Damnit, Cupid, So NOT OKAY: The OkCupid Trials, Date 2

Another guy that I met on OkCupid looked very promising from his online dating profile. It said that he was from Louisiana, he was a graphic designer, and he was tall and wore glasses. I was convinced that this was the guy for me. Then I met him.

In real life, he was gangly and awkward, like a male version of Olive Oyl, and his glasses were crooked. He was also, hands-down, the MOST BORING PERSON I’VE EVER MET. He was so boring that I briefly contemplated pretending to pass out/slide off of the banquette we were sitting on just so I could get taken away in an ambulance and not have to talk to him anymore.

Here’s a little anecdote from the hour-long date that really drives home how awful he was. At one point, over our ONE BEER, he asked me if I’d ever seen the movie “The Cove.” I hadn’t, simply because a movie about the systematic slaughter of adorable, innocent dolphins doesn’t appeal to me. I feel like I’ve seen it NOW, though, because when I told him I hadn’t seen it, he proceeded to give me a full recap of its plot that felt like it lasted roughly four times as long as the movie itself. I don’t know why he thought this was good date chat. I’m pretty sure that there isn’t a woman in the world who would find hearing about defenseless, majestic sea beasts being harpooned in the head to be a turn-on (okay, maybe Karla Homolka, but that’s it). Then again, he WAS on a dating website, so I don’t really know why I was so shocked by his social ineptitude.   

Towards the forty minute mark, I remember saying to him, “Well, I’m finished with my beer, so maybe we should wrap this up.” His response? “Well, I still have half of my beer to go.” I should’ve looked him dead in the eye right then and said, “You’re the most boring person I’ve ever met and speaking with you is less fun than having my toe chewed on by a wild rat,” but instead, I just weakly said, “Okay,” and sat there like a lump until he finally finished his beer.

After awkwardly waving goodbye to him the minute we set foot outside the bar, I speed-walked away and never looked back. He must have gotten the hint from my dead-eyed, forty-yard stare, because we never spoke again. Thankfully.

Celebrities Who Should Disappear Already, Installation 1: Rihanna

Rihanna vs. Kanamit

I. Cannot. Fucking. Stand. Rihanna. She’s untalented, she’s too pleased with herself, and she’s way too rich for being so untalented and pleased with herself. Also, her forehead is so huge that she looks like one of the aliens in the Twilight Zone episode “To Serve Man,” but nobody talks about this uncanny resemblence, and I find that frustrating.  

Let’s add on a few more reasons why Rihanna should disappear, shall we? How about the fact that she just got a tattoo of the word ‘Breezy’ on her neck (Breezy being Chris Brown’s nickname)? For the four of you who don’t know who Chris Brown is, he’s the ex/current boyfriend of Rihanna’s who pummeled her face a couple of years ago like he was a bartender muddling fresh mint for mojitos. He’s a terrible, awful, loathesome human being, but for some reason, she keeps going back to him, and that makes me hate her more. Now, maybe it’s just me, but it seems kind of weird that a girl who could date literally anyone in the world insists on dating a guy who does things like, oh, I don’t know, smash her fucking head into the dashboard of a car. So much for the empowered woman she’s always tunelessly warbling about being, eh?

ALSO, Rihanna grabs her crotch WAY too often for me to be okay with it. After all, everyone knows there’s a three-in-a-lifetime limit to crotch-grabs. They’re like wishes from a genie, and Rihanna is making a fool of everyone who respects the rules. Plus, she’s never NOT sweating like she’s sitting in a sauna. It’s truly repellant, and it’s definitely a sign that she is engaging in some not-so-smart extracurriculars (namely, blowing rails of coke in between schmoozing with Diddy and drinking Ciroc in Paris and shit). I can’t wait for her inevitable downfall. It makes me smile just thinking about it.

So concludes the first installation of Celebrities Who Should Disappear Already. Stay tuned for the next one, in which I’ll be discussing why Kim Kardashian should be waterboarded on stage at Madison Square Garden.

Damnit, Cupid, SO NOT OK: The OkCupid Trials, Date 1

I first joined OkCupid back in December of 2009. Back then, I was working full time, I had my own apartment, and I was more of a developed adult than I am now. The only thing that was missing from my grown-up life was a boyfriend – so one night, I created an online dating profile, and the hits started coming in. 

By ‘hits,’ I definitely mean ‘weird messages from dudes who were clearly single for a reason.’ Every girl on OkCupid attracts a different sort of unsavory suitor. Mine can be described only as ‘gym-rat muscle heads with disproportionately shrunken heads,’ and there were definitely a bunch of messages from them, but there were also lots of cute guys to meet, so I started booking dates. 

I went out with around 10 guys the first month I was on the site. The first one seemed like a laugh riot online, but when we met up in person, I was startled by the fact that he had an unnaturally shiny, red face and an incredibly high-pitched lady’s voice. Seeing how I have a deep voice for a woman, it was deeply unnerving to be on a date with a guy who spoke in a higher octave than me. We went to McSorley’s, where I was forced to squeeze into a seat right next to the wood-burning stove or whatever that thing is. Predictably, I managed to lean against said maybe-stove and give myself a third degree burn on my tender, fleshy bicep. Date foul, for sure. We said goodbye on the subway and I’m pretty sure he gave me a high-five to end the night, which suited me just fine, except for the fact that his hand was simultaneously clammy, cold and smaller than mine. 

Daily Aggravation 47: Drunk People

I rarely go to bars. I don’t like the taste of alcohol, and resultantly, I have the tolerance of a flea. After two beers, I start to feel queasy and hot, and almost every time I “go out,” I end up doing that embarrassing thing where you order a pint of water at the bar and then excuse yourself to go home and take a nap on the bathroom floor (just me? Okay then). 

Moreover, I can’t stand drunk people. There are few things more tedious and irritating than having to listen to someone loudly theorize about dumb shit like how her version of the color blue could be my version of the color red. Drunk people spit on you and shout, and eventually they stagger out of the bar with a mint-green face and barf on the sidewalk while you’re trying to hail a cab. 

I know this from personal experience. When I lived in Scotland, there was a bar on the town’s main street called The Keys. This place was a SERIOUS “locals pub,” meaning that its clientele consisted exclusively of decrepit, cirrhotic old men who hated university students like me. Once I saw an 80-year-old gentleman in a tattered coat stagger out of The Keys at 2pm on a Monday and projectile vomit against a wall, and I still count that as one of the grossest and most depressing things I’ve ever seen. 

The question is, though, where do young people hang out if not in bars? I wish bookstores would replace bars as the places to go when you want to let loose on a Saturday night. Who’s with me? 

Embarrassing Moments I Re-live Regularly: Cocktails & Screams

When I was a senior in High School, most of my grade went to the Bahamas for Spring Break. It was awesome; everyone in the city you could possibly want to see or interact with in a tropical locale was there. What wasn’t so awesome was the night that I drank an entire Yard at Senor Frog’s. I sort of remember dancing wildly and feeling great until we got in a cab to go to the next club, a place (ironically) called Cocktails & Dreams. When we arrived, I staggered over to a swinging bench on the beach and threw myself onto it, only to pitch forward face-first into the sand. It occurred to me then, as I lay on the ground in a semi-comatose state, that the night was not going to improve from there.

I finally got up and made my way to the bathroom, which I soon learned was a problematic place to be for two reasons. There was a bathroom attendant stationed by the sinks, which would’ve been fine, except for the fact that the bathroom doors were so short that she could see me as I rested on the dirty, dirty floor in the fetal position.

I’d like to take this opportunity to tell you something I learned that night: there are few things more degrading than hearing other drunk bitches talk about you while you’re basically catatonic and unable to defend yourself. They kept saying things like, “OMG, holy SHIT, do you see that GIRL?? She’s, like, TOTALLY PASSED OUT on the FLOOR! And she’s wearing a DRESS! Do you think she’s OK?! LOLZHAHAHA”), and I could form sentences in my mind, but I couldn’t make the words come out of my mouth. It was like being in hell. Finally, the bathroom attendant summoned some of my friends, and they took me home in a cab while I clutched a cup of water and tried not to die.

Man…those sure were the days.

Embarrassing Moments: The Time I Fell Down a Flight of Stairs Dressed Like a Witch

It was Halloween. I was dressed as The Wicked Witch of the East – you know, the one the house fell on or something. (NB: the only reason I was the assed-out, dead witch instead of the pretty, fun one is because I had the ruby red slippers but nothing else.) Anyway, we went out to a packed bar, I was macking it to all sorts of characters, and then, on my way down a flight of stairs and in full view of the entire establishment, my feet slipped out from under me. I proceeded to hit every stair on my ass in what felt like slow motion until I finally reached the floor. Let me tell you, if a house could’ve fallen on me right then, I would’ve taken the option and said sayonara, world.