Beef Teriyaki Guy

Unrelated to the topic of this post, but important nevertheless, I must say that I am very much looking forward to the release of “No Dignity”

Now, to the business at hand – regaling you fine readers with my dating tales. Specifically, the guy S alluded to whose nickname involves Japanese food.

I present to you: The Story of Beef Teriyaki Guy.

Shortly after getting dumped, I received a surprisingly decent message from BTG. We seemed to hit it off, and he quickly asked me if I’d like to meet him for coffee. It was hardly a terrible date. He didn’t insult me, attack my face, or do anything else heinous. But I was pretty underwhelmed less than 5 minutes into the date. For one thing, he had a facial tic that reminded me of my friend’s dad. And no one wants to be reminded of someone’s dad when on a date. Also, he did 90% of the talking. When he did ask me a question, he would immediately follow up my response with a related story of his. Never a follow up question for me. He wasn’t even talking about anything all that interesting. Which was a huge bummer, because we talked a lot about traveling, a topic I usually LOVE to talk about. Traveling is one of my favorite ways to spend my money. But he and I have very different ideas about what makes traveling awesome. He’s the kind of guy who travels for the sake of saying he’s been somewhere, rather than to actually enjoy the culture of the place he’s visiting. I just don’t really see the point in that. 

I basically gathered that he loves booking trips with tour companies and only really hits up major tourist attractions. Which is fine, whatever floats your boat, but that’s my least favorite way to travel. He was shocked that on my trip back in January/February, we rented a car and just drove around Europe on our own. That’s my favorite way to travel. Of course I hit up tourist spots, but I like to do lots of other stuff too, and on my own schedule. That other stuff is typically the most interesting part of any trip. He recently went to Dubai, and the only things he talked about were going to the top of the Burj Khalifa and getting a ride in a dune buggy. The world’s tallest building is cool and all, but that’s all you can tell me about?

He also went to China for a couple weeks in college. And he shared precisely 2 things about China: 1) they went to the Great Wall; and 2) he was surprised by how different the food was. The following sentence came out of his mouth: “I didn’t understand – where was the beef teriyaki and the general gao’s chicken? I didn’t even know beef teriyaki was Japanese, not Chinese.”

Tom Hanks - Really

Source: http://gifrific.com/tom-hanks-saying-really/

Ummmmmm. There are 5,000 things wrong with that sentence. Tom Hanks and I don’t even know where to begin. Aside from the cultural ignorance, he also apparently couldn’t find anything he was willing to try, so he ate McDonalds for the entirety of his trip. Which was made super easy by picture menus, so he could just point to what he wanted. What’s the point of traveling if you’re just going to eat McDonalds? You can do that here. I know all about picky eaters, I grew up with one. But even my sister could have found something she liked in China (hint: RICE). Local food is one of the very best parts of traveling. Unless you’re trying to get a waffle in Belgium, because that was an epic fail not once, but twice. Anywho. I was getting really bored with Beef Teriyaki Guy, and finding it increasingly more difficult to continue being on this date. 

And then came the straw that broke the camel’s back. In one of his rare instances of asking about me, he asked where I had traveled to. As you might know from our About page, S and I spent a semester abroad in college. As it happens, that semester was spent in London. And oh my, did I fall in love with that city. He too had been to London, he shared. At the tail end of a trip he took to Italy, he met his parents in London for a couple of days, he explained. At which point he dropped this bomb:

BTG: I actually wasn’t that impressed with London.

Me internally: -8,254,465,687,345 points. 

Me out loud: Really? That makes me sad. 

This is where I learned about his worst travel habit. He doesn’t do a lot of any research beyond tour companies and the most basic/top tourist attractions. Aside from telling me that it wasn’t until they got home that they realized Stonehenge is only a few hours from London, he said “we saw Big Ben and the London Eye, and then what else really was there to do?”

I’m sorry, WHAT? What the fuck do you mean “what else was there to do?” Is that a serious question?

buzz lightyear - no sign of intelligent life anywhere

Source: http://narwhaaal.tumblr.com/post/79189389471

For one thing, Stonehenge is just a bunch of rocks. Granted, I went out there and walked around the rocks, but the trip was coupled with other things in the area (and a tragic story about the demise of a plastic grocery bag). On top of that, the only things you did were see Big Ben and the London Eye, but the thing you’re most bummed about missing is a circle of mysterious rocks in field in the English countryside? With a look of shock on my face, and in a somewhat hysterical, high-pitched voice, I just started word-vomiting various things to do in London. Museums (so many!), parks, theater, markets, food, tea, a fafillion adorable neighborhoods, THE TOWER OF LONDON. Dude, the Tower of London is a tourist attraction gold mine. Also, S, remember our glorious girl-date to the Churchill War Rooms? Best. Date. Ever! Of all the examples I shouted, at the very least the Tower of London should have been on his radar. That list barely scratches the surface, and doesn’t even mention day trips outside the city limits. Because, as Dr. Samuel Johnson so wisely put it, “when a man is tired of London, he is tired of life.” That city is glorious, with an endless array of things to do/see. 

Sidenote: I could shout about the the Tower of London all day every day. It’s full of 900 years of amazing history, and adorable beef-eaters. Executions, ghosts, ravens, the crown jewels. Even the bathrooms are interesting. I’ll stop before I get completely out of control.

Where there had been a simple indifference towards Beef Teriyaki Guy, there was now a little tiny seed of hate. Talking shit about London is a cardinal sin in my book. It’s simply not tolerated. Especially by someone as ignorant as he was about what London has to offer.

I changed the topic before I got all howler monkey in public, but Beef Teriyaki Guy and I had nothing in common. Once I steered the conversation away from traveling, he made a couple bad lawyer jokes*, explained his tech job in excruciating detail, and mentioned at least 5 times that he recently got a new job that came with a huge pay increase. Luckily, I had some errands I had to run (I’m a terrible liar), so I said I had to go. He was bummed to hear that, because he was about to suggest that we go play mini golf or something, since it was so nice outside. Naturally, he had thought the date was going great. I thanked him for the coffee, and hightailed it out of Rhode Island (of course his suggestion had been a coffee shop less than a mile from his place, and not somewhere more centrally located between us). I won’t be seeing BTG again any time soon.

a

* I actually love lawyer jokes. We’re the worst, often times in very comical ways. But I’ve also heard a lot of lawyer jokes, so forgive me when I’m less than humored when your jokes run along the generic and tired lines of: 

What’s the difference between a lawyer and a boxing referee? A boxing referee doesn’t get paid more for a longer fight.

What’s the difference between a jellyfish and a lawyer? One’s a spineless, poisonous blob. The other is a form of sea life. 

What’s the difference between a lawyer and a leech? After you die, a leech stops sucking your blood.

Instead, try something more like these, which are far less generic/offensive, and actually pretty clever and fitting to tell to a defense attorney (which he knew I was):

I'm sorry card that stops short of admitting liability  disclaimer dilemna

Source: Stu’s Views

Advertisements

First Date with a Brit: Love Actually isn’t All Around

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.

kristen wiig excited

I thought, this is it. We’ll fall in love, he’ll work in government and make an impassioned speech simultaneously defending my honor against Billy Bob Thornton and standing up for his country, we’ll kiss at a children’s Christmas concert and at our wedding, our friends will surprise us with a beautiful rendition of “All You Need is Love” complete with musicians hiding in the pews.

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:

british accent

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.)

Fever_Pitch_R2-[cdcovers_cc]-front

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, I’d forgotten my Dating Law of Inverses, which states: whenever I find a date unbearably awkward and boring, pretty much without fail the dude thinks otherwise. Conversely, whenever I have a great time and there’s tons of flirting, interesting conversation and witty banter, my date essentially runs in the opposite direction. Your honor(s), I’d like to introduce Exhibit A as evidence:

nick the brit

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:

henry cavill britishcolin firth darcyPrince-Harry_4

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?

And last but not least:

Happy Birthday, ‘Murica.


Safety tips from S and D, or how to avoid being murdered while online dating

Good morning, class. Today’s lesson is sponsored by our mothers. Specifically, S’s mom, who requested that we write a post on how to “be safe” while we navigate the world of internet dating. My initial reaction was: Ugggghhhh mom. I’m 28. I’m a grown ass adult and I can take care of myself. Also, no one wants to read a stupid PSA about watching your back and carrying super sized pepper spray which your dad insisted on giving you and your roommate multiple cans of when you moved into the city. But the more I thought about it, the more I decided it’s actually not a stupid idea at all because let’s face it, the internet can be a terrifying place. There is some effed up sh*t out there, and the three of us are doing our best to avoid becoming the subject of a Lifetime movie. So this is actually a totally appropriate blog topic. You were right, mom, just like you were right about me plucking my eyebrows too thin in middle school. Damn it.

So without further delay, we present to you S and D’s safety tips on how to avoid being murdered while online dating:

  • Look for profile red flags. Pure common sense. Obviously the reason online dating is so scary is people can (and do) make up whatever they want about themselves and there’s no way to 100% know what’s true and what’s not. Even so, before you say yes to meeting someone, go over their profile with a critical eye. Have they posted clear pictures of themselves? Do they mention alarming details about dead animals or collecting medieval style weapons? Do they give troubling answers to okc questions?

safety post                                          If so, for God’s sake run, don’t walk, to the next profile.

  • Use the buddy system. That is, make sure at least one other reliable human being knows about your date. It can be a parent, a close friend, a roommate, whatever, just make sure that someone knows you’re meeting x at y location (always a public place, obviously) at z time. Tell them as much as you can about your date (okc username is a smart thing to include) so if your ass goes missing, Munch and Fin can start cracking skulls.                                                                                  Munch_Fin_Noncompliance
  • Google the shit out of your dates. Sorry, boys, we don’t care if this makes us sound like stalkers. Believe it or not, we’re not dying for a glimpse at your LinkedIn profile to see where you interned in 2006 (okay I lied, we want to know that too, but it’s of secondary importance). We mainly want to confirm that you are who you say you are and that you seem to have some sort of traceable identity/history that doesn’t include being on a list of registered sex offenders. Obviously this isn’t foolproof before a first date… #1, I often don’t have the guy’s last name yet since I refuse to give out mine (see D’s tip below) and #2, if he has a super common name, this could prove difficult without much else to go off of. But it’s always worth a try. You may even find out some fun shit about the person that you’ll then accidentally reveal that you know on your date. What? That’s never happened to me.
  • Never give a first date your full name or address. I may be able to google them, but they can’t google me. Even on the first date, I don’t supply my last name. Unless he manages to see it when I’m ID-ed ordering a drink, that shit stays secret until at least the third date. I have a very unique last name. If you google my full name, I’m the only person that comes up. Granted, most of it’s uninteresting, and some of it’s not even true (I did not graduate from Holy Cross School in Springfield, MA in 1985 – I was 1). But there’s also my parents’ home phone number and other identifying info that no date needs to have before I’ve even met him. And he’s most certainly not finding out where I live until date #5 at the earliest. If I’m being completely honest, that’s 60% related to safety, and 40% related to my piss-poor housekeeping abilities. If we make it to a 5th date, I’m invested enough to put some effort into tidying up and stop treating half my couch like it’s a dresser.
  • Accuse every guy you go out with (half jokingly) of being a murderer and/or rapist. This has become my schtick. At some point on a first date, I will casually drop a “Hahaha let’s hope you’re not a serial killer! J slash k! Not really!” into the conversation. I am 100% serious. I can’t even remember a date where I haven’t done that. It sounds silly, but here’s my thought process… I throw it out there, and if by some chance the guy is a rapist or serial killer, one of the following will happen:
  1. I’ll be able to tell by his reaction.
  2. He’ll be too worried about my superior crime solving skills to go through with his plan.
  3. He’ll be so impressed with my intelligence that he’ll spare my life.

This is foolproof, I tell you. Foolproof. It’s science.

  • Carry a Weapon. Seriously. In the storage compartment of my driver’s side door is a giant blue maglite that my father gave me when I first got a car. It’s come in handy for lots of flashlight related things over the years – finding something I dropped in the dark, checking out the damage after hitting a deer, etc. But my father was also not shy about instructing me to use it as a weapon, if needed. Maglites are heavy. And if you grip the flashlight head, it stays in your hand easier. Swing that fucker at someone’s temple and he’ll go DOWN. That maglite gets transferred into my purse for first and second dates. It’s a good thing I have large purses. And as I mentioned, my dad literally ordered me enough industrial grade pepper spray to bring down the fleet of Budweiser Clydesdales when I moved to the city, so I carry one in every bag.                                                                                            Maglitepepper spray

Now here’s the six million dollar question you may be asking yourself: have we ever broken our own rules?

Mom, before I answer this, it’s been real but it’s time for you to click away now. In fact, all moms everywhere: please go turn on OWN while your kids have a little chat. Love you guys!

…………………

Yes, I’ve ignored my own advice. I’ve accepted a ride home after a date. Twice. Usually I’ll walk to the date location, so if at the end of the date it’s cold or raining, and the guy seems legit, and I plan to see him again, and he offers me a ride home, he may get an extra “LOL as long as you’re not about to chop me into little pieces HAHAHA seriously please don’t do that”, but mama’s not about to turn that offer down. I do make them drop me at the corner and drive away so they can’t see exactly where I live (seriously). Also, not to sound like a ho fo sho, but the car is an ideal first kiss/make out locale for those times when you don’t want to risk life and limb and invite a stranger over to your apartment. Speaking of…

I’ve gone back to an okc date’s place after a first date. Once. Get your minds out of the gutter; we literally didn’t even kiss. But this move resulted in perhaps my most absurd first date story of all time which, while PG, I’ve been hesitant to tell you all about since as you now know, my mom reads this blog. In hindsight this was a stupid and careless decision but hey, I made it out alive and got a pretty fantastic story out of it (truth – it’s a really great story).

So, I’m probably going to come off as a prissy, uptight chick here, but I actually haven’t broken any of these rules (aaaand now I feel like an irresponsible floozy). I haven’t ever accepted a ride. This is really related to the fact that I hate the T and drive almost everywhere, so I’m never really in a position to need a ride. I will most likely break this rule if/when I leave my car at home and give the T a chance to get back in my good graces. I’ve also never gone back to a dude’s place after a first (or second) date, no matter how legit the guy seems or how into him I am. This is partially a product of cases I hear about from my best friend who is a DA, as well as my own experience interning at the public defender’s office here in Boston (an internship I loved and the kind of work I hope to do again, but still, there are some seriously sketchy people out there). It is also partially a product of my troubling pattern of being deeply attracted to actual, convicted felons (who’s the real floozy here? feeling less irresponsible now S??) (Yes! A little. Thanks, D)

For example, I encountered the most attractive man I have ever met, still to this day, in a prison back in 2006 while studying abroad. I interned with a criminal defense firm in London, and one day went with a solicitor to a prison out in Devon to visit a client. The Brits seriously love their tea, and one of the cushiest gigs an inmate can get while serving his sentence is to serve tea to solicitors visiting with their clients. I ordered at least a dozen cups of tea during the hour or so meeting I had with our awful client, just so that stunning specimen of a human being would keep coming back into the room. (Unbenownst to both of us until the train ride back, the solicitor I was with was doing the same thing for the same reason. That beautiful, beautiful man came into our meeting room more than 20 times. It was magical.) S can vouch for the fact that I got back to our flat that day swooning HARD (It’s true. F’d up, but true). I have no idea what he did to land himself in a prison in rural England, but I would have gone home with him in a heartbeat (you know, had he had the option of walking out of the building like I did, minor detail). I 4000% still would if I ever saw him again. Knowing that about myself, I think it’s best to abide strictly to the don’t-go-back-to-his-place-on-the-first-date rule. There’s a good chance he’s done hard time.

What do you single ladies out there do to ensure you don’t become a human lampshade on a first date? Any tips or suggestions that we missed? Do you possess the same level of paranoia that we do about online dating, or are you more relaxed? Leave us a comment and let us know.