that's the key to having it all: stop expecting it to look like what you thought it was going to look like. It's true of the fall lines, and it's true of relationships. - sex and the city, 'plus one is the loneliest number'
maybe he doesn't exist. perhaps i've set the standard so high that even if i did meet 'the one' (if 'the one' is even real), i wouldn't know it because i'll be too busy expecting my idea of perfection to come knocking at my door at any minute. it's ironic because in my definition of 'the perfect one', he's flawed. but in a beautiful way. the way all human beings are flawed. geez...even my concept of 'the perfect one' has the perfect flaws.
i hate the labels. i hate the types. the hipster gays. the we ho gays. the straight-acting gays, the flamey gays. the thug gays. the artsy gays. i don't want a prototype, i want a person. but i contradict myself by conceptualizing what this person is supposed to be like. i guess in a sense i've created my own prototype.
i always struggle to find the words to describe what i'd like in a partner. it's evolved from "i kinda want someone like me, but not me," to "handsome face, witty, smart, my height or taller, has a boyish charm about him," because the first description was too vague and people would just give me blank stares as if i were supposed to elaborate a bit more. come on...how hard is it to picture me with someone who is like me that isn't exactly like me? i guess in my head it all makes sense. but when i give the more thorough description with adjectives like "handsome," "witty," and "boyish charm," i feel like i'm not doing any justice to what i'm actually envisioning. and maybe that's the problem. maybe i need to stop envisioning what it's supposed to look like and just...close my eyes and let it all happen organically.
it's so hard to not get jaded and cynical about it. 'he's not out there. i'm so over it. i'm just gonna be single.' i'll come home from trader joe's or ralphs with a trunk full of grocery bags and try my best to carry all of them in one trip. after i set them all down on the kitchen counter, i take a breather and think, 'get used to this. it might be the rest of your life.' and when i think things like that, i immediately follow it up with, 'well...you're still young. don't put ideas like that out into the universe.'
at night i retreat to my room...alone. i think about how my roommates are coupled. jo and kev, 3 (maybe 4?) years strong. jasmine and her boy, new and fresh. the new tenants moving in downstairs...a couple.
then there's me...and my body pillow. i leave the TV on when i sleep so that i feel like there's someone there with me. i'm not afraid of being alone. i just don't like being lonely. will i choose loneliness over company just because my criteria isn't being met? do i have too much pride? if love doesn't come in the form that i want it to come in, will i just dispose of it? and why the fuck do i think about it so much? lately, i feel like it's taken over the world. everywhere i look...LOVE.
am i crazy because i want it to be a certain way? (aaaaaand play video)
love is in the air and everyone is inhaling it deep into their lungs...i'm still holding my breath.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Sunday, January 25, 2009
the green haired monster vs. the green eyed lover
he's a hair artist. (how that's different from a hair stylist? i'm not quite sure.) he messaged me on okcupid. i looked at his profile and made up my mind that his green hair with the weird spiderweb design on the sides just wasn't to my liking. so i ignored him. but he was persistent and sent me another message. for shits and giggles i actually responded. as i wrote my generic response, i caught myself. i was supposed to be open about dating. bald, old, fat, shy...whatever. i was doing this dating thing to meet people, have fun, and possibly learn a little something about my preferences and what i can and cannot take.
we got to talking and he actually grew on me. he seemed playful and witty and kept my attention. he's was born in the philippines. moved to the united states when he was 5. he used to dance on a hip-hop team at cal state northridge. "let's be perfectly honest for a moment," i told him, "tell me your impression of me based on my profile. then i'll tell you what i thought about yours. no sugar coating." his answer didn't satisfy me. he told me he liked my smile and thought i was funny. i rolled my eyes and let him have it. "well, honestly, i looked at your profile and thought we wouldn't get along. i thought you were one of those scenester kids who has funky hair and a distinct sense of style and has a certain preference in pretentious indie music. i was so ready to dismiss you. you'd never get along with me. a guy who indulges in top 40, watches reality show trash, and has a corporate job. i just thought we'd never mesh. but i'm pleasantly surprised."
when we hung out i felt comfortable around him. i was at ease with the conversation but i couldn't bring myself to look at him. green hair. green hair. he has green hair. was all that crossed my mind.
i'm trying really hard to be open. to stop passing judgement so quickly. i think it's fair to say that in this situation, i was open. i hung out with the guy. we had a nice encounter. but i just can't bring myself to overlook the green hair. i typically prefer a clean cut, handsome kinda guy with a touch of funky style. he wasn't it. although he didn't fit that mold i kept texting and calling him. i had to wonder why. maybe it gave me a sense of comfort knowing someone was interested in me and i had to hold on to it. maybe i thought that if i kept on hanging out with him, i'd start to like him. i could overlook the green hair and i'd find him attractive as i learned more about him. maybe?
but the green haired guy doesn't stand a chance against the intriguing aquarius. extremely adorable, endearing, witty and sooo fucking handsome (at least to me). i messaged him first. he used big words in his profile and as a self-proclaimed lover of words, i decided to tell him how much i loved his profile because of his vast vocabulary (although i honestly didn't understand the majority of what he was saying. and i guess the real reason i messaged him was because i thought he was cute.) i love the fact that he's a total geek. on a typical friday night he's playing video games or reading a book (not just any book...sci-fi!) i know!?!?! what the fuck? the fact that he's so different from me in that sense is what i found most attractive. he's half filipino, half scandinavian (HOT!!!). he used to be a chubby kid. he has beautiful green eyes. he makes me...melt. but he's in san francisco. :(
i quickly started crushing on this guy (despite the distance). i wanted to know every piece of information about him. his sibling's names. his birthday. what he ate for lunch. what his work out schedule was. "you're so cute sometimes, nick." he said to me when i jokingly told him i'd move to san francisco if i had a good reason to *wink*. and after that, i was putty in his hands. "i like you," he continued, "there's depth to you. that's rare in people." i ate up the sweet talk faster than a fat kid eats ice cream.
but while our conversations were fun and i went ga-ga over the fact that i wanted to rip his clothes off, he started to act so aloof and inattentive. he wouldn't answer my calls or respond to my texts. i was livid. but all of that aside, i'm still so stuck on this guy. perhaps i've idealized him (like i always do).
it made me have a 'sex and the city' moment because as i lay in bed thinking about the men i've encountered, i started to wonder: how many imperfect encounters must we go through until the person becomes perfect? maybe this green haired monster will never be to my liking. maybe i draw the line at green hair and spiderweb designs on the side of a person's head. i'm no longer pursuing anything with the green haired monster but i still have hope for the green eyed lover. i'm a fool, aren't i? the guy is in san francisco and doesn't even answer my phone calls. maybe i'm really only in this for the chase?
we got to talking and he actually grew on me. he seemed playful and witty and kept my attention. he's was born in the philippines. moved to the united states when he was 5. he used to dance on a hip-hop team at cal state northridge. "let's be perfectly honest for a moment," i told him, "tell me your impression of me based on my profile. then i'll tell you what i thought about yours. no sugar coating." his answer didn't satisfy me. he told me he liked my smile and thought i was funny. i rolled my eyes and let him have it. "well, honestly, i looked at your profile and thought we wouldn't get along. i thought you were one of those scenester kids who has funky hair and a distinct sense of style and has a certain preference in pretentious indie music. i was so ready to dismiss you. you'd never get along with me. a guy who indulges in top 40, watches reality show trash, and has a corporate job. i just thought we'd never mesh. but i'm pleasantly surprised."
when we hung out i felt comfortable around him. i was at ease with the conversation but i couldn't bring myself to look at him. green hair. green hair. he has green hair. was all that crossed my mind.
i'm trying really hard to be open. to stop passing judgement so quickly. i think it's fair to say that in this situation, i was open. i hung out with the guy. we had a nice encounter. but i just can't bring myself to overlook the green hair. i typically prefer a clean cut, handsome kinda guy with a touch of funky style. he wasn't it. although he didn't fit that mold i kept texting and calling him. i had to wonder why. maybe it gave me a sense of comfort knowing someone was interested in me and i had to hold on to it. maybe i thought that if i kept on hanging out with him, i'd start to like him. i could overlook the green hair and i'd find him attractive as i learned more about him. maybe?
but the green haired guy doesn't stand a chance against the intriguing aquarius. extremely adorable, endearing, witty and sooo fucking handsome (at least to me). i messaged him first. he used big words in his profile and as a self-proclaimed lover of words, i decided to tell him how much i loved his profile because of his vast vocabulary (although i honestly didn't understand the majority of what he was saying. and i guess the real reason i messaged him was because i thought he was cute.) i love the fact that he's a total geek. on a typical friday night he's playing video games or reading a book (not just any book...sci-fi!) i know!?!?! what the fuck? the fact that he's so different from me in that sense is what i found most attractive. he's half filipino, half scandinavian (HOT!!!). he used to be a chubby kid. he has beautiful green eyes. he makes me...melt. but he's in san francisco. :(
i quickly started crushing on this guy (despite the distance). i wanted to know every piece of information about him. his sibling's names. his birthday. what he ate for lunch. what his work out schedule was. "you're so cute sometimes, nick." he said to me when i jokingly told him i'd move to san francisco if i had a good reason to *wink*. and after that, i was putty in his hands. "i like you," he continued, "there's depth to you. that's rare in people." i ate up the sweet talk faster than a fat kid eats ice cream.
but while our conversations were fun and i went ga-ga over the fact that i wanted to rip his clothes off, he started to act so aloof and inattentive. he wouldn't answer my calls or respond to my texts. i was livid. but all of that aside, i'm still so stuck on this guy. perhaps i've idealized him (like i always do).
it made me have a 'sex and the city' moment because as i lay in bed thinking about the men i've encountered, i started to wonder: how many imperfect encounters must we go through until the person becomes perfect? maybe this green haired monster will never be to my liking. maybe i draw the line at green hair and spiderweb designs on the side of a person's head. i'm no longer pursuing anything with the green haired monster but i still have hope for the green eyed lover. i'm a fool, aren't i? the guy is in san francisco and doesn't even answer my phone calls. maybe i'm really only in this for the chase?
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Housewife
I secretly wish someone would just whip me into shape and train me. On certain nights, I really want to be domesticated. The ‘going out’ thing gets so redundant sometimes but it’s all I know. I’ve conditioned myself to think that no matter how tired, lazy, ‘over it’, I really am, once Friday night creeps up, I feel the need to go out, have a drink, and party. Stay in on a Friday night? Perish the thought. It just doesn’t exist in my head. My brain doesn’t have the capacity to understand that concept. I’ve tried it a few times. I tell myself I’m going to have a lazy Friday night and watch a movie or read a book. I end up checking the clock religiously. Once 9:00pm hits, I’m on the phone with my friends figuring out where we should go. We spend a few minutes trying to decide where we’ll party the night away. It usually goes something like this:
"So where should we go tonight? I wanna dance."
“I'm down for whatever but I don't want to pay cover.”
“Me either. Oh..and I don’t want to wait in a line.”
“Well what are the girls doing tonight?”
“They’re going to do something ‘straight’ cuz they’re getting sick of the gayness.”
“Um. Oh. I hate ‘straight’ spots. Strike 1, pay cover. Strike 2, wait in line. Strike 3, nobody there wants us.”
“Exactly. So We Ho again?”
“Ugh. I’m so sick of We Ho though. We could try Silverlake?”
“We could. But what’s Akbar playing tonight? Is the music good?”
“I don’t know. It’s usually hit or miss. Sometimes they play that weird indie shit that I can’t dance to.”
“Fuck! But I wanna dance to Beyonce. Okay let’s just go to We Ho.”
“Okay. Fiesta for 2-for-1 drinks then Popstarz?”
“Yup. I’ll be at your place in 10 minutes. You drive. Thanks!”
Once we arrive, I’m not necessarily on the prowl. Of course it’s fun to look, but after a while, they all start to look like carbon copies of the We Ho prototype. Good looking, tight shirt, tight jeans…and…white. *YAWN*
We walk by the bars and hear the “dunch, dunch, dunch” of the techno music from The Abbey piercing the night. We roll our eyes and say, “UGH. I hate the ‘dunch dunch’ music. Ew. And look at the line. Who waits in line for a bar? Everyone in there is ugly!”
We drink enough so that we’re comfortably buzzed but not excessively drunk. Just enough to help us believe we’re the best thing that ever happened to this world. (Alcohol definitely boosts the confidence).
We dance. We laugh. We eat. We sleep. Repeat. I’ve memorized how this works already.
I’m not saying I want to give up the nightlife. I enjoy it too much. (For whatever reason, I don’t know.) But on certain nights…I wish I could just do the things this guy says in this song, appropriately titled, "Housewife":
He's the guy from the movie, "Shortbus." He plays Ceth...which is "Seth, with a 'C'." I wanna be his housewife. But we haven't met yet.
"So where should we go tonight? I wanna dance."
“I'm down for whatever but I don't want to pay cover.”
“Me either. Oh..and I don’t want to wait in a line.”
“Well what are the girls doing tonight?”
“They’re going to do something ‘straight’ cuz they’re getting sick of the gayness.”
“Um. Oh. I hate ‘straight’ spots. Strike 1, pay cover. Strike 2, wait in line. Strike 3, nobody there wants us.”
“Exactly. So We Ho again?”
“Ugh. I’m so sick of We Ho though. We could try Silverlake?”
“We could. But what’s Akbar playing tonight? Is the music good?”
“I don’t know. It’s usually hit or miss. Sometimes they play that weird indie shit that I can’t dance to.”
“Fuck! But I wanna dance to Beyonce. Okay let’s just go to We Ho.”
“Okay. Fiesta for 2-for-1 drinks then Popstarz?”
“Yup. I’ll be at your place in 10 minutes. You drive. Thanks!”
Once we arrive, I’m not necessarily on the prowl. Of course it’s fun to look, but after a while, they all start to look like carbon copies of the We Ho prototype. Good looking, tight shirt, tight jeans…and…white. *YAWN*
We walk by the bars and hear the “dunch, dunch, dunch” of the techno music from The Abbey piercing the night. We roll our eyes and say, “UGH. I hate the ‘dunch dunch’ music. Ew. And look at the line. Who waits in line for a bar? Everyone in there is ugly!”
We drink enough so that we’re comfortably buzzed but not excessively drunk. Just enough to help us believe we’re the best thing that ever happened to this world. (Alcohol definitely boosts the confidence).
We dance. We laugh. We eat. We sleep. Repeat. I’ve memorized how this works already.
I’m not saying I want to give up the nightlife. I enjoy it too much. (For whatever reason, I don’t know.) But on certain nights…I wish I could just do the things this guy says in this song, appropriately titled, "Housewife":
He's the guy from the movie, "Shortbus." He plays Ceth...which is "Seth, with a 'C'." I wanna be his housewife. But we haven't met yet.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
say cheese
that old cliche, "a picture is worth a thousand words" is so appropriate when i see some of the pictures that people post on these dating sites. except most of these pictures are only saying 3 words: "i'm - kinda - lame." is a bathroom picture really necessary? you know...the ones where you're holding your camera (or if you're cool enough, your iPhone) up as you stand in front of the mirror and take a picture of yourself. it just looks silly. what did you do? take a dump and feel a sense of accomplishment so you decided to document the event by taking a picture of your reflection? because if that's what you did, then i guess a bathroom picture makes sense. and god-forbid you actually smile because that would be so uncool. so you have to put on this semi-sexy look that screams i know you wanna fuck me or this 'hardcore' look where you tilt your head back and you have this smirk on your face that says i'm so cool it hurts. cuz to me, it just looks like you're constipated.
but the pictures that really make me laugh are the ones i like to call 'the money shot'. this is where the person extends their arm over their head and then looks up at the camera . it kinda just looks like they're staring up at you before you cum on their face. i guess certain people just look more attractive when you're looking down at them. but really...what is so disgusting on your body that you can't take a normal picture that includes a clear shot of your torso?
i try not to be so dismissive when i see these pictures but when i see them i get the impression that the person is really vain. you have to love yourself a lot..like A LOT...to walk into the bathroom with your phone and just stand in front of the mirror striking various poses as you take pictures of yourself. i always thought of the bathroom as a place to either brush your teeth, take a shower, or use the toilet. and sometimes, to have sex. but to take a picture of yourself? and as far as 'the money shot,' -- it really makes me laugh because i keep imagining what the person would look like if they got a load in their eye. i know...bad.
can't people just stand up straight and smile? it'd feel more genuine and less self-indulgent.
but the pictures that really make me laugh are the ones i like to call 'the money shot'. this is where the person extends their arm over their head and then looks up at the camera . it kinda just looks like they're staring up at you before you cum on their face. i guess certain people just look more attractive when you're looking down at them. but really...what is so disgusting on your body that you can't take a normal picture that includes a clear shot of your torso?
i try not to be so dismissive when i see these pictures but when i see them i get the impression that the person is really vain. you have to love yourself a lot..like A LOT...to walk into the bathroom with your phone and just stand in front of the mirror striking various poses as you take pictures of yourself. i always thought of the bathroom as a place to either brush your teeth, take a shower, or use the toilet. and sometimes, to have sex. but to take a picture of yourself? and as far as 'the money shot,' -- it really makes me laugh because i keep imagining what the person would look like if they got a load in their eye. i know...bad.
can't people just stand up straight and smile? it'd feel more genuine and less self-indulgent.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
sweet 16
It's really hard for me to meet people when I go to bars and clubs. The atmosphere just never lends itself to having a normal conversation. The loud music. The dim lighting. The drunk people. It's too much effort, so I just dance. I used to think that meeting people online seemed so pathetic and desperate but the taboo associated with that idea is slowly fading. Myspace, Facebook, OkCupid, Match, eHarmony...hell, even Craigslist. I'm open to all of them. My first encounter happened a few days after Christmas.
When I met him he looked different from his pictures. (That's the problem with trying to meet people online…they send you pictures of themselves before they gained 20 pounds and lost all their hair). I tried to overlook this and keep an open mind. "How are you liking Silverlake?" he asked, since I mentioned that I recently moved there. (Come to think of it, using this 'I just moved here story' is a great way to open up conversation for potential dates).
"I really like the area. There's a lot of hipsters and sceney people which I'm not used to, but it's not bad. Are you a hipster?" I asked jokingly.
"Me? I'm too old to be a hipster."
"Really? How old are you?" I didn't think 28 was that old.
"I'm 41."
.......
"COOL!" Was all I could think of saying.
After doing the math and realizing he was a sophomore in high school when I was born, we had an interesting conversation over ice cream since it was 80 degrees in LA in December. He's a professor at a private college and teaches Media Studies. He got an MFA somewhere on the east cost and was very interested in creating art installations. He was born in Los Angeles, spent some time in China and recently came back from London where his lesbian mother lives. As he told me about himself, I started to get jealous because his life seemed so much more colorful than mine. Professor? MFA? Hong Kong? Lesbian Mom? And here's me…not sure exactly what I'm doing with my life yet, just enjoying the ride. BA in English Lit. Never lived anywhere outside of Los Angeles. Traditional Filipino mom. NO FAIR! Then I reminded myself that he has 16 more years of life experience than I do and the jealousy turned into relief.
Despite the age difference, our conversation flowed nicely -- until I suddenly couldn't stand the sound of his voice. We finished our ice cream and walked around aimlessly. I realized he was dominating the conversation. I felt like I was asking all the questions and he basked in the glory of his long, convoluted answers.
"So why don't you date much? Is it really that hard for you?"
"Well that's the thing. I'm just so busy grading papers and at night when I…"
I got the feeling that he was the type of person who talks for the sake of talking because he enjoys hearing his own voice. He went on about how he's too busy busy to meet someone but somewhere in his monologue, he lost me. Nothing he said registered anymore. I focused my attention on the heat and how I wouldn't be able to wear the new sweaters and jackets I bought for myself if the weather stayed this way.
Since I wasn't being as attentive as I should have been, I somehow agreed to go back to his place. I don't really remember how that happened but I found myself saying, "Sure, I'd love to check out your place." As we approached his house, my mind turned this date into a horror movie. What if this guy is crazy? He's going to take me to his house, have his way with me and then do some torturous shit to me because I wasn't paying attention to him. I am going to die today.
He gave me a tour of his house. No sign of a torture chamber or anything gruesome. We talked about politics, how he felt about growing old alone (which he's content with), and his tattoo. The big tattoo of a horse he has on his back. He sat very close to me on the couch and showed me pictures on his iPhone. I thought I'd simply see pictures of his back and the tattoo but all of his pictures were of him naked. He rested his arm on the sofa (so that if I leaned back, he could easiy put his arm around me). I was leaning so far forward I basically had one buttcheck on the sofa. I had to look over my shoulder as I spoke to him because I positioned myself to be as far away as possible. All I could think was, Don't lean back.
I immediately spotted his library of books and applauded myself for using this to my advantage. "I'm gonna check out your books. Since you're a professor I'm sure you have some interesting ones." I stood up and browsed his library as if I were really looking for a good read when in reality I was planning my exit strategy.
He got the hint and he sat on the other couch. "I have dinner plans tonight," he said, plopping himself onto a rocking chair. "What about you?"
I guess I didn't have to plan my exit strategy too hard.
"Me too. Dinner plans with a friend. I should probably get home now."
He dropped me off and I shook his hand. He looked disappointed and sad and I felt bad for a second. Here's this middle aged man hoping to connect with someone and I immediately dismiss him. Then I remembered he said he was 28 when he's actually 41. I remembered how he was trying to seduce me on his couch with naked pictures of him on his iPhone. I remembered I couldn't stand the sound of his voice after 30 minutes. The sympathy faded.
Besides, by the time I was born, he was already 16.
When I met him he looked different from his pictures. (That's the problem with trying to meet people online…they send you pictures of themselves before they gained 20 pounds and lost all their hair). I tried to overlook this and keep an open mind. "How are you liking Silverlake?" he asked, since I mentioned that I recently moved there. (Come to think of it, using this 'I just moved here story' is a great way to open up conversation for potential dates).
"I really like the area. There's a lot of hipsters and sceney people which I'm not used to, but it's not bad. Are you a hipster?" I asked jokingly.
"Me? I'm too old to be a hipster."
"Really? How old are you?" I didn't think 28 was that old.
"I'm 41."
.......
"COOL!" Was all I could think of saying.
After doing the math and realizing he was a sophomore in high school when I was born, we had an interesting conversation over ice cream since it was 80 degrees in LA in December. He's a professor at a private college and teaches Media Studies. He got an MFA somewhere on the east cost and was very interested in creating art installations. He was born in Los Angeles, spent some time in China and recently came back from London where his lesbian mother lives. As he told me about himself, I started to get jealous because his life seemed so much more colorful than mine. Professor? MFA? Hong Kong? Lesbian Mom? And here's me…not sure exactly what I'm doing with my life yet, just enjoying the ride. BA in English Lit. Never lived anywhere outside of Los Angeles. Traditional Filipino mom. NO FAIR! Then I reminded myself that he has 16 more years of life experience than I do and the jealousy turned into relief.
Despite the age difference, our conversation flowed nicely -- until I suddenly couldn't stand the sound of his voice. We finished our ice cream and walked around aimlessly. I realized he was dominating the conversation. I felt like I was asking all the questions and he basked in the glory of his long, convoluted answers.
"So why don't you date much? Is it really that hard for you?"
"Well that's the thing. I'm just so busy grading papers and at night when I…"
I got the feeling that he was the type of person who talks for the sake of talking because he enjoys hearing his own voice. He went on about how he's too busy busy to meet someone but somewhere in his monologue, he lost me. Nothing he said registered anymore. I focused my attention on the heat and how I wouldn't be able to wear the new sweaters and jackets I bought for myself if the weather stayed this way.
Since I wasn't being as attentive as I should have been, I somehow agreed to go back to his place. I don't really remember how that happened but I found myself saying, "Sure, I'd love to check out your place." As we approached his house, my mind turned this date into a horror movie. What if this guy is crazy? He's going to take me to his house, have his way with me and then do some torturous shit to me because I wasn't paying attention to him. I am going to die today.
He gave me a tour of his house. No sign of a torture chamber or anything gruesome. We talked about politics, how he felt about growing old alone (which he's content with), and his tattoo. The big tattoo of a horse he has on his back. He sat very close to me on the couch and showed me pictures on his iPhone. I thought I'd simply see pictures of his back and the tattoo but all of his pictures were of him naked. He rested his arm on the sofa (so that if I leaned back, he could easiy put his arm around me). I was leaning so far forward I basically had one buttcheck on the sofa. I had to look over my shoulder as I spoke to him because I positioned myself to be as far away as possible. All I could think was, Don't lean back.
I immediately spotted his library of books and applauded myself for using this to my advantage. "I'm gonna check out your books. Since you're a professor I'm sure you have some interesting ones." I stood up and browsed his library as if I were really looking for a good read when in reality I was planning my exit strategy.
He got the hint and he sat on the other couch. "I have dinner plans tonight," he said, plopping himself onto a rocking chair. "What about you?"
I guess I didn't have to plan my exit strategy too hard.
"Me too. Dinner plans with a friend. I should probably get home now."
He dropped me off and I shook his hand. He looked disappointed and sad and I felt bad for a second. Here's this middle aged man hoping to connect with someone and I immediately dismiss him. Then I remembered he said he was 28 when he's actually 41. I remembered how he was trying to seduce me on his couch with naked pictures of him on his iPhone. I remembered I couldn't stand the sound of his voice after 30 minutes. The sympathy faded.
Besides, by the time I was born, he was already 16.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Rim Jobs and Chinese Food with Ben Stein
I couldn’t wait to find out what was for dinner. It was a late dinner because I had to go to the gym (if I’m going to take this dating thing seriously, then I should be at the top of my game, right?) I was really hoping for Chinese food because I remember craving Mandarette’s strawberry shrimp. To quench my curiosity I finally asked where we were going. “MJ’s,” he replied. “Have you ever been on Tuesdays? It’s fun. It’s called 'Rim Job'.” My first date in almost over a year and I’m paying a $7 cover to get into a place with half naked men, drunk old geezers and a smell that i can only describe as slutty. I couldn’t decide if it was fair to even count this as a date anymore.
When I finally started to do this “dating thing" without any hang-ups, the first place I looked to find potential candidates was in the past. (You know, that's where you keep the ones you didn’t even look at twice because you decided they weren’t cute enough.) That’s how I met this guy. I met him through one of my college friends. As we talked I came to realize he was really sensitive and couldn't swallow my cynicism and sarcasm. I don’t remember exactly what I said but it was bad enough to offend him. We stopped talking after that.
We reunited when we bumped into each other one night at M Café in Culver City. I found out he lives in Echo Park. Perfect opportunity to ask him out on a date and show me the ‘hot spots' in Silverlake. I guess to him that means Rim Job Tuesdays at MJ's? When I told him I wanted to eat out, I didn’t mean ass.
I’d been to MJ’s before but since I was anticipating dinner, the go-go dancers with their big cocks flopping around in my face just didn’t sit too well with me. I am so fucking hungry, I thought to myself as I walked by a go-go dancer exposing his bare ass as he humped the stage. I really want some strawberry shrimp.
We headed towards the back of the club where a twinky guy in his underwear hanging out in a hot tub was passing out shots. If I’m not gonna eat, I might as well get drunk, I decided. I bought the first round, thinking he’d buy the second. Again, I thought wrong.
His voice was so monotone and stoic. I tried to be clever with topics to talk about but I found myself bored by his tone. We stood outside and people watched, making up scenarios and creating their life story based on their appearance. “I have a confession to make,” he blurted. “I think you have really nice arms.”
“These scrawny things?” I asked looking at my limbs. “No one’s ever told me that before. But thanks…” I may be hungry. I may be cranky. But fuck yeah! I have nice arms.
We bummed cigarettes off people. Danced a little. Then left. Instead of dropping me off he insisted that he find parking (because that's so easy to find in Silverlake). After he found a spot, I looked at him with that “Huh?” face (refer to picture on the header). “So good night?” I said, extending my arms for a polite embrace. “Can I see your new place?” he asked. You mean my bed? I thought. “For what?” I said with a tinge of annoyance. All I wanted to do was raid my fridge and eat whatever I could find. “I don’t know,” he continued, “Hang out. See what happens.”
SEX! HE WANTS SEX!
“Well nothing’s gonna happen.” I sounded a little too conceited so I added, “...Because my roommates are awake. And I’d be really embarrassed if you were in my room for like 10 minutes and then left. Not very subtle, you know?”
“Aw man. Maybe next time then,” he said dryly. “Can I see your dick?” he caught me off guard.
“Why?!” (refer to picture on the header).
“I just like to see what other guys’ dicks look like. Aren’t you curious?”
“Sure. I guess so,” I said a bit confused, “Well what does yours look like?”
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” he said trying his best to sound flirtatious in his monotone voice.
“Well I’m actually really tired so this won’t be much fun,” I said as I tried to recall what was in the fridge. “Maybe next time?
“Aw, alright then.” He seemed so apathetic.
“Well I had fun. Call me if you ever want to do dinner.” I said, giving him a polite goodbye forever hug.
He drove away and I ran to the kitchen and ate a bowl of cereal. It was no Mandarette strawberry shrimp but it was better than comparing dicks with a guy that sounds like Ben Stein in those Visine commercials.
I ate one more bowl of cereal before I went to bed.
When I finally started to do this “dating thing" without any hang-ups, the first place I looked to find potential candidates was in the past. (You know, that's where you keep the ones you didn’t even look at twice because you decided they weren’t cute enough.) That’s how I met this guy. I met him through one of my college friends. As we talked I came to realize he was really sensitive and couldn't swallow my cynicism and sarcasm. I don’t remember exactly what I said but it was bad enough to offend him. We stopped talking after that.
We reunited when we bumped into each other one night at M Café in Culver City. I found out he lives in Echo Park. Perfect opportunity to ask him out on a date and show me the ‘hot spots' in Silverlake. I guess to him that means Rim Job Tuesdays at MJ's? When I told him I wanted to eat out, I didn’t mean ass.
I’d been to MJ’s before but since I was anticipating dinner, the go-go dancers with their big cocks flopping around in my face just didn’t sit too well with me. I am so fucking hungry, I thought to myself as I walked by a go-go dancer exposing his bare ass as he humped the stage. I really want some strawberry shrimp.
We headed towards the back of the club where a twinky guy in his underwear hanging out in a hot tub was passing out shots. If I’m not gonna eat, I might as well get drunk, I decided. I bought the first round, thinking he’d buy the second. Again, I thought wrong.
His voice was so monotone and stoic. I tried to be clever with topics to talk about but I found myself bored by his tone. We stood outside and people watched, making up scenarios and creating their life story based on their appearance. “I have a confession to make,” he blurted. “I think you have really nice arms.”
“These scrawny things?” I asked looking at my limbs. “No one’s ever told me that before. But thanks…” I may be hungry. I may be cranky. But fuck yeah! I have nice arms.
We bummed cigarettes off people. Danced a little. Then left. Instead of dropping me off he insisted that he find parking (because that's so easy to find in Silverlake). After he found a spot, I looked at him with that “Huh?” face (refer to picture on the header). “So good night?” I said, extending my arms for a polite embrace. “Can I see your new place?” he asked. You mean my bed? I thought. “For what?” I said with a tinge of annoyance. All I wanted to do was raid my fridge and eat whatever I could find. “I don’t know,” he continued, “Hang out. See what happens.”
SEX! HE WANTS SEX!
“Well nothing’s gonna happen.” I sounded a little too conceited so I added, “...Because my roommates are awake. And I’d be really embarrassed if you were in my room for like 10 minutes and then left. Not very subtle, you know?”
“Aw man. Maybe next time then,” he said dryly. “Can I see your dick?” he caught me off guard.
“Why?!” (refer to picture on the header).
“I just like to see what other guys’ dicks look like. Aren’t you curious?”
“Sure. I guess so,” I said a bit confused, “Well what does yours look like?”
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” he said trying his best to sound flirtatious in his monotone voice.
“Well I’m actually really tired so this won’t be much fun,” I said as I tried to recall what was in the fridge. “Maybe next time?
“Aw, alright then.” He seemed so apathetic.
“Well I had fun. Call me if you ever want to do dinner.” I said, giving him a polite goodbye forever hug.
He drove away and I ran to the kitchen and ate a bowl of cereal. It was no Mandarette strawberry shrimp but it was better than comparing dicks with a guy that sounds like Ben Stein in those Visine commercials.
I ate one more bowl of cereal before I went to bed.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
idealizing the man vol. 1: 13 going on crazy
I still think about him. It’s been a more than a year since we’ve had our first (and last) encounter and he manages to cross my mind at least once a day. I feel so silly when I think about him. I turn into a 13 year old girl, bursting at the seams with giddiness. When he crosses my mind, I get the sudden urge to want to hug someone/something very tight and bite really hard. And yes, all of this is a product of spending one day together. I didn't even initially feel anything when I met him. I was slightly judgmental and dismissive. But as the day progressed and I noticed his subtle quirks, his cute laugh and boyish charm--he became more attractive to me and i wanted to know him.
I try to stop from feeling this way by reminding myself how pathetic it is that I’ve only met him once and somehow I’ve managed to discover the most random (and probably some of the most personal) facts about him. And I relish them.
He grew up in New Jersey. He analyzes the zodiac. I know that he has two stars on each side of his hip and he laughs at them, thinking “Don’t these make me look slutty?” He wears glasses when he drives. If I remember correctly, he’s a Libra…the perfect rational balance to my impulsive Aries. He rarely drinks. He loves animals. I know his full name.
And well…I’m a complete stranger to him.
I doubt he even remembers what I look like. And here I am—gushing about how wonderful he is. I forced myself to call him when I found out he was leaving for the Peace Corps. I debated for a while before I finally mustered up the courage to dial his number.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
Voicemail.
Thoughts were swirling inside my head. What do I say? How do I say it? What’s my point? Should I just hang u---
BEEP!
“HI!!! I HOPE YOU REMEMBER ME…IT’S NICK! --- “
Really though? “I hope you remember me?” This was already looking bad. And for some reason I was talking really loud. (Perhaps the nervousness? That would explain the stupid introduction.) I smacked my forehead out of frustration and embarrassment. Somehow I managed to leave a coherent (at least I hope it was) message. "Congrats on getting into the Peace Corps. I know it meant a lot to you. Call me back...I mean if you want. Okay bye."
He called back a day later. I'm sure he felt obligated because we have a mutual friend. “Thanks for the well wishes. I leave as early as March.” The End.
He’s probably nothing like the person I’ve created in my head. If anything I used him as a template and then slowly started to add quirks, flaws, and features that I would find attractive in a partner. Scenarios run rampant in my mind: We’re walking down the aisles at Target, shopping for random things for our house. We argue about what movie we're going to watch on Friday night because he got to choose last time and I really don't feel like a chick flick. We’re stuck in traffic telling stories about what we did on our lunch break and how so-and-so is the most annoying person in the office.
I am slightly crazy for him. I am irrational and silly for him. I turn into a 13 year old girl for him. And he essentially knows nothing about me.
I try to stop from feeling this way by reminding myself how pathetic it is that I’ve only met him once and somehow I’ve managed to discover the most random (and probably some of the most personal) facts about him. And I relish them.
He grew up in New Jersey. He analyzes the zodiac. I know that he has two stars on each side of his hip and he laughs at them, thinking “Don’t these make me look slutty?” He wears glasses when he drives. If I remember correctly, he’s a Libra…the perfect rational balance to my impulsive Aries. He rarely drinks. He loves animals. I know his full name.
And well…I’m a complete stranger to him.
I doubt he even remembers what I look like. And here I am—gushing about how wonderful he is. I forced myself to call him when I found out he was leaving for the Peace Corps. I debated for a while before I finally mustered up the courage to dial his number.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
Voicemail.
Thoughts were swirling inside my head. What do I say? How do I say it? What’s my point? Should I just hang u---
BEEP!
“HI!!! I HOPE YOU REMEMBER ME…IT’S NICK! --- “
Really though? “I hope you remember me?” This was already looking bad. And for some reason I was talking really loud. (Perhaps the nervousness? That would explain the stupid introduction.) I smacked my forehead out of frustration and embarrassment. Somehow I managed to leave a coherent (at least I hope it was) message. "Congrats on getting into the Peace Corps. I know it meant a lot to you. Call me back...I mean if you want. Okay bye."
He called back a day later. I'm sure he felt obligated because we have a mutual friend. “Thanks for the well wishes. I leave as early as March.” The End.
He’s probably nothing like the person I’ve created in my head. If anything I used him as a template and then slowly started to add quirks, flaws, and features that I would find attractive in a partner. Scenarios run rampant in my mind: We’re walking down the aisles at Target, shopping for random things for our house. We argue about what movie we're going to watch on Friday night because he got to choose last time and I really don't feel like a chick flick. We’re stuck in traffic telling stories about what we did on our lunch break and how so-and-so is the most annoying person in the office.
I am slightly crazy for him. I am irrational and silly for him. I turn into a 13 year old girl for him. And he essentially knows nothing about me.
Monday, January 12, 2009
my face
that's me up there. and that's usually what i feel/look like when i'm on a date. the expression on my face captures the gist of my feelings and the thoughts that swirl around my head. i'm either utterly confused or strangely intrigued. and sometimes i'm utterly confused BECAUSE i'm strangely intrigued. so picture this face and imagine me thinking --
1) "huh? what are you talking about...rim job?"
2) "wait...you're 41?"
3) "i thought we were going to eat dinner...this is a bar."
4) "oh..your hair ISN'T green?"
5) "you're perfect...but (insert flaw)...and that's really important to me."
6) "okay let me get this straight-you're not over your ex yet?"
7) "you moved to LA to become a filmmaker? and an actor? oh you sing, too?"
8) "you don't go to west hollywood because you hate gay people?"
9) "so how long have you been with your boyfriend?"
10) "...."
as i embark on this dating journey, i look forward to the moment that my expression (the one up there), will be coupled with this thought:":))))))))))))))!!!!!!!!!!" because i'm sure that when that feeling comes, i'll be completely confused as to what is happening to me.
1) "huh? what are you talking about...rim job?"
2) "wait...you're 41?"
3) "i thought we were going to eat dinner...this is a bar."
4) "oh..your hair ISN'T green?"
5) "you're perfect...but (insert flaw)...and that's really important to me."
6) "okay let me get this straight-you're not over your ex yet?"
7) "you moved to LA to become a filmmaker? and an actor? oh you sing, too?"
8) "you don't go to west hollywood because you hate gay people?"
9) "so how long have you been with your boyfriend?"
10) "...."
as i embark on this dating journey, i look forward to the moment that my expression (the one up there), will be coupled with this thought:":))))))))))))))!!!!!!!!!!" because i'm sure that when that feeling comes, i'll be completely confused as to what is happening to me.
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