Tats A Red Flag

One Tuesday night after work I made my way to a coffee shop to meet Jennifer.

I detest coffee dates with every fiber of my being, but Jennifer said she much preferred it to a bar.

Jennifer was an executive assistant with strawberry blonde hair and spectacular taste in music. After discovering our mutual obsession with the classics like Led Zeppelin and Jimmy Hendrix I was looking forward to making a date…too bad it had to be for coffee.

We settled into a sofa in the corner of a hipster-esque grind house on the Lower East Side to get more acquainted.

Jennifer and I compared notes on the various concerts we had attended over the last few years and ones that we were dying to see in the future.

Jennifer pushed the sleeves of her sweater up to her elbows exposing the bottom of what appeared to be a tattoo.

“What’s that on your arm?” I inquired.

“Oh gosh,” she said as she sheepishly pulled her sleeve down to conceal the ink imbedded in her forearm. “It’s a long story. But as soon as I save up enough money it’s getting removed.”

“Come on, it can’t be that bad. Let’s see it,” I insisted.

Once again Jennifer pulled up her sleeve and revealed a rather large tattoo that read, ‘Joseph My Everything,’ written in the shape of a heart accompanied by what looked to be a lotus flower.

“It was a big mistake. My ex and I broke up, and I really thought he was the one so I did it thinking it would bring us closer together if he saw how much I was committed to making it work,” she admitted.

Bitch. Be. Crazy.


You’ve Yacht To Be Kidding Me

When summertime finally decided to make its long-awaited appearance after a frigid spring my bevy of girlfriends and I decided to buy tickets to a singles yacht cruise, assuming meeting guys face to face would be a much more civilized approach rather than swiping on our smartphones as we had been.

We put on our nicest cocktail attire, and looked forward to a night of hor-d’oeuvres, an open bar and hopefully some eligible bachelors on our nautical excursion.

We took a seat at a table before getting underway, and had a few snacks to prepare ourselves for for the many drinks that would inevitably be consumed in the evening ahead.

The ship set sail, and we couldn’t help but be disappointed with the sea of estrogen that filled the boat.

The girl to guy ratio was approximately 10:1.

Determined to have a good time despite the taco fest unfortunate situation, we kept the drinks flowing and enjoyed the views of our beautiful city.

Enter Tyler.

Tyler was a pretentiously dressed pretty boy equipped with a gold chain around his neck and a shiny Hermes belt buckle fastened around his hips securing the designer denim he was wearing.

“Hey. You guys are here for the singles thing I assume?” He asked.

Considering the ‘singles thing’ was the only thing taking place on the boat that evening we gave him an obvious nod.

“That’s cool. I’m just checking things out. I actually own the boat. I’m up from my place in Miami just making sure everything is going smoothly.”

“Oh. OK. So…is it going smoothly?” We asked, slightly intrigued with his blatant haughtiness…in a train wreck sort of way.

“Yeah. We got a few hotels up here and down in Miami. My name is actually Tyler Hanlon**, so you probably know my family.”

My friends and I simultaneously looked around the table at each other trying to see if the name rang a bell for anyone.

“I’m not just a rich kid though, I’m really involved and have a lot of responsibility in all the family businesses,” he assured us.

After spouting off some more casual details about his privileged existence Tyler decided to go in for the kill.

“So, if you guys are going to be out after this I would be down to chill. Can I get one of your numbers?”

Again, all of us looked around waiting to see if anyone would fall on the metaphorical grenade and relinquish their digits.

Not one of us volunteered, and it was clear Tyler would be spending his evening by his lonesome.

“Whatever. You guys aren’t even that cute. I usually party with models and not ugly girls like you.”

Thanks, Tyler. You’re a real gem.

**name has been changed to protect privacy of douche bag.