Boys Blowing Up My Phone Phone

12 Mar

I have 218 contacts in my phone. 33 of them belong to men I’ve dated, which figures out to 15% (thanks 7th grade algebra for teaching me how to work fractions in my head.)

Only a handful are listed under their full names, the majority are filed under O.

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I’m going to delete all of these contacts to spare myself the accidental dial and then the awkward explanation of why I still have these numbers saved, but over the next few weeks let’s you and I take a stroll down OKCupid contacts memory lane.


This boy was truly a gem. We never met but I remember in his profile picture he had on electric red glasses that looked a lot like a pair I used to rock. Obviously they looked great on me, but they were an unfortunate choice on this guy. We messaged then texted back and forth a bit, but our schedules never worked out for a date. I usually take this as a sign of Not Meant to Be, so when he stopped texting me I didn’t think anything of it and didn’t save his number. A month later, during which time I’d upgraded my phone thus losing our old text convo, he contacted me again. After the back and forth of figuring out who he was I apologized and said that I had lost interest and deleted his number. This was as straight forward and as honest as I could have been. He didn’t understand the concept of not being interested.

OKC Ben: How we never even met

Me: Out of sight out of mind I guess.

OKC Ben: ?

OKC Ben: So would you want to meet for drinks?

OKC Ben: :)

Me: No thanks. 

OKC Ben: Your (sic) such a typical dc girl

OKC Ben: Ugh

First of all, if you’re going to tell someone off, at least make sure you’re spelling words correctly. Second of all, would it really have been better for me to lie, go out for drinks, and have him waste his time when I had already clearly stated that I wasn’t interested? You want to know what a typical DC girl is like? She is indecisive, she will make you pay for her meal even when she has no intention of seeing you again, and she is mostly mediocre but thinks she’s gods gift to mankind. She is every scenario here (minus the sports teams anguish).

I am many things (mostly agitated and mildly insulted at this point) but I am not typical. I let this stranger induced anger stew for a bit and decide not to engage.

Me: Dodged a bullet then. Good luck. 

OKC Ben: You too, hope you find your soul someday if you ever had one

I would argue that most people in DC are without souls but mostly because they’re involved in slimy political deals, not because they don’t want to date you, OKC Ben.

Edit, scroll, Delete Contact. Dating is the worst.

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Be Mine Valentine

14 Feb

I am 27 years old. Until today, I have never had a Valentine. I’ve never gotten flowers, I’ve never gone out for a Valentine’s Day dinner, I’ve never had a sweet Valentine’s Day smooch. I mean, you’ve read all about my dating history. It’s probably better that the Cat Guy or the Shirtless Pic Sender weren’t my sweethearts. I’m being wined and dined tonight by someone I adore and of course I’m excited, but I’m no bandwagon fan. I’ve always loved Valentine’s Day.

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I realize not everyone feels this way. My heroine, Liz Lemon, hates Valentine’s Day. She hates it so much that she celebrates Anna Howard Shaw Day instead.

If you let it, Valentine’s Day can always be an anniversary of loneliness. If you let it, it can remind you that you’re without romantic love. If you let it, it can put a lot of pressure on a relationship. If you let it, Valentine’s Day can make you miserable. So don’t let it.

I admit that some years I’ve been down, but on the whole I love Valentine’s Day. I don’t care if it’s a manufactured holiday, pretty much all holidays are run by the consumer machine at this point anyway. Single or not, today you can unabashedly tell all the people in your life that you love them. Tell your friends, tell your favorite coworkers, tell your family. If you really want a dose of adorable, call your grandparents. They love you the most, and you’ll be able to hear it in their voices.

My favorite part of Valentine’s Day is the package my mom always sends me. Heart themed jammies, candy, and a sweet card. Without fail, opening that package always makes me feel loved. And that, my dear daters, is the point of today. Taking the time to make somebody feel loved.



The Unhappiest Place on Earth

12 Feb

Contributing post from Jared. He is awesome. This experience was not.

Long distance is hard. Before I found the woman to whom I am happily married, I had two crash-and-burn long distance relationships. Moving around for jobs in media doesn’t help keep love alive. In fact, a lot of little aspects of a crappy media job come into play here: I used to only have one week of vacation a year, and didn’t make very much money at all. All of these factors loaded into my vacation to see my girlfriend out in La Jolla, California for a week that would also be the end of our four-and-a-half year relationship.

The start of the trip was so much better. We were so much in love. We said those words to each other over and over again on the phone, which was the main method of communicating in a pre-FaceTime world of long distance. To give a sense of perspective, she may have had a land line in her apartment. That’s how long ago this was. 

I had taken my only week off and bought with what little spare money I had, a ticket from St Louis, Missouri, to John Wayne’s own airport in California. On the way to the airport, I called her, not mentioning the surprises I was picking up at the same time (so sneaky!). I was at a fancy bakery, buying gourmet cupcakes because those were also fashionable then. A box of four ridiculously complicated confections sat on my lap as I took a cab to the airport, as I sat waiting for the plane, and as I flew that evening. No fewer than five old ladies asked me what I was doing, and then marveled at what a charming young man I was, and what a lucky young lady she must be. I regaled them all with stories of our deep, abiding love.

The plane lands. I get off, and walk down the jetbridge. I turn a corner and I see her. I am filled with joy and pride and happiness. I hand her the ridiculous box of cupcakes. They are undamaged despite traveling hundreds of miles. But something is wrong. I can see it in her face, not right away, but almost right away. We start walking toward her car. She drops my hand. I turn toward her and ask, “Is something wrong? This feels weird.”

She looks down and replies, “I just realized I don’t love you anymore.”

I turn around so that I’m facing her directly now. I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. I’m talking louder than people should in an airport, but my voice is sad, not angry: “When did you know?”

Another punch: “Not before you left. Just… as I saw you just now.”

I sit down on a bench. My face is in my hands, but I’m not crying. That happens later. I spring back up, heading toward the gate, as if I’ll just be able to get back on the plane and go back to St Louis and maybe we’ll be in love again if she doesn’t have to look at me. 

“Are you going to leave?”

“I’m going to see when the next flight is. I should probably go. You probably don’t want me around, do you?”

“I don’t want to ruin your vacation.”

I hadn’t taken time off in years. I had been working mornings and awful shifts for a radio job I loved, but that had worn me out. I did need a vacation. 

“Why don’t you come back home with me. We can talk, and we can try to have fun.”

Women, I don’t know if you always know when you’re leading men on, and sometimes we do it to ourselves. In this moment, out of pure stupidity, I thought that “we can talk” meant that “it isn’t over.” I just didn’t want it to be over.

Back in her apartment, I felt like I was living someone else’s life. I barely recognized the clothes I saw in my bag. I dressed for bed, and she made me sleep on the couch. Most of our “talking” that night revolved around me being angry about that.

The next day, we went to Disneyland. 

Editor’s note: That’s exactly what I’d do with my ex. Go to the place with the most manufactured happiness. BRILLIANT.

What should be the happiest place on earth was basically a marathon of self-delusion for me. It was right before Halloween, so the whole park was decked out in candy corn and orange-and-black and spooky (but not really) special decorations. I loved it. She had an annual pass. I had only ever been to Disney World and never at a holiday time, so it was all exciting and fun and new.

That night, after a full day’s worth of fun and rides and candy, we watched the fireworks. I love fireworks. I am such a kid about them. I love watching them explode, I love the colors, and I get this big stupid smile on my face whenever I see them. She stood in front of me, and I put my arms around her. We watched the fireworks. But I could feel it, finally admitting it maybe, or maybe there was some physical sign I just finally noticed. She wasn’t mine anymore. And I stood there, in Disneyland, watching the fireworks, and cried. I bawled my eyes out while at the same time trying not to move, or make a sound. I didn’t want her to know I was crying. I didn’t want it to be over. 
I had five more days in California. We talked, we made out a little, we fought, we made out a little more, and we both cried. I left four perfect cupcakes on her counter, uneaten, as she drove me back to the airport. It wasn’t the worst vacation I’ve ever had, but it definitely was my least favorite time at a Disney park. And it settled once and for all the Disney Land-vs-World debate, at least in my mind. We had probably been over a lot longer than I would have been ready to admit, and maybe I needed the big dramatic finish to snap me out of it and make me realize that I had to move on with my life. 

I still love Disney. I’m still a big kid at heart. And I still love fireworks. 

But dating is the worst.

The Sort of Dishonest Stoner

10 Feb

There are many obvious things to lie about when online dating. Age, weight, height, employment/income, relationship status. I’ve heard that most older women lie and say they are younger, I know that everyone tries to look thin in their photos, you should always deduct 1-3 inches from a mans listed height, self employed entrepreneur probably means part time bartender with big ideas and not a lot of dollars, and in-an-open- relationship means cheater cheater pumpkin eater.

After your 1st or 2nd first date, you may find these things alarming, after your 10th or 15th first date you start to get used to it, and (if you’re like me) after your 50th or so first date, you go in assuming maybe 30% of what this person has told you is true and hope for the best.

I met the Sort of Dishonest Stoner (SODS for short) on a warm fall night at a Capitol Hill staple called The Hawk ‘n Dove. Apparently pre-renovation this place used to be pretty cool, but now it’s just like any other overpriced bar/restaurant with mediocre service and overpriced everything. Not a good start in my opinion, but it was convenient for both of us and an easy atmosphere for a first date.

When SODS messaged me it seemed like he wasn’t completely my type, he gave off a Slick Rick salesperson vibe which I’m really not attracted to at all. He specifically said that he was also from New England though, naming an outside of Boston town that I recognized. Despite any other red flags, I’m a firm believer that New Englander is my type, so I agreed to meet up with him.

He texted me about an hour before our date to push the time back a bit, saying he ‘took an abs class’ and was running late. Fitness and health are important, but everyones need to point out how they’re rocking it at the gym and cutting out sugar make me want to vomit. Doing the Paleo diet? Awesome! Addicted to crossfit? Good for you! Squeezing in an abs class? Way to go! Just STFU about it because nobody really cares.

He gets to the bar before me, and when I see him he looks like he’s fresh off the Jersey Shore, post GTL. He’s wearing a wife beater with an open blue stripe button down, some kind of gold necklace, and fresh white kicks. His hair has more volume than mine.

2010 MTV Movie Awards - Arrivals

We make our first date pleasantries and talk a bit about our jobs. He’s a beer salesman (NAILED IT!) and we’re at this bar because they carry his beer. I order it to be nice. It does not taste good.

I’m not attracted to him at all, but the conversation is mostly fine minus him telling me about his dedication to working out and getting ripped, and then he says,

“So what’s your deal with pot?”

“My deal?”  

“In your profile questions you answered Never to the pot question.”

“Well yeah. I don’t ever smoke, so never is pretty accurate.”

“Like, never never?”

He’s flabbergasted. SODS smokes every day. Loves it, loves how it makes him feel, would never give it up. He goes on and on about how great weed is, how inexpensive it is compared to other vices, how it’s not detrimental to your health. I think to myself that he should just sell weed instead of beer. I, on the other hand, am not a fan. (Sorry I’m not sorry, Colorado.) I love beer and tequila and that’s enough for me. I don’t really care if my friends do it, but I would definitely care if a boyfriend did, especially on a regular basis. I tell him this. In my mind the date is pretty much over here, but he orders us each another beer, so I move the conversation to our glorious home land.

“So, you’re from New England, too? What brought you down to DC?”

“Oh, no, I’m not actually from New England. I just said that to make you think we had something in common. I have family there though. I’m from Jersey, near the shore.”

To summarize, this man questions my judgement for not using illegal drugs and then reveals that he’s lied about where he is from. Of all the dates I’ve been on, that is the strangest untruth I’ve ever been told. Why would he not just say, “I see you’re from New England. I have family near Boston so I’ve spent some time there and it’s great’? Wicked weird.

We finish up our fancy (read: crappy) beer and head home. He offers to walk me to my door and I don’t want to spend more time with him but I will never get over the time I was held up at gunpoint so I accept his nice gesture. Here I find out that he rides a bicycle. For fitness reasons. It’s also a mountain bike but that doesn’t seem to matter to him. He hugs me goodnight at my door and mountain bikes off down my brick sidewalk.

The next morning he texts me saying what a great time he had and how he’d love to get together again. Seriously? There was a clear difference in our lifestyle choices and there wasn’t even any chemistry between us. I text back saying thanks but I’m really not comfortable with the smoking thing and good luck. He writes back, “It doesn’t define me but I guess you’re too close minded to see that.”

You spent 15 minutes trying to sell me on the benefits of your good friend Mary Jane. In my book, you’re the definition of a stoner. The Sort of Dishonest Stoner.

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Show Me Your Boobs

3 Jan

Contributing post from Liv:

I’m pretty much the worst online dater ever. I’m super picky, hate telling guys about my job and I’m paranoid someone will stalk me or I’ll end up in a field in western Virginia. (related: I watch a lot of ‘Criminal Minds’).

I tried Match but was only getting messages from men over the age of 40. And I did a couple stints on OKCupid never actually meeting a guy in person. I’m totally comfortable sending messages out, and don’t get upset when the guys don’t respond to me. But when I got a message from a cute guy who actually read my profile I was pretty excited. Started out with pretty standard messaging, I suggested we meet up, and he said “let’s text a bit first”. Totally fine by me. This led to a game of “20 Questions” which is pretty much the worst game ever. He got serious by question #3 asking me about what my favorite part of a relationship is, if I like making decisions and telling me he wants to have sex multiple times a day. RED FLAG.
In the words of the amazing Salt-N-Peppa: Let’s talk about sex. But let’s talk about it when we’re in a relationship or when we’re near the point of actually having it, not before we’ve met and we’re on question three of 20.

(As an aside and PSA, I love the last verse of this song about the guy forgetting the condom. Be smart. Wrap it up.)

Liv continues:
I’m overwhelmed but not really sure what to do. So I go with it. I tell exactly two people about this (my roommate/bestie and the proprietor of this fine blog). They both share the same sentiments: they’re excited about me being brave/bold (what’s up, 2012 and 2013 New Year’s resolutions) yet a little nervous this isn’t the best person to go out with right now. I decide to keep texting with him and we set up a date for the following night. After some more texting and questions (seriously it became 56 questions which is not the game anymore) he references a picture of me with glasses on and tells me I look like a sexy librarian. With only that context in mind, he then texts me this picture:
Who does he think he is? Harry Potter at Mardi Gras?
Naturally I am really not on board anymore. The next day I bailed on the date. He texted me a few times the next couple days before I had to tell him it just wasn’t going to work out right now and I was too busy for online dating. The Harry Potter movies will never be the same to me again.
Just to recap, this man tried to initiate pre-first date sexting with a Harry Potter meme.  For those of you that don’t see a problem here, this is a sure fire way to Avada Kedavra your hopes of ever seeing boobs in real life.
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The Guy I Wanted to Punch in the Face

22 Dec

I have been on many bad dates, but I have only been on one where I was so annoyed that I felt compelled to physically harm the guy.

He messaged me first and although his profile wasn’t spectacular, I really needed to get under someone to get over someone else, so I wrote him back. He seemed nice enough, he wrote in complete sentences, and after more than a week of our schedules not working out he was still interested in meeting me. As far as online dating goes, that as good of a start as any.

We lived on opposite sides of town so I suggested a neighborhood in the middle. He said he wasn’t familiar with that area and had only been to one bar there. Red flag. It’s the most central neighborhood in the city, everyone meets here for drinks or dinner or shopping or strolling or coffee. I wanted to write back, do you live under a rock, sir?

The best thing to do in this situation is to utilize this wonderful thing called The Internet (if you’re unfamiliar I think Al Gore could help) and seek out some good date spots. Instead he suggested arguably the worst bar in the neighborhood because it was the one he was familiar with, admitting that it wasn’t anything to write home about. Awesome. We arranged to meet at 7pm.

The worst feeling in the world is walking up to a first date and knowing before you say hello that you’re not interested. For a moment I wondered if I could turn around and text him that something came up last minute, but in reality I’m not that cruel and also I  was pretty sure he’d already spotted me. When I reached him I immediately noticed that he was about 50 lbs heavier than he appeared in his pictures, and the hat he wore in said pictures was to cover a pretty substantial bald spot. He was also a clear candidate for What Not to Wear, and I’m fairly certain that in 7th or 8th grade I owned the Jansport back pack he had slung over his shoulders. Weight doesn’t really bother me, in fact I like guys on the husky side, but I do not like guys that lie. I also don’t like guys that are clueless when it comes to style. Looking like he tried would have been too much ask, I would’ve settled for looking like he knew what the fuck PC load letter means.

Just picking a place to sit is an ordeal. I want to sit at the bar and he can’t make up his mind about which spot is best. After three rounds of musical chairs, the bartender hands us menus which my date promptly turns down.

“We don’t need menus. I know what I’m getting. I always order the same thing.”

Maybe YOU don’t need a menu, buddy, but I would like to see what the happy hour specials are. He orders a Yuengling draft and looks disgusted when I choose a bottle of Heineken Light.  I suggest splitting an appetizer and he looks like I’m suggesting we start a nuclear war.

“I ate before I left work, and I really don’t want to pay for food.”

It’s now 7:15 on a weeknight, also known as dinner time, and I’m so hungry I could eat my arm. I was going to split the bill with you anyways but if that’s big of a deal I’ll buy my own god damn food, and by the way thanks for pointing out that you’re too cheap to split some pita and dip for $7.50. This is going swimmingly.

We make small talk about where we’re from, college, and where we like to hang out. He’s lives on the edge of the city in a neighborhood that resembles a remote suburb. The metro doesn’t run out there and I’m pretty sure there are only one or two bus lines that service the area. The one bar closes around 10 or 11, and yes it’s scenic, but when you’re that far away you may as well live in an actual suburb that offers some ammenities. He says he lives alone because he can’t stand other people touching his things, and that he avoids the city as much as possible. I ask him why and he says because it’s hard to get to from where he lives, so I suggest maybe he move. He says no, because he has a backyard with a grill and a hammock, and I point out that I have a grill and could probably put up a hammock if I wanted to and I live right in the city. I’m already annoyed by his existence so I press further. How do you know you don’t like the city if you never spend any time in it? How can you say for sure that you hate it if in fact all you’ve experienced is this shitty bar? 

He reveals that he moved here with a girlfriend and while it didn’t work out, he likes his job so he’s going to stay. Ok fine, that’s fair. Then he tells me all about this girl and how his best friend really had a thing for her in college but she wasn’t into it, and now they’re broken up but the friend is still mad at him. I don’t really want to know about his past dating drama, or what kind of girl could consider sharing a bed with this guy, but he goes on to tell me about the first time he met her family.

Her parents were fine, but her brother was high on drugs and he pointed a gun at me. It was cool though, the gun wasn’t loaded.”


I don’t know how to respond to this except to say that I can’t ever imagine myself in a situation where I’d be comfortable with a drugged up man pointing a gun at me, so I change the subject to work. The one thing I did like about this guy is that he did cancer research, and I found that to be a noble profession, especially in a city full of self serving political dicks. I tell him so, and he tells me that he’d like to run for office in about 15 years, but that he can’t stand The Hill and doesn’t want to go near it until he’s ready to be elected.

Maybe it’s because I went to a university where everyone was convinced they’d be President of the United States and had been working towards it since adolescence, or maybe it’s because I live on Capitol Hill and thus have friends that work in politics, or maybe, just maybe, it’s because I have some common sense, but this is where I lose it.

Me: How can you possibly expect to be elected if you don’t have any political experience? 

Him: You think everyone that’s been elected comes from political backgrounds? What about businessmen?

Me: Maybe billionaire businessmen that have contributed to political parties and thus have well connected, powerful friends. (Now I’m shouting.) Also, you’re a scientist, not a businessman. 

Him: People are tired of the same person getting elected, they’ll be happy to vote for an outsider. I want to make a difference.

Me: I think you’re being incredibly naive. 

Him: I think you’re being cynical.

Me: Actually, I’m being smart. I don’t even like politics and I know this plan is stupid. 

Him: You don’t know anything about me. I DO have experience. I did student government in high school. There is a billboard with my face on it in my hometown. 

Me: That’s the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard.

In what world does student government in a one horse town equal actual politics in the real world? The fact that his man who doesn’t know how to dress himself, or plan a proper date, or make interesting small talk thinks he can run a successful campaign and be a leader is so infuriating that I just want to slug him in the mouth (both to shut him up and to make him feel that pain that my ears have suffered after listening to him). It’d be great if we had some sexual tension brewing, but all I feel is complete and utter disgust. I wave for the check then sit on my hands so I don’t give him a bloody lip.

After all that he offers to pay, but as always I insist on splitting. I walk towards the door before he can finish signing his portion of the bill. Outside it’s raining and I don’t share my umbrella with him. He walks two steps behind me toward the metro and halfway there says, “Well it was great meeting you,” and I cut him off before he can suggest another date. I say over my shoulder, “sure. Take care.”

Dating is the worst.

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Embracing His Full Virility

13 Dec

Message of the week:

Good evening.

I just came across your profile. I enjoyed your sense of humor. You seem very intelligent–a real literary reader? I like that. Intelligence is a complete turn-on :-)

I’m looking for an authentic, sensual, passionate, and mature lover. To be clear, I’m not looking for a hit-it-and-quit-it type of encounter. Emotionless sex is easy to have, and it’s boring (at least to me). I find that the best sex must be founded upon trust and mutual understanding. However, I am definitely not looking for a clingy, manipulative relationship either. I want authentic intimacy and passion without all of the games and drama. I am a real man who embraces my fully virility, and want a real woman who embodies her absolute femininity…”

Your full virility? You sound like you want to knock me up. Also I’m not too sure what you mean by absolute femininity but Shania says the best thing about being a woman is the prerogative to have a little fun, fun, fun. I guess I’ll go with that.

“In sum, I am looking for a mature, passionate, attractive woman who is not looking for a clingy-drama-full situation at this point, but would still like to experience the intimacy, connection, and sexual release on a regular basis. A genuine “friends with benefits” situation.

I am handsome (picture won’t upload for some reason!! I can send it to you, however),


intelligent (graduate degrees), articulate, and charming; and I enjoy good conversations, laughter, and physical activities (of a variety of sorts). I am 30, stand 5’10”, weigh about 165 lbs., and I have a fit-athletic muscular build. I am completely d&d free. I am very passionate (in and out of the bedroom). Women usually first notice my deep voice and warm smile.”

His picture did actually upload fine and while I would not describe him as handsome, he wasn’t hideous either. Also just as a general note I would refrain from sending any kind of messages until you can sort out your photo situation. I seriously doubt the validity of your graduate degrees if you can’t figure out simple photo uploading software.

“I am not a selfish lover. There is nothing I find more satisfying than satisfying my partner… again and again and again.”

Hold the phone. Are you Mr. Pussy??

“Intimacy and passion are what is most important. The height of sensual exploration and mutual self-expression is realized when two partners lose themselves in the embrace, the aroma, the aura of the other. . . True intimacy is not just a physical “contact sport,” it involves the whole person. Body. Mind. And Soul.

Only then, I submit, can sex truly qualify as “good.” ;-)”

I went to write him back today to make it clear that I am uninterested in losing myself in his aroma but am very interested in his success rate, but he deleted his account. Bummer. It seems like he’s just part of the growing trend of men that want to hook up but use a lot of unnecessary words to say so. This is what they make Tinder for, guys. Dating is the worst.

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