Category Archives: dating

Stop Hitting On Me.

Aug
10
2010

I’ve been unsure of how to approach this topic. But I think it must be said.

Just because I am a young woman and I am alone does not give you permission to start hitting on me. I don’t want your attention. I just want a cup of coffee. I just want to pick up frozen yogurt for my mom. I just want you to be polite, take my money, and give me whatever it is I came there to buy. I don’t want you to start asking me about my life. You don’t know me. I don’t know you. When I try to shoot you down nicely and tell you, “I’m just getting frozen yogurt for my mom,” I don’t need you to then quiz me about why I don’t like frozen yogurt.

Someone somewhere came up with this phrase that goes something like, “When a man says no, that’s the end of the discussion. When a woman says no, it’ the beginning of a negotiation.” No, I do not want you to sit next to me. No, do not try to come up with a compromise. No, you cannot come in, we are closed. No, do not try to reason that you’ll only be a few minutes. Funny that when my male coworker tells you we’re closed, you leave immediately.

As women, we’re subliminally taught to be polite under duress. Because if we say no, or reject any sort of advance even if we do it kindly, we’re labeled a bitch. We don’t want you to join us when we’re eating alone? Bitch. We don’t want you to buy us a drink? Bitch. We don’t feel flattered when you catcall us on the street? Bitch. And the thing is, we have no way of knowing which one of you is going to snap and attack us. I’M NOT SAYING THAT ALL MEN ARE PREDATORS AND THAT AS WOMEN WE SHOULD ALL BE AFRAID. I’m just saying that a young woman walking down the street, simply by being female, is more likely to be harassed than a man. It’s not fair but it’s something we’ve come to accept.

But it’s not enough for some men. Sometimes we just want to go out with our girlfriends have a girls’ night out. We do not want you to come up to us, drunk out of your mind, and try to get us to invite you into our group. When I had a boyfriend, it didn’t matter, men still did what they wanted anyway, but now that I’m single it’s like men (not ALL MEN) feel they have the right to blatantly hit on me. Did I ask you to buy me a drink? Did I come up to you and interact with you? No. Did I try to be polite and say “no” without hurting your feelings? Yes. So now what am I supposed to do? Curse you out? Then what? Do I need to be worried that you’re going to be a total asshole?

When it comes to bars or parties I can understand a little more why you would come up to me. After all, you’re at a bar or a party to mingle. To meet people and have fun and so forth. But when I’m running errands? You really need to make your moves on me when I’m in sweatpants, with unwashed hair, and in a hurry to just get on with my day? Do you really think that I’m going to drop everything and ask you to go out? No. I don’t want your attention. I want my sandwich.

Now. Sometimes I love attention from men. But when it’s respectful and when I clearly indicate that I want it. Guys, here is how you tell if a girl is interested: if she makes direct eye contact with you, smiles, and asks you questions, then she probably wouldn’t mind getting to know you. (If you’re British and you’re in America, you’re pretty much given an automatic green light. This is a half-joke.) If she’s mumbling, looking down, closing off her space to you, and gives short answers, she wants you to leave. She’s just been conditioned to think that she can’t say, “Get the fuck away from me.” There are LOTS OF WOMEN, I KNOW, WHO CAN SAY THAT. And who have every right. But I’m just not one of them. I can’t. I have to to think of myself first. I can’t worry that you, strange man in a bar, is going to flip out when I reject you harshly.

I had a stalker once. It wasn’t pleasant.

Basically, here’s what I’m saying. I do not hate men. I just hate being hit on when I clearly do not want to be hit on. And I think men probably feel that way too. It’s just harder when you’re a woman sometimes. Maybe that’s something I’m not supposed to say.

My “no” is not a negotiation.

I Want It That Way — The Backstreet Boys

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Oh No. The Internet Is Here.

Jul
28
2010

A few nights ago, I went to a house party with a dear redheaded friend. I love house parties. It’s the unexpected factor. Will there be good drinks? Will there be cute guys? Will this be the house party that you saw in the movies, the one where everyone had a good time and there’s fun indie music playing in the background and you all wound up jumping into a pool and then dancing in front of a huge fireplace? Who knows?!

This house party had none of those things. However, they did have food, which I will give them major, major props for. Then again, they also had minimal seating and a very loud band. Look, I’m an old person, I guess. I want to go to a party where I don’t have to drink cheap vodka out of a red plastic cup and where I don’t have to pretend to care about your stupid band that Pitchfork just loves. I want to have adult conversations and adult drinks. At least people are starting to dress better. Yikes, here I go. I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again: I am an old gay man trapped in a young woman’s body.

But that’s not important right now.

Most of the party was spent with the two of us talking solely to each other. I wasn’t in the mood to socialize with others. I was just in the mood to look good and pose. Which is basically what I did. I admit, I could have been nicer. But when a drunk girl practically collapses into your lap exclaiming, “WHOA, I did NOT see those steps there!” and cackles like Bette Midler without the charm, am I supposed to smile and agree? Or am I just a huge bitch?

Here’s where it went from awkward to straight up uncomfortable. My friend and I wandered into the living room and I saw in front of me a very attractive man. He was tall, had the profile of Adrien Brody, and the glasses of Don Draper, if Don Draper wore glasses. Basically I’m saying he was a handsome, well-dressed man. He looked oddly familiar. I was pretty sure that he wasn’t actually Adrien Brody, so why did he look so familiar? And then, like a sharp hiccup, it came to me.

This was my Facebook crush.

A long time ago, I went “boy shopping” on Facebook. I scanned friends and friends of friends for cute boys. I found one and I messaged him saying, “I don’t know you, but I think you’re cute.” He added me back. I looked at his photos, came to the conclusion that he had a girlfriend, and that was that. Eventually I landed a relationship of my own (which recently exploded, like the rockets’ red glare) and never thought of him again.

Until I saw him, in person, at this party.

“Oh no,” I thought. “The internet is here.”

I didn’t introduce myself. I don’t think he noticed me. Probably because I tried my hardest to become one with the wall. But it was a shame. There he was, cuter in person, with a (most likely) girlfriend in tow, and I was doing my best to pretend like we didn’t have access to each others’ newsfeeds. Not like I’m assuming he even checked my Facebook profile. Which brings me to another “I am secretly an old person” eye roll: when did the Internet go from being a convenient way to meet people to a new way to make people feel awkward?

I whispered to my friend the whole messy scenario. We then escaped outside. Where I ran into ANOTHER guy I was friends with on Facebook but not in “real life.” We ignored each other. Or rather, I ignored him, while he probably took no notice of me and if he did, had no idea who I was. The Internet is here, and it’s a real thing, and it’s freaking me out. I do not like what this beast has unleashed upon my generation. Like we don’t have enough problems (hello, fucked up economy, nice to see you again).

As usual, I blame the internet for everything. Always.

We’ve Been Had — The Walkmen

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Invisible Typewriter.

Jun
21
2010

‘Tis the season of breaking up, it seems. A couple of my friends just broke up with their dudes while others contemplate breaking up. These are trying times. (For the record, I am NOT breaking up, so there is nothing to read into here! Face value only. Fun fact: I originally typed “face value” as “face failure.” I say we coin “face failure” as a new saying. Any ideas of what it could mean?)

If you’re currently going through a break-up, I offer my condolences and the following that may or may not help you. I’m not going to say, “Everything’s going to be okay” because you’ve probably heard that phrase a lot lately and it may not mean anything to you anymore.

First, I think you’re going to need to say “yes” a lot. Your friends want to take you out for a comforting drink? Say yes. You got invited to a party? Say yes. You got an offer to work on a project? Yes. That dude you used to hang out with asked you out? Say yes! You need to be as busy as possible right now. You need other things to focus on aside from your own misery. Unless you can turn your misery into something productive like “500 Days of Summer” or any Smiths song.

Now about that date. Some dude (or lady) might call you up and ask you if you want to go for a drink. Unless this person is an awful, awful person you have nothing to lose by going out. You don’t have to fall in love with this person or promise them anything. However if they’ve been in love with you since second grade, now might not be the time to go on this date and break their heart. But have a little fun. Remember flirting? Try doing that again. Be flirted with. Fun fact: asking a girl if you can take a picture of her boobs for your “art book” is NOT flirting. Don’t do that!!

Now, you’re getting out there, going out, seeing that band, going to that play, getting drinks, writing, selling coffee, whatever the kids are doing. Usually around this point, the point where you’re finally ready to face the world by yourself, acknowledging how much that sucks but no longer crying over it, this is the moment where the ex comes back into the picture. It’s like they have radar for knowing the exact moment when you’ve forgotten about them, or at least started to get over them, when they barge right in, like the Kimmy Gibbler of your full house.

It’s going to be very, very tempting to accept their offer for “coffee” or “hanging out” or whatever seemingly innocent activity they offer you. Here’s what you need to do, when they call you and tell you about their lives and how great they are, and how you guys should meet up: smile and nod. Not literally, because you’re on a telephone, and they can’t see you unless you’re on a videophone like Beyonce raves about. You need to figuratively smile and nod. Play it cool. It’s like when Homer called the police about an alien sighting and Chief Wiggum answered:

HOMER: The alien has a sweet heavenly voice. Like Urkel. And he appears every Friday night. Like Urkel.

WIGGUM: Wow, your story is very compelling, Mr. Jackass, I mean, uh, Simpson. So I’ll just type it up on my invisible typewriter.

That’s what you need to do. You need to take his information in, and type it up on your invisible typewriter. Who cares if you still love him? Who cares if he still loves you? He’s got to fight for your love. Nod and smile.

Remember that your ex is like that Into The Wild kid. He wants to go into the wilderness, but he left without a map, and he’ll probably starve to death. If he wants to figure shit out, he can buy a map. He’s probably in a place right now where even if you gave him a map, he wouldn’t use it.

Note: not all relationships are like this, of course. I’m not suggesting that the man is always at fault. Maybe you screwed up epically and there is nothing you can do to fix it. In which case, now you know better, so you can do better.

Waiting For Bulletproof At First Sight (Deep /Blk vs Marc Johnce Mashup) — La Roux + Kylie Minogue + Gwen Stefani

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Parent Trap It.

Jun
03
2010

At some point in your life, and maybe it’s happened already, but somebody is going to try to Parent Trap you. This is not what you probably think it is. I don’t mean that after your divorce your twin daughters are going to go through an elaborate scheme to get you and your ex spouse back together, because they’re lying assholes and this is why you shouldn’t have kids. Let me explain.

A friend of mine coined this phrase. I think I’ll leave her nameless in case she kills me for discussing this on my blog. She and her boyfriend (and his dog) went on a trip together and part of that trip included spending time with his ex, because apparently he and his ex are really good friends. She has a farm somewhere and they spent a few days with her on her farm living on the fat of the land like Allman Brothers songs or whatever. They (her boyfriend and his ex) are outdoorsy types who love nature and sleeping in it and eating it in and bathing in it with a cup of water and a palmful of soap.

The three of them (mostly the boyfriend and the ex) decided to go on an impromptu hike and my friend wasn’t wearing hiking shoes because she’s a normal person. But she wasn’t about to be left behind. She wasn’t going to let the ex take the glory. The hiking glory. The glory of, “look what I can do that you can’t.” So she followed. They walked through brambles and mud and my friend was smiling the whole time, like she was strolling down 9th street in NYC. Until she was startled by a salamander. The ex picked it up and cooed at it. Just picked it right up and started telling it how cute it was. This is where my friend had to make a choice. She could either freak out and look on in mock disgust or suck it up and touch the thing. Why? Because, she explained to me, “It was just like the scene in The [newer] Parent Trap where Lindsay Lohans take Dennis Quaid’s blonde fiance or girlfriend or whatever into the woods and torture her.”

“Wait, I think that’s Last House On The Left.”

“Ha. Anyway, I thought, I’m not going to let her do that to me. I’m not going to let her Parent Trap me!” So my friend also picked up the salamander and also insisted he was cute. Then she probably died inside. They continued on.

“Watch out for stinging nettles,” warned the ex. “What the hell are stinging nettles?” my friend thought, but instead said, “Okay!” very cheerfully. She wasn’t about to let the ex know that she had no idea what stinging nettles were. She took her boyfriend’s dog off the path, because dogs like to go off the path sometimes, and when she came back the dog was in distress, scratching and whining. “Thanks for walking my dog directly into stinging nettles,” her boyfriend hissed. “Oops.” She’s doing it, my friend thought. She’s totally Parent Trapping me. She swore she saw a brief smile of satisfaction on the ex’s face after the stinging nettles incident.

Frankly, I don’t think I would have lasted nearly as long as my friend. At some point I would have broken down, and, like Christopher Guest in “Waiting For Guffman” shouted, “I hate you and I hate your ass face!” Between the spontaneous hike and the Eliza Thornberry ex I would have been done. It’s a tough situation.

I’m putting myself in her cute, non-hiking shoes. On one hand, you don’t want your boyfriend to think you’re jealous, but on the other, you don’t want to pretend to be someone you’re not. I guess when you find yourself Parent Trapped you can either bow out and wait until it’s over or grit your teeth and pretend to enjoy it. Just watch out for stinging nettles.

Summerland — The Woodlands

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Where Are All The Awesome Guys?

Apr
19
2010

A friend of mine (who will remain nameless, under threat of her fist to my face) is having a hard time finding a guy. She’s not even looking for something serious. She just wants someone to charge a little something to her AmEx, if you know what I’m saying. She wants Santa to give her a a bag full of toys, if you get my drift. She wants someone to sort out her recycling and maybe help her pick out a good paint color for her living room, something not too bold but not too boring, maybe something that will pick up one of the accent colors in one of her new throw pillows that she got from Pier One, which has surprisingly chic and modern home accessories at very reasonable prices, if you know what I mean.

She wants to get laid.

I went boy shopping on facebook (that’s when you look at all of the cute single guys you know on facebook, and cute single guys of friends, and then finally, cute single guys of friends of friends) in hopes of finding someone suitable. The candidates were underwhelming. All of the great guys I knew either a.) had girlfriends b.) were gay c.) lived in New York or d) wait who is this guy and why is he my friend on Facebook?. I suggested she would have a better time by herself, to which she said, “I don’t need to get any better at masturbating, you know?” Which I thought was a really solid point.

It should not be this difficult for a hot, smart, funny, and successful chick to find a guy to have a fun, casual, non-creepy time with. Guys think it’s very easy for women. “You’re the one with boobs,” they say. “How hard can it be?” It’s hard, guys. I blame the Internet. No, I really do. My friend wisely pointed out that Gen X had the same problems and they didn’t have the Internet to which I said, “Stop ruining my theory with logic, that’s so lame.” But I think that the Internet turned us into monsters. There’s two major extremes with finding people on the Internet: sites where you can find a quick “hook-up” in your area, which I personally think is really dangerous, or sites like J-Date where you can theoretically find a nice Jewish boy but can maybe be just as dangerous as say, Craiglist. Then again a good friend of mine found her cute and normal (!!!) boyfriend on Craigslist so what the hell do I know? Wait what was my point?

I just think we’ve become too used to the Internet as a way to snoop but not as a way to really connect. I think the best way to meet cute guys is at parties; that way you’re sure to meet a friend of a friend. Maybe that’s why I referred to parties as “real life Facebook”. Then I realized how completely sad that sounded. What is this world coming to? Or maybe not, world, but generation? Why is Justin Bieber always a trending topic on twitter? Who is responsible for this?

I’ve tried to find potential guys on Facebook, but when a girl messages a guy on Facebook, he automatically thinks it’s for sex. And I’m like, baby, baby, baby, oh. Like, baby, baby, baby, NO! I’m sorry, this Justin Bieber song has forced its way into my very soul. I played it at work right before closing and as I was helping the last couple in the store, asking them if there was anything else they needed, the tough looking tattoo’d guy said, “Uh, can you play that Justin Bieber song again?” I couldn’t tell if he was serious or not so I just laughed.

My friend deserves an awesome, attractive, creative, and smart guy. I know they’re out there. It’s just unfortunate that she’s so awesome, because maybe if she were less awesome we’d have an easier time finding someone for her. Few people are awesome.

Birds Of A Feather — Tim Curry

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The Secret Code.

Feb
19
2010

 

uschi

Hi gang! I’m so sorry it has taken me so long to update. I’ve been busy. Those Tivo’d Oprah episodes aren’t going to watch themselves.

Last night I went out with some friends and a guy asked me what my background was. “Are you mixed?” Confused, I asked, “Like, biracial?” To which he said, “No, I meant, are you German?”

Huh. Apparently mixed can also mean part German, to some people. Or to one guy. GOOD TO KNOW.

I love going out but once I’m there it never quite lives up. I just sort of sit or stand in the corner looking at people, carrying on imaginary conversations with Andy Warhol in my head. Like, “Oh, look at her, those shoes are all wrong.” “Come on Andy, they’re not too bad.” “The thing about shoes is that if they’re not right they throw the whole outfit off. They’re like a misfit gang. I think she looks like a mess.” “Oh you!” I also like to dance. But I don’t think Andy would dance with me. He would probably take polaroids and then when I was done dancing he would say something like, “You looked fabulous, don’t bust a gut” and I would say, “Lou Reed” or make some other allusion to whatever cultural reference was popular at the time. Lou Reed is still popular but I don’t think people are mentioning him in nightclubs.

However if you see me at a nightclub just come up to me and say, “Lou Reed.” That will be our secret code. That’s how we’ll know each other in the real world and everyone else won’t.

Nightclubs are not where you go to meet men. Nightclubs are where you go to have fun with your friends. There are three types of guys who you will find at nightclubs in LA:

1.) European weirdos
2.) Mustached weirdos
3.) Actors

Then in the sub category of actors you have:

1.) Famous
2.) Not yet famous
3.) No longer famous

Nightclubs are for having fun with your friends!! If anyone has met any non weirdo/non actor men at clubs in this city then you may as well show me a Lisa Frank pegasus because they don’t exist either.

Whatever, I don’t want to date anyway. I’m in a difficult relationship right now. It’s with this guy named Ted. Ted is a blueberry pancake that I just ate. He turned my mouth blue. I think this is going to be difficult for us to move past.

But there is always good news. Tonight the good news is that my hair is shiny and soft. You could probably see your reflection in it. There is always a saving grace in your life, and even if it’s just a good hair day you take that and run with it like you’re playing capture the flag and you’re running to or from or with a flag, I never played sports in school so I don’t really know how that game works at all, but you’re running and it’s like a never-ending recess! Good times.

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