Guest Post Wednesday: 10 Things Alpha Men Find Attractive in Women by Karleton Thomas

suitMost men can agree on the obvious: long legs, intelligence, sense of humor, etc. These are a given when discussing the finer points of being attracted to the opposite sex, but what about the not so obvious? The characteristics, behaviors, and mannerisms that did not make any top 10 lists? Below we have compiled a few of the not-so-obvious. Not all men will find the below attractive, but the right one might.

1. Trash Talker/Competitive – She thinks she can win and has the mouth to make it sound believable. Even when she loses, there is always next time. Gotta love her.

2. Touch of Crazy – Yeah, Yeah, Yeah…I know what my male counterparts have been saying, but it’s not totally true. Since most of us cannot discern the extreme from the justified, we’ve adopted a blanket policy. Truth be told, we love a little nuttiness. It makes life that more interesting.  Just so long as it leads to great sex and can be laughed at over wine.

3. Game for Whatever – She likes a nice dinner and special occasions, but that one bar over there by that one place, she’s cool with that, too. Fun can be had anywhere.

4. Ball-Buster – She pokes fun at you, though never in a mean way. Knows embarrassing things about you and readily queues up the zingers when in private. Best thing about it all, she keeps you laughing, which was the point in the first place.

5. Beer Drinker – We don’t think we care what brand you drink; Blue Moon to breweries– it’s attractive.

6. She Can Eat – Gets excited at the thought of going to try a new spot. Possibly overeats when it is really that good. I even had an ex who was protective of her favorite foods, like a lioness after the kill. That woman was serious.

7. Fuzzy, Warm Adjectives – Passionate, caring, affectionate, sweet, humble, etc. You get the drift. At first, they seem obvious, which they are, but alpha males appreciate them even more. It’s the contrast. Most alpha males operate in a cold world; the aforementioned are warm. It makes for a soft place to land after a long day with the vultures.

8. Know It All – So she doesn’t really know it all, but she knows enough. And when she knows she’s right, she makes for a formidable debater. Big plus if she nags about the “little things,” like seeing a doctor regularly and taking a break from work.

9. Solid – Not her body, but as a partner and problem-solver. Very few things are as attractive as a woman who can handle herself. When it hits the fan, the wheels in her head start turning. There is no need to talk her down from ledge; she’s sitting next to you working the problem.

10. Contrast – I mentioned it above. It takes on different forms, such as the naughty librarian fantasy.  A prim and proper woman on the outside with a mountain of sensual energy bubbling to get out. This is the modern day equivalent of the hard-working career wife or super mom forgoing undergarments at this year’s big social event. More importantly, it’s number 7. None of the above works without 7. That contrast, behind closed doors, is glue.

Disclaimer: Of course, this does not pertain to all alpha men. Definitely does not pertain to douchebags, idiots, narcissistic or misogynist men.  I’m willing to bet on the rest.

Karleton Thomas is the co-founder and COO of LocalLux, an online marketplace to discover unique, local fashion. He’s also a big fan of scotch and bacon anything and apparently women who are fans of both as well. 

[Editor's Note: If a homeboy can get down with my pizza guzzling, then I think it's a match.]


Bullet Point Tuesday: Act Like a Lady

sabrina-carpenter-video-cant-blame-a-girl-for-trying-march-21-2014

Maybe it was because I grew up wearing Umbros and playing in the woods every day. Or because my older brother was my best friend and idol growing up, so I spent my developmental years watching Jim Carrey movies and playing whatever Mario was the game of the moment.

I found out that my mom was pretty concerned about me because, come 8th grade, I still didn’t brush my hair or give a shit about what I wore. “Do you think she’ll ever care?” she’d ask her friends with daughters, many of whom were my friends, and liked me in spite of the fact that I thought Looney Tunes high tops were acceptable.

Whatever the reason, I somehow missed the very pink, girly, and put-together boat that so many women seem to understand so effortlessly.

And it was never so clear as it was this past weekend.

My Attempts at Acting Like a Lady

  • The Chanel Make Up Counter

Until last Friday, the closest I’ve ever come to Chanel was a former student of mine, who shared the name and was so incredibly adorable that I just wanted to pinch her cheeks all the time. But she was 14, and I imagined that would embarrass her horribly, so I didn’t. Also, it’s kinda frowned upon for teachers to touch students at all, even if it’s to say, “Ohmigawd you are cuter than the golden lab puppies I saw some chick selling on Milwaukee from her backpack.” [Note: Nothing makes you want to buy a puppy more than some hippie pawning them from her North Face. Because those pups are clearly off some puppy black market. And I like my puppies like I like my maple syrup: sweet and exclusive.]

So when I heard that Chanel was offering champagne and makeovers (the brand Chanel, not my former student–that would be weird), I made appointments for Lily and I. The woman doing my make up was this super bad ass lady who likes to ski and told me one day I’d mind the creases by my eyes. She asked me what brands I use for facial moisturizer and wash. When I told her Trader Joe’s, I could see her try to hide an endearing smile. I suppose my bougie is adorable.

After my make up was applied and I’d had a few glasses of some champagne I assumed was nicer than Andre, my make up gal walked me through the list of products currently on my face. As she went down the list, I was like…Oh wait, they want me to buy something… Which I aways thought was a Mary Kay thing. See, this is why I like Walgreens. There’s no pressure.

When I asked homegirl to list off the prices with the products, I almost fell off my Chanel chair. $225 for an eye cream; $150 for moisturizer. We were not in Trader Joe’s anymore.

I settled for lipstick, because I’m a sucker and can’t just take the damn free champagne and make up and be on my merry way. It was $38.50. Which is more than I spent on groceries last week.

I’ve since returned said lipstick and spent said $38.50 on beer and pizza.* Because I’m a lady.

  • Spanx

This is by far the best invention since the women’s right to vote. But what this product has in freedom, it lacks in sexiness in any sort of way. It’s a good thing that I know that no man is going to be taking off my dress, because what he’d find underneath would require whiskey and roofies for anyone to find attractive. And a pair of pliers to remove. After which, I’m too exhausted to do anything but watch the next episode of The Black List and eat Teddy Grahams in bed.

  • Hair

I’m terrified.

I had to get headshots done on Sunday, which is a much more glamorous statement than the reality of it. But I realized that the only thing I have close to a headshot is a picture of me from two years ago, slightly tipsy, standing in front of a door with a creepy reindeer ornament hanging on the knob.

So I was a little nervous about, you know, looking like a girl because I’m completely inept when it comes to looking polished. I thought curlers sounded like a solid option to class it up a bit. Except I’ve never tried curlers. And if there’s one thing I could learn from 7th grade picture day, it’s do not try pigtails for the first time, no matter how cute Jewel looks in them.

  • Being Sexy

During the photo shoot, I was asked at some points not to smile, I think to try and be sexy, but they came out with me looking like I was about to murder someone. Probably myself.

  • Flirting

A cute guy approached me at the bar on Saturday. He said he liked my hair. I made fun of his Burberry shirt.

I went home and ordered a large pizza. It. Was. Delicious.

 

*I have not returned it. Yet. But I have plans to do so tomorrow. Which will reimburse me for said beer and pizza.

 


Monday Jams: “Caribbean Queen” by Billy Ocean

Um, if this doesn’t make your Monday better, than I can’t help you. Warning: the drama that ensues in this video is super intense. Like, glass breaking. Literally.


Guest Post Wednesday: That Fat Girl and the Online Dating World by Dana R. Griffin

tumblr_lj3b4qh5H71qhqgp8o1_400_largeAfter a divorce and then a long-term relationship that ended because: a) I got my life together; b) he was  jealous of that; and c) he had no idea who Nelson Mandela was…I unleashed myself onto the online dating world.

My point of entry was OKCupid. My life is crazy busy, and online seemed to be the best option for me. My best friend was also on “the Cupid”  and seemed to have success there, so I thought what the heck. The first person I contacted who contacted me back was great guy who just happened to have finalized his divorce one month before he met me.

After about two years of trying to feel out if this man was ever going to be ready (honestly if they want to be with you, they will and you don’t have to figure it out; men are pretty basic that way).  Needless to say, he was not ready for what I was looking for–an eventual life partner. So I went back to “the Cupid” to see who else was out there…or more accurately, I decided to passively online date. I wasn’t going to look for anyone; if someone wanted to contact me, I would go from there. But I really didn’t have time to waste looking through countless profiles, because, well, I’m busy!

One day a nice guy contacted me and he seemed OK. [Editor's Note/Question: Pun intended?] He had two kids from a previous marriage. Had been divorced for my minimum amount of time. (About four years seems, in my experience, is an optimal time to heal…and sleep with enough people to get it out of their system so that they’re ready for an actual relationship.) [Editor's Note: Good. To. Know. Thank you.]

We texted and talked for a couple of weeks before we actually met. We met somewhere close to my house for breakfast because he worked nights, and I had to work that day, and it was the only way to fit it into both our schedules. Unconventional perhaps, but if you can’t be adaptable in dating, you can’t be adaptable with a life partner so why even bother.

Several things were red flags to me when we met.  He felt the need to kiss me as a hello. I’m NOT a PDA girl with someone I don’t know. I am barely PDA with men I do know (at least at that point in my life…but that’s another story). Throughout the breakfast, he was trying to hold my hand before our food arrived. I told him that PDA just wasn’t me and he really needed to stop. Once that ended, I noticed something else. Something I just couldn’t believe.

He had no teeth.

When I say he had no teeth I mean NO teeth–not a ONE.

I couldn’t believe it. I almost couldn’t handle it. My parents spent thousands of dollars on making sure that, not only did I have teeth, but that they were perfectly straight. This man. This 35-year-old man had not one tooth in his head. It’s not like he was a professional hockey player or a boxer or something where he might have gotten them knocked out and then replaced with fake teeth. I could handle fake teeth, but gums? Just gums? Oh hell no.

After the date ended, he tried to kiss me some more. I just couldn’t get the image of his gums out of my head.

I called my best friend and shared my story with him. His reply was not what I expected: “I hope someone could love old, fat, bald me, but if this isn’t something you can get past, then you should put this guy out of his misery.” My response to him was, “Well at least you have teeth.”

That weekend I was headed to St. Louis for a wedding and to visit with my family who I hadn’t seen in years, and I told Mr. Gums I was going to be busy.

The weekend was filled with texts and calls that were above and beyond normal dating etiquette. So not only was this guy toothless, but he was obsessive and, well, annoying. I was going to let him down easy, but changed my mind and went for blunt and to the point. I texted him: This isn’t going work, sorry. I hope you find what you are looking for. 

A little over a month later, I met the man I am with now. In our early conversations, I said to him, “You seem perfect, but I have to know…do you have all of your teeth?” He laughed and said, “Yes. Why?” I told him, and we’ve lived happily ever after.

Now I actually enjoy PDA.

Dana is a 43-year-old, white, single mom of a biracial 13-year-old daughter. She started a new career three years ago in video production and she’s also an online radio co-host. Her background includes music, musical theater, and improv. She studied at The Second City and took a graduate class with Adam McKay at Piven Theater workshop. Name dropper? Maybe a little. For more on That Fat Girl Media, click here

[Final Editor's Note: I pretty much fell into a deep girl crush upon meeting Dana. Can we just talk about how she called men basic? #basicboy Happened here first, folks. And in lieu of pumpkin spice lattes, Basic Boys carry Lifetime Fitness cards.]


Bullet Point Tuesday: The Friend Zone…The Only Zone

82952823It was my understanding that OKCupid was the easy make-a-date for any single. The one platform where, you might not find true love, but you will find a true self-esteem boost because if you write in complete sentences and have all of your teeth, then you’re ahead of the curve.

Apparently this set of pearly whites is not enough for the gentlemen of OKC. Or maybe it’s the slew of creepy messages these poor dudes receive from me.

In the past week, here are the messages I’ve sent to guys on OKCupid that have–shockingly–gone ignored:

  • “You can make French toast, huh? That’s quite a talent! Especially coupled with bacon! How’s your week starting off?” [Note: Nothing says low standards like being impressed by French toast and bacon. WITH exclamation points.]
  • “Is the ‘bagpipes’ thing like the ‘porcupine trainer’ bit? Just seeing who will buy it?”
  • “Two questions: 1. What’s your Bloody Mary mix of choice? 2. How do you feel about the Oxford Comma?” [Note: Do not mix alcohol and grammar. Ever.]
  • “Sooooo I do ride a bike, but I’m still terrified every time I ride in the city. And I love honey mustard. If those aren’t dealbreakers, feel free to answer the following question: How was your weekend?” [Note: The fact that I would consider talking to a guy whose dealbreakers involve bike and/or condiments is a real low point. Even for me.]
  • “That’s quite an array of photos–from flashing gang signs to flashing hearts to just damn near flashing. Nice. Work. How’s your week going?”

Apparently guys don’t want to talk about their weeks. Or weekends. Or grammar technicalities. Go. Figure.

I was talking to my friend Ron about my tragic attempts to make conversation via a free internet dating platform: “I just keep sending really weird messages,” I said.

He laughed. “Why?”

“It’s not on purpose. I’m. Just. A. Moron.”

But Ron’s innocuous question got me thinking. Why am I sending these awkward messages? There’s no hint of flirtation or real interest in my words to these guys. So, um,  what’s that about?

It was funny this epiphany came when I was hanging with Ron, a recent friend I’d made to add to the list of platonic male companions I have. This past weekend, he and I went to dinner, saw a show, grabbed beers, and talked dating strategies. I’ve become this type of confidant for a few guys, and I love discussing the complicated and strategic matrix of dating with my male counterparts. It’s like crossing enemy lines to get top secret information. Except we’re all after the same goal. So less like enemy lines and more like crossing the 7th grade dance floor.

As someone who used to believe that men and women could never truly be solely platonic friends, I now have several close guy friends who’d rather see me do my 47-second keg stand than model anything from Victoria’s Secret.

“Is there anything there with [insert male friend's name]?” one of my girlfriends will ask. And I’ll give back a look like I just ate prune and meatloaf baby food with a swig of moscato. Because, though I love and cherish my guy friends, the idea of hooking up with them is reminiscent of some sort of Geoffrey love child.

It worries me that after dating a slew of guys that think politics or animal sacrifices are acceptable first-date conversation topics, when I meet men who are kind, intelligent, compassionate, and also have all their teeth, all I can muster up is a, “Yeah buddy,” and a slug on the shoulder.

I was explaining to another girlfriend of mine how involved I am in furthering my career and how–given my experience in past relationships–I had no true desire to jump into another.

“Don’t close yourself off,” she said kindly.

Um. Oops.

Is that why I’m sending creepy messages to OKCupid guys? Is it a form self-sabotage? Or just not truly caring enough about finding someone to put in any effort, like constructing a message that illicits a response back? 

I have a feeling that it’s somewhere in between. Kinda like half-cooked pizza rolls. And no one wants those.

So, once again, I deleted my OKCupid account. Because I like my dating life like I like my pizza rolls. Fully cooked and full of cheesy goodness.  


Monday Jams: “Black & Blue” by Miike Snow

Miike-Snow-Wave-VideoThis week’s jam came recommended by my buddy Finnigan, whose voice probably sounds familiar if you’re a fan of 101.9 The MIX. Not surprisingly, he’s another one of the many people in my life that has better taste in music than me. 

It’s a light, subtly uplifting tune–perfect for a Monday. And the video proves, once again, that only certain people can truly rock aviators and a robe. Color. Me. Jealous. 


Guest Post Wednesday: Tinder Trainwreck by Olivia Hoffing

Ice-Cream-by-Emily-Anne-Epstein03I love Tinder. I love shopping for boys–the constant ability to have instant attention at the ease of a swipe and the excitement when you sign in to see a little red dot in your message section. It was perfect for me as a true sufferer of commitment phobia. I convinced myself and my friends that I was interested in casual dating for fun but open to something more serious if it was the right person. I hadn’t been in a relationship in years and honestly out of the dating scene for quite some time. I was a Tinder sceptic, but after a few good experiences I had faith in the system.

I realized quickly that there is a method to how guys Tinder…

*Step 1: Ask a girl to drinks on a week night to see if she passes the crazy test and if she is as hot in person as her 3 individual/1 group pictures reveal.

*Step 2: Ask her to drinks part 2 on a week night and determine if this girl is a good hookup by inviting her back to your place which is conveniently close to where drinks are.

*Step 3: Maybe meet up for 2-4 additional hookups/hangouts then decide that it was “getting too serious too quickly” and find a new girl to repeat the cycle with.

As a true Type A person, I wanted to make sure that I was going to be beat guys at their own game and always be one step ahead of them in the process. I did my homework and made sure that the gents I selected to meet in person were truly worth my time. I dated hard in the spring/summer and ended up having positive Tinder experiences. I broke my own rules and ended up falling for one of the bastards in late July. I even deleted the app. Sadly, as summer ended and the Calvin Harris song was officially driving everyone nuts, my Tinder love also faded. Now I sat at the start of fall with a bruised ego and no guys on the horizon.

After a lonely and boring hungover Sunday, I decided to download Tinder for the SECOND time. I gave my profile a facelift and added new, much more attractive pictures from that month showing that I actually stuck to my summer diet. I felt so invigorated to be getting all these matches and starting the process from scratch. It was on hour 2 of Tindering that I matched with what seemed to be the adorable Kevin. Kevin seemed to be a great catch and with my stellar eye for classy men on that vulnerable Sunday, I realized it was his pictures that had me at “hey, what’s up?”

Let’s review the classic photos that every desperate Tinder girl gives into….

  • Photo holding a baby (check)
  • Photo where he looks extremely attractive compared to his friends/other people in the picture (check)
  • Photo in Europe looking very classy and cultured (check)
  • Individual photo in a suit probably from standing up in a wedding, showing that he cleans up well (check)

Sooo Kevin initiated conversation early and stated that he was in the business field and studying to get his MBA. We talked aimlessly about other insignificant details and after only 4-5 lines of conversation, Kevin asked me out. Normally I would attempt to learn more before meeting up with him to ensure that the date would be a success…however I was desperate and feeling super sorry for myself on that Sunday. So I exchanged numbers and agreed to meet up with him later in the week. I remember thinking, “Take that Summer Tinder Love, I have hot Kevin now and it only took me 2 hours to find him.”

Until this point I thought I was a genius and maybe even the Tinder whisperer…and then the Tinder gods struck me down from that pedestal quickly by giving me truly a horrific date with Kevin. The first warning sign was that Kevin asked me out to ice cream on a Tuesday at 7:30. I thought, “Awww how original. I have never been on an ice cream date in Chicago and maybe this will be special.” WRONG–the reason I have never been on an ice cream date in Chicago is because I am over the age of 12 and any dates after 5 P.M. should include alcohol NOT ice cream.

Anywho, I arrived for my ice cream date with Kevin and, to put it kindly, he was NOT cute. (Strike) He must have picked the best 4 pictures of his life, but I decided to let it go and see if he had a redeeming personality. He DID NOT. (Strike). So rather than replay every word of that 45-minute ice cream date, I will give you the highlights of why you should never swipe right to Kevin.

  • Upon arrival he mentioned that he was going to the gym immediately after ice cream because he knew this date wouldn’t last long.
  • He hates his job and is annoyed that I don’t hate mine.
  • He told me that I was too positive.
  • He explained that he used to have a girlfriend who he lived with last spring but she dumped him and now he is just lonely.
  • He hated Europe when he visited. (Who the fuck hates when they went to Europe?!?)
  • He has a predisposed genetic muscular disease that may put him in a wheelchair eventually, but don’t worry, it shouldn’t be for a while.
  • And Kevin informed me that the fact that I drink Diet Coke will kill me.

Much to your surprise I’m sure, Kevin and I did NOT work out. At the end of the date, we hugged it out with looks of mutual disgust on both of our faces.

So my word of advice…Keep Calm and Tinder ON because it only takes one swipe to find Mr. Right Now.

And never agree to go on an ice cream date. Unless you’re 12. Then it’s adorable.

[Editor's Note: My favorite part of this is when Olivia feels justice has been served to her former Tinder flame by finding Tinder Kevin in record time. It's just like a Jane Austen novel.] 


Bullet Point Tuesday: Singles Awareness Month

kraft-singlesSo last week I was walking down Halsted on my way to one of my fave bars–Marquee–and right at the Halsted and Armitage intersection, I saw this guy on his bike totally get nailed by a car.

Naturally, I did what anyone in my situation would do. I checked his left hand for a wedding band.

He didn’t have one, so it was game on.

So I get this guy and his bike out of the street–you know, like a lady–and we’re sitting on the curb and it’s totally first date conversation. I’m like, “How many how fingers am I holding up?…Do you know where you are?….What’s the last thing you remember?”

It. Was. Magical.

Aaaaaaand then his girlfriend showed up. Who was non-too-pleased to find me soothingly rubbing her boyfriend’s back as she came upon the scene. But as soon I realized what was going on, I put an appropriate amount of distance between her man and me, even putting my arms up like I was being arrested as if to say, “I’m sorry, girl. I didn’t know. He didn’t have a band.” (Which is something sister friend might want to work on….)

It’s so weird–the wedding band thing. Because I’ve realized that when I’m out in the real world, I’ll look at a guy’s left hand before I even look at his face.

I wasn’t always this way, though–hunting for bare left ring fingers with the type of dedication reserved for Nordstrom Rack deals and bars that have Brooklyn Brown Ale on tap. I noticed that this behavior only recently picked up in the last month or so, and I couldn’t quite pin point why.

Then I read author and co-host of SoChi, Jillian Conley’s, blog post from last week, in which she described this as a time when men and women instinctively look for a partner. It’s something Jillian refers to as the “rutting period.”

Ooohhhhhhhhhhhh. So THAT’S why I restarted my OkCupid profile and put on make up to go to Trader Joe’s. I, apparently, am also on the fall hunt.

See, being single during the holidays is never something that’s bothered me. There’s so much joy and fun and alcohol from Thanksgiving to New Year’s that I don’t take note of not having a plus one while mowing down on Aunt Chele’s homemade chicken wings. The same goes for January through March, since I don’t leave the house or put on make up. And we all know that spring and summer in Chicago is one, long bender season. Who has time to be locked down?

It’s this interim time, when summer sets and fall begins, that I think we feel our soloness hit.

The other day I grabbed coffee with a girlfriend I hadn’t seen in over a month. Her first question for me was, “So–anything new on the dating front?”

This question annoyed me for two reasons: 1. I’m pretty sure my blog serves as a weekly newsletter on this exact subject. 2. It’s the one time of the year that this question feels like a sucker punch.

So since this is a critical time for your local singles, I’ve made a list of DOs and DON’Ts (and things you can request if you’re one such single) in honor of Singles Awareness Month:

Singles Awareness Month DOs and DON’Ts

  • DO NOT SEND THEM FLOWERS. Your local single will think it’s from a romantic connection, only to read the card and learn that yay, my friends pity me, and drown him or herself in Chips Ahoy and a bottle of wine. Hypothetically speaking, of course.
  • DO send them take out food. There’s nothing we love more than food in…especially when we don’t have to pay for it. [Note: This single in particular loves Pequods pizza, thin crust, extra sauce, Canadian bacon, and basil.]
  • DON’T ask them to go to one of those places where you paint pottery/canvas and drink wine. Just. Don’t.
  • DO ask them to go to places and just drink.
  • DON’T flag down a cute guy or girl at a bar, and say, “Oops, I have to go now. Ok, you two talk.”
  • DON’T send inspirational quotes found on Pinterest about love. Unless you want to be ruthlessly made fun of by singles everywhere. Behind your back, of course. We have manners.
  • DON’T let them walk out of the house pulling something like this: (And expect a completely irrational fight about it.)

1086522_1343487968634_full

  • DO support them in whatever odd endeavor he or she has recently picked up. (i.e. knitting, beer brewing, blogging,* Ancestry.com, leaf collecting, bowling league, taxidermy, or Sims).

If you don’t have the time to dedicate, singles will also accept donations. Most in the form of ChasePay.

*Yes, I see the coincidence in that this blog was born and then reborn from my singledom. You’re welcome. 


Monday Jams: “We Trying to Stay Alive” by Wyclef

320x240First of all, this song has been a family favorite for quite some time. I remember my older bother blasting it from his room with his door closed. And, after reviewing the video again, now I know why. He was practicing his synchronized dance moves for the upcoming high school social. No. Doubt.

I received a call from my younger brother a few years ago, after he’d seen The Other Guys: “‘We Trying to Stay Alive’ is the OPENING song.” Sure enough, when I went to see the movie in theaters,* I sat there like a grinning fool as this jam played while Samuel L. Jackson and The Rock created the best high-speed chase scene of all time.**

Take the four minutes and sixteen seconds from your workday to at least watch this video. And $5 to anyone who can track down Mr. Blue Satin at 3:12. I want his number.

*I know, I don’t see movies often, but when I do I make it count.

**Here’s said high-speed chase below. You’re welcome.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


Bullet Point Tuesday: I Survived Ebola, So Cut Me Some Slack

286e02bb93d7c46e7bc41770abad7370My apologies. But I had ebola and was afraid to leave my bed. Fever, runny nose, unquenchable thirst, chipped manicure. It was totally ebola. And I totally beat it by myself. Can’t get more bad ass than that. Thank you.

After careful examination of my recent history and WebMD, I’ve determined that I ascertained said deadly virus in one of two places: Bar Deville or Taco Bell.

First of all, let me preface this with the only reason we went to Bar Deville on a Friday night was because Siri failed us miserably. When I asked her: “What are good bars to meet men at?” she unhelpfully replied with this:

photo-2

So I turned to Twitter and, when asked what bar to check out in West Town (where I hear cute guys run around like Disney characters), I was given Bar Deville from not one or two, but THREE different trusted Twitter users. And given that three is the magic number in the drunk world and that I was getting drunk just from playing this game, Lex, Lily, and I decided to go on an adventure.

  • How I Could’ve Gotten Ebola Part I: Bar Deville

Remember those Westerns when a cowboy walks in the saloon and the music stops and everyone turns around and stares? Yeah. It was like that. Except instead of gun holsters, we had on dresses from Express and Old Navy and wore pink lipstick. (In the land of hipsters, your dresses must be from thrift shops or boutiques and lipsticks shades of the red variety.)

We tried to order a beer, but didn’t recognize any of the names of the beers on tap because we are not, in fact, cool. When Lexi asked for a Miller Lite the bartender smirked at her. She ordered PBRs (in hopes to slightly redeem ourselves), which I’m quite confident he spit in. Bam. Ebola.

Lily has terrible short-term memory, which is why she has the need to document us at every bar via iPhone photography to make sure it happened. It’s not her fault. She has a problem.* When she asked the young woman sitting next to us at the bar to take our picture, the woman rolled her eyes and while taking the picture said, “I. Hate. You. All.”

She gave the phone back with a satisfied, smug grin and asked mockingly, “Is it ok? Do you want me to take another?”

I leaned over and told her that I loved her tattoo: “A peace sign? On your wrist? You. Are. So. Original.”

So I’m pretty sure she could’ve given me ebola, too. I know she wanted to, anyway.

We left shortly after, but not before having a completely necessary photo session in the bar’s photo booth.

  • How I Could’ve Gotten Ebola Part II: Taco Bell

Because what else are you supposed to do if you’re single on a Sunday except treat yourself to some delicious fast food?

As I waited for my order to be ready (I was generously picking up some TB for my girlfriends–I know. I’m a giver.), this homeboy next to me was clearly trying to put out the vibe. I looked up from my phone and he opened with the very innocuous, yet underrated, line of: “Hi.”

We chatted for a few minutes and then homeboy asked, “So what do you do?” When I told him that I’m a writer and comedian, he looked a little surprised and hesitated. I told him not to worry; I’m not like….all the scary writers you hear about. (Fuck, I’m awkward.)

“No, that’s not it,” he said. “I just would’ve guessed you were a high school gym teacher.”

Because Taco Bell has merciful gods, my order number was called just then. I grabbed my bag, to which homeboy said, “Wow, that’s a lot of food!” and I walked out.

I don’t think it was the Taco Bell that gave me ebola, but maybe the pint of ice cream I had afterwards.

*Pretty sure it’s also called Insta/FB Addiction-Fatigue Syndrome. Look it up. It’s REAL.