Flake

I was blown off. Twice. By one man.

I can understand needing to reschedule once but flaking two times in a row does not bode well for me (or Granny). His username has the adjective “charming” in it. I don’t feel charmed.

Obviously he has never met me so he doesn’t realize what he’s missing out on, but come on. I’m a busy gal, my time is valuable. It’s rude to cancel hours before a date.

Granny’s fired up feelings on the situation: he’s history

A Little Dinner

As I suspected, Granny doesn’t want me to be so fast to turn away the plain turkey. Below is our conversation where she urges me to go on a second date, “Have dinner, sit down and chat, talk, whatever you call it. What do you call it when you’re 24?”

have dinner

I don’t want to discount Granny’s wisdom or experience but at the same time I feel like life is too short and OKCupid men are too plentiful to spend another evening of my life with someone I don’t connect with. That’s the beauty of online dating; the grab bag of men is infinite. When I go to Baskin Robbins I wouldn’t just settle on the vanilla, I have to try everything.

I’m not sure what’s up with me and the food analogies this week…

Plain Turkey

The other night I went out with Michael, a guy that I know Granny would consider to be a great candidate for grandson-in-law.  I almost don’t want to tell her about him because I know she’ll berate me for not opting for a second date. He’s the kind of guy that she’d enjoy if I brought home for Thanksgiving. I can picture her force-feeding him shrimp cocktail and piles of dry turkey while he smiles and politely asks for more.

Michael, 28, is a nice Jewish boy from Brooklyn. I’ve dated Jews before, typically out of coincidence rather than preference. It makes no difference to me, but I know that any man who knows what gefilte fish is or has ever asked the four questions would score some serious points in Granny’s book.

Michael has a good job as a consultant, he’s close with his family, works hard, he’s not unattractive, and he is moderately funny. He was straight edge until college, no drinking or smoking until age 20, a parent’s dream. I, on the other hand, spent my high school years living out a PG-13 version of Girls Gone Wild in South Florida.

He was a total gentleman, the guy lives deep in Brooklyn but he chose a bar in my neighborhood to meet up. I once asked my sister, an OKCupid success story, what stuck out about her boyfriend on their first date and she mentioned his considerate gesture of picking a place that was convenient for her.

I guess it takes more than a chivalrous deed to get me hot. Unfortunately I just didn’t feel any connection with him. You can’t deny or create chemistry that doesn’t naturally exist. He was like plain turkey on white bread. No condiments.

On paper (or a computer screen) he’s a solid catch but I wasn’t feeling it. There was zero spark. After a few drinks and some light conversation about First Class versus Coach and whether or not Starbuck’s coffee was overrated, I told him I had an early morning and had to get home.

Being the nice guy that he is, he offered to walk me to my apartment. Being the cynic that I am, the first thoughts that ran through my head were: a) he’s going to try and come upstairs to get down b) he wants my address to stalk me c) he is going to murder me. None of that happened (at least not yet).

When we got to my door he hugged me (perhaps lingering for a little too long), said good night, then we parted ways. For the record, I am not opposed to a nice guy, it’s just that I won’t settle for plain turkey. I want pickles, tomatoes, olives, banana peppers, pepperjack cheese, and some spicy mustard on my sandwich.

Nurse or Purse

After all of Granny’s kvetching about older men I encouraged/bullied her into messaging with a younger man. A man in his early sixties who stated in his profile, “I do not have a strict age preference. I am interested in a woman who is attractive and interesting regardless of her age.” I thought he sounded suitable; he was open-minded, maybe he could be the spry guy she was looking for.

Things progressed into a phone call, after which she told me, “This guy is looking for a purse, kid.” I didn’t get it at first. I thought that might be one of Granny’s innuendos.

“He’s gay?” I asked slightly confused.

“No, there are two types of older gentleman: The guys who want a nurse and the guys who want a purse. The older farts need someone to physically take care of them and the younger gold diggers want a sugar mama to financially look after them. They’re shit out of luck because I’m not doing either.”

And the search continues…

Five Minutes

When I told Granny about Adam’s “strength” her protective instincts kicked in. “Sounds like a creep,” she huffed.

The date only lasted 30 minutes. “Ya stayed 25 minutes too long,” she said. “Ya gotta treat these encounters like one of those speed dating whatchamacallits. Ya give him five minutes to prove himself, if he’s a schlub or a freak ya say bye-bye, nice knowin’ ya, then flee.”

Party Tricks

“You’re really beautiful,” Adam, my OKCupid date, seductively uttered to me as I went to take a sip from my Rioja. I was caught off guard, instead of putting the glass to my mouth I tilted it and it spilled all over my lap.

I was stained, wet, and slightly embarrassed, yet this was only a marginally awkward moment of our date.

About five minutes in to our get-to-know-you chat Adam asked me to state my strengths and weaknesses. That’s pretty serious territory to tread when one hasn’t even finished her first half-spilled glass of wine. I thought I’d lighten it up by translating strengths to party tricks.

I began reciting pi, I have the first 50 digits to memory. I know not everyone would consider that a strength, few would even call it a party trick but it was the best I could come up with. He didn’t look impressed. “Anything else?” he asked.

I also have the ability to blow my lips together to make a raspberry sound for a crazy long amount of time. I demonstrated. Again, I’m not sure if that qualifies as a talent but I had just met Adam and didn’t feel like rattling off a list of my best qualities.

He crinkled his nose. “Do you have aspergers?” he asked. I shook my head.

Adam leaned in and smirked, “I’m really good at sex.” I then realized he only asked me my strengths so he could brag about his.

“Really?” I asked sarcastically, “Would you say it’s the technique you have down or size?”

He blushed. “Both, I guess.”

“Okay, show me with your hands,” I gestured, “Is it this big or this big or this big?” I asked while moving my hands closer and further apart.

He blushed harder and looked away, “Forget it, I don’t need to tell you that,” he said.

I totally agreed. He didn’t need to tell me any of that. It was inappropriate and although I’m sure it was meant to turn me on, it absolutely did not. “Okay well now that I know bragging is one of your weaknesses what else do you have?” I asked.

“I can be super judgmental,” he admitted. I nodded for him to elaborate, “Like fat people, I hate fat people. I have no tolerance for them.

I cringed at his rude reveal. I looked down at myself, for a moment self conscience that this critical guy may have passed judgment on me. “Don’t worry babe, I already checked you out when you came in. You’re doin’ good in my book.”

He continued down his list of deal breakers: unmanicured fingernails, untamed eyebrows, hipsters, unmade beds, tardiness, and clogs. I was definitely guilty of more than one of those crimes.

I checked the time. Luckily I had arranged to meet friends for dinner. I politely told him I’d have to go, “What? You don’t want to go and make babies?” he asked while making a gesture with his palm and fist that I can only assume was supposed to allude to intercourse.

He walked me out of the bar and tried to lay a wet one on me. My cat-like reflexes kicked in and he got my ear. As I crossed the street he yelled, “Nice ass!” I wasn’t wearing my Booty Pop. For a brief moment I slipped up and felt flattered… then quickly resumed my grossed out stance.

Masseur

Despite his seductive tone, Jake didn’t manage to get Granny fired up.  He sounded pretty sexy to me, a retired businessman that’s going back to school to be a massage therapist? Yes, please.

Granny didn’t agree. “An old man handing out massages, what does that say to you?” she asked. “He’ll take a cup and grab however he can get it.”

They’re cut from different cloths. She couldn’t get over the fact that he’d only visited New York, her stomping ground and life source, once. When he asked if she’d ever been to the theater she said, “Have I ever gone to the theater? Whaddaya crazy? I’m 75. If you’re from New York and 75 and have never been to the theater ya got some screws loose.”

Unfortunately there weren’t any romantic vibes but he intrigued her.  “He’s spiritual and very smart, a brain, an intellectual,” she said, “but he’s book smart. I’m not book smart, I’m street smart. We’re reversed, ya catch my drift?”

At every age, but it seems especially as you get older, it’s hard to date out of your comfort zone. She said she’d like to talk to him again, purely on a platonic level, because he wasn’t like anyone she had ever met before.

I asked if there were any chance she’d let him massage her. She said, “Yeah sure, I’ll let him give me a good rub down, then I’ll be all warmed up to perform my Cirque du Soleil-ish contortion tricks,” then broke out into another fit of giggles.

Velvet Voice

Below is a voicemail from Granny using her “sexy” vocal chords before a phone chat with Jake, a new Match.com prospect. Such a sex kitten.

Velvet Voice

Crazies

Granny had a good giggle when I recounted my date with Eric Hound Dog. She offered some encouraging words, “He thinks you’re nuts. I’ve got no doubt. Between ya weird ass pads, ya zodiac jabber, then ya call him the wrong name?” she burst out in more laughter, “Oy, I’m embarrassed just thinking about it. He probably thought ya were drugged. I’m your blood and I think ya may have lost it.”

I wasn’t drugged, I haven’t lost it, but it’s undeniable that I was weird. I guess Eric has a taste for the crazies because he’s already called to ask me out again…

Booty Pop

I went on a date last night and packed something extra along for the ride. As I was getting dressed I saw a pair of padded underwear in my drawer. That’s weird to have, I totally agree.

Last winter I was in Puerto Rico with some friends and kept seeing commercials for Booty Pop, a pair of underwear that operate like a padded bra on your butt. “Go from flat to fab in a pop”, they advertised. Wanna look like J Lo? No problem, Booty Pop. We got a real kick out of the commercials, me especially because although I like my body I’ve always wanted a little extra junk in the trunk. Don’t judge me.

Yearning to give me everything I want, my loving friends ordered me a pair for my birthday as a joke. Or at least I think it was a joke…

Flash forward, I’m getting ready for my date last night and spot the Booty Pop that’s been hidden away for six months. I slid them on underneath a pair of black stretchy jeans and examined in the mirror. “Oh, yes,” I thought nodding and doing some ga-dunk-a-dunk moves. Then, “Oh no,” it was inappropriate and weird and I couldn’t possibly leave the house in them…. Or could I?

I arrived at the charming West Village bar of my date, Eric’s, choice propping myself up on the barstool, I was an extra inch or two higher than normal. Eric was cute; although he lives in Jersey City he had a very Brooklyn look to him. Beard, glasses, flannel. I was digging it.

Eric’s messages interested me because he managed to be thoughtful, intellectual, and funny all at once. That’s a tough feat for an OKCupid message, but he did it. In person, he started out with the common nerves that most of us carry on an OKCupid date… most of us, except those of us with Booty Pop who have a boost of ego and ass.

When I sensed his shyness I went into overdrive, asking him questions, asking myself questions, answering for both of us. I realized I was coming off a little crazy but I couldn’t stop the train. I started telling him about my Chinese animal sign. I don’t know anything about the Chinese zodiac except that I’m a rabbit and it happens to be year of the rabbit. We googled and found out Eric is a dog. I asked which dog Eric felt he could most relate to, he settled on a hound dog.

According to the Chinese zodiac rabbits and dogs are not compatible, but I had hope for the hound dog and me. When we got up to leave, I started to feel self-conscience about my butt. Could he tell I was wearing Booty Pop? Had they shifted when I was sitting? Does it look like I’m wearing a diaper? As we walked down the block I did a bit of a sideways sashay to avoid my butt being in his view.

Despite my weirdness, Eric asked for my number and said he wanted to see me again. When we exchanged digits I started putting him in my phone as “Eric OKCupid”. Everyone I meet gets a label next to their name, I’m horrible at names, it’s a memory thing. Jessica Summer Camp, Lisa Work, Brad Don’t Pick Up, etc… Eric saw his label and requested I change it to “Eric Hound Dog”. Fair enough.

We did a goodbye hug on the corner, then I crossed the street. I thought he was taking a turn and I think he must have thought I was jumping into a cab but instead we both continued walking down the block on opposite sides of the street. I did a stiff wave and we both laughed at how awkward it was. He turned on the next corner and yelled, “Bye — OKCupid”.

I yelled back, “Bye Robert OKCupid,” then we both froze. This was not Robert this was Eric. Oy vey. I got mixed up, I’m horrible at names! I was preoccupied with concealing my tush and the whole name saving game got me mixed up.

He smiled from down the block and yelled back, “It’s Eric, Eric Hound Dog”, then he kept walking.

“I’m sorry,” I screamed, “That was embarrassing, I know your name, I swear!” I was on a busy corner of Bleecker Street, an old man looked at me and gave a disapproving head shake. I’m not sure if it was from eavesdropping on my flub or noticing the uneven pads in my pants. Either way I walked the rest of the way home cringing at my blunder and cursing my goddamn Booty Pop.

Fantastic

When I vented to Granny about Christophe she tuned out my exhaustive complaints. She didn’t hear anything about his annoying film school commentary and over-talkative nature. When I finished ranting she said, “Let me get this straight; he went to boarding school, a prestigious university, been all over the world, worked in finance in London, and now has the means to fool around with a camera? He’s clearly very wealthy. He sounds fantastic, but okay, fantastic isn’t what you’re after? That’s fine, you’re 24, you’re probably not ready for fantastic.”

That sounds like a dare to me. Fantastic? I’m ready for fantastic. Show me fantastic.