Hi, friends. Did you wake up this morning with a post-holiday weekend case of the Mondays? Do your pants no longer fit after four days of carbo-loading? Are you still recovering from the trauma of attending your 10 year high school reunion? Or is that just me and L?
Never fear. We’ve got the cure here at Stucu, and that cure is other people’s misery. Schadenfreude FTW!
We LOVED reading your submissions to our‘worst date ever’ contest: between the picture fraud, money drama, tooth issues, sexual harassment and general soul crushing awkwardness you shared, the three of us are (for once) feeling like our dating lives are not the bleakest on the planet. And for that, dear readers, we will be eternally grateful.
We’ve picked five worst date tales to share with you. We’ll post one story each day this week for your enjoyment, and on Friday when we post the last story you’ll be able to vote for your favorite. The three winners will receive some swanky Stucu swag (say that five times fast–dare you) but more importantly, the honor and glory of being pitied most grievously by their internet peers. Thanks to all who participated and happy reading!
Entry #1—Dental Drama
So when we say “worst date ever” contest, the original interpretation is quite obvious, but how about “worst date ever” when you are in fact the culprit? Let us begin.
Years ago I went on my first date with my now husband. We went figure skating and out to a pizza place I had never tried. To provide some very important and oh-so-embarrassing context, I have tooth implants. I have two fake teeth right up front in my mouth, and at that time, I was wearing one of those Invisalign retainers with two fake teeth in them. This retainer was quite old, and if you think food didn’t get stuck between the plastic and the fake teeth, think again. This led to some pretty unique food filled smiles (I could literally write a book).
So post pizza, my nerves high and wondering if there would be a kiss, I did what any toothless gal would do and waited for my date to become preoccupied. When he was searching around for the waiter to ask for the check (we split, #firstdatedebate), I pulled out my teeth to do an inspection. My gut was right: pasta sauce and cheese had manifested itself in my retainer in front of my teeth. Again, thinking my date was preoccupied, I did what at the time seemed logical (missing teeth = missing part of one’s brain), and started swirling my retainer around in a glass of water on the table like it was a god damn dishwasher.
The horror and curiosity on my date’s face was unparalleled. I knew I had absolutely blown it. It’s hard to really laugh at the whole “pulled out my dentures to clean them at the table while in a restaurant” routine, so the check came and we headed out. I was mortified at my own dental date behavior and thought that was it. My crush that I was obsessing over for 6 months was going to walk away. But obviously, since I’ve mentioned him as my husband, this story ends well. The true moral of the story here is: go to the bathroom to deal with your teeth issues, girls!
November goal: met. Curse: reversed. Dry spell: over. Dignity: regained (sort of). God, am I relieved. Mostly because I publicly set an (admittedly unnecessary) goal for myself and then panicked when I realized I might not actually achieve that goal. While the rest of you clowns were busy growing facial hair, I’ve been feverishly pimping myself out on the Okc. So I am thrilled to report that I made it with a week and a half to spare!
What’s that? You want to hear about my actual date and not just endure me taking victory laps for this entire post? You guys are adorable, but sure, I’ll indulge you.
My date was with D, a nice, nerdy guy who messaged me about a week ago. His first message to me was actually great, albeit a bit overly enthusiastic, but when I clicked on his profile I was met with some insane shit. First of all it was way way WAY too long. Mama has a life and a lot of prime time TV to get to, so she doesn’t have time to plow through a personal memoir while searching for a date. Second, he actually mentioned that his ex-girlfriend helped him write said profile (!!!!!!!) (boys, do I really need to tell you that mentioning an ex in your ONLINE DATING PROFILE is considered poor form? Also, D, your ex did not do you any favors, I assure you). And third, his pictures were comically outdated–I believe the oldest time stamp was from 2003. To put this in perspective, in 2003 I was obsessing over my upcoming high school senior trip to Disney World and listening to this on repeat:
Who am I kidding? I STILL listen to that on repeat. Fantastic jam. The point is, call me crazy, but it seems like a picture taken when I was probably still in high school and viewed when I was two weeks away from attending my 10 year reunion might be considered slightly outdated.
Anyway, the long, insane profile normally would have been a deterrent, as would the vintage photos from a bygone era, but beggars can’t be choosers and more importantly, D’s message was actually really nice and normal. So I replied, and we had a brief back and forth. Impatient to meet my deadline, I asked him out for a drinkand we made plans for the only time we were both free, which was early evening on Sunday (SO creepy). D suggested we meet at a trendy speakeasy that I had been meaning to try but hadn’t gotten around to. The place was so trendy that I had difficulty locating it (here were his directions):
If that’s not the start of an episode of SVU, I don’t know what is. When I found it, D was standing outside with a sheepish look on his face. The place was inexplicably closed. Honestly I was just so excited that D appeared to be all six feet one inches that he claimed on his profile, and was actually cuter in person than in his wildly outdated photos, that I didn’t care.
We headed down the street to another bar and it wasn’t until we sat down, ordered drinks, and had an ominous moment of awkward silence that I considered this fact: I might be REALLY rusty at this whole first date thing. I mean, It’s been five months. Maybe everything I’d learned up until then had faded and this was going to be a spectacularly awkward evening of social failure. Luckily, before I could think about this any more, D piped up to ask me a question and I didn’t have time to worry about my romantic shortcomings again.
It was a nice date. D was smart, interesting, did not take himself too seriously, talked a lot but also listened with interest about what I had to say. We had some drinks, ordered some snacks, and had a reasonably nice time. I told D about the blog which he loved and wanted to know more about (I did refrain from telling him that he was single handedly responsible for breaking my dry spell). There were a few over shares on his part, mostly about his terrible relationship with his dad (yikesaroo), which surprised me given the fact that I felt like I already knew his life story from his anthology of a profile.
At one point in the date, D asked me how to pronounce my last name. Without thinking anything of it, I told him (this is not an uncommon question) and then excused myself to go to the restroom. Walking back, it hit me: I never told this dude my last name. This is anestablished first date policy of mine. What. the. fuck?? Did I have a stalker on my hands, or just your run of the mill serial killer? Is that why he wanted to meet me in front of an unmarked metal gate? Does he know my social security number and blood type, too? Should I sneak out the bathroom window like in the movies? But wait, if he knows my last name he could probably find me anyway. GAH.
I pulled it together in the ladies room and decided I needed to confront this potential killer. Here is what transpired:
S: So, I just realized… I never told you my last name.
D: I was waiting for you to say that.
S: Oh God, you’re not going to kill me, are you?
D: Huh?
S: How did you find out my last name?
D: I mean, I work with computers for a living. You told me enough about your job and industry that when I searched those facts plus your first name, your LinkedIn profile came right up. I’m sorry, is that totally creepy?
S: Sort of, yes. But I also kind of respect it. My friends and I are semi-pro stalkers and we can usually find out some pretty incredible stuff about our dates with minimal clues to go off of. Usually this terrifies men, though. The tables have kind of turned.
D: You’ve met your stalking match. So what did you find out about me?
S: Actually, I didn’t even Google you. (I didn’t tell D that this was because there was literally no time/I had a deadline to meet.)
Not much else to report on this date, honestly. It was perfectly nice, and D was perfectly nice. Do we actually have chemistry/a ton in common? That remains to be seen. But I certainly think it’s worth another look. I am trying really hard not to compare him to H, who I had off the charts chemistry with from our very first date, because one, that’s not fair and two, obviously that off the charts chemistry didn’t really lead to anything good anyway.
D drove me home (no kiss, no attempted murder) and we agreed we’d like to go out again, but I know I don’t need to remind you all to take that agreement with a GIGANTIC grain of salt. An iceberg of salt, if you will. The probability that D fades away is incredibly high so for now, I’ll just be congratulating myself for achieving my November goal without having to literally pay an escort service.
Date rating: 7/10. D was a nice, interesting, smart, TALL dude with great manners and a lot to say. Not sure if I feel anything for him beyond that, but it’s certainly worth revisiting to find out. The stalking was a little creepy, but I can’t really judge someone for doing something that is essentially a dating best practice here at StuCu.
Happy Wednesday, y’all (yes, I am in fact from New Jersey, but I’ve been having myself a little Friday Night Lights marathon). Before we get to this week’s pictorial treat, a progress update: no, I have not been on or booked a date since my last post where I made a Gone With the Wind style proclamation to do so in November. But I still have 2+ weeks to go. And I’m not worried. At all. Especially because fine specimens such as this one keep popping up on my Okc homepage (I’m honestly not sure if this is considered NSFW. I certainly wouldn’t open it while my boss was in the room). Just a fair warning, this gentleman is in a costume, and that costume is…you guessed it…. a vagina. Behold:
You’d think I would have some funny quips to make about this, but honestly it’s just too easy. What is there to say that’s not like, Jay Leno-level obvious? I did find it hilarious to think about all the trouble this dude must have gone to to purchase this costume. Like, he presumably had to Google ‘vagina costume’ (which I actually did, in the privacy of my apartment, with VERY mixed results), pay probably $29,95 plus shipping and handling, and then wait patiently for a package from crazycostumes.com or wherever. Which contained a giant hooha. Something about that whole process makes me LOL more than the costume itself.
Oh, and before I forget, at L’s behest I need to update you all on one more thing. Remember last week when I told you all that J (who dumped me in a bar) messaged me randomly last m0nth? L predicted he was going to ask me to go out again, and I said in my post that she was wrong. WELP, I am officially issuing a retraction because J messaged me AGAIN and asked me to get a drink with him earlier this week. L was right, and she’d like you all to know it. Here is what happened on Gchat when I informed her of this development:
L: OMG I KNEW ITGOD I KNOW EVERYTHINGi have to scream about how right i was for 5 minutes before i talk to youL: you SAID in your post i was wrong and please issue a correction
So there you have it. You were right, L. You are a brilliant genius, but obviously I knew that already.I also would like to share with you, readers, that I decided to say yes to a drink with J. I assure you I am NOT interested in him romantically in any way, shape or form. But 1. all of this weird contact has made me curious about what he wants/what his deal is, and 2. the last time J saw me I was fighting back tears and exiting a bar, humiliated. So the idea of regaining a little bit of that dignity by being my fabulous, charming, breezy self is highly appealing to me. Plus I’m bored this week with literally nothing else on my agenda but working/binge watching Eric and Tami Taylor for hours on end. So it’s happening, and I will of course let you all know how it goes.
Clear eyes/full hearts/can’t lose.
Update: this little treat was brought to my attention and clearly needed to be shared with the world…
Oh hey there, all you friends out in cyberland. Remember me? Founder of the very blog you’re reading? Single person whorecently pledgedto blog more often? It may not have escaped your notice that directly after I made that claim, I pulled an Irish exit and disappeared for over a month. I swear, I didn’t even realize I was gone that long. In my mind it had been like, two weeks since I’d posted something. Then I jumped on the blog to read L’s most recent post and out of curiosity, scrolled down to read the last thing I wrote. Ummmmmthat was on October 2nd. It’s November 8th. What. The. FUCK???
How can I explain this time warp/my absence? I have no excuse. I haven’t been in jail, or in LA developing the pilot to my TV show (I hear Amy Poehler is really busy shooting Parks and Rec at the moment), or doing anything else remotely exciting or interesting. I’ve been slogging my way through fall and experiencing the worst writer’s block since my paper on Madame Bovary was due in 12th grade AP English. Meanwhile L and D, the best co-bloggers EVER, have been keeping you boos entertained and cheerfully carrying my dead weight while gently prodding me to get my shit together and post something, ANYTHING, and I’ve just been like….yeahhhhh. Sorry, girls. I’ll get around to that…soon.
But seriously. This is a blog about dating. I’m not writing federal grant proposals. I’m not defending my thesis on astrophysics. So what the hell is wrong with me? As it turns out, a few things. First, I think I took theH thingharder than I’d like to admit. I’m not trying to sound dramatic; I’m fine. I promise, I’m not going to cry (lucky for you guys I’m not drinking red wine while writing this. Yet.) But honestly after everything went down, thinking or talking about dating has just not been a fun experience.
Second, it’s been a soul crushingly unsuccessful month of attempting to get back in the saddle. As in I’m currently batting .000. As in, I have not managed to go on ONE first date since I ended it with H. I’ve had string of inexplicably bizarre, boring, and just all around awful interactions with men I don’t even like. So when I say writer’s block, I mean yes, I’m having a hard time putting my thoughts into words, but mostly I just mean I literally cannot seem to obtain new subject matter to share with you fine people.
Since I have no new dates to tell you about, I thought I’d give you the next best thing… October Okc highlights! Here’s the roundup:
Mr. Mensasent me two more incredibly boring messages and managed to fit one more name drop before (predictably) disappearing. For a dude with a self reported crazy high IQ, he was really lacking in social intelligence.
I messaged back and forth with a guy who eventually gave me his phone # and asked me to text him. Which I did. Later that night, I received this response:
Shit, I thought. I typed his number in wrong. But I double checked and nope, it was right. So I responded.
I thought to myself, this is one of three things: 1. a really bad elaborate joke on his part, 2. a bizarre way for him to ditch me, or 3. an honest mistake. So I messaged him:
My bad? That’s it? Am I just being cranky, or is that the most humorless response to this scenario ever? What kind of person wouldn’t take the opportunity to respond with something like ‘hahaha so sorry, can’t believe I gave you the wrong number.’ Or, ‘this is amazing, what did the other person say? Do you have a date with them now instead?’ Or even just, ‘WOW I can’t remember my own phone #…embarrassing’. Something, ANYTHING that indicates you have a sense or humor/actual pulseand aren’t, in fact, the most boring person on the face of this earth. UGH. Needless to say the conversation petered out, and that was that.
I briefly messaged back and forth with a guy who earned the nickname Don Draper for what I discovered to be his wildly antiquated, Mad Men era views on gender roles. I should have been suspicious when he asked me wayyyyy too many questions about whether I liked to cook. Then, when I casually mentioned I wasn’t into football, he replied with something to the tune of: “Well that’s fine, I like my women to be women and only have girly hobbies anyway.” Oh good, so glad we cleared that up. Hey Don, would you also like “your woman” to grab you a whiskey neat and your pipe and slippers on her way into the kitchen to bake you a pie? F*ck off, Draper*.
*Actually this guy WISHED he was 1/10th as hot as Jon Hamm. A more appropriate nickname would have been Pete Campbell, and even that would have been a stretch.
Ummmm what? Seriously. I thought, what the hell does this dude want? Because he must want SOMETHING, right? Right. So I responded in the most vague, neutral way possible, basically like ‘hey back, hope you’re well!’ purely out of curiosity. J then proceeded to send me a series of messages on the following topics:
His job, which is going great (he has a new boss)
His ROMANTIC LIFE… he was seeing someone but they recently broke it off because they wanted different things (???)
Our infamous public break up of last year. Totally out of the blue, J apologized for “how that went down” and said I deserved better. I mean, truth, I totally did, but what the hell is this guy telling me this NOW for? Is he in AA and this is the part where he apologizes to everyone he’s ever wronged? I’m over it, J. I know I trashed you on my blog, but that was for funsies/entertainment value. I promise, I’m. Over. It.
I officially do not understand men. What possessed this guy to reach out to me out of the blue and tell me his deepest darkest secrets? L was positive that he was going to ask me out again but I said no, I think he’s literally just lonely and wants someone to talk to, and clearly I was right. In the beginning I had been vaguely responding to these messages, again more out of curiosity than anything else, but it got to the point where I was like okay thattttt’s enough of that and just stopped responding.
So there you have it, friends. My October on Okcupid. This parade of freak show interactions combined with someone who I really liked saying ‘no thanks’ to exclusively dating me, well.. it messed with me. I uttered the infamous single girl words: “what’s wrong with me?” probably 15-20 times. ….A day. (To be fair, this phrase is so commonly used among the three of us that our autobiography will likely be titled: “What’s Wrong With Me? The LSD Story”.
I just felt like, and I still feel like, in order to really be over the H mess, I need a new first date. Even a bad one. Even a COMICALLY bad one. And I can’t even make a bad one happen! It’s now been FIVE MONTHS since my last first date (with H). It’s gotten to the point where by the time it does happen I’m afraid I’ll forget everything I’ve ever learned about online dating and act like a complete lunatic.
More importantly, I have a dating blog. I have loyal readers (okay, I have family and friends. Egomania: in check!) who come here for a laugh and to read about, you know, dates. With actual men. So is this it? Is this where I throw my dignity down the toilet and hop on Craigslist personals? Or worse, Tinder?
Not today, dear readers. Not today. Instead, I’m going to pull a Scarlett O’Hara and tell you all right now:
I WILL go on a first date in the month of November. Not because I need to be dating someone to be a happy, successful human, or because I’m desperate for male attention or a boyfriend, or anything like that. But this inability to get a date has become a thing now, and it’s bugging me, and I need to shake it off and move on. Also, I have a sneaking suspicion that actually having something to write about is going to help with my “writer’s block”.
Happy (if you’re on the East coast) rainy, gross Friday! I can’t think of a better way to start the weekend off right than to share two very different, very important, very special “broadcast messages” from the men of Okc:
Sometimes the universe is a wonderful place. Perfection.
D and I are working on a two part post about Okcupid’s new features (some of which you may have noticed made news headlines). We will post our thoughts next week (and get ready, because we have LOTS of them). In the meantime, have a great weekend! Here’s hoping it’s filled with both cuddling AND an anonymous hotel nooner.
Howdy, internet friends. I thought I’d switch things up from our normal StuCu routine of posting sociopathic,soul crushing, and just generally nonsensical messages for Message Monday and go with something a little more “normal” today. Here’s one that I received recently:
This is hella depressing, but that is actually one of the better messages I’ve received on Okcupid. Middlle of the road, sure, but definitely in the top 50%. Ahahaha #FML.
Honestly, I didn’t hate this message. It’s super cheesy, and obviously pick up lines are lame, but I don’t know, I was maybe 30% charmed by it. First of all, it prompted me to picture baby polar bears, which yes, grow up to be killing machines, but also happen to be effing adorable:
Second, at least he said SOMETHING other than:
hey
hi
yo
what’s up
ur pretty
wana talk
how are u
I would have definitely chatted and subsequently gone out with this guy IF upon further inspection of his profile I hadn’t concluded that we had absolutely nothing in common. Like, zero. But my rejecting him had nothing to do with the message, even though I can only assume (as I always do with a generic message that doesn’t refer to my profile at all) that he’s sending this bad boy out to any and every woman who he encounters on Okc. I would actually love to know what his rate of return is, but I’m guessing it w0uld be considered rude to ask him that in my reply…?
2. Don’t forget to warn your mom about potentially upsetting content. For instance, when your co-blogger posts a particularly offensive and gross message for Message Monday, it’s good to give your mother a heads up, or she may call you, freak out, tell you she lost sleep thinking about you and your co-bloggers coming in contact with dudes like that, and ask if you want to come home (that is my mom’s go to line whenever something upsetting happens: “DO YOU WANT TO COME HOME???” To be fair, home is a 20 minute drive from my apartment so it’s not a totally ridiculous question. And real talk, sometimes yes, yes I do want to come home and lay on my parents’ couch and eat free food and watch free cable. So sue me. #almost29yearsold
3. Don’t trash a guy on your blog until you’re sure it’s over. Ahhh yes. This is an important one that I am learning in real time, literally as I write this. Please refer tothis postwhere I introduced you all to a guy I’d been seeing named H, then proceeded to call him a “dickweed” for abruptly ending it with me and added a sassy little Kelly Kapoor gif to round out my rage. Don’t get my wrong, H acted like a jerk, and he totally deserved it. But now it’s time for me to eat crow/feel stupid and reveal to you, dear readers, that H reappeared a few weeks after that incident, apologized profusely for being a jerk, and after talking it out we started to casually, slowly see each other again.
Before you get all, ‘what the hell, S, this guy sounded like an asshole,’ allow me to fully explain the situation. H is fairly recently divorced… the first divorced dude I’ve ever dated. He was pretty open/up front about the terrible shape he was in when his marriage first ended and that he only just re-entered the dating world, intent on taking things slowly. Now clearly when he pulled a ‘oh hey I’m sort of seeing someone else, JUST KIDDING that was a mistake please forgive me’, I could tell he miiiiiight not be the most stable table on the showroom floor in terms of dating readiness. But what can I say? I liked him. A lot. I thought we’d really hit it off. And I just knew if I didn’t (cautiously) give this dude who I really liked a second chance, I’d always wonder.
So I agreed to start seeing H again, very slowly and casually, and we did just that. Here’s what I liked about him:
He was really smart, but didn’t take himself too seriously. H had a graduate degree, was a college professor on top of his full time job, and had run a successful start up with his two friends right out of school. He was intelligent, creative, interesting, and successful, but he also loved bad TV and eagerly ranked the best diners in South Jersey with me. There was zero arrogance, which I’m all about (take notes, Mr. Mensa).
He was honest. Possibly bordering on too honest. H was totally up front about the divorce thing and the fact that he was still very much recovering.
He was fun, considerate, and (relatively) easy to make plans with. I say relatively because any one of my girlfriends would still beat him, even on their worst day, in the being proactive category, but to be fair we are an exceptionally bossy bunch. H remembered things I said I’d wanted to do or try when we made plans, cooked for me (although sadly there was no elaborate menu this time) and even though he lived in the suburbs, always offered to schlep into the city to see me.
The chemistry was there. From the beginning I felt like we had that intangible thing that I talked about in my post about the points system. We just clicked. Little to no awkwardness. Easy flowing conversation. Joking, teasing, banter. The same sense of humor. Chemistry.
The attraction was there. H was no model (neither am I, so thank God) but he was my particular brand of cute, which is a little nerdy (much like L has a self-professed “mediocrity fetish”, I have a “mildly schlubby guy next door with glasses” fetish. Mmmmm glasses.) If I had to describe him I would say if Jack Black and the guy from Rudy had a baby, and that baby grew up to be a 6 foot tall 33 year old nerd who wore glasses, that would be H.
So I was going out with H until two weeks ago, and having a great time. I was also (half-heartedly) talking with and going on a few dates with other guys. In hindsight, I think I was doing this more to try to keep things breezy:
H had been pretty clear about wanting to keep things casual, which at first I was totally kosher with, but I as time went on I could feel myself starting to really like him. After our last date a few weeks ago, I just knew. I knew I’d have to have the ‘are we exclusive talk’ with him, and I knew how it would go. So being the BREEZY woman that I am, I naturally wrote out a FULL SCRIPT of what I wanted to say (actually super necessary because my mind goes blank in situations like this), called H and blurted the entire thing out in 12 seconds. And it went down exactly as I predicted: H said that as much as he liked me and was having a great time, he just wasn’t ready for an exclusive relationship yet. And I knew that unless I cut things off completely at that point, I’d be too tempted to keep seeing him. So I told him we had to stop seeing each other and asked him explicitly not to call or text me. And then I basically hung up on him because I was flustered and about to cry.
Real talk, I was pretty bummed, you guys. I liked H a lot, probably more than anyone I’ve met via online dating. I was having a lot of fun with him and I could see trying to make a go of it long term. And truthfully I was really surprised by how hard a call this was to make. I knew intellectually what I was “supposed” to do as a strong, independent woman with a reasonable amount of self worth. But I liked this guy so much and was having such a genuinely great time with him, it was not easy to let that go, especially as an almost 29 year old single girl. I was so so tempted to just keep seeing H casually, not rock the boat, and try to ease him into the idea of something more serious.
But while my romantic self was concocting all sorts of fantasies about how that would totally definitely 100% work, my pragmatic self was like listen, home girl, you’re smarter than that. You know what you want, and you know that H either doesn’t want that or isn’t ready for it, and if you compromise on this you will feel like shit about yourself. I felt like I had an inner sassy gay friend guiding me:
Also, as L pointed out (she’s so wise) this thing between us would have still inevitably ended, but probably in a much more miserable, messy way somewhere down the line. Ugh. Being a mature adult is the worst, isn’t it?
So now that it’s really over between me and H, I can officially go to town, tell you all some really embarrassing shit about him, and pull out as many sassy gifs as my heart desires, but of course now I actually have no interest in doing any of that. Damn it. It’s helping to remind myself that H was far from perfect. His apartment was a pigsty. He also owned and once wore in public, in my presence, with a straight face, a Google glass.
I mean.
Speaking of things H wore, perhaps revealing one little embarrassing detail about him to the internet will cheer me up. And never fear, I know just the thing to share with the class. H suffered from sleep apnea, so to help him breathe at night he had to wear something really…. unique to bed:
That super attractive piece of equipment is called a CPAP machine, and it’s something that I unfortunately became all too familiar with over this past summer.Fun fact: it not only makes the wearer look like Bane from Batman, but also sound like him, too. Between that and the Google glass, I did sometimes feel like I was dating a legitimate cyborg.
Confession: when I wrote the bulk of this post last week I was going to end it by sharing this clip from Girls:
and telling you all that this scene is exactly what I do when my love life is not working out as planned. Basically: feel sad—> wallow in my sadness—> listen to some embarrassingly dramatic melancholy tunes—> get tired of being sad and dance it the eff out to some Robyn.
I was going to end with that. Until Tina Fey hosted SNL last weekend and bitch slapped me out of my walking Zoloft cloud trance.
I mean seriously, the whole thing is hysterical, and so true, but when they parody that exact scene at 2:35, I DIE. Once again, Tina wins at life. #Blerta
I’m doing my best to try to forget about H. I had a lot of fun with him, so I don’t regret giving him another chance for one second, but it’s time to move on. This will undoubtedly involve a lot of fall TV and white wine spritzers. And one October goal of mine, BESIDES blogging more, is to get back in the OKC saddle again. If Mr. Mensa would ever stop taking IQ tests and get his act together (he is STILL. MESSAGING ME. wtf) I would honor our survey results and start with him. Until then, bring on Season 2 of Nashville!
Have any of you lovely readers ended it with someone you really liked because you wanted different things, or because of bad timing? Leave a comment and tell me about it. Maybe we can form a ‘people who make grown up dating decisions even though they suck’ support group. I’ll bring the wine spritzers.
Allow me to sincerely apologize for the lack of consistent posting that’s been happening lately (and by “that’s been happening” I mean “will be continuing through this week”). I know what you’re thinking but I promise, we haven’t been spending all our time catching up on fall TV and shouting “TINA FEY, HAVE SEX WITH ME” while watching the Emmys.*
*S did in fact shout that exact sentence during the Emmys. Which she watched with her mom. Who spent most of the broadcast emphatically insisting that “Claire Danes is the worst.” I said all our time, thank you very much.
It’s true, the intoxicating promise of a new season of Nashville is a heady drug to three painfully single late 20-something women, but we promise we’re not abandoning you, not even for this goddess among mere mortals:
To put it plainly, shit has been cray. Additionally, D and I are both in a close friend’s wedding this weekend (YAY other S and guy S!) which is straight up going to be the party of the century (sorry/not sorry Kate and Wills). L will post this week if she has time, but either way I promise, starting next week we will return to a somewhat consistent schedule, filled with second hand embarrassment, poor grammar, and troubling selfies. Here’s a preview of an upcoming post of mine to whet your appetite: I’ve been seeing someone for most of this summer (who I actually mentioned on the blog before in a not so flattering way…oh me) and I broke it off with him last week. So you’d better believe I’m going to be dishing allllll about that fun experience as soon as I have the time to search for the proper GIFs.
Have a great week, boos, and we’ll see you next week with some fresh content!
If you read L’s sports blogger post earlier this week you already know that LSD are huge fans of the show The League. The three of us have been binge watching the new season on Netflix simultaneously, LOLing at Ruxin’s antics, drooling over Pete, and being grossed out by Rafi.
Sorry to suddenly turn this into a 100% League themed blog (lest you all get the idea that I actually like football, because incidentally I hate it) but a plot line in one of the episodes caught my attention. Pete, the scruffy, adorable ne’er do well, tells the guys about a “points system” that he’s devised for picking up players off the waiver wire (real talk, I had no idea what that even was before I watched the show), and how it also works in the dating world. Basically Pete assigns players (or women) who are left after the draft (or who are single) points for their positive and negative attributes, and then makes a decision based on their final score. I swear I searched for half an hour for a Youtube clip of this damn scene but had no luck whatsoever. The best I could muster was an Amazon Video free preview clip of the scene that they won’t allow me to embed into this post. #bloggingfail. If you care, here it is. According to Pete:
“Those who are left, myself included, have a ton of baggage. Maybe it’s a bad hamstring. Maybe she’s got daddy issues. The system allows me to ferret it all out and make the right pick.”
Please know that Pete also claims women older than 28 qualify as the female equivalent of leftovers from the draft. Well thanks, Pete/writers for The League. I’ll be turning 29 in less than three months, so that makes me feel faaaaannntastic.
But Pete claims this is also one of the reasons the point system is so useful: the older we get, the less time we have to BS around with someone who’s not right for us. He shows the other guys how efficiently his system works by using it on a strange woman in a bar. It’s simple arithmetic: add points for the positives, subtract for the negatives, and make a call based on their final score. In the end, the joke is on Pete, because a girl who he goes out with and really likes uses the points system on him and decides he doesn’t measure up. Pete ends up with a -7 score, and no second date.
I would be lying if I said this concept didn’t intrigue me a bit. The thing is, I think it’s something that most single people are already unofficially doing in our heads. Here are some examples of things that I subconsciously keep track of. I have assigned each item a numerical value of importance using the Pete Eckhart system:
Taller than me: +1
Over 6 feet tall: +2
Has all his hair: +1
Good job and/or advanced degree: +3
Funny/makes me laugh: +3
Friendly/good conversationalist: +3
Good taste in music: +2
Lives in the city: +1
Poor grammar/spelling: -1
Bad at making plans: -2
Egotistical/takes himself too seriously: -3
Politically conservative: -2
Looks at his phone a lot during our date: -2
Texts every five seconds: -2
Alludes to past relationships/baggage/mommy issues/inability to commit early on: -4
Now, pretty much all of these categories could be used across the board on any date, but sometimes things come up that are more…individualized. Here are two examples of positives and negatives that were specific to a certain guy:
J who dumped me in a crowded barloved…wait for it….DISNEY WORLD: -4. I’m sorry, but I am terrified of grown ass adults without kids who go to Disney World every year. I’m sure dissing the happiest place on Earth makes me sound like a crotchety bitch–don’t get me wrong, I love a good Disney movie, and the two times I went to Disney (when I was a kid and our senior trip in high school) were a blast. But I don’t get adults who voluntarily and repeatedly visit an amusement park in ORLANDO, FLORIDA when they could be traveling to…basically anywhere else.
Please know that in typical foot-in-mouth S fashion, I went on this exact rant in front of J before I knew this about him. He got really quiet for a second and then replied (in a super serious tone): “My whole family goes to Disney once a year. We’re actually going again over Christmas.”
Whooooooooopsieeeeee
(I have no idea who these people are, btdubs. I googled ‘awkward family Disney World pics’ and this family came up. Clearly they’re about as pleased with my Disney trash talking as J was).
So yeah. I secretly kind of believe that whole exchange was the real reason J dumped me but let’s be honest, it wasn’t meant to be anyway. Mama is not about to spend her Christmas in line for the “It’s a Small World” ride.
Annywayyy…. sorry for that tangent! Back to the topic at hand. Last night, in the name of Stucu research, I took the points system for a spin on someone I’ve been messaging but haven’t gone out with yet. Here’s what his breakdown looks like (remember, I haven’t met this dude):
lives in the city: +1
lawyer who seems to like his job: +3
Politically liberal: +2
Over 6 feet tall: +2
Excellent spelling and grammar: +1
Asks good questions/acts interested: +2
Sort of funny: +1
Disappeared in the middle of our messaging and then returned weeks later apologizing and claiming he had been “really busy”: -4
STILL taking his sweet ass time to make plans (too many messages): -2
MENTIONED TWICE THAT HE’S IN MENSA: ……–5? Yes, -5 is fair.
That last one….I just can’t. Am I the only one who finds that to be incredibly lame and gross? It’s like adults who still talk about their SAT score: CALM DOWN. You’re really smart. I get it. I actually originally thought this was grounds for dismissal because ew, eyeroll…
but when I did the math, this guy (also a J) squeaked by with a +1. If he doesn’t fall off the face of the Earth (again), I may still give him a shot because 1. he has a positive point value and I want to test this theory and 2. there’s a fairly good chance that he’d show up to our date wearing this:
and legitimately attempt to test my IQ. Which let’s face it, would make for some fanfuckingtastic blog fodder.
One final note on the points system: while I think it’s fun, efficient, and maybe useful to a point, it’s also super arbitrary: how much is something like sense of humor really “worth” to me in relation to say, height? I’m not sure quantifying it is that helpful an exercise. Especially because I also think it discounts a huge part of what’s important in finding a match, and that’s chemistry. Sure, I can assign points to ‘makes me laugh’ and ‘good conversationalist’, but that doesn’t entirely cover it. L and I were recently discussing this: there is that intangible connection/compatibility/attraction that you just have with some people and you don’t with others, period. And having done the online dating thing for a while now, I honestly believe in chemistry more than ever. Maybe it’s the format of getting to know someone before actually meeting them… I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been out with a guy who was nice and cool enough over email and who I was excited to meet, and then it just fell totally flat in person.
Also, I think it’s much harder to find that intangible connection than it is to come across many of the things on my “list” (with the exception of ‘good at making plans’ and ‘over 6 feet tall’. Tall dudes who can plan an outing, holler at me!).For instance, K would have done well on the points system, but I just wasn’t feeling it with him. No chemistry. Meanwhile, with other dudes that would get a mediocre score at best, my chemistry has been off the charts. I think the key (and what makes it so hard to meet someone awesome) is to find a combination of both.
So, dear readers, what do you think of Pete Eckhart’s points system? Is it unromantic BS, or do you think there’s actually something to it? If you’re single, have you ever weighed the pluses and minuses of a date or do you just go with your gut?
Also, while we’re at it, should I give Mensa dude a chance or get rid of him? (rest assured I’ll still make my own decision, but I’m curious to hear what you guys think):
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?
Stupid Cupid 