It's not me, it's YOU!

A catalogue of dating misadventures... as well as of those things we've all said and done to get out of the next date.

Thursday, July 5, 2007

It's not me, it's another girl....

I am on my second date with this guy I met online. The plan is to meet up for dinner. He picks a restaurant in Long Beach, which is near where he lives, but a long way from the West Side (for those of you who live in L.A.). How about something in the middle, I wonder, but whatever. I leave myself an hour to get there, but it takes about an hour and 15 minutes because the traffic was awful. Being considerate, I call from the car to say that I think I'm going to be about 10 minutes late. When I get there, he greets me with:

”You're actually 15 minutes late!”

Wow… Really?!? So now, I feel compelled to point out that I schlepped ALL the way from the west side to Long Beach AND had to find a place I had never been before so how about a little slack?? To which he replies:

“I thought you lived in Long Beach. Remember, we came here on our first date?”

Hmmm… NO….

”No", I say, "that wasn't me.”

And then, he proceeds to argue with me! You were wearing X. We met over there. You ate such and such.

Hmmm… NO…

“You've got me confused with someone else…”

Now, I'm a lawyer, so you know how we like to argue, especially when we're RIGHT. So I remind him of what we actually did do on our first date and reiterate that he is thinking of the wrong person. He remains unconvinced and tries again to persuade me that we've met at that very restaurant before. By this point I am thinking:

“Waiter! Can I have my food to go please!?”

And while the date didn't get any worse than that, he didn't come anywhere close to getting any of his toes out of his mouth, much less his whole foot. Needless to say, no third date for Mr. Unobservant.

-- Ms. West Side

Saturday, June 9, 2007

Worth the wait...

When, I was 21 years old and dating was still fun and simple, my buddies and I used to get very creative about meeting new women… we would come up with funny lines to pick women up on the streets, in coffee shops, at train stations… and on the phone. Yes…we used to call random numbers hoping to get a young beautiful female voice on the line in the hopes that we might ignite romance and start a dating adventure. Being a 21 year old guy, I mainly wanted to get laid, so I’d have probably settled for a throaty, annoying, whiny voice as well…if she was ready and willing enough.

One lovely autumn morning, I dialed a random number and heard what was probably most soothing, melodical, feminine voice full of beauty and potential. Her name was Natasha, and we hit it off right away. She lived close by and after half an hour on the phone, we agreed to meet at a post office. Why the post-office? Not sure, but probably because it was busy and crowded and if she turned out to be less-than-pretty, I could just walk out without being noticed and pretend I never even showed up to meet her.

So the next day, I anxiously walked to the post-office, waiting to meet the beauty behind that voice. At the spot where we agreed to meet, there was an older gentleman, curiously observing all the guys who walked in the door. We looked at each other for a second, our eyes full of questions and disbelief, and as I started to walk away, he called out my name. I turned around half-curious, half-scared, and this older (not bad looking) gentleman proceeded to tell me that he is Natasha’s father. He explained to me that in their family, he meets his daughter’s wooers first, to make sure they are worthy of his daughter’s attention. I was a bit shocked but still under the spell of her beautiful voice, so I decided to go with the flow.

We spent about an hour at the post office, an hour I would more likely describe as an interview than a date, but again… beautiful voice, potentially beautiful daughter, black lacy panties, nice legs… I was imagining all that while patiently answering her father’s questions. Yes, I have a job (I wonder how smooth her skin is); no, I don’t smoke (ooh, luscious delicious lips); yes, I love my mother (wait… damn, ruined my train of thought). Finally, after an hour, he smiled at me and said:

“Let me think about this, and I’ll get back to you soon.”

Hmm… I was hoping to be getting into his daughter’s boudoir sooner rather than later, but I guess I had no choice but to wait. A few days later I got a phone call from Natasha’s dad in which he asked me to meet him at the post office again. This was quickly turning into a dating relationship quite unlike the one I had imagined would result from my conversation with Natasha, but I humored her father nonetheless. That voice…

After 3 meetings in two weeks, all at the post office, (I was developing quite the stamp collection!) my interview was over and I was offered a position at the family dinner table to meet Natasha! FINALLY! I wasn’t sure why such formal family gathering was necessary, but I was getting a home-made meal and I already kinda liked her dad, so it promised to be a good evening.

At their house, there was a nicely decorated dinner table full of delicious-looking food and a bottle of wine (rare in the Ukraine back then, so must have been a special occasion). I was quite pleased to find seated at the table: Nathasha’ dad, his wife, his mother…and a really cute, charming girl about my age. My heart started racing as I realized that my patience had paid off… I’d tolerated the several pre-dating interviews to get a chance with a real, quality girl! With a big smile on my face, but vivid images of us kissing in a park (or the post-office) occupying my mind, I went to introduce myself to the girl. She smiled back at me with a smile that made my soul melt, my heart race, and my knees weaken. Then. She said:

“Hi, I am Elena. My sister, Natasha is getting ready and will be out shortly. Let’s sit down and start our dinner.”

Oh... I sat down at the dinner table, a bit disappointed but still hopeful considering that this family was clearly blessed with a good gene pool. Dinner went really well, delicious food (I still smile thinking about that borsch and ladkis), good company, fun conversation. I was intermittently looking around trying to figure out when Natasha was finally coming out, but we made it all the way through dinner without a sign of her. No bother.

I’d busied myself with entertaining Elena with my tales of boyhood misadventure with my friends, when a bedroom door opened…… and out came out a 40 year old, obese, woman half my height in a thick red robe…. She smiled at me shyly and said:

”Hi, I am Natasha. It’s nice to meet you.”

I politely smiled at her, shook her hand, and after a few moments of speechlessness I mumbled something to the extent of:

“The pleasure is all mine, but I’m afraid I must leave to go to work now.”

I ran out of that apartment as fast as I could and never called her back. I was not a superficial guy even back then, but with so much anticipation and waiting, I was hoping to meet somebody who would be a bit more enchanting… like her voice.

At least it wasn’t a complete failure. I got to know my local postman very well and I got a great dinner out of it!

-- Mr. Papichki

Monday, May 7, 2007

From Russia with love...

One day, I opened my account to check if any new hot girls have posted their profiles in my area, I found this letter in my inbox:

"Good DAY!!!

I have decided to write to you and my name is Larisa!

You profile has liked to me.

First of all I want to tell to you that I search for serious relations andI want find that with whom could to live for a long time and happily.

I would like to tell to you a little about myself. I the educated girl, a harmonious body; mine tall 5 ' 7 ", my weight 120 pounds. I cheerful, with good sense of humor. For me it is really necessary soul mate and the reliable friend!

I hope that you will answer me and I ask you to write to me. I would like to send you some pictures myself and I shall be pleased to answer you if you write to me.

I shall wait and hope, that you will not ignore my letter. Thanks!

Yours faithfully,

PS I would like to ask you that you wrote to me on email, as I have no a lot of time to be on the Internet."

What do you think, guys, should I take my profile down for this harmonious body?

-- The Camel Rider

Friday, March 30, 2007

To date or not to date: a simple point guide to choosing your mate

I have never been a big fan of dating, on or off-line. On-line dating is particularly stressful. It’s that initial pressure of trying to decide whether you want to date this person or that person (and when you have to decide between the guy whose only posted pictures of himself where his ex-girlfriend has been cropped out or the guy who still lives with his mother, it’s kind of a toss-up). It’s going out on a ‘blind’ date, and realizing that you are in for a few hours of pure boredom or worse, disaster…

This blog was started in part because of dates like that. Soon after I signed up for my two-month trial of internet dating, I quickly realized that most of the guys on there are either ugly or boring (or both), and that the gems are far and few between. I read through profile after profile (with tag names like “2hot2trot” or “BelieveTheHypeSF75” or "DontchaWishYourBFwuzHOTlikeME”)… they all started the same way “Hmmm…where to start…I’m an easy going guy…” Most of them said the same thing about “loving fine dining, family, and the outdoors.” Some of them even went so far as to say they were “a good blend of east and west coast, now in love with SF,” blah blah blah…

I’d initially signed up for this on-line service to entertain myself after my back surgery, but after about a week, the thought of gouging both my eyes out and then referring myself to an ophthalmologist for another surgery seemed more appealing than looking at another one of those profiles. Or maybe I’d just become a nun…well, a Jewish nun (do they even exist?)…ok, maybe an open-minded nun (you know, the kind who still date and have sex)…

Half-distracted by the thought of having sex in a nun’s habit, I did one last run-through of a few more profiles before calling it a night on-line. That’s when I stumbled upon Mr. Points… a pretty good looking fella, with no skanky photo cropping and the following hook for an opening line:

“This dating thing is really simple if you break it down.”

WOW! I thought to myself, what has this guy figured out about dating that I hadn’t? Maybe I could learn something from him! I trembled with anticipation as I opened the rest of his profile...

"I firmly believe it's possible to objectively quantify who's "right" for me. This may save us alot of time and awkward banter in a small coffee shop staring at a stale scone discussing where we grew up. So, start with 0 pts, if you are... Objectively good looking, add 15 pts. Subjectively good looking based on your personality, add 6 pts. Of the belief that you are good looking based only on your parents' comments, subtract 10 pts. Objectively funny, add 15 pts.”

OK, + 30 points later, I was not only doing great on his little clever test, but I was laughing so hard that I thought I was going to pop my surgical wound open. So I braced myself and continued reading...

"Mention in your profile that you are as comfortable in heels as in running shoes (or some variant of that), subtract 5 pts. Holding a bachelor's degree, add 6 pts. Holding a master's degree, add 10 pts. Are a doctor, add 18 pts. Are an attorney, subtract 5 pts. Able to go to a party where you know nobody and have more fun than if you did, add 4 points. Participate in athletics, add 9 points. Of the belief that sushi transcends the realm of food, add 3 pts. Able to find the humor in (or make humorous) the pedestrian situations, add 10 points.”

OOOH, + 80 points for me already. I was SO on my way to having a sushi dinner with this guy...

"Prone to complaining about most situations, subtract 15 pts.”

Oops, I guess do complain a bit. But not a ton. Just a little. Well, maybe a medium amount. So I made an administrative decision and subtracted 7.5 points…

”A person who has ever cheated on a boyfriend/fiancee, subtract 20 pts per individual. A person who has been cheated on and taken him back, subtract 5 pts for the first incident, subtract 20 pts for the second incident, and subtract 50 pts for each additional incident. A person who fills up her gas tank more often than shaves her legs, subtract 5 pts. If you have smoked *even once* in the past 5 years, take the cube root of your score. If you don't know what a cube root is or cannot estimate it to 1 decimal place, subtract another 15 pts. If you prefer the red states to the blue, subtract 3 points. If you think this refers to the Civil War, subtract 15 pts.”

Well, maybe I kissed a boy while dating somebody when I was 20 and smoked a few cigarettes about 2 years ago, but that doesn’t really count, does it?

”If you scored a 68, I will marry you tonight (or tomorrow night if you’re reading this on a Friday. And if you’re not sure why that is, go ahead and subtract another 10 points). 60-67: let’s go ahead and cancel our on-line memberships and make plans. 50-59: let’s write a few emails and see. Less than 49: it’s probably not meant to be with me. It’s not you, it’s me…”

YES, my score was 72.5 and the only reason I didn’t go to buy myself a wedding dress was because my surgical wound was on the verge of bursting open and I didn’t want to risk having another surgery. That’s the first time in my life I scored 106% on a test. I gave myself an A+ (of course) and emailed Mr. Points immediately. My dislike of dating suddenly seemed insignificant in comparison to the prospect of having good sushi while laughing my ass (or should I say, my surgical wound) off. Plus, I was an “A” student already and I hadn’t even started the "semester"…

After a few dates and a lot of side splitting (not wound splitting) laughs, Mr. Points did not seem to be that into me. I guess he wasn’t as enchanted with me and my performance on his little test as I was. Turns out I was too ‘high maintenance’ for him, a criteria he failed to include but if he had, it might have sounded like this:

“Once we meet, I’ll be the judge of your maintenance index. If you are low maintenance index, add 15 points. If you are medium maintenance index, subtract 10 points. If you are high maintenance index, subtract enough points so that your total number is less than 49… If you don’t know your maintenance index or what ‘index’ is, your self-awareness needs some improvement. Write back after you’ve had a few years of therapy.”

So, on our last ‘date’ he mumbled something to the extent of wanting to be friends and then politely put in me in a taxi.

I suppose what it all comes down to is that what he really wanted to say at the conclusion of our last date was: “It’s not me, its YOU!”

Wait, I thought I was supposed to be the one to say that?!! But oh well… at least I got a few points left. They do roll over, right??

-- Innigma

(Special thanks to Mr. Points who graciously agreed to let me use his on-line profile for the contents of this story. He, of course, immediately suggested that such a gesture was worth + 20 points. Who is being high maintenance now?! )

Friday, March 9, 2007

Brown Man VS Catwoman

It should be known that LCG resorted to blackmail (with pictures of my foot long penis) to elicit my contribution to this dating blog. She hits below the belt, that one. (Or in my case, way below the belt.)

That being said, here is one of the many dating chronicles from
this brown man

I grew up with five sisters. So, needless to say, I had girls figured out by the time high school was through. Though, sadly, that didn’t mean I got mad action. At least not in high school. By the time I hit college though, I quickly recognized the advantages I had over my fellow man in the dating department. With a great sense of humor and a thorough understanding of the female psyche, I had no problem hooking up. In no time at all, I had more than enough sexual experiences to make up for the ones I didn’t have in high school. What I didn’t learn from my pubescent years is that sex makes some girls psycho, particularly the crazy sexy freaky ones, and especially if you’re good at it. Since I was a late bloomer, I didn’t learn until a bit later in the game this simple equation: Downright freaky = psycho. Now, I don’t know if there is a dormant “I’m going to slash your tires and throw a brick through your car window” stalker gene in the chromosomes of some women. But if there is, it’s somehow sexually triggered. I know that much, thanks to Tara.

I met Tara in an acting class. A little pale, but absolutely gorgeous. She had these big, heaving…crystal blue eyes that were very captivating and she was so full of energy. Sexual energy. I remember that she loved cats and she always had a curious Eau D’feline smell about her. Since she was extremely hot, I figured it was something I was willing to ignore my olfactory red flag. After a few days we’d had our first date and I had given her a ride home. Before the car even came to a complete stop, we were going at in the driveway.

As we were making out, I noticed that she was a little more forceful and assertive than most girls as she began nibbling at my lips and biting my neck. At first I thought it was a little weird, but I started to really get into it. In a flash she pounced on me and had her hands under my shirt and was unbuckling my belt. The kissing and petting got heavier and we desperately needed a change of venue. Still lip-locked and undressing we crashed inside the house as she guided me towards her bedroom. From the few glances I stole down the dark hallway to her room, the house seemed like any normal place of residence, only with the cat smell a little more poignant than before. (I was really too busy unhooking her bra and stepping out of my jeans to notice much else.) Before I knew it she threw me on the bed and sprang on top of me kissing me harder and tracing her nails down the ridges of my six-pack. I could take no more. In one swift motion, I had switched positions and was on top of her. Her hands were now on my back and her scratches became deeper and more serious as she moaned. I felt like a damn scratching post, but I was still too enthralled to care. When her clawing hands reached my sides I winced at the initial onset of sharp pain. She flashed a mischievous grin upon my reaction and seemed to become even more excited.

Things were going relatively well, until she started writhing around and purring. Yep. She started purring. To make matters worse, we’d apparently left the door open and were performing for an entire feline audience. Okay, now this is fucking weird. For some reason I couldn’t stop what I was doing, it just didn’t feel right. But the fact of the matter was that I was getting jacked up by wolverine, my back was really starting to burn, and six pairs of eyes were watching my every move. Now I like an occasional back scratching at the peak of arousal just as much as the next guy, but there is no earthly reason to leave a man’s back looking like he’d just been slave whipped. I could have sworn I was bleeding and more cats kept making their way into the room. A younger cat slyly leapt on the corner of the bed and stared right into my eyes while another laid right next to Tara and started to lick himself. She didn’t even flinch. That’s enough! Cat porn is where I totally draw the line.

Without a word, I dismounted, hurriedly gathered my clothes, and ran out of the room trying not to make eye contact with any animals for fear of being ambushed. I paused in the living room long enough to put my jeans on, and noticed a few more cats lying around disinterested in my presence (I must not have been the first). I felt like I was in a freakish Stephen King movie or something. As I bolted out of the kitchen and past the garage I spotted 8 or 9 litter boxes and countless bags of cat food. That explains the Eau D’feline! I practically dove in my car head first and peeled out like I was being chased by a lion. I had to lean forward, hunching over the steering wheel the whole way home to keep the chair from exacerbating my fresh wounds.

The next day I dropped my drama class. And that’s how my acting career came to a back lacerating end.

- Brown Man

Monday, March 5, 2007

With all due respect to your Daddy....

I had been flirting online with this attractive looking woman, The Fisherwoman, for a week when I asked her to have a drink with me in midtown Manhattan. We had agreed to meet at 6:30 pm. An hour before the meeting time, she called me and asked me to meet instead at her upper east side place since she had been working at home all day. I was a bit startled, since one usually doesn't receive this invite before ever meeting, but agreed. Perhaps I'd get lucky on the first date?

Her place was up in the 70's somewhere at 3rd Ave and it was swanky. But as soon as I entered her apartment, I knew something was terribly off. Shit was strewn everywhere. Papers, animal cages that hadn't been cleaned, clothes… I'd never seen a woman's place look so unruly. Immediately my guard was up. The Fisherwoman greeted me with a kiss on the side of the cheek and asked me if I wanted anything to drink. I told her I didn't. A minute later, she asked me again. Again I told her I was fine. Two minutes later, she asked me again. "No, really, I'm good", I told her.

I sat down while she made a cocktail and was checking out one of her many books on her dining room table when she suddenly spurted out, "ME ME ME ME ME! PAY ATTENTION TO ME!!!" Oh shit, I thought to myself. What have I gotten myself into?!

She sat down and started telling me about her business, which is running the most exclusive Jewish matchmaking service in the city, for which she charges several, sometimes tens of thousands of dollars for. Hmm, I think to myself, and she's single. I wonder why…

As I mused in that thought she divulged that she sometimes records her dates since she's writing a book on the topic.

“Oh really? Are you taping us right now?”

She said that she wasn't and only tapes dates if she gets permission. "Would you like to hear some material?" she asked. "Sure" I replied.

She whipped out a little tape recorder and pressed play. While I listened to what must have amounted to the most contrived date of all time anywhere she suddenly blurted out, "Do you know what really turns me on?”

"No"...I replied, very curious to see where this was going.

"Dressing up" she said. "Let me show you".

So I waited at the table for a few minutes while The Fisherwoman changed. I couldn't believe it…she came out in a full on sexy French maid outfit and sat on my lap. Hey, I was finally starting to have a good time. She may have been crazy, but this was going to be a good ride! Next came the cop out fit, and she wanted to handcuff me. I refused playfully yet politely. Then came the cheerleader... Aw yeah, this WAS getting good!

While she performed a few cheerleader maneuvers for me, she again blurted out, "Do you know what also turns me on?” On my heels, I couldn't guess.

"Porn,.." as she dashed for the DVD player and stuck one in. "Come here, I think you're cute!”

There comes a point, on any date in which porn is used as a seduction tool, where every guy relinquishes brain power to his second head, and I’d been playing pretty hard to get up until that point. So, it was at this point that I obliged her and sat down on the couch next to her. We began to make out and things were getting pretty heated when, as was her style, she stopped suddenly.

She looked at me earnestly and, in a very serious tone said, "I really want to get married and have children.”

My second head's chokehold on my normal brain was immediately broken. I looked at the clock and said, "Hey it's getting late, I really need to get going.”

I made a beeline to the door. Only to hear her scream…

"My daddy's really wealthy, HE'LL BUY YOU THE RING! YOU'LL SEE YOU'LL BE HAPPY!”

…just before the door slammed.

- Johnny Pesce

Thursday, March 1, 2007

Top 10 Reasons NOT to be a Match-Maker for your Friends...

10. Your intention (to simply get him and her some action while they continue their search for “the one”) backfires (and leads to a tumultuous on-again, off-again relationship).

9. In its off-again phase, he and she both call you, repeatedly, and make it abundantly clear how profoundly wrong you were to have EVER thought that they would be compatible. In any way. Well, except for the sex way. In which they are pretty compatible indeed…

8. Ok. So it’s on-again. Again. All things are
whiskers on kittens and brown paper packages tied up with string and suddenly the hills are alive with the sound of music. And you? Your cell phone has suddenly ceased to ring. No phone calls from either him nor her…not even for a thank you. Thank you SO much for setting us up, he/she is so wonderful. Nope. None of that.

7. Oh no! Another bump in the road. The phone starts ringing again. They both expect you to fix things that are not working and stay out of the things that are. Sometimes all in the same day.

6. Uh oh. This is a particularly big bump. It’s getting a little ugly. And just when you think you might just politely duck out of the room and leave them to their own dysfunctional devices…you’re asked to stay. Stay! No, really...STAY!! And take sides. Clearly you’re on his side, he says. Um, no, you’re on her side, she says.

5. How ‘bout if you just stand right here in the middle, place your fingers snugly into your ears and sing loudly? When the dog bites...when the bee stings... Hmm…seems to be working. Wait. Did you just hear her accuse you of secretly having an agenda to steal her boyfriend? And to please stay away from said boyfriend? The boyfriend that YOU set her up with?? Oh, the lunacy!

4. Ok so…it’s officially off-again. Your phone rings off the hook. He really enjoys her, he says, but he just doesn’t want to do the whole marriage thing again. She’s got an agenda: get married, make babies, perhaps several, then maybe an apple strudel or two. Is that too much to ask? (Oh, and she’s really, really sorry about that silly little accusation in number 5 by the way). Apparently, yes, it IS too much to ask. He swears to you, by phone and online instant message, that he is simply NOT ready to commit to another marriage right now

3. They’re engaged!?!?! [Cue the hills are alive with the sound of music.] [Again.]

2. It’s all warm woolen mittens and whiskers on kittens again. Save the date cards go out. Oh the joy! she thinks! Babies and apple strudel coming right up! Wait…what’s this right here? Hmmm…months worth of online instant messages stored in my fiance’s password unprotected email account between him and…and…and YOU! (Totally taken out of context and completely misconstrued, by the way.)

1. It’s officially off again. You stand to lose two great friends…both of whom are currently in therapy for what occurred in 2 – 10. You scuttle off thinking you might need a little therapy yourself…

-Innigma & La Cubana Gringa