Tag: date

Jesus, take the wheel…

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Surprisingly, I was dateless on a Thursday night, so I went to my neighborhood bar for a drink after work. It was charity night with guest bartenders which sounds great but I usually dread it because I prefer my dive bar to be empty besides a handful of my closest alcoholic friends who are also regulars. I spotted two of them this night and plopped my ass right beside them. Bartender Doug slid my drink down before I even got settled and the guys and I started talking. Babes with Blades Theater Company was throwing the event for the night and had temporary tattoos for us to fuck around with. We made friends with Annie who was guest bartending and she and I talked about an old dive called the Oasis in Rogers Park and the badass woman named GiGi who has worked there for decades. One drink turns to two drinks and a shot and the boys and I chat back and forth about online dating while encouraging Annie to drink more Malort. We notice our beloved dive bar now is lacking their gorgeous 100 bottle Malort shrine and they’ve replaced it with a 20 bottle mystery shot shelf. (Not quite as impressive, Pat! Still cool though.) 20170526_235647167_iOS.jpg

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Vik asks us which bottle appeals to us most based on appearance and number. All of the bottles are covered in brown paper bags and numbered 1-20. Immediately I compare it to online dating. I tell them it’s similar to all of the dating apps because you have to just pick a random and hope for the best. You’re going in blind really. All you know is you’re not picking the short, fat bottle because it looks dangerous, just like you’re not picking the short, fat guy because EW. We come up with our own ideas for dating apps that we think would be better than Tinder and Bumble and all the others. “Jesus Take the Wheel” was the name Vik gave to our app idea that you’re not allowed to swipe on at all. It’s guided and directed by your friends and family only. We plan to market that one in the Bible Belt first, of course. I’m not expecting that one to do as well in Chicago to start.

Then, Vik drops some life-changing truth on us:

Women are the gate-keepers to sex. Men are the gate-keepers to commitment.

This explains why he swipes right on everyone and waits to see which fish bite. The more chances of getting laid, the better! But he’s right, unless GHB is involved. (Sorry. Not funny. True though!) Women decide who they want to have a second date with usually or who they want to go on a date with in the first place. At least I do. When I left my husband I lined up dates every night. Mostly because I knew I had no idea what I was doing on dates. I’ve been in non-stop relationships since I was 24 pretty much. As soon as I’d lose a guy, another would steal me and keep me a while before he did something awful and we split up. I needed to practice and get good at this dating thing again. Out of all the dates I’ve been on the past few months, few have ended in a second date and, obviously, fewer have ended in sex. I AM the gate-keeper!!! (Of sex, at least.) Most of the guys I had dates with wanted to see me again which means they had a strong interest in penetration as well. Duh. I controlled the outcome.

Men are the controllers of commitment and relationships though. Once you’ve dated for a while and you’re in a sexual relationship with someone, it means (usually) that the woman has decided she likes you enough to have a relationship. What it means to guys is, “Fuck, yeah! I bang this chick!” And he probably bangs a few others as well. Guys have the ball on this one though. They decide if it’s a green light or red on being committed most of the time. I’m currently waiting for the light to change with the guy I’m dating. It’s been two months. I’m stuck at yellow. I’m impatient though and I want to know where this is going, like yesterday!

In the meantime, I’ll get the Jesus Take the Wheel app going and pray to Malort that my friends and family can choose my match better than I can if this gate-keeper of commitment gives me the red light.

Why not meet a guy the old-fashioned way?

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I’ve been asked multiple times why I’m on dating apps instead of just waiting around to meet a guy the “old-fashioned way”. First of all, what’s that? What exactly is the old-fashioned way? How old-fashioned are we talking? You want my parents to arrange my marriage to a strapping young lad who lives in our village and has plenty of cows and chickens? Should I let that jock from my chemistry class take me to a sock hop and then out to the diner for milkshakes? Old-fashioned for my generation is meeting a guy at a bar and drinking our faces off together all night, possibly exchanging numbers, making out or going to someone’s house to do the deed. I used to be REALLY good at meeting guys that old-fashioned way but things have changed and that doesn’t happen anymore.

Walk into most bars now and everyone is staring at a screen, whether it’s a game they’re watching on the televisions or Facebook that they’re scrolling through on their phone. Hey, maybe they’re swiping around and matching with hot babes on Tinder! Technology consumes us all and meeting men in bars is just not something that happens often because no one looks up.

The few times I recently made eye contact with a man in a bar it has gone one of two ways. He either stares at me off and on throughout the night and never makes a move or it’s the kind of guy that I accidentally locked eyes with briefly and am not attracted to whatsoever. THAT guy always approaches! That guy is also pushy and gross and doesn’t get subtle or obvious hints. He usually is also the guy who will still insist you can be friends after you lie and tell him you have a boyfriend.

So why the off and on eye contact and no moves? Some people say that maybe the girl should make the move instead. While I used to agree, after dating for the past few months I feel like it’s the girl who puts forth all the effort now. I’m sick of it! I want to see that a guy has some balls and isn’t scared to approach me and initiate conversation. I feel like men have developed this strong fear of rejection in face to face interaction but can’t wait to send you a picture of their semi flaccid penis over a dating app! (Side note here: Does that ever work for you guys?? Girls, how often do you get pumped over a stranger sending his wiener to you?! Can this stop being a thing that guys do? For the love of dogs and wine, please??)

Now for everyone insisting I’m “pretty enough” that I don’t “need” to be on these apps and should meet someone the old-fashioned way, first explain to me what that means to you. Second, go out there and try to meet a potential love interest face to face. I know I’ve never met a guy at Whole Foods or the gym! And lastly, try and take everyone’s phones away at a bar so they’re forced to interact with other humans and tell me how well that works for you. I’ve tried it and I was immediately not well-liked. To everyone else who is trying to figure out this modern dating world, good luck! Keep swiping even if it leads nowhere 99%  of the time!

The Marathon Date

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I met this guy after I did hair for a wedding on a Sunday. As I was leaving the job I got a message from him on Tinder or Bumble, asking if I wanted to meet and grab lunch. Yes, indeed, I did. I was hungry enough to eat a cow and that’s saying a lot coming from a vegetarian. We met at a taco place in Lincoln Park, had food and margaritas and laughed way too much and far too loudly. (Seriously, I think everyone hated us.) Usually that’s where I end first dates. Gotta leave ’em wanting more. Also, I don’t need them to see how much I can drink in a day. Two drinks with them. MAX.

Not today though! Despite the fact that I thought he resembled a goldfish, he was fun and I had nothing better to do with the rest of my Sunday than continue hanging out. That day we went to 8 different bars, played Pac-Man, Skee-ball, pool and trivia. He met several of my friends and they actually seemed to like him! He begged my friend and her husband to spill some dirt on me or tell an embarrassing story. Unfortunately for him, my friends are fucking loyal. Also, there’s nothing for them to tell. I already told him about the one time I peed my pants in high school. And the other time I peed my pants in high school…

The day went well enough but I was getting tired and fucking hammered. My friends dropped us off near my place and then I blinked and when I opened my eyes the goldfish look-alike was sweating profusely while humping me. He then thought it was a good idea to talk dirty to me during the sweatiest sex of my life. I’ve never had sex with someone before and gotten up soaked from head to toe in their sweat. My hair was even dripping wet! Also, gentlemen, please don’t ever talk about your “big dick” or my “tight, little pussy” while you’re humping me. It’s fucking gross, weird and it ruins everything!

I couldn’t take it anymore. The sweat, the “you like it like that, baby!?”, his weird fish face… I pushed his big, slimy body away and swam through his sweat to the other side of the bed. He asked me if I had any food. I pretended to look in my fridge for something he could eat, knowing I only had hard-boiled eggs, celery, carrots and yogurt, which are not foods that a heavy-breathing, drunk man wants. I glanced in my cupboard and avoided offering him my almonds. “Hmmm, nope. I forgot to go grocery shopping.” I crawled back into the dry spot in my bed and he got dressed, on a mission for pizza and ice cream. He waits briefly for me to see him out and say goodbye while I waved, said “Lock the bottom lock before you go!”.

 

No pizza

The Bobcat – 2nd date

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The Bobcat and I chatted all day Tuesday and by Wednesday he wanted to see me again. Duh. Who wouldn’t want to see me multiple times in a week? His dad was in town and he let him have his condo while he stayed, so he got a hotel downtown and invited me to come hang out for a while. I hopped in a Lyft and met him in his room.

I love hotels and especially love showering in them. I had a couple drinks with friends prior to heading to the hotel and I was just buzzed enough to tell him I was taking a shower in his room. Despite how weird (and rude) that is, he lets me do it and has a drink waiting for me when I was finished and dressed. After less than an hour of chatting and drinking, he mumbles, “Oh shit. My girlfriend is coming. You have to leave.”

What in the mother fucking fuck!? I left out a few details about Monday. The Bobcat and I had sex. A lot of it. Now I’m standing in the middle of a hotel suite with this scummy little cheater, while his girlfriend is probably in the hallway, about to walk in any second. Saner girls might run. I stayed long enough to cuss him out and finish my cocktail before I grabbed my purse and headed for the door to go home.

The next day, as I’m telling the story to a client, it hit me. He did exactly what he said he wouldn’t do. He gave me a story for my blog! I text him and thank him for it. He again apologized and said he never meant to treat me that way and I didn’t deserve it. I didn’t deserve most of what life has served me but I can take it. This was nothing. He also tells me it wasn’t his girlfriend but his EX-girlfriend that he invited over to the hotel and kicked me out for. How many girls did this guy invite over!? He’s not good-looking enough to have multiple women, quite frankly, but having a lot of money apparently brings you lots of ladies!

The Bobcat

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I matched with a guy on Tinder and actually reached out and sent him a message. I did this only because I thought I was on Bumble and had to send the first message. I like to get the weird out of people right away. I want them to open up and spill everything to me and I’m good at getting them to do that. Too good at it. People often tell me things that I never wanted to know because for some reason they can smell the “Don’t Give a Fuck” on me. I’m rarely shocked by anything because I’ve seen and heard it all.

My first message just was asking what kind of trouble he got into over the weekend. He wouldn’t tell me at first but with some prodding he finally admitted that the night before he had a threesome and did cocaine all night long. Perfect. Now we’re getting somewhere. While this might be a huge red flag for most girls and they go running in the opposite direction, I need to know more. I need to meet this guy.

Throughout the rest of the day we end up realizing we graduated from the same high school 5 years apart. (Go Bobcats!) We talk about what we like and dislike in a potential partner and what kinds of hobbies we have outside of sex and drugs and drinking. He asked me to tell him about a bad date so I told him about a guy who made me pay for brunch after he was the one who invited me out!  This guy tells me I’ll never have to bring my purse when I hang out with him because he’s some kind of baller apparently and he says I’ll never have a story to write about him in my blog. I highly doubted that. Look who was right! He asked me to go on a date the next night. I’m in.

We meet at Celeste because he knows the owners apparently. He must not know them too well or they may have told him that they are closed on Mondays. We cab it over to London House instead. We want a rooftop! My fellow Bobcat and I drink, and drink and talk and laugh and he keeps giving me a hefty bag of blow every time I leave to use the bathroom. I like him! I take him to my secret spot on the rooftop. Don’t ask where it is, I’ll never tell. We sit there, looking at our gorgeous city that I fall more in love with almost every single day. I show him the spot where I got married and told him all about the marriage and pending divorce. He’s not bothered by it. We take pictures of the skyline and river and each other. It was a perfect night if you’re into any of these things. Unfortunately now the rooftop is closing so we have to leave.

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It’s now that I realize I lost my vaporizer. What’s a girl to do!? Cocaine and alcohol in my system and no nicotine!? I’ll die! We hop in a cab and I get out at 7-11 to buy a crappy e-cig so I don’t go buy a pack of cigarettes instead. We head over to one last spot in River North for another drink or two before calling it a night. Everything is going well until I laugh so hard and lean forward, catching a glimpse of a shiny bald head and immediately my heart stops beating, my body gets as hot as lava and my eyes almost pop out of my head. “We have to leave right this second. My ex husband is here and he’s a very dangerous person. Pay the tab and let’s go out the emergency exit.” Without skipping a beat, this guy does exactly that but first asks the bartender if an alarm will sound if we go out the backdoor. She has no idea so I tell them both that we’re all about to find out!!

SUCCESS! We escaped without being murdered by my ex and no alarms went off! Woo! The Bobcat put me in an Uber and paid for me to get home and checked on me to make sure I was safe when I got there. Despite the Monday night drug use, I think I found a winner! It doesn’t hurt that he has a bad ass condo and two cute dogs.

 

My First Bumble Nightmare cont…

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Ok, so it was the Grand Lux Café, the “upscale” Cheesecake Factory… Still bad! The host takes us to a table and I get my ass halfway into the seat before I hear this guy requesting different spot. “No, this table simply will not do. As you can see, I’m on a date with a beautiful lady,” he said, gesturing toward me as the look of shock and mortification swept my face, I’m sure. The host looked at me, back at my elf-sized, morphed Mr. Potato Head and went to consult with his colleague. He came back and dragged us over to a table by a window instead. At least we had a nice view at a dirty table with sticky menus!

If you’ve never been to The Cheesecake Factory or Grand Lux Café, let me tell you that their menus are as big as a bible. They have a lot of shit. The entire time I’m trying to read this menu and get this date over with, hobbit boy is asking me a million questions. Each time I try to answer he interrupts to tell me how adorable I am. I’m called a lot of things but adorable is definitely not a descriptive word I hear often because I’m far from it. I finally stopped him and somehow managed to politely tell him to shut the fuck up for 30 seconds so I could read, we could order and I could bail. Meanwhile, I’m live-texting my friends in a group chat to try and get advice on how to ditch this guy since he had grand plans of us going bowling afterward! I agreed to dinner! That’s it, buddy! I don’t know you or like you enough to spend my entire night with you! My friends, rather than help me come up with an exit strategy, laughed at my pain and begged for more updates. Bitches.

Our server asks if we want drinks besides water. In my head I’m thinking, “Tequila. All of it. Bring a bottle.” He ordered a mango smoothie though and I sat there angrily sipping water. When his smoothie came he repeatedly insisted I try it. After saying, “No, thank you” twenty something times, I finally tried it so he’d shut the hell up. Then he asks if I have herpes. WHAT!? Wouldn’t that be asked PRIOR to insisting a stranger drink from your straw if you’re so concerned about it?? For the love of dogs, I KNOW this guy is a virgin now. I wasn’t entirely sure initially when I smelled him and saw his ill-fitting, stained clothing. NOW I was sure.

I think this guy has Asberger Syndrome now. When our server asks us what we want, he asked her which salmon dish he liked. Huh? She looked at me and I just shrugged. I don’t fucking know this guy. She then reads to him directly from the menu so he knew what everything was. He’s still not sure. He knows he likes one of the salmon dishes and he does not like the other. He can’t. Figure. This out. Pick one!!! Fucking pick! He finally picks one and when it gets to the table he realizes it’s NOT the one he likes so he eats only the top of the salmon and explains that he does eat anything green. I can’t. I’m done. Throwin’ in the napkin now.

“Oh, darn,” he says, after checking a message on his phone. “I’m on-call for work today and they need me to do something. Want to come to my place and watch me nerd-out before we go bowling?” Fuck no, pal. I have to get the hell out of here. Now my brain is working and I use his being 45 minutes late for our date as my out. “Oh, shoot! As fabulous as that sounds, I promised my friends I was going to meet them later. Too bad you were so late for this awesome date. Gotta go!”

He pays. We leave. He tries to kiss me. I cringe and pull away FAST. I was beyond ready for a shot and a beer. My friend who initially told me to abort this mission before I even ventured to Dave and Buster’s was bartending at my neighborhood bar, where I’ve been way too regular for way too long. I hopped in a cab and told him to speed and get me there. Before I even got to the bar this guy was texting me about another date. When you sit across from someone for over an hour and they never smile once, do you really think anything is going well enough for date #2??

When I walked (clumsily ran) into Nisei Lounge, my friend looked like an alcohol angel, bathed in the pink light from the neon sign on the cooler behind her. I made it. I was in heaven. I went through hell to get there but being there now was all that mattered.

 

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My alcohol angel

 

 

When grown men lose their shit

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I recently went on a swiping spree, as one does when she is bored on a Wednesday night. I had about 20 conversations going with different guys, which most of us know, usually go absolutely nowhere and you never meet because they all seem boring as hell. One guy took it to the next level. He asked me to meet and get drinks! I love drinks. I live for drinks. Plus, this guy had some hot abs in a couple of his profile pics. I was in.

Admittedly, I am only chatting or meeting any of these guys when the guy I actually like a lot isn’t giving me attention or making plans to see me. We aren’t exclusive…I don’t think? Who fucking knows anything these days. These other boys are just keeping me busy so I don’t psycho text my main guy. Also, I’m not putting all my eggs in one basket. Gotta keep my options open, just in case!

We plan to meet at a place between his place and mine at 7 on Saturday. Cool. Until…the guy I’m enamored with says he will meet me. All bets are off, Ab Guy! My boyfriend’s back! He texts me to confirm our plans and I tell him I had to stay late at work and I also forgot I promised my friend I’d attend his drag show. Yes, I lied! Yes, I’m an asshole! No, this was not the first time and I’m betting it won’t be the last! I asked if we could reschedule. Here was his response:

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Boy, bye!

Should I have kept the date? Yeah, probably. It’s rude to cancel last minute, I know, but shit comes up! In this dating land, you have to be flexible right? I’ve had guys reschedule dates with me and I just go with it! I don’t expect that their life is revolving around me – YET! I think I dodged a bullet with ol’ Tom here.

My First Bumble Nightmare

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Immediately after leaving my husband I started swiping. I could not WAIT to get Tinder! I wanted it my whole life! The night I moved out I sat, surrounded by my suitcases in my best friend’s condo and she and I swiped and giggled while drinking wine until the wee hours of the morn’. ( Well, until maybe 11 pm. She has an infant so bedtime is early for parents apparently.)

That night I felt free. Granted, I was homeless and without my dogs but free nonetheless! I matched with a guy who was the opposite of my type – computer engineer by day and actor by night, short guy with long, wild hair. We messaged back and forth until messaging turned to texting and that turned into late night phone calls. We finally decided to meet. He wanted to take me to a “fancy” restaurant which was his favorite place in the city. I was pumped! My first date!

That Sunday while shopping with my friend, he texted and asked if I wanted to meet at Dave and Buster’s. Dave and mother fucking Buster’s?! Not the fancy place I was expecting but I was going with it. My friend immediately insisted I abort this mission because the loser vibes instantly hit her. She’s far more perceptive than I am.

I got dressed but not overdressed and ventured to our meeting point, as awful as it seemed. The floor was sticky, children were running amuck and I felt like Zsa Zsa Gabor if she were to walk into an unkempt barn surrounded by wild chickens and pigs, flinging horse shit onto her Dior gown. I was in actual hell. “Fuck it,” I thought, “man up and do the damn thing.” So I did. I ordered a beer from the sweatiest human being I’ve ever laid eyes on. I sat and nursed that beer for 45 full fucking minutes waiting on this asshole. Just as I was leaving, I was hugged by a smelly imp. He looked like a warped version of his pictures. He looked like my Mr. Potato Head after my younger siblings rearranged the eyes, nose and mouth to piss me off. My excitement for my first date waned substantially after the whole Dave and Buster’s thing but now it was drained entirely. Gone. It would never return and my head was spinning, trying to think of ways to get out of this ghastly situation. This was my first date though and I had ZERO plan here and no idea what to do.

He ordered a Sprite which was delivered to him in a bucket-sized plastic cup. He slurped it down and we made small talk. He kept smiling and touching my knee and I stared at him in horror and repeatedly moved his hand to his own knee. “Let’s get out of here and get dinner” he said. Fuck yes. The sooner we do that, the sooner I get out of here. He doesn’t have Lyft or Uber on his phone yet, he explained to me, because he just moved to the city from the suburbs six months ago. WHAT!? I didn’t even want to ask and hear an explanation of why he hasn’t taken 10 seconds to download a stupid app so I just got in the cab with him and prayed to dogs that this would all be over soon.

We arrived at our destination. Our fancy restaurant. The BEST in the city. The Cheesecake Factory.