Thursday, May 3, 2018

50 Worst Dates

I have always thought living in a major city while being single couldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Seemingly, there is an endless supply of eligible bachelors, and you can swipe until your fingers bleed without running out of guys to talk to daily.

However, after years of playing the dating game, I began to notice a pattern.

Never-ending exchanges of, ‘what do you do’s and ‘where are you from’s before fizzling out into nothing more than a collection of dusty matches on your Tinder shelf. The excitement seemed to be lost by the third or fourth mundane exchange when one of you stopped responding. What was the point of it all if neither of you were going to move any further?

I decided enough was enough.  I had wasted too much time having bullshit conversations that went nowhere so if we matched we were hanging out, and it didn’t matter if you were my ideal type or if Ok Cupid thinks we are only 67 percent compatible. If we flirted long enough to exchange numbers in bar, we were going on a date or having a drink.  Basically, as long as I found you attractive and you didn’t ask for nudes, I was willing to give it a shot.

What was the worst that could happen? I get a bunch of free cocktails? I find the love of my life? I get murdered and worn as a suit? The possibilities seemed endless! But for the first time, at least they were exciting.

What started out as an optimistic experiment turned into a slap stick Romantic Comedy, but *spoiler alert*Drew Barrymore didn’t get swept off her feet daily in this film.

I decided to keep notes after each failed attempt, and well, eventually I found myself 50 dates deep with nothing to show forth but this blog so I guess it wasn’t a total loss…

50 Worst Dates.

Has hair system (aka a toupee glued to his head). Complains about women false advertising in their pictures.

Has six roommates. Is 35.

Asks if I want to see a picture of his dog.  Shows me a picture of his penis instead.

Suggests we go to a fancy cocktail bar. Drills bartender relentlessly as to why they don't have High Life.

Shows up hammered to date. It’s 7 pm on a Tuesday.

Declares himself a "sociopath" but “in a good way.”

Profile says 5'11". Is 5'6" (in heels). Wines about my recent haircut not being the same as my pictures.

Talks about how much I remind him of his ex. "That worthless bitch."

Brings his buddy on date to confirm I am not crazy.

Profile picture is a gym selfie. Shows up looking like he ate his former self.

Suggests (based on venue) I dress to the 9s. Shows up in (mystery) stained sweatpants.

Asks me how I feel about kids because he wants "a solid dozen."

Tells me if I ever want any kind of commitment from him, I would have to have three or foursomes. Girls only.

Asks me if I want to "get outta here" aka head back to his place during the appetizer.

Broke up with his girlfriend of two years on Tuesday. Felt it was time to get back out there, on Friday.

Orders a round of shots. When I explain I work in the morning and can't do any shots, he does both. Orders two more.

Refers to himself in the third person multiple times.

Tries to convince me during dinner that humans only need to eat once a day, and I was being gluttonous by having my *gasp* third meal that day.

Talks about his summer home and how he can’t wait to take me there. (It’s December.) Ends same conversation with he’s “not looking for anything serious.”

Asks me if I keep everything groomed as nice as my eyebrows.

Tells the waitress since I have a leather handbag I can afford to cover the bill.

Orders dessert to share, tells me I am allowed two bites so I don’t let myself go.

Asks me about my family. I mention I have a sister. Asks me if she’s hot. More than once.

Flirts with hostess. And waitress. And girls at next table. Claims he is just friendly as he passes out his business card to only females skipping their male company.

Tells me I have beautiful breasts and he would like to paint them “Titanic style.”

Kisses me on the cheek each time he gets up to use the bathroom, which is seven times in two hours. Each kiss gets longer.

Talks about his love of hunting. Casually mentions how it would be fun if he could hunt people.

Continues on about how much his mom loved his ex, and how she would never ever accept me. EVER.

Asks me if I want to try out a fancy new Italian restaurant. It was Olive Garden, and I was overdressed.

Tells me I look really good naked because he has been undressing me in his mind all night, and he can tell.

Puts bar’s salt shaker in his pocket because his has been missing.

Suggests we go get matching tattoos because he knows I am the one, ten minutes into our first date.

Informs me he scoured my blog but couldn’t find any information on my stance regarding anal. Precedes to ask me my stance.

Asks me to cover the bill because he’s saving up for a PlayStation 4.

After dinner suggests we go get ice-cream so he can “watch me eat it.”

During a good night kiss, he pulls away to tell me I am good kisser...just like his girlfriend.

Asks me how I feel about recreational drug use. Confirms he smokes “a little meth.”

Interrogates me regarding how many men I have slept with because anything more than five for a woman is “disgusting.”

Inquiries about what his chances are of seeing “dat ass” later.

Leaves the waitress a seven percent tip because “a monkey could do her job.”

When I decline the offer to go back to his place, he points out that he paid the tab SO (with a nudge nudge wink wink).

Has three tattoos of girl’s names. All different.

Responds to a Tinder message mid conversation (before we even order).

Profile says “entrepreneur.” Actually is unemployed.

Gets up to order our drinks. Watch him intensely smell a girl’s hair sitting at bar.

Uses the phrases “on fleek” and “swag” multiple times in conversation.   Is 33.

Takes a phone call for 15 minutes, at the table, during dinner, in a quiet restaurant.

Run into (male) friend at bar. Introduce date to said friend. Date aggressively interrogates me as to whether or not I had sex with said friend. In front of said friend.

Eats French Fries one by one with a fork and knife by slicing them, very slowly, lengthwise.

While nervously playing with my ring, it falls to floor. He retrieves it from under table and licks my leg on the way up.





What a time to be alive!

Monday, November 13, 2017

The 12 Stages every girl goes through after a break up.

Whelp. It’s happened again. Another relationship bit the bullet. Just when you got cocky and thought you could slide through winter gaining weight and bingeing Netflix, instead you have to retire your sweats and pretending you like going out.

Don’t panic. You have been here before and made it through virtually unscathed. Before you can get past this split and move on there are a few things you’re probably going to do. It won’t be pretty, but don’t be ashamed because you are not alone in your madness.

These are the twelve stages girls go through after a break-up…

1.    Talk a lot of shit.

I am talking copious amounts of shit. It’s the shit talking Olympics, and you are going for the gold.

Get your girlfriends in on this. Bring snacks. Think a book club where you all hated the book so much, you want to throw it in a fire.

Just to clarify, I don’t condone burning your ex alive, but reminding yourself of how many orgasms you faked can’t hurt anything but his ego.

2.    Eat your feelings.

Sometimes the only thing to comfort you is comfort food so dive straight into its arms, girl. You will have plenty of time to cry into salads when you’re middle aged so shovel some deep fried goodness into your pie hole, and cover it with ranch and cheese while you’re at it.

3.    Get a revenge body.

Sometimes you take solace in a never-ending pasta bowl and other times you do the exact opposite and take that aggression out at the gym. Go on, and replace sex with working out so you become really hot and then people will want to have sex with you. It’s fool proof.

4.    Get rid of everything he gave you or that reminds you of him.

Except that really cute sweater that makes your boobs look great. Or that expensive handbag because hey, you earned it for all those years of dealing with his bullshit. Ok maybe that necklace can stay too, but that picture where you look kind of fat but he looks cute has to go. Burn it.

5.    Fall down the emo rabbit hole.

After every break up I like to play a little game called, “Listen to every depressing song in existence and see how close I can come to killing myself without actually doing it.”

I’m talking Bon Iver followed by Dashboard Confessional sad here people.

No one really wins this game per se, but I like to think of it as going to the dentist; It’s uncomfortable and painful, but you have to suck it up and get it over with because you will feel super refreshed after.

Also, you should floss. No metaphor here, just a friendly reminder.

6.    Drastically change your appearance.

You’re upset. Angry. Confused. Irrational. Now seems like the perfect time to cut those bangs you spent half your teenage years trying to grow out. In your bathroom. With dull kitchen shears. Maybe pick up some boxed dye so you can really get the party started.

7.    Bang someone else.

I’m pretty sure Confucius said, “The best way to get over somebody is to get under somebody else.”  There is no guarantee you won’t feel worse after, but it’s really hard to think about how miserable you are when all the blood is rushing to your lady parts.

8.    Become a creep.

Have you ever stalked someone’s social media so hard you end up back at your own profile? Nah, me neither, and I surely couldn’t tell you his new girlfriend’s second grade teacher’s name either.

9.    Get the fuck out of dodge.

Pack up your problems and take them half way around the world. You’ll probably still be bummed, but being sad on a beach with a tiny umbrella in your drink sure beats doing it on your couch.

10. Retail therapy.

Go ahead, and treat yo’self to some things you don’t need with money you don’t have to cheer yourself up. Make sure whatever you buy is really tight or low cut so he knows what he’s missing just in case you run into him in public, even though without fail, it will be on the day you look like you’ve been hit by a truck.

11. Replace human contact with alcohol.

Who needs a significant other when you have wine? And Vodka. And Whiskey. They can keep you warm at night too. Plus, if you drink enough you will forget all about your shitty ex, as well as where you put your phone, or how you got home. Meh, you win some, you lose some.

And finally,

12. Begrudgingly re-activate your dating apps

Who knows how many potential bachelors you have missed out on while wasting your time with Captain Fuck Boy. You should probably swipe through a thousand just to make sure it’s just as terrible as when you left.


At least there are always Ben and Jerry.