Tag: dating in chicago

Welcome to the jungle, it gets worse here every day.

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Sometimes you know it’s not a match just from a few sentences. This time I knew it wasn’t a match when his response to one simple question was a 400 page book. This guy gave me more details than necessary, far more than anyone could ever want. He might as well have thrown in his social security number and all of his banking passwords. I would have had more fun with those than I did reading his reply to, “What were you up to all weekend?” If he hadn’t unmatched with me I’d copy and paste his exact answer into this post.

This guy left his job a year ago for whatever reason and has been following Guns N Roses around the world the entire time. I shit you not. Guns N Roses. He’s seen them in 12 bajillion countries and over 988326 bajillion times. Sometimes he gets to go backstage and everything! He bought a tissue with Frank Ferrer’s balls sweat on it for 4K on eBay 5 years ago. He has a life-sized Axl Rose blowup doll in his bed at his mom’s house. I might be exaggerating (or completely lying) about some of this but he does live at his mom’s house when he’s not racing around the world to follow a washed-up old 80’s rock band.

I attempted a subject change several times but he ALWAYS brought the conversation back to Guns N Roses. I’ve been really into some things before too. I really loved The Backstreet Boys and New Kids on the Block as a kid. I had all the NKOTB Barbie dolls and slept on NKOTB sheets and pillows. (Thanks, Mom!) It’s healthy and normal to really like something but this guy was OBSESSED! I couldn’t talk to him about anything at all without him referencing Guns N Roses and still EVERY response to any simple question was several paragraphs long. Can we meet in the middle here? I like more than a one-word response but I don’t have the mother fucking time to read your Guns N Roses biography right now!

I started only answering his questions with one or two words, hoping he’d just stop talking to me after a while. Nevertheless, he persisted. After a couple days of him writing to me like he was a 13 year old girl writing in her diary, he asked if I thought we had anything in common. Since I don’t live with my mother, I am employed, I’m not wanting to S the D’s of every member of the band, and I’m not a complete lunatic, I told him no. No, sir, I do not believe we have one shred of commonality. This upset him greatly.

He went on to get very emotional over my answer. I thought he wrote long responses before but this was insane. He was typing with fervor! The paragraphs were coming faster than I could read them. He really thought he found his perfect match in me after a few days of exchanges on Bumble?? I never promised to leave my job to travel around with him in a beat up 80’s Firebird in acid-washed jeans and cut-off t-shirts while blasting ‘Sweet Child O’ Mine’ with our permed mullets blowing in the wind. My cold, one-word responses painted a different picture in his mind, apparently. Before I could even read all of the giant yellow boxes that kept popping up in my Bumble app, he unmatched with me. I broke his heart. Ripped it out, stomped on it and returned it bruised and mangled. I’m not his ‘One in a Million’. He told me ‘You Could Be Mine’. He’ll tell his friends he ‘Used to Love Her’. But I can’t be his ‘Rocket Queen’. Have ‘Patience’ and ‘Don’t Cry’, boy. One day you’ll meet your video vixen and you’ll travel away to ‘Paradise City’.

Boats and Oats

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It was hot and muggy as hell and I had a hangover that was debilitating. I might as well sit around in my underwear and swipe around. I was losing my energy and excitement with these apps. Now it was just a way to turn my brain off and relax. The profiles have all become boring. No one was really catching my eye anymore. I was sick of talking for weeks with people I’ve never met and then still never meeting. I was more sick of matching with guys and then never talking to them at all. What’s the point!? I matched with about 10 guys this particular night and initiated conversation with all of them. Entertain me, monkeys!

One guy stood out and we typed some bullshit back and forth for a while and then he asked me to come hang out with him on his boat. It wasn’t happening. There was no way I was putting on pants or makeup to meet this dude at 11:30pm. On his boat. Alone. No thanks, bruh. My first thought was just that I’m lazy and don’t feel like it. My next thoughts were that he wanted to drug me and drown me. Maybe he’s a roofie and rape kinda guy? I don’t know but I also didn’t want to find out. If we were going to meet it was going to now be in a well-lit, public place and I’ll have a chaperone and possibly armed bodyguards and a camera crew. Just in case. We agreed tonight was not the night so he offered the idea of breakfast in the morning as an alternative. That was a strong maybe.

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Early the next morning he messaged me again. I told him I was going for a run by the lake when I woke up so he told me the exact directions and code to get to his boat. He wanted me to come hang out, drenched in sweat on his boat at 8 in the morning?? Why? That sounds horrible for everyone. He attempted to entice me with the promise of oatmeal and black coffee. Prison food?! Come on! When you say “breakfast” to me I’m thinking eggs and potatoes with hot sauce and mimosas with no bottoms. Also, I pictured us meeting at a restaurant. Why has this guy not left his fucking boat all night? I told him that as tempting as a bowl of mush accompanied by instant black coffee sounded, I wasn’t coming. I had to work after this run anyway.

Halfway through my work day I had a quick break and checked my phone. This guy sent me a message asking if I needed a client today. “Need” a client? The question that most people ask me is, “Is there any way you can fit me in?” I’m never in need of bodies in my chair at the salon. I tell him this and he responded with a picture of his mullet. Ok, ok, it’s a fucking emergency. I get it. I tell him I can squeeze him in at the end of my day. I didn’t tell him the name of my salon so I wasn’t expecting him to actually show up. Homeboy did some research and walked in at 8:30. Everyone was confused. The receptionists had no idea anyone else was coming since I never put him on the schedule and I was just wondering how the hell he knew which salon I worked in! This guy is a stalker AND a drugger and drowner. Cool.

He was huge. Each of his arms were the size of both of my thighs. His t-shirt was too tight on his big man-boobs. He was ridiculously tan and that hair was wild. “I can’t believe you actually fucking showed up,” was exactly how I greeted him and then walked him back to my chair in the back corner of the salon to get to work on removing this mullet. He sounded like he was a long-lost member of the Jersey Shore cast when he talked, which I obviously made fun of him for. He’s got to be used to that. I gave him the same treatment I give my clients; a great haircut, shampoo and hot towel with a heaping amount of sarcasm, shit-talking and teasing. I don’t know why anyone comes back to me, honestly.

Since I’ve never had a guy from a dating app show up for a haircut for a first “date” I had no idea if I should charge him for the cut or not. I decided it felt weird so I told him the first cut is free but now he had to buy me a couple drinks now that he was presentable enough to be seen with me in public. Fair? We sat in the beer garden at Sheffield’s for a couple and he told me all about his adventures in real estate. It was riveting. I found out though that he actually lives in the suburbs most of the year but in the summer he lives on his boat. I’m a sucker for weirdos and boats though so I’m ok with all of this. He’d be fun to hang out with for the summer but once he heads back to the ‘burbs I’ll be all, “New phone, who dis??” I don’t drive and I don’t want to go to his village.

The beer garden was shutting down but I could do one more tequila and soda so I brought him to my dive. (If you’ve been reading this blog for a while, you might think I live at Nisei. I don’t think I’ve slept there but I can’t be entirely sure. I do go there a lot.) On our walk over, I tell him my friend Dave is working. I’ve known Dave for 8 years and he’s seen every loser I ever dated for longer than a month. Dave used to feed me Jameson and Miller Lites at Nick’s Uptown before they closed. Now he feeds me tequila mixed drinks, Bud Light and Malort. I’ve gotten classier. Pinkies up! Now that this guy knows how dear Dave is to me, we walk in to the bar. No one else is there but Dave is behind the bar. Immediately upon introduction, Dave tells us a long story about threesomes and lots of alcohol. The details I’ll leave out. Thanks for helping me make a great first impression with this guy I just met, Dave! I should have known better and I probably should keep Tinder and Bumble dates away from anyone I know. Forever.

Thankfully another patron came in and Dave was distracted so I could change the subject. I still can’t clearly remember what we were talking about but something I said made this guy lean back, with his double thigh-sized arms crossed in front of his big man boobs, and he smirked. “You were friends with the guy who got shot about a month ago,” he said. I just stared at him with my mouth hanging open, replaying the conversation we just had in my head to figure out what I said that would lead him to say this. I still haven’t figured it out. An acquaintance had recently been murdered and days before this, he had asked me to meet up for drinks and to catch up. Everyone who knew him admits he was a great, fun guy but he also was sketchy in “business” deals. Gambling, stealing, lying and drugs were a big part of his life so I always kept my distance. The relief I felt for not hanging out with him before he died outweighed the guilt.

My date then goes into detail about how he also knew my friend and started to talk about how and why he was killed. Conversation ends here. I wanted no part in this. I didn’t want to know details. I didn’t want to know anyone who knows more than what was in the news. He insinuated that he not only buys and sells houses and buildings but he buys and sells drugs as well and has a shit ton of people working for him on this. I’m done, oatmeal boat guy. I’d advise you to eat something besides that while you’re still a free man because I’m sure you’ll have plenty of bowls of mush in prison. I’m not going to be all Michelle Pfeiffer in Scarface for you, even though I thought I would do anything for her wardrobe. Adios, Tony Montana! I’m not sticking around to see how this all ends.

 

 

The Painfully Boring guy

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At this point I can’t count the number of dates I’ve been on this year. It got to the point where I stopped calling them dates all together. This was business. These were meetings. I kept my two drink maximum rule and managed at one point to meet 7 guys in 4 days. You think I’d be burned out. This had become a second full-time job. I wasn’t burned out yet though. I loved meeting all these weirdos. Some were cute, fun or nice but there was nothing there between us. They’d make good friends but they weren’t boyfriend-material. One of these guys was Cary.

As soon as I walked in and saw him I knew this was the first and last time we’d meet. Cary was a tricky little bastard. All of his pictures were from when he still had hair. He now carefully places the few bits of fuzz he has left in a way that, from a distance, makes it look like he still has thick and luxurious locks. Up close though it just looks like a tiny, thin black veil floating about an inch and a half above his scalp. It’s hairsprayed to hell and that shit ain’t movin’. As a hairdresser, I could fix this mess. I could help him out here. I don’t want to though. I don’t want to have to fix or change things about someone. Been there, done that. Never again.

Cary and I ordered a beer and got this meeting started. I’m asking all the questions to get the weirdness out of Cary and I’m getting nothing. All he does is smile and nod at everything I say and basically repeats my answers to questions that I ask him. He’s eager to please and say all the right things but I don’t think he’s ever had one original thought or idea in his life. One of my hobbies is painting so all of a sudden Cary LOOOOVES painting. When was the last time Cary painted? When he was in elementary school. I enjoy running and doing yoga and lifting weights. I can tell by looking at Cary he’s never worked out a day in is life but I ask anyway. Cary LOOOOVES working out too but claims he just doesn’t have the time lately.  I have two dogs and wish I could have 48 more. Cary LOOOOVES dogs too. I asked Cary if he had any pets. He does not and never has.

I also could not stand sitting there listening to him go through the entire beer list with the server to figure out what he wanted to drink. The entire time he mispronounced every fucking one of them and in the end he just told her to pick one for him. He’s like a little spineless jellyfish. He’s the kind of guy who would probably make a great husband one day if you want to constantly boss someone around who will do anything you say with a smile on their face. He’d be like a slave and a puppy and husband in one.

I could feel my eyes getting heavy as he was literally boring me to sleep. I’ve never sucked down two Daisy Cutters that fast in my life.  We walked out together, waited for our Lyft or Uber drivers, hugged and left. The next day I got a message from him on the app. He wants to “take our relationship to the next level”. I obviously did not want that. After that night I learned how much I appreciated people with opinions and hobbies and backbones. Poor Cary. I’d tear him apart. There’s no way he could handle someone like me. I could see him with a girl who thoroughly enjoys tea and practices needlepoint on a Saturday night or has a collection of stamps. She will dress like a librarian in the 80’s and not wear makeup. She will wear orthopedic shoes because she thinks they’re cute, not because she actually needs them. She’ll be obsessed with cats and have a cat-themed apartment. She’ll even have cat salt and pepper shakers. Their idea of a good time will be having a staring contest for hours. They’ll hold hands but they won’t have sex because neither of them ever have done it and they’re both too timid to initiate it. Holy shit! Sorry…I can just envision her perfectly. Basically what he needs is NOT me.

How do I kindly tell Cary that our relationship will stay on this level and not progress any further? I could ignore him and ghost him like most people do but I have respect for other people and would never do something that cruel. I could describe to him (in detail) who I think his perfect match is but I’m not sure he’d be receptive to me offering to help find her for him. I opted to just tell him I’m not interested. I thought about how to say it for a couple hours and then I responded. I told him I had fun the night before (ok, I lied a little) and although I think he’d be a good friend, I wasn’t interested in dating him. Then I held my breath and waited to see what would happen next. Was he going to have an epic meltdown on me? Was he going to cuss me out and tell me what a bitch I am? Nope. Cary actually thanked me. Despite the fact that he said he was disappointed, he wanted to thank me for actually responding to him to tell him how I felt. We wished each other luck finding someone relationship-worthy and unmatched. That was not nearly as painful as I expected and it was far more enjoyable than our entire date the night before! I really hope Cary finds someone to boss him around soon.

G.I. Joe aka Tristan the Christian

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After my painful first date with the elf who smelled like an onion and a wet dog, I’m surprised I ever kept swiping right and accepting date offers. As always though, I picked myself back up and moved on in search of more punishment for whatever horrible thing I must have done in a past life. I made plans to meet a guy that Friday who looked like my kind of douchebag. He was the kind of guy who definitely wore Affliction brand clothing when that shit was popular. He liked going to clubs and dancing and I could tell from his pictures he was ripped like a Greek god. This year that’s all I was looking for anyway; fun guys with hot bods. I didn’t want to fall in love with anyone.

Our plans to meet and get ice cream, naturally turned into us just meeting at a bar for drinks. Fine with me. He made me laugh a ton but I remember thinking he looked like he had been hit in the face a LOT and he was holding on to about 5 hairs on the top of his head when he needed to give up and just shave that shit. He wore too much cologne which normally I’d find unattractive but after the smelly guy, I didn’t mind this.

The date was going ridiculously well so I had to do something to ruin it. I said to him, “Ok, so far this is the complete opposite of my first Bumble date. There’s got to be something wrong with you. Are you a murderer? A Jesus freak? A Trump supporter?” I could tell by the silence and look on his face that I said something wrong. It turns out he’s ALL of those things. It was then that I noticed all the religious tattoos and the cross on his necklace. Then he goes on to tell me how great of a president Trump is going to be. Lastly, he says he’s in the Special Ops in the military so killing people is not something he’s opposed to. Fucking wonderful. We could not be more different as I’m as liberal, atheist, feminist and anti-violence as they come.

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‘Merica

We both said we had plans with friends later that night so we had two drinks each and hugged goodbye to get into our Ubers. I saw him checking out my butt when I walked away so I was sure there would be a second date despite our huge differences. Like I said, I wasn’t looking to fall in love with anyone this summer. I just wanted to have fun.

We went on to talk to each other everyday over the next month. Sometimes we’d be on the phone for four hours, other times we were texting all night long and sending each other pictures and videos. The only days we didn’t talk were when he had to leave town for an operation. I met his friends and he met some of mine. We hung at least once or twice a week over the next 5 weeks. I stopped swiping and meeting guys during this time. I was so into him. It was freaking me out since the last thing I wanted was a serious boyfriend, especially one whose second favorite president behind Trump is George W. Bush. I liked this guy though and also did not how I was supposed to act and what I should expect in dating.

During my weeks with Tristan the Christian, we never had sex. We had two nights of half naked making out but no D in the V. I assumed he wanted our first time together to be really special and beautiful. I envisioned candles lit all over the room and rose petals leading to the bed. He’d pick me up and passionately but gently kiss me before lying me down in his bed next to a giant bible and a few of his guns. Ew, just kidding. I just assumed he had some erectile issues and I really just didn’t want to ask him about it. Apparently all this time he  had been dropping (very) subtle hints about his penis size and one night he spelled it all out for me via text. G.I. Joe had a foot-long penis and didn’t want to scare me off with it right away. This I had to see to believe so, obviously, I requested dick pics. Sure as shit, that thing went down to his knee and curved a bit to the right. I was excited. I was scared. I was curious. I also had to show all of my friends these pics immediately.

I’m not sure if this was a good thing or not but I never got to experience this weapon of mass destruction. Shortly after this picture exchange, things seemed normal between us. For the next few days we talked and made plans to make plans for the weekend. Then I didn’t hear from him for five days. I tried to not be a psycho and assume he hated my guts or died. I told myself he had an operation to go on so could not message me. Saturday night I was out causing trouble and dancing like a maniac in River North with my coworkers. The girls were ready to go to another bar or club so I messaged G.I. Joe with the twelve incher to see where he and his friends were, assuming they were out drinking and dancing at Mercer if he was back from the operation that I made up in my head. “Mercer?” was the last text I ever sent him. He never replied.

I got fucking ghosted. How!? Things were going so well! There was no indication that anything was wrong. It all seemed great! So far I was definitely not a fan of online dating. Everyone I had met was awful in their own ways and I was shocked by things on a regular basis. How is it possible for people to have no respect for others or decency at all? Not responding to a text is beyond rude. Leading someone on for over a month and then never speaking to them again is just a total dick move. Online dating allows people to have so many options that we stop seeing people as human beings. Relationships are shallow and short-lived. Everyone is disposable because you can just match with a new person whenever you want. I wish the respect for others didn’t die when online dating gained momentum and popularity. How do people not have the balls to send a text or maybe sit down and talk to someone to tell them how they feel? As much as I dreaded it, I was back to swiping my life away in no time. On to the next one! It wasn’t until after all this happened, I realized who he looked like. He was like Sloth from The Goonies with a hot body. That just added insult to injury…

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The Underemployed One

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It’s Sunday morning and I’m doing the 30-something’s Walk-of-Shame from my Saturday night guy’s place, which is Ubering home, hung over, while texting my friends about the previous night. That’s when I get a Bumble message from a guy asking if I was interested in getting some brunch. Yes. Yes, yes, yes. The answer is always YES to brunch. We agree to meet at a brunch place my friend manages, as I’ve repeatedly promised to come check her new spot out and fail every time. I raced home to take care of the dogs and get cleaned up. When I’m almost there he texts to let me know there is an hour wait so he’s at the restaurant next door having a drink. It’s 11am. He’s drinking. We’re off to a good start.

I get there with my perfectly polished ponytail, giant sunglasses and pale yellow sundress that my friend Nikki just gave me, attempting my best (somewhat hung over, ‘I hope I don’t still smell like sex’) Audrey Hepburn look. I recognize him immediately from checking out his photos, even though it was clear his photos were quite old and he was a bit heftier than he was when they were taken. We hug and I order champagne; my drink for summer 2017. Hey, I’m celebrating being alive this summer! We get down to chatting and I notice he’s wearing very expensive, trendy, yet classic clothing but his eyes were glazed over and bloodshot. His shirt was unbuttoned a bit too far and his hair was wild. I asked how his night was and he told me he went to Cuvee, an upscale nightclub, the night before with friends. Despite having delayed responses to any of my questions, he responded and asked questions as well so I wasn’t leading the entire conversation. Something still seemed off about him but I guessed it was just his hang over.

On his profile he said he was a beverage director at a nice hotel. I asked him how he liked that job and he tells me he was fired from that place a year ago. Why the fuck does it still say it on your profile then, guy!? So I asked what he does now and why he was fired. He goes on to say he was fired for being “kind of an asshole and a drug addict”. LOVELY! He said he talked down to his staff and he didn’t realize other people didn’t use cocaine the same way he did. He basically did it all day and all night, in front of his coworkers and bosses, and was shocked that it was an issue when they brought it up to him and dismissed him from his role in the company. Now he claims to be underemployed, as he works as a bartender two nights a week at two different bars. This cocaine habit now explains his delayed responses and blood-shot eyes. This dude is still awake from partying last night!

Cocaine

I knew I wasn’t attracted to him but we were here already and I was hungry. After almost an hour, I asked if he wanted to check on our table status next door at my friend’s brunch restaurant. He then tells me he never put our names in so we had just been sitting around the whole time waiting for nothing. This guy needs an adult. I run over, climb over 30 hungry people who are sitting around, waiting for their names to be called. I pull the dick move of name-dropping at the host stand and hug my friend Sarah after the hostesses get her attention. She was running around like a mad woman but told me there are seats that will be available at the bar. I run over to tell the underemployed guy to drag him over before he orders another cocktail.

When I came back and told him, he then lets me know that he has no cards and no cash so if I could cover everything today, he could Venmo me or get me next time. I’m getting fucking PLAYED right now!! This broke-ass scammer got me! I ask why he wanted to invite me to brunch if he has no money but he assures me he has some in the bank, he just left his debit card at the nightclub last night. You’re a 30-something year old man who only has one card to his name and you leave it somewhere and invite a girl out?? What’s WRONG with you? Where did you go wrong in life? Shit, where did I go wrong in life if these are the guys I’m meeting!? I pay and we go next door, order food and a drink and continue on this “date”. I talked to my friend and the bartender now more than I talked to this guy. He picked at a salad and slowly sipped a bloody Mary while I crushed some eggs and veggies and two champagne cocktails.

We decide it’s time to go since I hate him and he has to actually go to one of his jobs soon. My friend kindly discounts half of our bill, I pay again and then decide to run to the restroom before we walk out. Before I go, he tells me to close my eyes and hold out my hand. I fear something bad will happen but I look around and realize we are elbow to elbow with people and there are hundreds of people there. What’s the worst he could do? I did as he asked and when I opened my eyes I saw a big bag of white powder in my palm. I gasped and clenched my fist, shoving the bag back in his hand. “What?”, he said, “Do a couple bumps in the bathroom.” Then he winked. Barf. It is 12:30pm on a Sunday, sir! And we are dining at a fine, family restaurant, where my friend is the manager! What’s wrong with you?

We leave and, unfortunately, have to walk the same direction to get to our destinations. While we walk, he repeatedly pulls this bag out to do bumps off of his key. Once he did it in front of a church. Once he did it in front of a playground, as a mother pushing a double-wide stroller walked by. We’re a block away from his job when he ducks into an alley and asks me to wait a minute. I glance over after a few seconds to catch him pissing behind a dumpster, cocaine in-hand. He zips up and we continue this romantic stroll to his job, where he leans toward me, open-mouthed, tongue-first. I put both arms between us, on his chest and push away. “K, this was fun! Talk to you later!”, I blurted out. I’m a fucking liar. Once again he tells me, “I’ll Venmo you!” and I briskly walked on. No look of longing as I left. No eye contact at all actually. I stared at the ground and moved my legs as fast as a girl can in wedge sandals. I’ll never forget you, Venmo guy.

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Does that have calories? I don’t eat calories.

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When I ditched the ex I also moved and left everything I owned behind. It was stressful, whether I knew it at the time or not. When I’m stressed, I have ZERO appetite. I didn’t want to eat anything at all for two months. I only ate Dunkin’ Donuts Wakeup Wraps because I knew I had to eat something to stay alive. Those were fast, cheap and easy, much like myself. I dropped a lot of weight quickly and had friends asking me to eat more because I didn’t look well. I fucking loved it. I took more naked selfies in these two months than I ever had in my life. The more my ribs protruded, the happier I felt. It was not sustainable though. It was a wakeup call when I had two weeks of copper-colored urine with blood in it. I was killing myself. Quickly. I had to put more in my body than Dunkin’ and booze.

Inevitably, I gained weight back when I started taking better care of myself and consuming more than 300 calories in food a day. I also started working out again and developed a routine and (relatively) good habits. I became much more healthy physically and emotionally. I also rediscovered Reece’s cups which might not have been a good thing. Although I had been dating the entire time, it wasn’t until I got healthy again that I could say I was actually ready to be dating. My confidence now though was high with my body changing that way. With my ex-husband, I never felt confident about my body. I never felt skinny enough, toned enough or sexy enough. I couldn’t even tell if he was attracted to me physically at all. There was no indication that he was since he rarely looked at me, complimented me even less and we stopped having sex all together.

Everyone has some insecurities when dating but for women, body and appearance are the biggest worries. There is so much pressure to look a certain way and it’s overwhelming and impacts us in a big way. Self-confidence wanes and negative thoughts about ourselves creep in. Everyone is worried that a potential partner will look at us the same way we look at ourselves and get hyper-critical. They won’t like how our thighs touch. They will think the little bulge over our bra is disgusting. They’ll hate the peach fuzz on our cheeks. We look at ourselves under a microscope and panic at any imperfection. Even when I was at my smallest size, there were still things I disliked about my appearance. I was at my ideal weight but was still picking myself apart in other ways. I needed bigger boobs. I needed Botox. My skin was too pale. My belly button was ugly.

I know I’ll never be completely satisfied with how I look but I’ve been actively trying to change my negative mindset in regards to my appearance. Every time I judge myself too harshly, I force myself to look at pictures of people who are truly fat and ugly so I stop throwing myself a pity party. Someone always has it worse than we do, am I right? RELAX! I’m kidding. All we can do is take care of ourselves. Go for walks, eat well, workout, overindulge once in a while instead of everyday. We’ll probably never be our own idea of perfect but we have to accept that. Someone probably sees us and thinks we’re their idea of perfect, so let it go. Your wrinkles are fine. That belly roll is cute. Your thighs look like they’re trying to escape from your jeans? Fuckin’ work it. Show it off. People will always talk shit no matter what. They judge no matter what. When it comes to dating, you won’t always be everyone’s favorite flavor but you will be to some.

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.