Bordeaux-No You Didn’t

I arrived at a wine bar quietly tucked away in the West Village to meet a northern California transplant named Karl for the first time.

According to his profile pictures on Hinge, Karl seemed to flawlessly fit the bill for me as far as physical attraction is concerned.

He was preppy, but not obnoxiously so, stood just over 6’2 and was clearly well-educated as he had recently finished his MBA at Stanford.

I too was a recent MBA graduate who had completed a stint living in San Francisco, so I surmised that we would inevitably have much in common to fill a conversation over a bottle pinot.

Karl was seated and waiting for me when I arrived. He stood up to offer an embrace…and then I saw it…

The horror of golden brown tresses wound tightly together sitting atop the crown of his head.

A man bun.

This was definitely not depicted in his photos.

Attempting to keep an open mind, I thought if we did get along that one day I could possibly shame him into cutting it off  convince him into trying a more suitable hair style.

Karl was a self-proclaimed wino with an affinity for red vintages. Being more of a whiskey gal myself, I told him to feel free to make a selection based on his preferences as my palate was clearly not as sophisticated.

He found a bottle he seemed particularly enthusiastic about and assured me I was in for a real treat.

Our waitress performed an impressively sensational wine service as she carefully decanted the bottle and poured it into two long-stemmed globes of crystal for us to taste.

Karl was extremely pleased, while I secretly thought it tasted no better than the $17 boxed wine I had while partying at the Jersey shore the previous weekend.

The conversation between Karl and I was disappointingly stale. Being the generally amiable person that I am I found it oddly difficult to connect with him on any subject matter whatsoever.

As the date came to an end I thought it was clear it would be the last time Karl and I would make each other’s acquaintance.

The check arrived and I offered to pay half my share. Karl, assumably agreeing that the evening was a bust, gladly accepted my attempt.

When the bill came back I reached for a pen to sign my receipt and be on my merry way when I was hit with the sudden feeling of shock and horror.

My total came to $212.50.

Two-hundred twelve dollars. And fifty cents.

“There must be some mistake,” I said, siphoning through the multiple papers in the black book before me searching for an explanation for this astronomical amount.

“Ah, the bottle of  Bordeaux we got was actually a pretty special year for that vineyard and a particularly rare bottle, so I couldn’t pass it up. I guess it was a bit pricey,” he admitted.

With a blatantly obvious eye roll I resentfully put my John Hancock on the piece of paper.

Before we made it out of the bar I had a Lyft on its way to my rescue, but Karl had other plans.

“So, did you want to come back to my place for a night cap or two?” He asked.

Never was I so happy for the arrival of a Lyft.

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He’s Too Sexy For His Shirt

In honor of ‘Throwback Thursday,’ I decided to share the details of my first date in college.

Here goes.

As a fledgling freshman at my University, I took full advantage of being free from the clutches of my strict parents and quickly took to a life of fraternity parties and Tuesday nights out equipped with jungle juice, beer kegs and the much needed delicious Sonic breakfast burritos circa three AM.

All these festivities accompanied by easy access to delicacies such as Chick-Fil-A and Pizza Hut included in my meal plan, I was well on my way to acquiring my freshman fifteen.

One evening at a rush event I was introduced to a short in stature yet substantially buff 21 year-old named Travis. One might say Travis was overcompensating for his height with the size of his muscles, but his face was surely easy on the eyes.

Travis was the president of his fraternity, and being the budding 18 year-old college student, I was simply flattered by his attention.

Later that week Travis reached out to me on my Nokia flip phone and invited me out for dinner at a fairly respectable restaurant considering he was an unemployed full-time student.

Though I enjoyed having all the junk food I was rarely served under my parent’s roof at my disposal, I was delighted by the idea of eating an actual nutritious meal as opposed to the Easy Mac and pepperoni Hot Pockets I had been consuming all week.

Two days later I put on my stylish jean skirt and was looking forward to being picked up for my first date sans my mom and dad embarrassing me at the front door.

Being that there was security to get into the dorms, Travis said he would call me when he was pulling up front in his car.

Alas, the call came through, and I grabbed my purse and flip flops and descended down to the elevator to meet my date.

I saw Travis sitting in his silver Chrysler Sebring patiently awaiting my arrival.

Travis opened the car door, and stood up with a beaming grin across his face…

…without his shirt.

Yes. He was shirtless.

With his chiseled pecs, six pack abs and sculpted lats, paired with his tight jeans and oversized belt buckle, he looked as if he just ended his shift at Chippendales…but not in a good way.

Travis reached for an embrace, to which I apprehensively reciprocated against his glistening hairless skin.

“So…where is your shirt?” I asked, slightly horrified on both of our behalves.

“Oh it was just so hot. Figured I would just put it on when we got there. Thought you might like a little eye candy as well,” he said with subtle wink.

The short ride to the restaurant was agonizingly long and awkward being that I was forced to hold a somewhat civilized conversation with a man who was half naked and undeniably flexing his biceps throughout the duration, not to mention his blatantly erect nipples.

I enjoyed my chicken marsala, a few glasses of wine (that actually wasn’t Franzia) along with some mediocre conversation, and soon after the date came to an end.

Any future texts from Travis went unanswered, and I never saw him, or his nipples again.

 

 

 

 

 

contact@thesinglesociety.com

 

The Ass of Ex-Girlfriend’s Past

My date with Chase was a result of a singles boat cruise I attended hosted by The League.

Despite advertisements alleging  the cruise was jam-packed with educated and eligible singles much like myself, the pickins’ were quite slim in reality.

Chase, a college biology professor in his mid-thirties was quite statuesque, and wore horn-rimmed spectacles behind which lurked penetratingly blue eyes.

An avid Yankees fan, Chase proposed we catch a ball game on a Sunday afternoon possibly followed by some drinks if we felt so obliged.

Despite the ominous rainclouds that were vastly approaching the stadium followed by a brief torrential downpour, we took shelter and enjoyed some Bug Lights, cheese nachos and a couple of bratwursts while we waited for the rainstorm to pass and the game to commence.

By the 5th inning the clouds parted and the sun made an appearance at last.

Chase dried off our seats with his windbreaker and we enjoyed watching the Yankees’ victory over the Blue Jays while polishing off a few more Bud Lights before the 7th inning.

We decided to avoid the mass exodus from the stadium and make our departure at the top of the 9th.

Chase suggested we grab another drink at Billy’s, a popular establishment in the Bronx conveniently located directly adjacent to Yankees Stadium and frequented by a great deal of fans post game.

We entered the building and I spotted a perfect place at the bar with easy access to a bartender in the crowded room.

Chase gazed over the terrain of the bar as if he was looking for something or someone in particular. “No no. Let’s maybe try upstairs,” he suggested.

We ascended up the staircase where there was clearly plenty of vacancy to settle in and continue our chat.

“Ehh….let’s try the one on the other side. It may be less noisy over there,” he suggested.

I followed his lead to the bar across the way as he yet again seemed to assess the situation and finally chose a spot at the bar.

Suddenly Chase became considerably more flirtatious.

As he began laughing increasingly louder and  noticeably more affectionate I blamed it on the excessive amount of alcohol we had consumed over the last six hours.

When it got to the point where his advances became slightly obnoxious, I made my way to the ladies room to relieve myself and check my cell phone to see what my friends had planned for the evening as Chase was clearly too intoxicated to continue on, unlike myself who felt like I was just getting started.

Another young woman who just so happened to be the bartender entered the bathroom behind me.

“Hey, sorry this is weird, but you’re Chases date?” The stranger asked me.

“Yes, I suppose I am,” I asked, befuddled as to what exactly she was getting at.

“So, he’s a fucking dick. I am his ex-girlfriend. We broke up last week and I am sure you’re a great person but he’s definitely brought you here to make me jealous. He’s been purposely trying to take pictures with mutual friends on Instagram and and tag them so I see him with other girls. I didn’t think he would go so far as to bring someone to where I work, but it’s a shit move and I think you deserve to know.”

I thanked her for the intel and didn’t bother to say goodbye.

Oh, and the next day…

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Group-On Turn-Off

I met Jimmy on OK Cupid when the sweet summer had come to an end and it was time to trade in rooftop afternoons filled with sparkling Rose for football games and pumpkin spiced…anything.

It was also time for me to get my head back in the dating game as my 33rd birthday was rapidly approaching and the number of single friends I had seemed to be dwindling by the hour.

For some reason, OKC seemed like the perfect place to start getting my shit together.

Jimmy suggested we meet at an elegant fondue restaurant with baroque-style decor in Williamsburg on a Tuesday evening after work.

He had adorably boyish features and was an unpretentiously dressed New Jersey native who worked as an accountant for the Chrysler Corporation.

Perhaps he wasn’t exactly my type considering the slightly metro-sexual men I have inexplicably been attracted to in the past, but I still found myself excited to delve into conversation and enjoy his company.

The evening was quite romantic as we huddled over our steaming pot of molten swiss cheese accompanied by sliced baguette and an assortment of crudite vegetables.

We discussed our mutual desire to one day complete a week-long camping trip though the Grand Canyon and taste wine in Napa Valley as well as eventually become dog owners while remaining in the great city we both currently called home.

After we polished off the last of the cheese we satisfied our sweet tooth with  some decadent dark chocolate fondue laced with caramel and marshmallows.

Minutes later the bill arrived and Jimmy assumed responsibility for it despite my best effort to contribute.

“I am so sorry,” she said sympathetically. “I cannot accept this Groupon voucher as it expired a month ago.”

“I still paid for it, though. You can’t just make an exception and take  it?” Jimmy pleaded.

The waitress denied his request yet again, and Jimmy summoned a manager.

Slightly abashed by the scene being caused in such a small venue, I told Jimmy he should cut his loss and split the bill with me in order to expedite our escape from the embarrassing situation.

Jimmy refused and argued relentlessly with the manager to honor his expired voucher he purchased for $50 in order to receive a $125 credit towards fondue meal in return.

When the manager finally made it clear that he (rightfully so) would not accept it as payment, alas Jimmy relented.

“So, yeah, can we just split this then? I would pick it up, but I already wasted $50 on this Groupon which they are clearly not going to take,” he said.

I handed him my credit card.

“Oh, you don’t have cash? All I have is cash.”

“No sorry, I never carry cash. You don’t have a card on you?” I asked, assuming we would split it down the middle as discussed.

Jimmy put down $85 in cash, which was apparently all he had in his possession at the time.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize I wasn’t going to get credit for the Groupon, and I don’t have a card on me so this is all I brought. You mind just grabbing the rest and I will get you next time?”

The bill came to $175 not including tip.

Spoiler alert: There wasn’t a next time.

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