Venmo Money, Mo’ Problems

Lance and I met on OKCupid when spring decided to arrive early in late February, and I opted to come out of hibernation for the week.

Lance was a thoroughly bearded corporate accountant that was a tad bit on the huskier side, but I figured that would come in handy when regressing back  into hibernation as soon as the frigid temperatures inevitably returned.

We decided to meet at a local watering hole conveniently located  from where we both live between Hoboken and Jersey City

To my dismay, Lance was clearly huskier and had more gray hair than I was prepared for, but I decided to keep an open mind.

I’ve slept with worse, right??

I could delve into the details of the mundane conversation exchanged between Lance and I over an old fashioned and red sangria, but it is very possibly you may fall asleep…as I almost did.

At the end of the day, Lance was a lovely human being, but we possessed absolutely nothing in common.

As the bottoms were up on my first cocktail and his second, we mutually decided to call it a night.

The bill came and I pulled my credit card from my purse.

“Oh, this place only takes cash,” he said.

“Do they have an ATM? I never carry cash on me.”

I saw an ATM hidden in the corner and I approached it with my debit card only to find a sign that said it had run out of cash.

“You can just Venmo me for half,” he suggested.

I thought this was strange because looking at the tab my $7 happy hour special sangria was clearly much thriftier than his two old fashions which came to a grand total of $36, but for the sake of getting back to hibernation expeditiously I asked for his Venmo ID.

He went to look at his phone only to discover that it was completely dead.

“Ah, my phone died. I will text it to you when I get home.”

I agreed and began to gather my belongings and summon a taxi.

“Oh shit, I just realized I won’t be able to get an Uber if my phone is dead. Do you mind ordering me one?” He asked.

“Uh, well I need to order my own. You could just hail a yellow cab, no?”

“Nah. Uber is so much cheaper. Do you have Lyft or Juno? Another app?” He asked hopefully.

“Sure. I’ll get you a Lyft then.”

After forking over $19.47 to send my prince charming back to his apartment I figured it would be the last time I would hear from Lance.

Wrong.

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Watch Out

Reid was the first and undoubtedly the last person I met on Happn.

He was a rather statuesque insurance underwriter who was exquisitely dressed to perfection. Reid also worked in the building directly adjacent to my office so we decided to meet for an afterwork cocktail on a Tuesday evening.

After settling into a hightop in the corner of a intimate whiskey bar we began sipping on some single malts on the rocks and exchanging the basic albeit necessary details of our lives that one usually divulges during an initial meeting.

Reid then glanced down at the timepiece I was wearing on my wrist.

“Nice watch. What kind is that?” He asked.

“It’s a Citizen. My dad gave it to me for Christmas right before he passed 15 years ago.”

I stared down adoringly at the beautiful piece of jewelry that held such sentimental value to me and admired the way it sparkled in the dimly lit setting.

“Oh that’s nice. My cheap watch is a Citizen. I haven’t worn it since I upgraded to my Audemars,” he replied pompously.

Slightly offended but choosing to ignore his rather ignorant comment I said, “I don’t know what that is. I have always just worn this one. I am not big into watches otherwise.”

“That is pretty apparent! You need to get yourself an upgrade as well, missy!”

Exasperated by his blatant insensitivity I decided to wrap up this poor excuse for a rendezvous and allow him to pay the tab.

“So do you want to split this?” He asked.

“I would think a few drinks would be no big deal for someone who can afford such a fancy watch, no?” I countered cheekily.

Apprehensively, he surrendered his debit card into the billfold and I bid him adieu.

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F*ckboy Fetish

After taking a much needed spiritual hiatus from the chaos that is the online dating scene I decided I’d better throw my hat back in the ring and attempt to meet someone before the impending wedding season began. I was hopeful that this was finally the year I would take advantage of my ‘plus one’ option.

Soon after I matched with Patrick on eHarmony.

Patrick was a svelte gentleman with dirty-blond hair and slightly on the metro sexual side. His jeans were somewhat tighter than my liking but I figured I could overlook something as minuscule as the size of one’s pants.

Patrick invited me out on an unseasonably warm Saturday afternoon in February on a patio for some margaritas and some guac whilst soaking up the inevitably short-lived sunshine.

“So what do you usually look for in a guy?” Patrick inquired.

Though I cannot recall verbatim what my answer was, I most likely said something along the lines of loyal, funny, family oriented, and other cliche yet pertinent characteristics that one would normally seek in a potential mate.

“What are you looking for in a girl?”

“I love Asian girls. Thats kind of my thing. Always has been.”

Being a Korean-American myself I can certainly appreciate someone who finds themselves attracted to the beauty and exoticness that is the Asian ethnicity, but when someone blatantly admits they only want an Asian girl it does give the impression that they are solely looking to sleep with an Asian girl, not to get to know them personally.

“…So…you are just looking for a girl who is Asian, regardless of how stupid, boring or incompatible she may be?”

“I have a bad case of yellow fever, what can I say?” He said with a shrug.

“You realize how disrespectful that is, right? Yes, I get some guys are into Asians but you are kind of making it like you met with me in hopes of fulfilling some kind of fetish. Not a good look.”

After offering up some pathetic excuse for an apology I quickly finished the remnants of my subpar margarita and excused myself as I suddenly had ‘other plans’.

Clearly, Patrick had not learned his lesson the following afternoon.

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Bar Tab Boob Grab

I matched with Jonathan, a British advertising executive, on Bumble. Being that the ladies have to initiate conversation on this app in particular, I inquired as to what brought him to the states. After exchanging some more introductory information he invited me to meet for brunch in Williamsburg one frigid Saturday afternoon.

After feasting on a ham and brie omelette and eggs Benedict accompanied by several flutes of mimosas, we seemed to be rather enjoying each other’s company and opted to extend our brunch date with some cocktails at a bistro around the corner for some Moscow mules.

Despite offering to split the bill for brunch, Jonathan insisted it was his treat.

I graciously accepted and insisted upon picking up the tab at the following establishment.

Before I knew it Jonathan and I had spent the better part of the day doing a mini bar crawl around some of the lovely watering holes that Brooklyn had to offer and I was already looking forward to seeing him again.

When it was apparent that I had reached the threshold of my alcohol intake for the evening, I told Jonathan that it was about time I called it a night and retreated back to my apartment in Queens.

Jonathan was seemingly miffed that he did not receive an invitation to join me, and suddenly his demeanor shifted from a sweet, gentlemanly English boy to a sarcastic, entitled imbecile.

Sitting on our barstools facing each other, Jonathan reached over, cupped his hand around my breast and gave it a quick but firm squeeze.

Astounded as to why he would take the liberty to do such a thing I reprimanded him immediately.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!?” I shouted. “You cannot just touch people like that. Are you out of your damn mind?”

“Oh chill out,” he said with a shit-eating smirk on his face.

“That is not OK. You need to apologize. You can’t just grab women’s tits like that whenever you want. It’s really disturbing that you think something like that is acceptable.”

“Stop being so crazy. You need to calm down.”

With that, he closed his tab and fled the bar.

As I was still sitting on my barstool waiting for my Uber to arrive Jonathan returned to the bar and once again told me that I was overreacting and how he didn’t want to end a wonderful day on such a negative note.

“Are you going to apologize for grabbing my chest like that?” I asked.

“Seriously? Can you please just stop making a big deal out of this? You’re being so fucking ridiculous.”

With that I fled the establishment to be rescued by my Uber driver.

Shortly after I received a number of hostile texts informing me that I should ‘fuck myself,’ and that the entire day was a waste of his time and money.

Oh, and he wanted me to venmo him for half of the money he spent on lunch AND the bar tab…which was not happening.

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High Society, Low Sobriety

I met Erika on eHarmony. Erika was a blond-haired blue eyed paralegal who didn’t look too shabby in her magenta bikini shamelessly displayed as her profile picture.

After following the monotonous eHarmony protocol of answer pre-written questions that are completely irrelevant to life in general, we decided to meet for drinks.

I chose a spot conveniently located outside of her East Village residence to have drinks on a Sunday evening and was quite relieved to discover that she wasn’t 40 lbs heavier than advertised like the last girl I had met for a blind date.

When I ascended to make Erika’s acquaintance upon her arrival, she  tripped over her high heel and essentially face planted onto the hardwood floor.

I immediately rush to help her and see if she was OK and got a whiff of what smelled like a mini bar inside her mouth.

“Sorry, I was brunching pretty much all day in the Hamptons and just getting back,” she said sheepishly.

“Oh OK, fun weekend then?”

“Yes. I’m obsessed with the Hamptons. That is pretty much what I do every weekend in the summer. So many parties and social events.”

“I take it you and your friends rented a house out there?”

“No we kind of just wing it,” she replied, slurring her speech. “My friends and I just kind of pack a small bag and usually the parties we go to guys rent houses and shit. And we just kind of make friends and usually find a place to crash.”

“Isn’t that a bit dangerous? I mean, getting drunk and going home with strangers?” I said somewhat concerned.

“Listen, I am a big girl and I know what I am doing. It’s not like I’m going to a party with a bunch of shitty poor people. I’m going where the socialites and high society people go. That’s who I hang around.”

Erika then excused herself to stumble into the ladies room.

After 10 minutes I was somewhat worried for her well being given how intoxicated she appeared to be, but I figured I would give her some time to get herself together.

Suddenly, a stranger tapped me on the shoulder and inquired as to whether or not I was with with the blonde girl passed out in the ladies room.

I shamefully admitted that we were on a first date and that she had shown up absolutely wasted in order to avoid said stranger thinking that I roofied this bitch.

I went into the bathroom and pull Erika off of the floor and used paper towels to clean the vomit and toilet water out of her hair from laying her head directly on top of the toilet seat.

When Erika came to, I put her in an Uber despite the fact she only lived four blocks from our current location and bid her high-class ass farewell.

I doubt I will ever see Erika again, and if I do, I doubt she would remember.

*not actually picture of Erika

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One Night Standoff

Karl and I met on….an app. It’s all a blur at this point. Karl ran a tech start-up, and though I couldn’t quite tell how attractive he was due to the inconspicuous photography displayed on his profile I decided I would roll the dice.

When I met Karl in a popular happy hour spot located outside of Grand Central I was please to find him charmingly handsome.

After settling into a booth with my Prosecco and his bourbon and Coke we began chatting about our families, careers and how we came to be New Yorkers.

“So, what was your last relationship like?” He asked.

In a desperate attempt to evade the all-too-awkward chat about ex boyfriends I convoluted the most ambiguous answer possible.

“Well…it was a good relationship, but some things aren’t just meant to be, and there were no hard feelings.”

“That’s cool. My ex and I broke up not long ago, but it has kind of been a crazy back and forth.  We dated for 3 years so it’s not so easy to just quit,” he said begrudgingly.

Again, trying to abstain the conversation from past relationships I asked him if he had any amusing stories that have come from his online dating experiences.

“Oh shit, yeah I do! I went out with this girl last week. She was super hot but didn’t have much going on upstairs. We got pretty wasted and she came home with me that night and the next morning she would not leave. I literally had to get dressed and act like I was going somewhere around 11:30 AM. Then she woke up and was trying to make plans to hang out  later that night. She finally left but only after I told her she needed to go.”

Flabbergasted that he would lack the intelligence to know that this was entirely inappropriate to bring up on a first date, I couldn’t help but be engaged as it was almost like a train wreck that I couldn’t walk away from.

“So, do you usually tell girls on first dates about women you have slept with recently and about how you are having issues moving on from your ex? I am just curious because this is quite fascinating if it actually works on some people.”

“Ehh, I dunno. Nice guys finish last anyways. The meaner I am to girls the more they seem to like me!”

“Well that must explain why you are still single.”

“Ok, not sure why you are being so standoffish right now. It’s online dating. People are going to sleep together.”

I had one more Prosecco on Karl’s tab then excused myself for a more important engagement like watching Netflix with my cat.

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The Designer Dud

I met Alan, a poshly styled insurance underwriter and race car fanatic, on OKCupid. After being ‘pen pals’ for far longer than I normally deem necessary we decided to meet for lunch.

Alan selected a slightly ostentatious eatery on the Upper East Side that was seemingly more for the ‘ladies who lunch’ crowd rather than a casually dressed fashion photographer and part-time bartender such as myself.

I arrived slightly early and was pondering whether or not to order a beverage while I awaited his arrival, but when I looked at the steeply priced cocktail menu I ultimately decided against it.

When Alan entered the scene he apologized for his slight tardiness and we took our seats at the table. He was impeccably quaffed in a velvet blazer with a matching pocket square and a belt that I am sure was worth more than my entire ensemble. Alan  definitely fit right in at this establishment.

After enjoying a lobster cocktail, chopped salad and a roast beef sandwich accompanied by a few Tanqueray/tonics, we decided to continue our Sunday fun day rendezvous at a craft cocktail bar about 7 blocks from our current location.

Prior to the beginning of our lunch date it just so happened to be a beautiful spring afternoon, and I thought it the perfect opportunity to don my new sleeveless floral print dress fresh out of the box from Rent The Runway.

By mid afternoon the clouds rolled in and the wind began to blow quite aggressively.

I embraced myself and increased my pace as goosebumps formed all over my body.

“Can’t believe how chilly it got so quickly! Was so nice a few hours ago,” he said astonishingly.

“Yeah I had no idea the weather was going to take a turn like this,” I agreed.

As another gust of wind came by to blow up my dress and narrowly pummel me over he said, “I would give you my blazer, but then I would be cold.”

Speechless by his blatant lack of chivalry I marched on.

After a grueling 7 blocks through what felt like a Siberian wind tunnel we arrived at our destination and he clearly expressed his remorse for failing to be a proper gentleman.

“You look like you’re freezing! Sorry, I totally would have given you my jacket but this is Gucci and I just got it. It’s my favorite designer!”

After one more cocktail I had to let it go.

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