Goodbye Boob Guy

I met Hunter, a well-traveled corporate attorney and former college athlete, on Match.com. Hunter and I quickly bonded over our affinity for salsa dancing and obsession with breakfast tacos. So as far as I was concerned, this was shaping up to be a match made in heaven.

Hunter and I decided it would make perfect sense to meet at his favorite upscale Mexican joint (yes, that is a thing in New York City) and nourish ourselves in the delicious culinary invention that is the taco.

When the evening approached I donned myself in my new dress, courtesy of White House Black Market, and was looking rather sensuous yet sophisticated at the same time (if I do say so myself).

Hunter was patiently waiting for me already seated at a table for two and I was relieved to see that he was equally as attractive in the flesh as in his photos.

After exchanging the ubiquitous pleasantries Hunter clearly thought it appropriate to get a little more too personal.

“So I really love your physique. Couldn’t stop looking at your pictures. Very beautiful,” he said suggestively.

I sheepishly thanked him for the peculiar compliment which was followed by an awkward silence.

“So are they real? I’m sorry if thats forward but I absolutely have to know,” he asked eagerly.

Appalled, I answered, “Wow, not that it is any of your business, but yes.”

“How big are they? I’m guessing they have to be at least a D cup. Sorry, I am the epitome of a boob guy. I will drop the conversation after this.”

“Ok this is just creepy. How do you actually have the nerve to ask me these things? This is not normal. Let’s grab the check, I am meeting friends for drinks after this.”

I quickly devoured the rest of my delicious tacos on my plate and was out the door by the time he received the bill.

Hunter clearly had no shame even the following morning.

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U.T.I. Must Go Now

I met Richard on Tinder. Richard was an Ivy League educated IT professional who was impeccably styled and way past due for a haircut but impressively handsome nonetheless.

We met at a casual watering hole on the Lower East Side to have a few cocktails and hopefully some engaging conversation.

Minutes after ordering a couple of Caipirinhas and commenting on the unseasonably cold weather in NYC Richard excused himself to go to the men’s room.

Upon his return the conversation began to delve into the logistics of each other’s lives, i.e. where we are from and what we do to support ourselves when he suddenly excused himself once again to use the facilities.

And then again.

And then again.

And again.

When he finally emerged from the lavatory after his fifth or sixth trip he said, “I have to be honest. I’m pretty sure I have a UTI and I have been drinking cranberry juice all day but can’t seem to kick it. I think I need to go see a City MD.”

Astonished that he would be so willing to volunteer such intimate information (yet secretly sympathetic to his situation because come on, we’ve all been there) I relieved him (pun intended) of our get together for the evening.

A few days later I received a lovely text from Richard.

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The Free Re-Flub

After getting back in the saddle subsequent to an unfortunately short-lived ‘relationship’ I met Jeremy, a sprucely styled civil engineer who was three years my junior. Normally I bypass the efforts of a man so much younger than myself, but I figured beggars can’t be choosers I would at least give the young lad a shot.

After chatting about our mutual interest in seeing the new Star Wars flick (yes, I am a nerd) we decided to catch an earlier show followed by a few cocktails later in the evening.

When I arrived at the theater it became very clear that Jeremy was not 6’2 as advertised in his profile. Being 5’10 myself and particularly statuesque in three inch heels, he awkwardly stood a solid two inches shorter than me.

Oh well, next time I will stick to flats. 

Jeremy generously purchased both of our tickets, and after a quick pit stop to the ladies room I was ready to take my seat and enjoy the film.

When I exited the facilities I noticed Jeremy strangely standing by another theater entrance and examining each customer as they exited the screening room when a man casually discarded his extra large popcorn tub into the trash bin.

Shockingly, Jeremy swooped in to retrieve the hand-me-down rubbish directly from the garbage can.

Flabbergasted as to why on earth he would do such a thing, he proudly carried the used tub to the snack bar and had the attendant fill it up with delicious (yet now disgusting) buttery goodness.

He then headed toward my direction completely aware that I witnessed the unfortunate situation and stated, “These big tubs have free refills!”

He simultaneously opened his jacket to reveal he had smuggled in a bottle of Pepsi as well.

Disgusted by the thought of a stranger’s saliva enveloping the popcorn was enough to evade me from indulging in his little snack and evade me from having cocktails after the movie.

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#BitchBoss

Jenny and I met at singles event sponsored by Match.com. Being the perpetual wallflower that I am I was pleasantly surprised to have Jenny approach my post near the bar allowing me to avoid imminent rejection from someone else I  considered soliciting.

One week later I invited Jenny to meet for a drink at a bar conveniently located near the building where she worked at 6:30 on a Tuesday night. She sent me a text to inform me that she would be running a few minutes late.

No big deal.

6:45 rolled around. Then seven.

I texted her back to inquire as to whether or not this night in particular was still conducive to her schedule. But really, I just didn’t want to sit around and wait for this chick much longer.

Ten minutes later she rushed in and took a seat next to me.

I greeted her and instead of showing any remorse whatsoever for her blatant lack of consideration for my time, she let it be known that it is impossible for her to stick to a schedule on account of her successful career.

“I know I was running late but it is just really hard for me to commit to a time because my schedule is just so busy with my career growing like crazy. Just to let you know, I am the epitome of a ‘Girl Boss’ and have a total ‘Boss Babe’ mentality, so my career always comes first.”

“OK…I wasn’t asking you to give up your career to meet me, I was just wondering if you were actually coming. You did say you would be a few minutes late, but it was pushing 45 minutes so I wasn’t sure if you bailed. Work is very important to everyone but it’s also nice to consider the fact that someone is waiting for you.”

“No I wasn’t bailing it’s just I am so focused on my career. I am an editor of a fashion blog and sometimes it is more demanding than just a simple 9-5 job. I am lasar focused on being successful and I feel the reason I am single is because most guys tend to feel threatened by my success. #girlboss problems, right?!”

I wanted to vomit.

Jenny and I both finished our first round of drinks and when she confidently suggested we have another I told her I had a ton of work to do myself.

(#boyboss)

I never planned on speaking to or hearing from Jenny again, but the next day I received this.

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The Basic Bigot

I met Greg on Hinge. Greg was a self-proclaimed corn-fed midwestern gentleman from Iowa who was recently transplanted from the Hawkeye state to the big city for a job in mechanical engineering after completing his master’s degree.

A well-educated, and upstanding male that has yet to be tainted by the douchebaggery that is dating in New York City? Sign me up.

Greg and I met for some craft beers at a quaint little pub on the Lower East Side that was boasted for its exquisite in-house amber lager.

Greg was waiting for me outside said establishment and we settled into some seats at the corner of the bar to get acquainted.

During our conversation I couldn’t help but notice his attention perpetually wondering to whatever was going on behind my back.

When I turned around to  clue him in that his odd behavior was not going unnoticed he said, “sorry, I am paying attention to you, but look at those guys behind you when you get a second. Don’t make it obvious.”

Once again I turned around to glance at the scene behind me, and I was surprised to see two completely ordinary looking men immersed in conversation while enjoying a bucket of beers.

I was quite perplexed as to what was so intriguing with this perfectly normal situation.

“What? Those guys? What about them?”

“Well, I think they’re together. Like you know…I think they’re gay,” he said nervously.

“OK? So they are gay. I am not sure what you are getting at. Welcome to New York. There are a lot of gay people.”

“I just firmly believe that marriage is between a man and a women and it is kind of uncomfortable seeing displays of affection likes this. I am not used to it and I find it somewhat offensive. They are like, rubbing each other’s hands and stuff in public.”

“Maybe you should go back to Iowa then. I don’t believe you are going to make it in this city with a close-minded attitude like that. If you do stay, I wouldn’t share those beliefs with many people as you probably won’t make many friends.”

I mentally checked myself out from whatever words were coming out of his bigoted  mouth and threw some cash on the bar for my lager.

The next morning…

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No Train, No Shame

Shortly after the recent Christmas holiday I decided to heed a close friend’s advice and ring in the new year with a subscription to a dating site called The Inner Circle. The site avidly claims that all of their members are guaranteed to be ‘carefully selected, and cleverly connected.’

What could possibly go wrong?

A day or two after I arrived back to the city from a week in Wisconsin with my family I agreed to a date with Christian, a fair-skinned Scandinavian-looking stock trader who resided in Morristown, New Jersey.

Christian chivalrously offered to make the trek on the NJ Transit to my neighborhood in the East Village for some cocktails and possibly a bite to eat. Being a typical Manhattanite, I loathe the sheer thought of leaving the comfort of this little island I call home, so clearly I did not object.

When I arrived at the romantic French bistro he selected I found Christian patiently waiting for me at the table he reserved sipping on a what appeared to be a Scotch whiskey on the rocks served with a twist of lemon.

After bonding over some witty banter about how nice it was to be back in our own homes subsequent to being surrounded by family members for what seemed like an eternity Christian surprisingly took the liberty of ordering a lobster salad, sea scallop risotto and a plate of sopressata with Manchego cheese.

We finished what I thought to be the meal in its entirety when Christian asked what I would prefer for my main course. I politely declined insisting that I’d had beyond my fill, but Christian was adamant that we at least split a Chilean sea bass with a side of broccoli and sweet potato fries.

The meal was undeniably delicious, and despite the lack of remaining space in my stomach I managed to slip in a few bites. We finished up the meal, and though I intended on splitting the bill Christian relentlessly insisted on picking up the tab for the pricey endeavor.

At this point I was thinking that perhaps I did finally meet a well-mannered suitor and wanted to offer up my heartfelt appreciation for him treating me to such a lovely evening.

“Thank you so much for such a nice dinner. It was amazing and I really appreciate you taking me out,” I said sincerely.

“Oh, you are welcome… Soooo does this mean I don’t have to take a train back to Jersey tonight?” He asked sanguinely.

Wow. No. You are definitely taking the train back to Jersey.”

“Ah. Can’t blame me for asking. Are you sure though? Morristown is a bit of a hike and this was a nice dinner.”

I once again objected Christian’s request to spend the night at my apartment and never heard from him again.

So much for my well-mannered suitor, but at least I got a good meal out of it.

 

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