Tab Split Little Sh*t

Lawrence, a preppy risk management analyst who lived on the Upper East Side, and I had been on several dates and things seemed to be going quite swimmingly. Though I wasn’t exactly sure if I was enamored with him, I did find his company gratifying enough to continue our courtship.

One day Lawrence texted me from work and informed me that he was given tickets to a suite at the hockey game where the New York Islanders were playing the Pittsburgh Penguins. Being that I am  a devoted Penguins fan, I had planned on attending the game that anyways, so it worked out just perfectly.

Usually suites have free food and alcohol but for one reason or another these tickets were given away at no charge so there were no snacks or beverages to be found. No big deal! To the bar we go!

I asked Lawrence what his alcohol preference was and purchased a Lagunitas and a Copa Pinot Grigio (yes, I am that girl that drinks wine at sporting events. Don’t judge me).

We settled into our seats in the suite to watch the puck drop and I just so happened to meet another girl from Pittsburgh and we soon got lost in nostalgic conversation about life back in ‘The Burgh.’

Lawrence noticed that both of our drinks were empty and he asked if I was planning on getting another…as if that was even a question. He lingered there for a few awkward minutes and he finally retreated to the bar to get us another round.

When the bottoms were up on round two, it was my turn to get a round, which is exactly what I did.

For round three we also decided that we should indulge ourselves some nachos and chicken fingers. We are at a sporting event after all.

“How about you wait in line for the drinks and I will go grab the food and we will meet back here?” I suggested.

“Right, OK.”

My spidey sensed told me he seemed a bit perturbed, but I chalked it up to a stressful day at the office.

When the game was over and we left the Barclay’s Center, it was clear that his frustrations were aimed at me.

“What is with you tonight? You are being really short with me and kind of rude.” I said.

“Well it is slightly annoying that I was nice enough to get you these tickets and you don’t even have the decency to treat me to drinks and nachos. You just have terrible manners.”

“I’m sorry, what? Pretty sure I bought half of your drinks and I DID buy the nachos. Also, these tickets were given to you. Regardless, I do very much appreciate you taking me, but If you are going to extend an invitation you cannot do so with the expectation that the person you’re inviting is going to pay for everything else. We split the drinks, and had I bought everything it would have been $200 with how high prices are in the arena I could have bought my own damn tickets then.”

After he berated me for being ungrateful and unappreciative, we decided to go our separate ways.

At least the Penguins won.

Go Pens.

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The Trump Chump

Though I wasn’t immediately attracted to Anthony when I first came across his profile on Bumble, I do have an insatiable gravitation towards intelligence, and being that he went to Harvard I figured he would at least be a promising candidate for (finally) some intriguing conversation. *Right swipe*.

Anthony and I settled into a high top table at an intimate cocktail bar in Yorkville, and I was pleasantly surprised to find him more attractive in person. I asked about how his day went and we both offered up the customary generic responses and gave the waitress our drink order.

“So let’s get right into the political thing. What is your take on all of this? Who do you support?” He asked immediately.

I stand by the general rule of not talking about politics, religion or exes on a first date, but for fear of seeming unyielding, I decided to indulge him with a slightly vague opinion of my political views.

“I don’t support Trump or Hillary. Gary Johnson would be my pick. I know he will not win but it is a step toward doing away with the whole ‘dual party’ system that I don’t think is beneficial.  So is your family still in Chicago?” I replied attempting to move the conversation from a potential political debate.

Anthony then climbed high atop his soap box and proceeded to shove endless political jargon down my throat about how Donald Trump is the appropriate candidate to ‘make American great again,’ and how I am doing my country a severe disservice by wasting my ballot on someone that is polling below 15%.

After I finished my first (and only) Elderflower martini, Anthony suggested we grab a bite to eat. Not wanting to spend another minute  being bombarded with his ultra-conservative bureaucratic opinions, I told him I had already eaten.

We exited the bar and I grabbed my cell phone to summon an Uber.

“I live 10 blocks south of here so if you are taking the tunnel would I be able to jump in the cab with you?” He asked.

“Yes, that is fine,” I said.

It was at that moment that it occurred to me the that Barack Obama was in town at the UN and the traffic was positively horrendous all week.

“Actually, I forgot about the General Assembly at the UN. It will probably be at least an hour cab ride so I will probably just jump on the 6 train.”

“OK,” he said. “I will just come with you.”

Slightly irritated that I had to continue engaging him in conversation for yet another 15 minutes, we made it to the train station. I swiped my metro card and entered through the turn style to wait for my proverbial escape chariot.

“Oh, my metro card is out of money. Do you think you can just swipe me in?” He asked.

“You don’t just want to refill your card? Aren’t you going to need it to get to work tomorrow anyways?”

“No I actually have to work up in the Connecticut office all week so I will be carpooling with someone.”

Annoyed, I surrendered my metro card to him to evade hearing him speak more than I had to.

Thankfully the train came promptly and I was free at last.

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The WANT-trepreneur

I met Ronnie, a New Jersey native and self-proclaimed entrepreneur, on Bumble. After trading messages for the better part of the week, we agreed to meet for a cocktail on the rooftop of the Kimberly Hotel.

When I arrived Ronnie was comfortably situated at a sizable table probably capable of fitting up to 8 people. The waitress approached us to receive our drink order and kindly asked us if we would mind relocating to a smaller table for two because a bigger party was likely to come in for happy hour.

Before I could graciously grant her request Ronnie pretentiously said, ‘No,  I like it here just fine,’  complete with a shit-eating grin spread across his mildly attractive face.

Embarrassed, I encouraged him to move to a table across the way as I wanted to accommodate the waitress as a party of two had no business sitting at the largest table in the house.

I began sipping my Prosecco while Ronnie haughtily educated me about what a fabulously successful entrepreneur he was.

Many a times I attempted to change the topic from the monotony of the professional realm, but to no avail.

“So do you have siblings in the city? Do you see them often?” I asked.

“No, I don’t see my brother much. He is very competitive with me and has always been intimidated by my success. He does extremely well for himself as a lawyer, but I think he has always been envious of that fact that I did my own thing and became an self-made entrepreneur.  Also I don’t have much time to hang out with all my businesses I have to run.”

At this point I was so disinterested with his blatant arrogance that I began playing a drinking game with myself. Every time he would say the word ‘entrepreneur’ or ‘self-made’ I would drink. My delicious glass of refreshing Prosecco diminished within minutes.

Not wanting to have to sit through another minute of Ronnie contemptuously boasting about his accomplishments and success, I told him we should grab the bill.

“OK that’s a good idea,” he said. I gotta catch the train back anyway.”

“Catch the train? I thought you lived in the city.”

“Oh not right now. I moved back in with my folks in Jersey just because I am looking to buy a place and my lease was up.”

“So why didn’t you just get a sublease? There are so many available and isn’t it hard to look at properties in the city when you aren’t located in the city? Sounds like a pain in the ass.” I said.

“Well I am not looking just yet, I have so much to focus on with my businesses it is just tough to take care of an apartment and keep things clean and take care of utilities.”

“Interesting. I would think someone who is as successful as yourself would have a maid and a personal assistant take care of all that,” I said bitingly.

“Keeping your costs low and your profits high is really the key to being a great entrepreneur and that is what most people don’t understand.”

OK, Ronnie. Better get you back to your mom’s house now.

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Cohabitation Altercation

I met Meghan, an advertising account executive, on Coffee Meets Bagel at an Irish Pub close to her neighborhood. Though it was supposed to be a ‘one drink’ kind of evening we ended up incautiously tossing back quite a few more cocktails than originally planned for a Tuesday night.

I walked Meghan back to her Upper East Side apartment building and with clear conviction she insisted I accompany her for a night cap that was ever so unnecessary considering our level of intoxication at the time.

But alas, like any warm-blooded male being lured in by a bewitching young blonde, she prevailed and I retreated up the stairs to her 5th floor walk up one bedroom apartment.

We never did get around to that night cap, but you can imagine what did occur that evening.

We subsequently passed out scantily clad on the couch only to be awoken by someone in the kitchen making no effort whatsoever to be inconspicuous. The drawers slamming and feet stomping had me slightly perplexed given the fact that the apartment was a one bedroom that could not have been greater than 500 square feet.

How in the hell could this chick have a roommate in this shoebox of an apartment? 

The mysterious kitchen dweller then aggressively entered the living room and contentiously demanded Meghan write him a check for the utilities owed that month.

“I will get it to you by the end of the day. Chill out,” she said.

Obviously becoming more irate he replied, “If you weren’t so busy bringing home random dudes and fucking them in our living room a week after we broke up and paid more attention to your responsibilities maybe we could coexist more peacefully until the lease is up.”

As they continued to engage in a tempestuous verbal altercation I quickly gathered my clothes to head for the proverbial hills.

Meghan sent me a text hours later to apologize for omitting the fact that she was still cohabitating  with her ex boyfriend and suggested that next time we go to my place instead.

No thanks, Meghan. No thanks.

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An Ungodly Experience

After a late afternoon at the office I was rushing from the 6 train to an intimate wine bar in NoLiTa to meet Gavin, a publishing executive with interests that included indoor soccer leagues, craft beer and his labrador retriever. With shaggy blonde hair and fetching hazel eyes, I was very much looking forward to getting to know this new prospect.

We sat down and he immediately charmed me by pointing out how my pictures didn’t do me justice. Whether he was being genuine or simply offering up a line for the sake of flattery, it definitely turned my olive skinned cheeks to a pale shade of pink.

Though he did come off as slightly introverted upon first meeting, after his second pint of New Belgium Fat Tire Ale the conversation seemed to become more effortless.

In a statement that felt completely out of left field he suddenly said, “So I noticed on your profile under your faith it said you were agnostic.”

“Yes, yes I am. I don’t really follow any sort of religion in particular,” I replied.

“Oh. Well isn’t that such an empty existence? What do you really even have to live for? Are you aware that Jesus Christ died for your sins so you could be saved?”

“Umm…I have plenty to live for. I don’t believe that there is nothing out there, I just don’t agree with organized religion. Not my thing. How about we don’t talk about religion? It is kind of a heavy subject for a first date.”

Clearly not wanting to abandon the all too invasive conversation about my religious beliefs (or lack there of), it began to unfold why he was actually interested in making my acquaintance that evening.

“Listen, I am really not looking for a girlfriend so much but I did want to meet you to see if you would be interested in coming to church with me. It really does pain me to see people that are not aware of what bringing Jesus Christ into your life can do and I feel that it was God’s plan to match with you and others to help guide you to a life with the holy spirit,” he said.

I am not quite sure what made me more infuriated, the fact that he did not eventually want to sleep with me or the fact that the 35 minutes it took me to get to the establishment is time I will never get back, but that’s neither here nor there.

“So let me get this straight, you are going around dating sites and looking for people who are not Christian and attempting to convert them and have no intention of actually dating them?” I asked.

“Like I said, it just seems like it is God’s plan for me to help people and it brings me such joy. If I do find someone that accepts Jesus into their heart and we click than ever better!”

I bid Gavin a disparaging farewell and left him to foot the bill.

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The STD-bag

Trevor and I met while at a mutual friend’s BBQ on their rooftop in the Financial District. We had our ‘meet cute’ while patiently waiting for the delicious cheeseburgers and bratwursts to be finished grilling and engaged in a compelling debate about whether cheddar or swiss  was the superior choice to be placed atop our delectable grass fed beef patties.

Fast forward 2 weeks, and Trevor and I began casually dating. In all honesty, this ‘relationship’ was more physical than anything. Trevor was a 26 year-old self-proclaimed starving artist living with 4 other thespian housemates in a loft in Brooklyn while my 32 years on this earth had resulted in a budding career as a financial analyst for a large investment firm who was quickly and eagerly climbing the corporate latter to success then retreating home to my luxury one bedroom apartment on the Upper West Side.

Needless to say, Trevor and I were not a match that was going any distance outside of the bedroom and we both were well aware.

A few weeks later I did in fact meet a young gentleman that I was interested in pursuing on a more serious level. Though I was only seeing trevor 1-2 times on a weekly basis, I decided he still deserved an explanation from me. The next time he texted me to hook up get together I dialed his number and told him that it would be best move on and head our separate ways being that I am slightly older than he and in a different place in life.

Trevor wasn’t exactly elated to be tossed aside for an upgraded model but he did take it somewhat swimmingly.

Or so I thought.

I began receiving multiple texts and phone calls a day from Trevor claiming that I was the love of his life and that is isn’t humanly possible for him to let me walk away without putting up a fight.

After a few days of this infantile nonsense I decided to block Trevor’s number for good and move on with my life.

Two days later my new boyfriend (who is now my fiancé) called to tell me that he received a Facebook message from some guy named Trevor:

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Little does Trevor know an HPV test for men does not exist. Nice try though.

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