or the other, was just flipped up in front of the tv stand. That bothered me disproportionally more than anything else. I wanted to just get up and fix it. I couldn’t decide if the decor was more junior-in-college or serial-killer.

From a bookshelf, he grabbed a bottle of wine and told me to pick out some glasses. There were six to choose from. A set of rocks glasses, and two sets of highball glasses. Baffled by why these things were on a bookshelf by the front door, rather than in his kitchen on the other side of the apartment, I selected the taller highball glasses and sat down at the end of the couch. He grabbed a corkscrew, and sat down basically as close to being in my lap as he could, without actually sitting in my lap. He followed this up by fumbling around with the corkscrew before putting his arm around me and asking me if I could open the wine.

This was really off-putting to me for a variety of reasons. It is well documented that I do not like to be touched. But more than that, take your time dude. You don’t need to accost me the moment we sit down. I mean, I came back to your apartment, so I’m clearly not totally averse to things progressing that way. But handing me a wine bottle and sitting on top of me like I’m Santa is not the way to make that happen.

After I poured us each a glass, and with him still pressing the entire right side of his body into me, he rested his chin on my left shoulder and said sensually “tell me everything about you.” Oh Jesus. HAHAHA. Is that really your game?

At some point, he noticed the tattoo on my forearm and asked if that was my only tattoo. No, I replied, I actually have 4. “Ohh. Where are your other ones?” I explained where the others were, and mentioned that I’d like to get another one soon. To which he replied “would you ever be willing to get them removed?”

michael jordan dismayed

Look, I know a lot of people don’t like tattoos. And that’s fine. There are lots of things in this world that I don’t like that other people do. And although it’s annoying when people ask if I think I’ll ever regret getting them (I don’t think so, but sadly I can’t predict the future, so I guess it’s possible), his question was kind of insulting. Not “do you think you’ll ever want to get them removed?” But rather, “would you be willing to get them removed?” No. No I would not. I don’t care how much a future partner dislikes them, the only way these tattoos are coming off is if I want them to come off. Because a) word on the street is that it’s more painful to get them removed than it was to get them, and I cry when I stub my toe, and b) if you don’t like them that’s on you, not me.

I didn’t say any of that, I just politely explained no, not unless I decided I wanted them gone, and shifted the topic to something else. And that’s when he made his move.

What’s his move, you ask? His move involved a very brief, limp kiss on the lips, followed by covering my entire face with quick little kisses. And not in a sweet or romantic or hot way. Not just my neck or my cheek or something. Everywhere on my face. Like a chapped-lipped woodpecker. 

There are people out there who claim that “people generally aren’t bad kissers.” This tale is proof that that’s simply not true. 

I did not understand what was happening, so I just sat there like a statue waiting for it to end. When his facial assault continued seemingly without an end in sight, I had to awkwardly speak up. He stopped kissing me, but stayed all up in my business while explaining the secret to being successful at fantasy football until I indicated I was ready to call it a night. After that, any attraction that I had was gone.

Unfortunately, I needed him to drive me back to Cleveland Circle where my car was parked. It was surprisingly not that awkward. He talked animatedly about the details of the research he was doing for grad school, which I engaged in because it was admittedly very interesting. At least, it wasn’t awkward until it was time for me to get out of the car. Because he still thought it went well, and I … did not.

Date Rating: 2/10. I got a couple free beers and specific evidence to rebut the absurd claim that bad kissers don’t exist.

Lessons Learned: Despite the way this particular date ended, I actually really liked the vibe of the impromptu date. I should do that more often!

Message Tuesday: a different site (and a conspiracy theorist)

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You may be wondering, dear readers, what happened to Message Monday. Welp, season 2 of House of Cards happened. Sorry to keep you waiting, but Frank Underwood’s Machiavellian scheming kind of took precedence. What’s that? Tuesday’s almost over, too? Shhhh. Quiet, my pretties.

Today’s Tonight’s featured message was, in a way, a nice break from the typically offensive, insane, and generally terrifying rants that make their way into our Okc inboxes. However, it was also a first for me:

different site

Huh. I clicked on this dude’s profile and stared. He looked vaguely familiar, but nothing else about him was ringing a bell. Since I canceled my match.com subscription ages ago in a fit of rage and disgust, I had no way of checking my old messages to cross reference. 

I kept staring at his pic, and still, nothing else came to mind. Not a name, not a topic of conversation, nothing. But I did recognize him. Confused and a little creeped out that a random dude not only remembered me from so long ago on an entirely different dating website but also knew my name, I sought the advice of an expert:

L convo2

Do you like how after one (admittedly traumatic) incident, we now automatically assume every display of odd behavior in the opposite sex relates back to our blog? I mean…

narcissism

Source: PandaWhale

Also, L seemed so shocked that I couldn’t vividly recall my match.com message history from over a year ago, and it made me wonder if I was being presumptuous in assuming this dude’s story was true.

L convo

That’s actually a totally fair point, L.

my bad

But now I was stressed out, too. L’s conspiracy theories continued to pour in, the last and most outrageous involving an ex of mine:

L convo3

After freaking me the eff out with her insane theories, L ended up being right, of course. NOT about the message being from an ex of mine, which was a completely wackadoo hypothesis. She was right about it not mattering. As I’ve mentioned to you lovely readers, I’m seeing someone, which means that my Okc profile is currently being used for blogging purposes only. I’m not messaging people, and I’m not replying to messages unless it’s to politely decline a request to chat. In other words, I’m not going to go out with this dude, so whether he’s an old match.com acquaintance or one of our exes trying to out the blog, it really doesn’t matter.

Conclusion: next time we’d best leave the conspiracy theories to the experts.

frank

Babies’ first byline

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Hey, readers. In the mood for some Pulitzer-worthy journalism? Maybe a complex think piece to really get the intellectual juices a-flowin’? Or alternatively, are you wondering if there’s a right or wrong way to kiss someone? (Spoiler alert: there is).

Well, you’re in luck!

The ladies of Stucu have written a guest post for our friends over at datingadvice.com. May we present to you (drumroll please):

The Worst Things a Guy Can Do When Kissing a Girl

In case you’re wondering, yes, we did call out an ex of mine in the article who I affectionately nicknamed Trouty Mouth, the same chump who canceled a date and dumped me the day after my birthday. So… am I thoroughly enjoying the fact that he’s been immortalized on the internet for being the worst kisser ever?

twitter

Why yes, as a matter of fact I am.

Anyway, if you’d like to read our thoughts, or judge your skills based on our criteria as D (not co-blogger D, guy I’m dating D) immediately did:

D

…then we thank you in advance for your awesome support! If you’re the world’s greatest kisser, or you just don’t give a shit, well fair enough, friend. We’ll have our third and final post celebrating our weird preoccupations (incidentally, we’ll be celebrating mine) later this week, so stay tuned.

Celebrating our weird preoccupations: D’s Ornithophobia (also – pie)

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Continuing our little mini-series on the important issues we flesh out early on with a potential match, today we delve into my world of irrational fears.

Despite the fact that I’m actually a fairly adventurous person, I harbor an inordinate amount of utterly absurd fears. Some examples: seaweed, fast food establishments that aren’t in their own freestanding building, gangrene, waterskiing, thunder, and death by coconut. That’s just a tiny scratch on the surface. Thus, my need-to-know question stems from one of my biggest fears and is a little less … intellectual than L’s.

You see, I have a debilitating fear of birds. At least this fear is fairly common, and even has a name (ornithophobia), unlike the majority of my other fears.

Time out. When I was looking up the name for a fear of birds, I found this charming little article: How to Overcome Fear of Birds. Fuck you and your condescending, hippy ways wikiHow. “Step 4: Realize that most of your fear is irrational. The chance of a mutant hawk attacking you from above is extremely low.” I read that, and am not comforted by the fact that the chance of that happening is “extremely low.” I read that and internally scream “BUT THERE IS A CHANCE!” And don’t even get me started on Step 6: Face Your Fear. “After a few days of being close to birds, you should overcome your fear.” That’s adorable. After a few days of being close to birds, the only thing I’d be is an inpatient in a psych ward.

Annnnnnywho. I always find a way to work in the topic of birds early on in the conversation with a potential beau. Because, as I explained to a guy recently:

2014-02-14 10.16.42

I have always been afraid of birds. And the universe loves to play on that fear. There is a particularly menacing duck that patrols the shore at my parents’ house. A family friend’s pet bird once bit me. The list goes on. But the most notable instance? December 4, 2012. The day I learned firsthand that you are NEVER safe, not even in your own home. And that magic is real. The day that a bird appeared in my apartment OUT OF THIN AIR. And before you ask, no, I was not dreaming or hallucinating. There is a witness. Because obviously I was incapable of handling the situation. A month later, New Girl mocked my pain with this dramatic, but eerily accurate, re-enactment:


EXCEPT, IT WASN’T “JUST A PAINTING” IN MY SCENARIO – IT WAS A REAL, LIVE MUTANT HAWK BIRD.

I slithered off the couch and dropped to the floor in much the same fashion as Nick above, army crawled out of the apartment, and called one of my best friends who happened to also live in the building. She found me 2 minutes later lying in the hallway, crying. And she handled it. To this day it is a mystery how that bird got in. All the windows were closed. There was no chimney or ceiling vents in that apartment. Which means: it could happen again AT ANY MOMENT. But that beautiful, beautiful saint and I no longer live in the same building. Besides, I can’t rely on her to forever fix all of my problems, like she has so adeptly done for the past 10 years (actually I can – don’t ever leave me LM!). So I need a partner who can swoop into action (pun intended), neutralize the danger, and calm me the fuck down. Not one who will cower in the hallway right next to me.

The ability to “manage” my irrational fears is probably the single-most important quality I look for in a guy. I wish I was kidding.

And here’s a little long-weekend bonus for you. Once a guy has passed the bird test, I also ask “cake or pie?” The correct answer is PIE. Though technically wrong, I will also accept “love them both” or some variation of same. But if his answer is simply “cake” – BYE!

Oh I just realized - I hate you

c                                                                                            Source: Imagesbuddy

How D (Sorta) Got Her Groove Back

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First of all, if you ever have the opportunity, go to Iceland. Seriously, do it. If you don’t find it to be stunningly beautiful, you are dead inside.

Second of all, I leave the country for 11 days, and all sorts of crazy, awesome shit goes down at home.  We won an award! We gained 7 new twitter followers! I suddenly became desirable again on OKC and HAW after a drought and months of this:

Isn't there anybody that loves me

                                                                                                   Source: Crushable

I received multiple messages on OKC containing 1 or more complete sentences! 5 guys were interested upon viewing one of my date ideas on HAW and messaged me! Match continued to serve no purpose other than to steal my money and send me e-mails suggesting ways it could steal more of my money! Ok, that last one isn’t actually awesome, but it was oddly comforting – it was proof I wasn’t in some alternate universe. I took all of these positive developments as proof that traveling is the greatest and I should do it even more often than I already do.

But back to my dating developments… I was getting my groove back!

Since I had limited access to wi-fi while away, I was able to respond to messages occasionally. This is where things went a little off track with some of the promising gentlemen. Let’s start with HAW.

First, a crash-course in How About We for those who are unfamiliar with it. Profiles are short and sweet – some demographic info and quick responses to specific prompts (e.g. a story you should remind me to tell you on our first date, I secretly want to be). Then, you post date ideas.

 HAW samples

Users peruse the date ideas and if they see one they like, they open up the date and have two choices: “Message Him/Her” or “I’m Intrigued.” 

HAW - date example

“Message Him” is pretty obvious – it opens up a blank message and you type out your most charming, witty message and hope for the best. Clicking “I’m Intrigued” sends the other user a generic message that says “I saw your Publick House date and I’m intrigued.” It’s the equivalent of liking someone on OKC or winking at someone on Match. The lazy approach to letting someone know you’re interested, and/or the shy person’s way of reaching out.

So, one of my proposed date ideas involves night skiing locally. I got a personalized message from M who ultimately told me to let him know when I was home and we’d set up a ski date. Great right? Well I returned, sent him a message, and got no response in that thread. Rather, he sent me a separate, independent “I’m Intrigued” message 16 minutes later. I don’t know what to do with that. I know you’re intrigued. We already established that. In fact, we already established that we would make plans to go skiing. So why are you ignoring my attempt to actually make said plans, whilst simultaneously sending me messages coyly telling me you’re intrigued BY THE VERY DATE WE ALREADY SET UP?!

That was Wednesday afternoon. I still haven’t figured out what to do about M.

Another guy responded to the same skiing date idea. This guy simply clicked “I’m intrigued.” I checked out his profile, and though he looked vaguely familiar, I brushed it off and responded.

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Ok then.

that escalated

                                                                                    Source: GIFBAY

Side note: I’m obsessed with that gif. I laugh hysterically every time I see it. Ok, back to the regularly scheduled programming.

Setting aside the fact that he called me hun (which – DON’T), he starts off with a nonsensical response. What do you mean “what?” You fucking messaged me. It’s literally 2 messages up in the thread. What is confusing about my response? And when I don’t respond in a timely fashion according to his standards (3 hours, 46 minutes, and NOT A MINUTE MORE), he accuses me of bothering him. Again, you messaged me buddy. It was then, looking at his smiling profile pic next to that terrifyingly aggressive message, that it clicked. He WAS familiar. He’s nylon guy. Shudder.

Over on OKC, I exchanged a few messages with R, who pretty quickly asked if I’d like to make plans when I returned. My kinda guy! I said I would love to. I got back late Tuesday night. Wednesday morning he contacted me to see if I had made it home safely. Very sweet. Then he dropped this bomb on me:

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I don’t even know where to start with that. For the sake of not being a total asshole on the internet, I’ll simply say that I did not find that poem charming or sweet.

Against my better judgment, when R asked for my number I gave it to him and continued to entertain the idea of going on a date with him.

text with R #1

Oh christ – not another movie date.

text with R #2

WARNING! WARNING!

That last comment is teetering on the brink of needy. Throwing an lol at the end doesn’t make it less needy. And that frowning winky face – what the fuck is that even supposed to convey? 

I forge on though, despite the warning bells going off in my head.

text with R #3

STOP WITH THE VALENTINE’S THING. It’s so desperate sounding. At this point, mid afternoon on Wednesday, I feign a meeting and tell him I’ll talk to him later.

Thursday morning I wake up feeling refreshed after a good, long night’s sleep, see CC for the first time since returning and get a big smile from him, and get into work to a desk completely empty of a particular case. I’m feeling fantastic. So I decide to give R another chance.

text with R #4

Umm? Say what? Tuesday was your suggestion. But ok.

text with R #5

A little while later, he gets back to me.

text with R #6

This was completely befuddling to me. I mean, firstly, I had told him I was available Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday nights. So what made him think I was available mid-afternoon? Not to mention that he’s aware that I’m a lawyer – which is pretty typically a Monday through Friday 9-5 job. Whilst still processing the above, he follows up with a picture of himself and this:

text with R #7

Even if you are joking (I presume that’s what Jc means), coupled with some of the other shit you’ve said (::cough:: valentine’s day ::cough::), I’m getting the impression that you’re extremely needy. And I don’t do needy. A) I don’t have the patience for it. B) If you’re that needy yourself, how are you ever going to field my 11:34 p.m. phone calls that I’ve got a piercing, radiating pain in my left mid-thigh and remember when I fell on my left knee a few weeks ago – IS THIS A BLOOD CLOT ON THE MOVE? AM I ABOUT TO DIE IN A SNOW AND ICE COVERED MBTA PARKING LOT IN SUBURBAN MASSACHUSETTS? Because, shit like that happens frequently when you’re a part of my life. That is a verbatim transcription of the shrill phone call my father received last night. And that saint of a man (along with my 3 EMT friends who also frequently field my hypochondriac freak outs) needs a break dude.

But I’m still feeling high on the freedom from that case and the 3 Kinder bars I ate at lunch (God bless you and your delicious chocolate confections Europe), so I keep going with the Poet.

text with R #8

I realize at this point that not only did he think we were planning a weekday, mid-afternoon date, but he also thought this date was happening in Wrentham. Despite the fact that we had established we would both be in Boston on Tuesday. His complete lack of ability to grasp time and location based on previous discussions snaps me out of my sugar high. This guy is not going to work out. Just to be sure, I ask:

text with R #9

Yup – this guy needs to go. Between the poem and the valentines day thing and his incompetence, I can’t. I was going to need to let R go. Tomorrow. I’m a procrastinator at heart.

This morning, I was all set to say goodbye to R and let this outrageously long post fly. But before I could click Publish, R wanted to know why I had changed my mind:

text with R #11

Yeah – I definitely made the right choice.

Oh, and just for good measure, I was propositioned late last night on the orange line after grabbing a couple drinks with a friend after work. By a guy who I presume is a low level drug dealer or pimp based on the enormous ball of wadded up cash he pulled out of his jacket pocket.

I’m in A groove, but I think it’s the wrong one…

Pic of the Week – Word Play

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While L has been regaling you all with tales of her superior messaging/life advice skills, and S has been coming down from the shock of this epic discovery, I’ve just been up here in Boston doing an Oscar worthy impression of a deaf/mute on the commuter rail*, mooning over Tim Riggins, and refusing to go out or do anything that costs money since I’m leaving in a week for a vacation to France and Iceland (because that polar vortex just wasn’t enough for this winter lover). Meaning: I will not be the co-blogger upholding S’s recent promise to you loyal readers of some date stories soon.

I mean, the closest I’ve come to going on a date in the past 4 months was in early December when I went out after work on a Tuesday with my new(ish) co-worker to do some bonding over drinks. Despite the fact that S is cute and very funny, and under other circumstances I would welcome going on a date with him, it was not a date. It simply resembled a date in that we were 2 people at a bar having drinks. As we were relative strangers and work together in a very small firm, he responsibly nursed 2 beers. Meanwhile, I got a wee bit drunk on my drink of choice, Jack and Ginger, and after we parted ways ruined a perfectly good pair of tights in what would be an extremely embarrassing fashion if I had any dignity left (I lost what shred of dignity I had left around mid July, 2012). I guess it resembled a date in more ways than 1. Regardless, I continue to be unworthy of a dating blog, and there will not likely be any date stories in the near future penned by me. But I do have a new work friend, so that’s a plus at least.

Despite my serious shortcomings lately, S & L haven’t kicked me to the curb just yet. So this week I offer an olive branch with a rather delightful pic of the week.

2013-12-27 15.40.25

Did I say delightful? I actually meant crude and unfunny. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a huge fan of word play. I mean, when I made the switch from a droid to an iphone, it was 95% so that I could buy this iphone case:

i mustache you a question but i'll shave it for later

But really? Carpet munching? If this picture is meant to exhibit the triple threat of wit, stunning physique, and sexual prowess, color me as unimpressed as the late, great, Whitney:

whitney houston - not funny

If you noticed that that picture was the second of 2 and are wondering what other gem he has up on his dating profile, I present you with:

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dramatic eye roll

Here’s hoping I get whisked off my feet by a rugged Icelandic lad and live out the rest of my days in the kind of climate few of us truly enjoy…

a

*UPDATE: I did finally manage to break the ice with CC. How, you ask. Flirty banter? A charming anecdote? No. By forgetting that I parked in Walpole that morning, which is one stop before my usual station on the way home, and then missing the stop for Walpole that evening (adding an hour to my commute). Because of course that would be the catalyst for me to finally speak to him like a human being. So although we do interact more now, including an occasional inquiry from CC as we approach Walpole about whether or not I’m there or in Norfolk (I’m now memorable at least), and enough for me to discover that he has a girlfriend of 7 years (through an actual conversation that I was a part of and not an eavesdropper to – GROWTH!), a leopard can’t change its spots. I’m still awkward little ‘ole me, who more often than not reacts to the presence of a nice, entertaining, attractive guy by pleading with my eyes for him to somehow know intuitively that I’m actually funny and charming if he could just make the first move.

D’s Epiphany

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I’ve been doing this online dating thing for about a year now. Technically, I set up my OKC profile during Hurricane Sandy, but then I promptly ignored said profile for over a month. So we’ll call it a year. I’ve tested out a variety of sites, went on dates, met some pretty cool people (and some not cool ones), and tried new things/places. But no one has made it past a second date yet. I haven’t even been on a first date since I moved to the ‘burbs back in August. I’m batting .000 on responses to messages I send lately. I was starting to feel like this:

empty room snapchat                                          http://icarly-official.tumblr.com/post/58840878427/oh

And the messages I do receive are either worthless or from older men outfitted in collared shirts and sweater vests standing in front of Lifetouch type backgrounds prompting this uplifting message to S:

text with S where I give up

I respect her open judgment. Clearly I was on a downward spiral. Speaking of watching crying movies, I’ve been doing that a lot lately while moping at home and occasionally stopping at the liquor store on my way home. I have a small arsenal of “crying movies,” depending on what kind of crying I want to do. Love wins in the end: Breakfast at Tiffany’s or An Affair to Remember. The world is a disappointing place and life and love are hopeless because everyone just dies anyway so what’s the point?: Legends of the Fall or American History X. Reminder that everyday, ordinary life is full of awesome things too: Up! or A Cool Dry Place. General cry for no discernible reason: Apollo 13. It’s embarrassing how much use those DVDs are getting.

I took a break from my 2 month pity party this past weekend to do one of my favorite things: binge watch off-air, complete tv series on Netflix. It was the perfect weekend for that activity – a snowstorm was headed our way Saturday into Sunday. I made a huge mug of hot chocolate and started in on Friday Night Lights. And that’s when it happened. My epiphany.

The problem isn’t me.

The problem is that I don’t live in the fictional town of Dillon, TX.

Again, I texted S. But before I got a chance to tell her the importance of my weekend activity, she hit the nail on the head:

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And then she beat the crap out of the nail:

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Everything she said is correct. I only had 1 thing to add. That IS my type, y’all.

Guys – I clearly just need to move to Texas. Or back to upstate New York, where I came from and where that type is plentiful.

Texas forever.

The Art of Messaging

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Here is an exhaustive list of the messages I have received in the last 48 hours:

lovely

hi

hi how are you

jamaica soul sister

The first three messages are useless for obvious reasons.

That last message came from a guy IN Jamaica. And while it’s flattering he thinks I’m a soul sister, I can only assume that assessment is based solely on our mutual love of baking, since our profiles make it pretty clear that we have exactly nothing else in common. I already bake plenty of treats, without even factoring in my habit of stress-baking (which reached an all time high in late October/early November, 2012 when bar results were imminent). The last thing I need in my life is another baker. Also, I do not live in Jamaica, so there’s that.

I will refrain from launching into another diatribe about the sad decline of grammar, but I will say that the explosion in the number of available emoticons leaves me deeply disappointed in the world. I mean, why do we need an emoticon for waving?

jamaica soul sister 2

se

*Don’t forget to enter our Worst Date Ever contest! We’ve already received some hilarious submissions and there’s still time if you have a horror story to share with us (and the rest of the internet). We’re even going to extend the deadline, because we’ve received a number of requests to include regular dates in the contest. So if you’ve had a non-online dating disaster, go ahead and send it our way, we don’t discriminate! E-mail your entries to stucublog@gmail.com by midnight on December 1st.