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.


Guest Post Wednesday: What Happens Out of Town, Stays Out of Town. Unless Your Friends Are Assholes. by Dating Olivia

Canada_flag_halifax_9_-04A lot has changed in the past two years. 2012 was a different time. A simpler time really. In October 2012,  I was stuck between my hot and heavy summer with the FWB, who I was slowly falling for by the way, and the winter where he would eventually break my heart. I was in an awful dry spell (for those who don’t know me very well, I am in fact referencing the state of my vagina when speaking about dryness). And I still lived in Riverview, but I was starting to entertain the idea of moving to Lakeview, two hours away, to be “closer to my family” which was what I told myself so that I could live in denial and not believe that I was actually moving to Lakeview to be closer to FWB. 
Mind you, some things have not changed. Being that it’s October, the leaves are all orange and on the ground now, and the air has turned crisp and cool. I just recently pulled my Roughrider mittens and scarf out of the closet, and if you don’t know who the Roughriders are, then Google it, because I just can’t even with you right now. And speaking of the Riders, just like in 2012, there is uncertainty of our making the playoffs, and a run for the cup. And of course, being that I live in Canada (if you comment something with an Eh! joke or something about aboot, I will punch you square in the nuts) it’s getting cold enough that the potential for snow is making everybody cling to thoughts of summer, when they were sitting on a sun-filled beach, and actively planning trips for this coming winter. But it also has me looking back. Back to the simpler days of 2012, back to my trip to the Dominican in February of that year. I actually wrote this post in October of 2012, but I’ve reworked it for today. To read the original, check out www.datingolivia.wordpress.com
In February 2012, two of my best friends married one another, and I was in the wedding party.  The wedding was a destination wedding, which took a group of about 30 of us to the Dominican Republic. Those of you who haven’t been – go. It’s beautiful. It was my very first trip outside of Canada and the U.S., and all the saving and working two jobs I did to get there was worth every single penny.
I wasn’t expecting to meet anyone on the trip.  Sure, I’d always thought it would be a cool story, and staying at an all-inclusive resort in the Caribbean meant that there were more than enough beautiful men to go around for all of us single ladies. But I never thought it would ever actually happen. Not to me anyways.
There are three things Canadians should know when traveling to this part of the world. Now, I know that most of you reading aren’t Canadian, so I’m not sure if this information will be useful internationally, but now is as good a time as any (minus the impending doom of winter) to think about moving. Just a suggestion. 
The first thing you need to know about going to the Dominican as a Canadian is that the people there seem to think we Canadians are rich and therefore cheap as fuck when we barter, because we obviously should want to pay $60 Canadian for a trinket that we could buy at the dollar store here for $1.25. Now, I get this misconception because compared to them, we do make a fortune. But still. I had to work two jobs for well over a year, and pinch every penny to get there. 
The second thing being that our reputations as a nice nation precede us, because before we even left the airport, we had people singing our praises just for being Canadian. We were affectionately known around the resort as Punta Canadians, and there was even a Canadian flag (and only a Canadian flag) behind the bar in the main lobby. 
The third is mostly for the ladies. And I’m guessing this goes for ladies all around the world. It seems as though the combination of being rich (or looking like it), and also having a vagina makes you instantly popular with the locals. The men were big fans of ours. Our group of girls got approached more than once by local men trying to pick us up. (Granted, most of the time they were also trying to sell us shit, but still.)
The one day, I decided to fly solo.  Some of my friends were off on an excursion that day and the bride and groom were busy with wedding prep.  So I decided to take my iPod (it was 2012, I didn’t have my iPhone yet), and a book, and go chill by the beach for several hours to get my tan and afternoon all-inclusive drunk on. Even on an island far from home, I loved my solo time.  Being single as much as I had been in my adult life meant that I had become a great companion to myself.  I could hold my own. I was fine till I decided to go to the main lobby for something and bumped into a guy who my friends and I had met the day before while he was trying to sell us something.  Except this time, I was alone, and the only thing he was trying to sell me was himself.  I can’t remember his name, but he walked with me across the resort from the lobby to the beach, and then sat there on the beach with me for a half hour trying to convince me to move to the Dominican to be his girlfriend. Now don’t get me wrong. He was cute, he seemed really nice, and the idea of living in a beautiful tropical locale like that was not at all unappealing. Call me old fashioned, but I wouldn’t have been able to set up roots in a different country thousands of miles from home after only meeting this guy for a half hour.
Then, there was Jose. I think it was our first or second day there, and we had discovered that the best place for drinks was the main lobby bar. Mostly because the staff was super nice to us because they knew we were Canadians, but also because they had some really cute bartenders back there.  Jose was one of them. He was hot. So hot in fact, that if we were back at home, a guy as hot as Jose would have never even looked in my direction. And I am not an ugly girl. I think that I am an attractive woman. But back in North America, he’d be one of those “way out of my league” kind of guys.
But we weren’t in North America, we were in the Dominican. The land of my infinite beauty. So anyways, Jose made it perfectly clear that he was into me.  We’d go to the bar and order drinks and he’d stare (not creepily, just like, pay attention to me), lick his lips at me (also not as creepy as it sounds), wink, wave to me across the lobby, and tell me I was beautiful when I ordered a drink from him. I ate that shit up.
*I should note here that this trip happened two weeks after I broke up with Dave #4, the guy I lost my virginity to at 26 years old, and my first serious boyfriend. I was vulnerable and hurt and considering how often Dave ever complimented me (0 times) the whole time we were dating, I was in desperate need of male attention.  Just throwing some perspective out there, because this all makes me sound pathetic as hell once I actually type this story out.*
Jose and I flirted, and I made sure to go see him anytime I was dressed up, as well as anytime I was in my bathing suit ready to hit the beach. (See, I sound just as creepy!) I even went to go see him when I was in my bridesmaid dress, but he wasn’t working then.  That time was actually not for nothing though; we all got tons of compliments walking through the resort in our dresses, because well, of course we all looked stunning.
Then, the last night we were there, we decided to go to the disco.  With the help of one of my friends, I went and told Jose about it, and told him he should meet us there after he was done work. He said he would, and I felt giddy.  So I went back to the hotel room, got all dolled up, and then hit the bar for some liquid courage before Jose was done work.  We were hanging out in the lobby when Jose was done work, and when he came to tell me he’d see me at the disco shortly, he also took it upon himself to give the kiss I had been dying for all week.
We went to the disco, and Jose went home to change, and came back to find me.  This is where the trouble with holiday hook-ups dawned on me. We danced, and made out on the dance floor.  Cause I am a classy lady. The unfortunate thing was that he wasn’t a great kisser.  That was disappointing.  He was the hottest guy I’ve ever made out with, and he had these pillowy soft lips that look so yummy, but the kisses were not good.  It was a big letdown.  His dancing also leaved a lot to be desired.  Now, yes, I was a bit tipsy, but I was not even close to being drunk enough to find him jack-rabbit thrusting his package into my crotch on the dance floor (and not even to the beat of the music) appealing at all.
Then, in his broken English (oh yeah, forgot to mention, that he spoke very small amounts of English – I know.  Awesome right?!) he asked me to go back to his place with him.  Now, some of my more…uh…we’ll say “liberal” friends, wondered (out loud) why I didn’t go with him.  Hmm, I wonder guys? Maybe it’s because he can’t even kiss, so what if he can’t fuck?  Maybe it’s because I just met the guy less than a week ago. Maybe it’s because I had just ended the first adult relationship I was in, and I was not ready for a rebound like that. Maybe it’s because I liked someone else.  Or maybe it has something to do with the fact that we were in a different country, and he lives in a village somewhere that I don’t know, god knows how far from the resort, and oh yeah THAT’S HOW PEOPLE GET ON THE NEWS BACK HOME WHILE THEY ARE ON VACATION!!  Yeah, maybe, just maybe that last one is the best reason ever NOT to hook up while on vacation.
Oy vey. Yes, Jose was a great vacation story. I will remember him and the trip fondly for many years. But the last thing I needed was to wind up pregnant or get an STD from a man I will never see again, who barely speaks English, who probably hooks up with oodles and oodles of girls just like me who are wanting to let loose a bit while on vacation.
Making out with Jose while I was on my first tropical vacation, after ending my first serious relationship was just perfect enough.  Why make it more than that?
So the moral of the story is, if you hook-up on vacation, be safe.  And you better listen to me or I’ll tell your mom.
Clase despedido.
Adios amigos!
[Editor's Note: Is it weird that none of this sounds creepy at all to me?]

Monday Jams: “Locked Inside” by Janelle Monáe

Reborn2-476x360If you’re feeling some Monday blues and want a little jam that will pick you up, but not throw sunshine and ponies in your face, then this tune is for you. Marie, who’s getting married next year, met DJ Reborn on Friday, immediately fell hard into a girl crush, asked her to DJ her wedding, and then passed along her info to me. At which point I also  fell hard for this Chicago native, who’s now tearing up New York with her turn tables* and bad ass mentoring of NYC youth with Urban Word.

Yeah, she’s my hero.

*That’s what DJs use, right? 

 


Bullet Point Tuesday: Online Dating (Again)…Because I’m Not a Quitter

-BridesmaidsSo this Sunday I decided to fire up the old OkCupid profile. You know, to do something nice for myself.

And enough time had passed in my online dating stints that I forgot. I forgot how depressing online dating is. Especially on Sunday.

Because…even though it’s online, it’s pretty transparent. I mean, you can see who’s viewed your profile, who’s seen a message you sent and never responded, and if you look really closely, you can see your standards–and dignity–fading fast.

I’m not sure about other sites–I’m too cheap to try them and OkCupid is free–but it just serves as a reminder of what’s really out there for you.

Exhibit A: Nicely Bearded Man, 31

After clicking on his profile, here’s what I found:

  • Works at Ace Hardware
  • Fired from Ace Hardware (so the above should be in past tense)
  • Tried nursing school, but it was “too boring”
  • Lives with his parents
  • Currently looking for roommates (maybe he got this site confused with Craigslist)
  • Looking for a trendy, good-looking woman with a “career”

But you know what–I have to give this homeboy credit for putting it out there. How many times, ladies, have we been out with a guy and it’s just this snowball of horrible information: I don’t have a job–BOOM–I’m completely unambitious with my life’s goals–BOOM–I’m going to pretend I forgot my wallet and make you pay for my negronis–BOOM–

Exhibit B: Blondie, 32

For those of you who haven’t been on OkCupid (or hit rock bottom), the service provides a space for you to fill out a self-summary. It’s super awkward because no one really knows how to talk about him/herself without sounding incredibly lame. But we all fill it out in the name of finding true, OkCupid love. Here’s how this homeboy’s went:

  • My Self-Summary: blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah blah, blah

I know. WHERE is that second-to-last comma?? Is he so lazy he can’t even correctly punctuate his “ironic” self-description? I. Can’t. Even.

Exhibit C: Too-Good-To-Be-True, 36

This guy was just a little too good-looking–like did you airbrush your photos or just step off a Ralph Lauren photo shoot?

I thought about messaging him anyway until I saw this:

  • Optimal dating age bracket: 20-31

Hold up, dude. You’re ok with dating someone who still has to bring a fake ID to the bar and you’re 36? Yeah….I’m out.

Exhibit D: the Creative Message Guy

I received the following message from this homeboy:

  • “Do you think sneakers, sandals, or flip flops look better on a guy with shorts and a T-shirt?”

First of all, unless she’s a store clerk, do not ask a woman you don’t know for fashion advice. Second of all, none of that footwear is appropriate for a grown ass man. Neither are shorts, which I imagine are of the cargo-nature. Don’t even get me started on guys who think it’s acceptable to wear concert shirts to any place other than the gym.

Just imagine if the situation was reverse. If I sent that message to a guy: “So, do you think I should wear my TOMs or clogs or Crocs with my oversized sweatpants from high school?”

Dude was from Indiana, though, so I guess I have to cut him some slack.

 

*This is just an obligatory * after the plethora of my ***** were called out last week. See, dear reader, I listen.**

**Kinda. I just had no real after-thoughts on this one.***

***See what I did there? Ok, I’ll stop.  

 


Monday Jams: “Uncertainty” by Jagwar Ma

Jagwar-Ma-0072-658x350So this is a band that my younger brother told me to check out in hopes to make me cooler and perhaps find something other than the Frozen soundtrack to jam out to. I took his recommendation…which meant that I would just randomly drop the band’s name in conversation to make myself appear cooler to interested gentlemen folk. The only problem with that was, since I never bothered to actually look up the band, I pronounced it “Jaguar Ma,” once again proving that I am not, in fact, cool.

Turns out that when I actually listened to Jagwar Ma, I realized they’re a band I can totally get into. Especially since the lead singer is rockin’ a Devon Sawa haircut. You’re welcome.