I had quite a few people bug me yesterday inquiring where the heck was my yoga date blog post. Sorry - believe it or not, I actually do work at my cushy internship, and between writing yesterday's long blog and then a 1.5 hour lunch break to get a hair cut (it's pretty short - yikes!), I just didn't have the time to post yet another blog.
But hold your breath no more, my friends, here is the yoga date.
In case you forgot, or just didn't read yesterday's blog, let me give you a little reminder:
I met David while I was enjoying my historical fiction novel over some pasta. Is he good looking? Nope. Is he tall? Nope. Would I have ever said yes but for the entertainment I provide y'all? Nope. While we were chatting there at this Italian restaurant, we started talking about yoga (don't ask me why), when he suggested we should do yoga and dinner. After one reschedule, we set the date for this past Monday evening.
What kind of yoga you ask? Bikram - i.e. sit in a 100 degree room sweating your eyes out. If you have never done or heard of Bikram yoga - it is intense. 90 minutes of sweat and poses - no part of you comes out dry. Typically, at least in Boston, all the guys that do Bikram yoga are like 60 years old and bearded. Fortunately, NYC is not like that. There were some hotties in the class with their shirts off - I may or may not have sneaked a peak in the mirror.
Unfortunately, David was not one of these hotties - much to my chagrin. (Although come to think of it, most of the hotties in my Bikram yoga class were gay...) In fact, I was kinda grossed out but all the sweatiness - ew.
After 90 minutes of feeling like death and overheat, we decided to go for dinner. I told him I like pretty much anything - but I was sick of pizza. David suggested we get Japanese food - we walked for like 35 minutes and I thought my legs were going to fall off. The last thing you want to do after Bikram yoga is walk, let alone for more than 5 minutes. I was uncomfortable, my muscles ached, and I was hungry. Where the heck was this place?? I probably could have walked home to Brooklyn by now. And the whole time he was yapping my ear off, which strangely enough I was rather grateful because I was too annoyed to talk. (What? I couldn't talk? I know. Stranger things have happened, believe me.)
We finally get to this Japanese place in St. Marks - great little neighborhood by the way if you're ever in NYC. And this place was actually great. Lots of kudos to David for picking a cool, off the beaten path, authentic place. We had random Japanese food - and not like your typical California roll either. (If I could remember how to pronounce the food we had, obviously I would include it in this post. However, I haven't brushed up on my Japanese in awhile, so I can't remember the names).
Two eel dishes and several cups of cold Sake later, I was actually relieved to go home. It was getting late, I wanted a proper shower after yoga, and David had committed a cardinal sin.
What is this sin you ask? He actually told me he didn't know the Star Spangled Banner - in fact, he didn't even know that our National Anthem was CALLED the Star Spangled Banner. I almost choked on my chicken liver skewer - even if he was cute, tall, funny, sweet, and all the other stuff we women look for in a man - it could never work out between us. As you know, the Star Spangled Banner is my favorite song. I love America. I live in a town where the streets are painted red, white and blue, for pete's sake!
As we parted ways, Fate, and a whole lot of frequent flyer miles, saved me. He was leaving for Peru on Saturday and will be back after I have already left NYC.
Dear David, if you do not know our great nation's National Anthem, don't sweat it - but just don't call me either.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
It Could Happen to You
I know it's been awhile - my apologies...
Last week was a pretty eventful week for me.
Let's rehash:
On Monday night, I decided to enjoy a quiet dinner at a local Italian restaurant with me, myself, and my new book. Now I know what you're thinking, I won't go grocery shopping by myself but I'll eat dinner by myself? What can I say - I'm crazy.
So while I was sitting there, a guy walks by several times and on his 3rd go-around, he comes over to my table (I was sitting outside) and says "I don't normally do this but I just saw you sitting there and wanted to say hi."
We end up talking for about 20 minutes - a seemingly nice lad by the name of David. After random chit-chat, we set up a date to do yoga and dinner. I thought, oh boy, this should be interesting!
My week was off to a good start...
Tuesday evening rolls around and I have a dinner date with an old fling of mine who was in town from California. Nothing to report there - just that if you ever get a chance to have drinks in the Bowery Hotel lounge, I would highly recommend it.
Thursday night I have another date with Fred - the friend of a friend I told y'all about several blogs ago. This is when my week went from Best Week Ever to Weakest Week Ever...
In a nut shell - it happened to me. I never thought it would actually happen - I thought it was an urban legend. I had seen it in shows, in movies, but never in real life. That's right - I GOT STOOD UP.
I was supposed to meet Fred at an event where my boss was showcasing new musicians at a lounge in the East Village, and after we were going to check out this DJ party that a DJ who records in our studio at work was throwing. Fred told me to text him when I got to the lounge.
True to Esther-form, I was running late, and then the trains were running on molasses. When I'm late, I get flustered. I get off the train and prepare for my quick 7-minute walk to the lounge, but true to Esther-form - I get lost. And when I get lost, I get even more flustered. So I text Fred: "I am SO lost!" To which he responds: "Ask directions."
I almost tripped over my own feet at this. Ask directions? ASK DIRECTIONS!? The correct response SHOULD have been: Ok where are you? Let me help you. Any decent person would have replied something like that - to tell a girl, lost in NYC, by herself, at night to ask for directions? Correction, to tell ME to ask directions? BIG MISTAKE.
So already I'm pissed off. I get to the bar at about 9:30 pm and text Fred that I'm here, to which he responds, "I'll be there in a little bit." 10 pm rolls around... 10:15 rolls around... and he texts me "Are you still there?" Yepppp, I am... 10:30 rolls around... how long does a girl wait for a guy to show up?
Finally, I had had enough. I tell him I'm leaving - going home because I got sick of waiting for him. He responds something along the lines of "I'm so sorry - I didn't realize you were waiting, blah blah." I tell him that he shouldn't say he's going to do something if he's not going to do it. That's when the apologies start rolling in... and can we get drinks tomorrow? No, we can't. I have a concert to go to.
I was fuming - it wasn't that I was there by myself, and it wasn't that other guys kept coming up to me but I had to tell them I was waiting for someone. No, it was that when you say you'll be there in "a little bit," but you're not actually going to be there in "a little bit," just tell me. No big deal. I'll be annoyed, sure, but jeez louise, I'm late to everything! I can't blame others for being late.
So Friday morning I come into work and I get a stream of gchats from Fred - I am so sorry, I thought it was one of those things you come whenever, what are you doing tonight, can we please meet up after the concert, etc. etc. etc. I figured that clearly he's trying here, so I might as well give him another chance. I said that I was going out with my cousin after the concert and Fred can meet us at the club.
After an excellent Dave Matthews Band concert, Diana and I head to Nikki Beach in Midtown (great place if you like good club music and a runway to dance on). It's also the type of place where the cover charge is $20, unless you're on a list and a girl - then it's only $10. By the time we got there, Fred was already there. My cousin specifically told me I can't invite guys to this because they won't be allowed into the VIP where all of his friends were celebrating a birthday. Whoops. But my cousin gets us all in anyways.
The rest of the night was, as I like to say, meh. Fred and I danced, had a good time (but a better time with just Diana and my cousin), he told me I looked nice. He also said, "Wow, I can't believe I came here for you! $20 cover charge - yikes." Sure, it was in a joking tone of voice, but let's be honest - you're either trying to impress me that you ACTUALLY came to Nikki Beach and paid $20 for a girl, or you're trying to imply that you don't like paying $20 cover charge at a bar, even for a girl. Either way, I thought that comment was weird.
Towards the end of the night, my cousin and his friends were starting to leave, and Fred asks me if I'd like to go back to his apartment. No, I would not thank you very much. And then he left.
And to be honest, ladies? I wasn't sad to see him go. I was relieved. Now I didn't have to babysit him and could have fun with my cousin and his friends.
So, that's it ladies. That was my week. Got asked out by a random guy. Got stood up. Realized that Fred isn't all that and a bag of potato chips. And waited till Tuesday to blog about it...
Last week was a pretty eventful week for me.
Let's rehash:
On Monday night, I decided to enjoy a quiet dinner at a local Italian restaurant with me, myself, and my new book. Now I know what you're thinking, I won't go grocery shopping by myself but I'll eat dinner by myself? What can I say - I'm crazy.
So while I was sitting there, a guy walks by several times and on his 3rd go-around, he comes over to my table (I was sitting outside) and says "I don't normally do this but I just saw you sitting there and wanted to say hi."
We end up talking for about 20 minutes - a seemingly nice lad by the name of David. After random chit-chat, we set up a date to do yoga and dinner. I thought, oh boy, this should be interesting!
My week was off to a good start...
Tuesday evening rolls around and I have a dinner date with an old fling of mine who was in town from California. Nothing to report there - just that if you ever get a chance to have drinks in the Bowery Hotel lounge, I would highly recommend it.
Thursday night I have another date with Fred - the friend of a friend I told y'all about several blogs ago. This is when my week went from Best Week Ever to Weakest Week Ever...
In a nut shell - it happened to me. I never thought it would actually happen - I thought it was an urban legend. I had seen it in shows, in movies, but never in real life. That's right - I GOT STOOD UP.
I was supposed to meet Fred at an event where my boss was showcasing new musicians at a lounge in the East Village, and after we were going to check out this DJ party that a DJ who records in our studio at work was throwing. Fred told me to text him when I got to the lounge.
True to Esther-form, I was running late, and then the trains were running on molasses. When I'm late, I get flustered. I get off the train and prepare for my quick 7-minute walk to the lounge, but true to Esther-form - I get lost. And when I get lost, I get even more flustered. So I text Fred: "I am SO lost!" To which he responds: "Ask directions."
I almost tripped over my own feet at this. Ask directions? ASK DIRECTIONS!? The correct response SHOULD have been: Ok where are you? Let me help you. Any decent person would have replied something like that - to tell a girl, lost in NYC, by herself, at night to ask for directions? Correction, to tell ME to ask directions? BIG MISTAKE.
So already I'm pissed off. I get to the bar at about 9:30 pm and text Fred that I'm here, to which he responds, "I'll be there in a little bit." 10 pm rolls around... 10:15 rolls around... and he texts me "Are you still there?" Yepppp, I am... 10:30 rolls around... how long does a girl wait for a guy to show up?
Finally, I had had enough. I tell him I'm leaving - going home because I got sick of waiting for him. He responds something along the lines of "I'm so sorry - I didn't realize you were waiting, blah blah." I tell him that he shouldn't say he's going to do something if he's not going to do it. That's when the apologies start rolling in... and can we get drinks tomorrow? No, we can't. I have a concert to go to.
I was fuming - it wasn't that I was there by myself, and it wasn't that other guys kept coming up to me but I had to tell them I was waiting for someone. No, it was that when you say you'll be there in "a little bit," but you're not actually going to be there in "a little bit," just tell me. No big deal. I'll be annoyed, sure, but jeez louise, I'm late to everything! I can't blame others for being late.
So Friday morning I come into work and I get a stream of gchats from Fred - I am so sorry, I thought it was one of those things you come whenever, what are you doing tonight, can we please meet up after the concert, etc. etc. etc. I figured that clearly he's trying here, so I might as well give him another chance. I said that I was going out with my cousin after the concert and Fred can meet us at the club.
After an excellent Dave Matthews Band concert, Diana and I head to Nikki Beach in Midtown (great place if you like good club music and a runway to dance on). It's also the type of place where the cover charge is $20, unless you're on a list and a girl - then it's only $10. By the time we got there, Fred was already there. My cousin specifically told me I can't invite guys to this because they won't be allowed into the VIP where all of his friends were celebrating a birthday. Whoops. But my cousin gets us all in anyways.
The rest of the night was, as I like to say, meh. Fred and I danced, had a good time (but a better time with just Diana and my cousin), he told me I looked nice. He also said, "Wow, I can't believe I came here for you! $20 cover charge - yikes." Sure, it was in a joking tone of voice, but let's be honest - you're either trying to impress me that you ACTUALLY came to Nikki Beach and paid $20 for a girl, or you're trying to imply that you don't like paying $20 cover charge at a bar, even for a girl. Either way, I thought that comment was weird.
Towards the end of the night, my cousin and his friends were starting to leave, and Fred asks me if I'd like to go back to his apartment. No, I would not thank you very much. And then he left.
And to be honest, ladies? I wasn't sad to see him go. I was relieved. Now I didn't have to babysit him and could have fun with my cousin and his friends.
So, that's it ladies. That was my week. Got asked out by a random guy. Got stood up. Realized that Fred isn't all that and a bag of potato chips. And waited till Tuesday to blog about it...
Friday, July 9, 2010
Back for seconds
Everytime I hear a reaction about my most recent post, I realize there is so much more I didn't tell y'all about the date.
For instance, he told me he was SO good at chess that he used to play in Washington Square Park (which is known for chess players) for money. But now nobody there will play him because they know he's so good.
Oh man, I can't believe I turned this chess-champ down! Especially if he looks like this...
http://www.facebook.com/jordan.brumer
(Yes, this is his actual photo. I googled him and found it, which sort of makes me a creepo, but totally worth showing all of you.)
Finally - last night I was at Happy Hour at the bar right across from where we went out on our date (we went to the Black Door, I was at The Ainsworth*) and sure enough, he's there! We didn't make eye contact but we knew who we were. Good thing he didn't ask me out on Date #2...
* For those of you who live in the city, The Ainsworth is a great location to scope out hotties for 2 main reasons:
1. the hot-guy to average-girl ratio is like 4:1
2. if you don't want to make it obvious you're creepily checking out a guy, luckily there is a giant mirror behind the bar
For instance, he told me he was SO good at chess that he used to play in Washington Square Park (which is known for chess players) for money. But now nobody there will play him because they know he's so good.
Oh man, I can't believe I turned this chess-champ down! Especially if he looks like this...
http://www.facebook.com/jordan.brumer
(Yes, this is his actual photo. I googled him and found it, which sort of makes me a creepo, but totally worth showing all of you.)
Finally - last night I was at Happy Hour at the bar right across from where we went out on our date (we went to the Black Door, I was at The Ainsworth*) and sure enough, he's there! We didn't make eye contact but we knew who we were. Good thing he didn't ask me out on Date #2...
* For those of you who live in the city, The Ainsworth is a great location to scope out hotties for 2 main reasons:
1. the hot-guy to average-girl ratio is like 4:1
2. if you don't want to make it obvious you're creepily checking out a guy, luckily there is a giant mirror behind the bar
Thursday, July 8, 2010
It's All About the Chutzpah
Several weeks ago I told my best friend Carissa that I was ready to quit this stupid blog, that I wasn't getting any dates, and that I'm wasting my time. She wisely advised that I shouldn't quit, and to try something new - perhaps start asking guys out. Whether they say Yes or No, it will still make for a good blog.
Boy was I glad I took Carissa's advice! My date last night is the exact reason I started this blog. As Pamela said, I'm finally "bloggable."
His name was Jordan. A cute Jewish guy with darker features and smart-but-not-dorky glasses. I met him at a fashion line launching I went to last week with my cousin. After many free 42Below vodka drinks, I mustered the courage to ask him if he'd like to get drinks sometime. He handed me his business card (to impress me? for efficiency?) and I played the game and waited 2 days before calling him. It was right before the long weekend so I offered to get together after the weekend. Jordan said he'd call me.
Sure enough, as I am heading to my date Tuesday evening, I get a text from Jordan to meet up for drinks. I asked him if he had a preferred location, to which he responded "26th and 6th - Black Door @ 7 pm." I would be there.
So last night, I get to the bar late, but earlier than him, so I wait a little bit. Clearly I don't order a drink because then I might actually have to pay for it. Finally Jordan arrives, and we start chatting, get a drink, the usual.
The convo is NOT flowing like Dunkies iced coffee on a hot summer day. He's not laughing at any of my lame jokes (not even laughing at me - which is just as good as laughing with me).
We do the usual "interview questions": where are you from (Miami), how old are you (25), where did you go to undergrad (Southern Univ. of Florida), what do you do (real estate broker), what do your parents do (dad is a lawyer who represented Sug Knight when he sued Kanye West for getting shot up in da club. In fact, Jordan sat in depositions with Kanye and claims he's a "nice guy.")
Oh, also, Jordan claims to have met Anna Chapman or whatever that Russian spy's name is, got her number, then she got busted, so CNN and NY Times have been trying to get him to interview. Uh huh... sure.
Wait, ladies, I'm just getting to the good part - the REAL GOOD PART.
So yadda yadda, we're talking, and all of a sudden he asks me what I want to do after, get another drink, orrrr go up to his apartment to see the amazing view? Well clearly I wasn't going up to his apartment (it was right near this bar) - I've seen plenty of good views of NYC.
Then he asks me why I asked him out - and where I saw this whole thing going. I told him obviously I thought he was cute enough, and who the heck knows where this will go - Bella getting some grandbabies? I didn't know how to answer. So I asked him where HE thought this could go... to which he replied (wait for it, wait for it, wait for it...) "Some sex, a fun one night stand."
Aaaaaarrreee you serious?!
Esther: No thank you.
Jordan: You know, even nice girls are whores some times.
Esther: Ummm wow, I'm pretty sure you just called me a whore.
(Now, I know most of you at this point would have jetted outta there faster than if they declared ALL THINGS FREE @ MARSHALL'S, but I was intrigued - I knew I needed to stay and at LEAST get a good blog out of this one.)
Jordan: No, no. I'm just saying, most girls think they are whores if they have one night stands.
Esther: Well I'm not going to have a one night stand with you.
Jordan: I just want to see if that dress slips off as easily as it slips on.
(I'm serious about this - these words ACTUALLY came out of his mouth.)
Eventually, he comes 'round the little bar table we were sitting at, and starts rubbing my back and trying to kiss me - so awkward.
He sat back down (thank God), and we continue to talk about something random. And as you all probably know, I talk with my hands which sometimes presents problems when I'm holding a wine glass in my hand. I hit the bottom of the glass and I spill wine on myself, to which is says (wait for it, wait for it): "Look at that, I'm already getting you wet."
(Again, this is NOT a lie or a fabrication, this is a DIRECT QUOTE.)
Luckily, before this part of the convo started, I told him that I was meeting a friend in Brooklyn at 9:30 pm so I wouldn't be able to stay much longer. This was my get-out-jail card to play.
He kept talking about his amazing view and that I should really come up, and we should have a one night stand.
At last, the date ended. As we were paying the tab, he said "Maybe next time if you sleep with me I'll let you pay." Uhhh, "next time"? Will there even be a next time?
I mean, what is the protocol with this little project - I have to say yes to every date within reason - but do I have to say yes to a second date??
We were hugging goodbye and he asked for a kiss on the cheek - I knew he would try to kiss me so I politely declined. Jordan asked one more time for me to come up, ya know, just in case I had changed my mind in the last 5-7 minutes, and asked if we could do this again. (Did he think that I don't sleep with a guy one Date #1, but I do on Date #2??) Yeah, maybe we can.
We parted ways. And all I could think was "Wow, I can't wait to blog about this one!"
By the way, I should let you all know that this Jordan fellah wasn't a creeper (in the traditional sense), was a cute, smart, Jewish guy with a successful career and well-to-do family. He just had some chutzpah to ask me to sleep with him on the first date.
I guess it all comes down to chutzpah - Yiddish word for "balls." I had chutzpah and asked a guy out. Jordan had chutzpah to say all those things to me and seriously mean it. BA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!
Boy was I glad I took Carissa's advice! My date last night is the exact reason I started this blog. As Pamela said, I'm finally "bloggable."
His name was Jordan. A cute Jewish guy with darker features and smart-but-not-dorky glasses. I met him at a fashion line launching I went to last week with my cousin. After many free 42Below vodka drinks, I mustered the courage to ask him if he'd like to get drinks sometime. He handed me his business card (to impress me? for efficiency?) and I played the game and waited 2 days before calling him. It was right before the long weekend so I offered to get together after the weekend. Jordan said he'd call me.
Sure enough, as I am heading to my date Tuesday evening, I get a text from Jordan to meet up for drinks. I asked him if he had a preferred location, to which he responded "26th and 6th - Black Door @ 7 pm." I would be there.
So last night, I get to the bar late, but earlier than him, so I wait a little bit. Clearly I don't order a drink because then I might actually have to pay for it. Finally Jordan arrives, and we start chatting, get a drink, the usual.
The convo is NOT flowing like Dunkies iced coffee on a hot summer day. He's not laughing at any of my lame jokes (not even laughing at me - which is just as good as laughing with me).
We do the usual "interview questions": where are you from (Miami), how old are you (25), where did you go to undergrad (Southern Univ. of Florida), what do you do (real estate broker), what do your parents do (dad is a lawyer who represented Sug Knight when he sued Kanye West for getting shot up in da club. In fact, Jordan sat in depositions with Kanye and claims he's a "nice guy.")
Oh, also, Jordan claims to have met Anna Chapman or whatever that Russian spy's name is, got her number, then she got busted, so CNN and NY Times have been trying to get him to interview. Uh huh... sure.
Wait, ladies, I'm just getting to the good part - the REAL GOOD PART.
So yadda yadda, we're talking, and all of a sudden he asks me what I want to do after, get another drink, orrrr go up to his apartment to see the amazing view? Well clearly I wasn't going up to his apartment (it was right near this bar) - I've seen plenty of good views of NYC.
Then he asks me why I asked him out - and where I saw this whole thing going. I told him obviously I thought he was cute enough, and who the heck knows where this will go - Bella getting some grandbabies? I didn't know how to answer. So I asked him where HE thought this could go... to which he replied (wait for it, wait for it, wait for it...) "Some sex, a fun one night stand."
Aaaaaarrreee you serious?!
Esther: No thank you.
Jordan: You know, even nice girls are whores some times.
Esther: Ummm wow, I'm pretty sure you just called me a whore.
(Now, I know most of you at this point would have jetted outta there faster than if they declared ALL THINGS FREE @ MARSHALL'S, but I was intrigued - I knew I needed to stay and at LEAST get a good blog out of this one.)
Jordan: No, no. I'm just saying, most girls think they are whores if they have one night stands.
Esther: Well I'm not going to have a one night stand with you.
Jordan: I just want to see if that dress slips off as easily as it slips on.
(I'm serious about this - these words ACTUALLY came out of his mouth.)
Eventually, he comes 'round the little bar table we were sitting at, and starts rubbing my back and trying to kiss me - so awkward.
He sat back down (thank God), and we continue to talk about something random. And as you all probably know, I talk with my hands which sometimes presents problems when I'm holding a wine glass in my hand. I hit the bottom of the glass and I spill wine on myself, to which is says (wait for it, wait for it): "Look at that, I'm already getting you wet."
(Again, this is NOT a lie or a fabrication, this is a DIRECT QUOTE.)
Luckily, before this part of the convo started, I told him that I was meeting a friend in Brooklyn at 9:30 pm so I wouldn't be able to stay much longer. This was my get-out-jail card to play.
He kept talking about his amazing view and that I should really come up, and we should have a one night stand.
At last, the date ended. As we were paying the tab, he said "Maybe next time if you sleep with me I'll let you pay." Uhhh, "next time"? Will there even be a next time?
I mean, what is the protocol with this little project - I have to say yes to every date within reason - but do I have to say yes to a second date??
We were hugging goodbye and he asked for a kiss on the cheek - I knew he would try to kiss me so I politely declined. Jordan asked one more time for me to come up, ya know, just in case I had changed my mind in the last 5-7 minutes, and asked if we could do this again. (Did he think that I don't sleep with a guy one Date #1, but I do on Date #2??) Yeah, maybe we can.
We parted ways. And all I could think was "Wow, I can't wait to blog about this one!"
By the way, I should let you all know that this Jordan fellah wasn't a creeper (in the traditional sense), was a cute, smart, Jewish guy with a successful career and well-to-do family. He just had some chutzpah to ask me to sleep with him on the first date.
I guess it all comes down to chutzpah - Yiddish word for "balls." I had chutzpah and asked a guy out. Jordan had chutzpah to say all those things to me and seriously mean it. BA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Why call when you can gchat?
Well ladies - it finally happened. I FINALLY went on my first date. A friend of a friend (isn't that always the way it goes?). For purposes of anonymity, we'll call this guy Fred.
So my guy friend awhile ago told me Fred would be perfect for me, so we have spent the last ooooohhh I don't know, 6 months talking on gchat (but not talking on the phone or meeting). Finally, it was time to meet (he lives in NYC). Going from past experiences (think: split a glass of wine - and if you don't know that story, it's the best worst-date story of all time, maybe I'll throw it on this blog for shits and haha's), I let him choose the place. He chose a place called The Australian, conveniently near my work, and little did he know I love Australia (and little did we both know, it was a Red Sox bar).
The first thing he said to me besides "nice to finally meet you" was that he likes my Raybans more than his. So he tried mine on, and I tell him that they're too small. He responds, "wow, I thought all Raybans looked good on me." And all of a sudden I had a realization: am I that annoying when I'm conceited? My friends must reeeealllyyyy like me if I make comments like that (and we all know I've made a comment or two like that in the past).
The rest of the date went rather smoothly. The convo flowed like Dunkies iced coffee on a hot summer day. And he was very cute - a lot cuter than in pictures.
Except ordering food was weird. When you meet someone for happy hour, do you also get apps? I wasn't sure, but I was a little hungry, and me being the law school lush, I needed some substance in my belly after my one drink.
There isn't much more interesting stuff that happened for the rest of the date. (Don't worry ladies, I definitely let him pay - I don't even offer anymore because it just gets awkward.)
Oh, so you want to know how the date ended? We parted ways - he went one way and I went the other, and he left it at "I'll gchat you."
Well, I guess it ended just the way it started - GCHATTING.
It's ok - on to the next one. I have another date tonight... I guess when it rains it pours!
Stay tuned...
So my guy friend awhile ago told me Fred would be perfect for me, so we have spent the last ooooohhh I don't know, 6 months talking on gchat (but not talking on the phone or meeting). Finally, it was time to meet (he lives in NYC). Going from past experiences (think: split a glass of wine - and if you don't know that story, it's the best worst-date story of all time, maybe I'll throw it on this blog for shits and haha's), I let him choose the place. He chose a place called The Australian, conveniently near my work, and little did he know I love Australia (and little did we both know, it was a Red Sox bar).
The first thing he said to me besides "nice to finally meet you" was that he likes my Raybans more than his. So he tried mine on, and I tell him that they're too small. He responds, "wow, I thought all Raybans looked good on me." And all of a sudden I had a realization: am I that annoying when I'm conceited? My friends must reeeealllyyyy like me if I make comments like that (and we all know I've made a comment or two like that in the past).
The rest of the date went rather smoothly. The convo flowed like Dunkies iced coffee on a hot summer day. And he was very cute - a lot cuter than in pictures.
Except ordering food was weird. When you meet someone for happy hour, do you also get apps? I wasn't sure, but I was a little hungry, and me being the law school lush, I needed some substance in my belly after my one drink.
There isn't much more interesting stuff that happened for the rest of the date. (Don't worry ladies, I definitely let him pay - I don't even offer anymore because it just gets awkward.)
Oh, so you want to know how the date ended? We parted ways - he went one way and I went the other, and he left it at "I'll gchat you."
Well, I guess it ended just the way it started - GCHATTING.
It's ok - on to the next one. I have another date tonight... I guess when it rains it pours!
Stay tuned...
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Dr. Heckle and Mr. Hide
This is just a quick little rant...
Sometimes it really bothers when me men heckle and whistle at me while I'm walking down the street. My friend Sonam thinks they should just ask her out instead of hiding behind their work hats or whatever. While I appreciate this frustration, any guy who finds heckling appropriate is probably not someone I want to go out with.
But then the more I think about it, I realize that it's actually pretty flattering to be heckled at. There will come a day - hopefully not for many, many years - where men will no longer heckle at me. They'll probably be heckling at my 14 year old daughter - gross.
So ladies, next time you get a Heckle and Hide, be proud that you are hot enough for a skeezy man to notice you!
Sometimes it really bothers when me men heckle and whistle at me while I'm walking down the street. My friend Sonam thinks they should just ask her out instead of hiding behind their work hats or whatever. While I appreciate this frustration, any guy who finds heckling appropriate is probably not someone I want to go out with.
But then the more I think about it, I realize that it's actually pretty flattering to be heckled at. There will come a day - hopefully not for many, many years - where men will no longer heckle at me. They'll probably be heckling at my 14 year old daughter - gross.
So ladies, next time you get a Heckle and Hide, be proud that you are hot enough for a skeezy man to notice you!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)