How Nice is TOO Nice?

The problem with too nice isn't that the niceness is offensive, it's more that I spend my time waiting for the other shoe to drop. Because let's face it people, no one is nice all the time. Sometimes it feels good to be a bitch or it feels good to be an asshole. It's part of our nature. The other day I cussed out a guy for banging on my bathroom door and it felt so good, I made a mental note to do it as much as possible. "Hey asshole, you just cut me in line!" I think this is why New Yorkers are so aggresive, it just feels too good. But anyway, I digress.

So while the unwizened, unjaded, unscorned women left may fall for the niceness, I am highly suspicious of it. In this way, my mother and i are cut from the same cloth, and I know this because she warned me to begin with. Loud and clear she declared: Don't trust Dominicans. She could never get into the details of why she felt so strongly about them but she said very seriously on the phone that they were sexy yes, but god damn womanizers. Now this Latin lover is no ordinary Dominican. He's practically the whitest Dominican I've ever met! He's been to DR only once, doesn't listen to Latin music, definitely can't dance, and doesn't even like baseball. Ok that last one is not true, of course he likes baseball.

Still, I felt like I was in the clear. He was easy to trust, handsome, funny, and very accommodating. For the month that we went out he picked me up in his fancy car, drove us to dinner, paid for everything. He practically pulled my chair out for me. I think I even laughed because it seemed so out of touch, so ridiculous? (A rant on how our standards have fallen to come later) It seemed to be going so well that I envisioned us..gasp.. In a relationship! We would go hiking in the sunshine and bring a picnic. We would cook lobster and have it fall on the floor, causing us to bond over the hilarious and unique nature of the moment (watch some Annie Hall people). I would meet his parents and they would inevitably fall in love with me, I would charm her with my Spanish and my terrible bachata dancing. I would make amazing cookies and his father would call me hija. Sigh....the illusions ran deep people.

Shhhshh.....wait. Did you hear that? Yup, that's the sound of the other shoe dropping.

I think it was around the time that I made the classic girl mistake of bringing up who we dated before each other over dinner. He declared loudly that before me he had dated 4 girls. Simultaneously. Then he assured me that I could see whoever I want. He didn't want to hold me back. Which we all know he is not declaring my freedom so much hes declaring it kosher to fuck whoever he wants and not feel guilty. So in the same breath where I had intended to make clear that I wanted to be exclusive, he tells me not to be. Mmm...Kay. I don't know about y'all but I don't intend to date my whole life, even with the good stories and good sex. I'm dating for the purpose of one day NOT dating again. It's not like that casual yoga I do once a month for no particular reason but to stop feeling guilty for never working out, no I'm dating to find the one. Or at least someone I can stand to be around. So when you decide that the person you are seeing is not only tolerable but downright enjoyable, i want them to stick around.

And yes, some of you might think I just need to take thing slow, see where they end up, blah blah blah.... My answer is this: the clock is ticking my friends. At 35 it becomes statistically harder for a woman to have children. So being 30, that means I should meet someone, date them for a year, move in together for another year, be engaged for yet another year, be married without kids for at least 2 years, leading me to kids at the ripe age of 35. So for those who don't want to do the math, that means I need to meet this fine fellow right about now. So if this guy wants to see other people for an extended period of time, i must take the advice of a wise woman: "ain't nobody got time for that." So I guess NICE isn't really nice at all.

Wild Bill Loserville.

While I have stories about the last two weeks, I thought Id recount my first quality date of the year, starting in the wee months of December. Folks, I don’t know how many of you are familiar with the bastion of eligibility that is OkCupid, but its basically a playground for fatties, baldies, weirdos and otherwise undateables. So clearly, this is the place for me. Where do you think Vegan Baggage came from?

It started with a late night message about cast iron skillets. Since Im skilled with pick up lines, this seemed like the sexiest one I could muster: Are your skillets as hard as mine? Naturally he responded with some curiosity about my smokin’ buns, and the sexting just sort of tumbled from there. I know what you are thinking….why am I engaging in sexting with a total stranger? Ok actually I don’t have an answer for that one so lets move on.

I certainly do not have an answer for why I am engaging a fellow named BILL. I mean seriously who, not including characters in vampire shows, still uses the name Bill? That alone should have sent me running but instead we move on to real topics and eventually I give him my number. We continue to text throughout the night, finally ending with a date on Sunday.

Sunday rolls around. We are supposed to meet around 5pm. Around 2pm I hear nothing. Because Im a busy girl with plenty social options, I text him, “our date is going…going..” He writes back that he’s sick. Um..ok. I write back, “are you really sick or just trying to get out of the date.” He responds, “really sick.” So this alone should have made me a little suspicious to the ball of crazy that is Wild Bill. BUT me being the supreme optimist, I decided to give him another chance. We agree on the following Saturday to meet at a gallery for a day date.

Now its Christmas time and that means Christmas parties with plenty of whiskey filled ciders and other holiday libations. Needless to say the Friday before the date I get drunker than a fat kid in a candy store. Why is this relevant information? Well first off, I wake up to a good old fashion California earthquake rattling in my skull. Yet despite my massive hangover, I still get up to put on make up and wear my perfect day date outfit. Now that’s commitment! I text ole’ Bill around 12pm to confirm our date in a few hours. My friend and I go to brunch, while I await a response text. Meanwhile I go to relieve my breakfast in the toilet. I am not at my best.

However, I can’t let a hangover get in the way of true love! But here it is 8pm that evening and I haven’t heard a peep. Eww. By now I have started to drink off the last of my hangover and I let him know that he must have a huge facial disfigurement, or he is the flakiest person alive. Fine. Who needs a man named Bill anyway?

I get a text on Wednesday which says something to the effect of “damn I need a drink.” So enraged I write back, “you need to stop being a dick.” Clear enough.

He writes back with some pleading and apologies, but my silence gives him my answer. I mean are you fucking serious right now?!? This guy should be licking my asshole with apologies, not discussing his drinking habits!  

In hindsight I should have stuck to my guns and used this as a clear sign of his loserdom. This would be a perfectly reasonable time to end all contact. I guess I’m just not reasonable. Perhaps it was my curiosity. Perhaps it was the curiosity of my friends. Or even the seasonal spirit of giving, but when I get an Okcupid message from him the day after Christmas, I respond. My pride responds to his messages with “fool me once, shame on you…fool me twice shame on me..” But he sends witty responses and soon we are texting back and forth again. A week goes by and yet AGAIN we make plans to meet. Except I make some snarky comment to the effect of “I hope you actually show up this time.” Well wouldn’t you know, Wild Bill starts rearing up his pony in personal offense. Can’t forgive me for this he says. Why can’t I let it go he says. Maybe we should cut our losses and forget this whole thing he says. And wouldn’t you know I find myself on the defensive. I guess I don’t like losing, and I kept telling him to chill out, it was a joke. And let’s not forget whos the original flake. Nada. I can’t believe I’ve lost this argument!

Im so annoyed by the whole affair, I recount the whole story to my friend over dinner at my place. She’s curious about this Wild Bill, so I show him a picture from his profile. The problem with this is that as a user you can see everyone who looks at your profile and allows stalking to be completely out in the open. Immediately I get a text message from Bill. Again you know he is a winner because he’s checking his visitors on a Saturday night.

He wants to meet. Like in two hours. My friend says go for it, she gets me looking smokin’, and I’m off. I can’t believe I’m finally meeting this guy after a MONTH of back and forth. I’m nervous, maybe this crazy drama is the beginning of an incredible love story? I drink half a bottle of wine and a clonapin to ease my nerves. Damn my optimism.

I get there, and things are going pretty well, I don’t know that I would describe it as love at first sight but whatever. I guess he’s pretty nervous too cause he’s putting them away like they’re on sale. Me on the other hand, Im sipping my beers because a wise woman once told me: clonapin + booze = blackouts. Pretty soon he’s drunk. Strike one. Did I mention that he’s definitely fatter than his pictures? Strike two. I take him to a romantic wine bar, he takes me to his favorite dive bar with no one in it and does shots with the bartender. Strike three. So now that he’s nice and drunk, he thinks this is a good time to tell me about his DUI, where he drunkenly drove to McDonalds, got in a fight with the drive thru staff, gets angry, leaves only to drive back and hit his car on the way to the drive thru. Wow. Strike a million.

So as alluring as an overweight, angry drunk driver is, when he asks me to go home with him, I politely decline. No amount of alcohol or anti anxiety meds can convince me that this is a good idea. And when he calls me drunk a week later during my sacred Downton Abbey hour, its still not a good idea. The lesson here is that not every build up has a reward. Sometimes you get to places like Arizona that look pretty on the brochure, only to realize it’s a shithole. And I’m sure some women find alcoholism sexy, but I’d much rather spend the night with the British Crawleys (as if sex would ever take me away from Downton Abbey) than one more second with the Wild Bill Loserville.

Too Many Dicks and None of them Stick.

Guys. I don’t get it. I’m a pretty good catch. I’m smart. I got my shit together. I don’t have any baby mama drama. I got an ass you could but your milkshake on. I give amazing blow jobs AND you damn well know I’m funny. I want to date me. So why then is it so hard to find a dick that sticks?

Take last Sunday for example. I leave a fabulous gay dance party at the still peak hour of 2 am to go meet Nepalese Squeeze. Now I’ll admit this was probably a poor decision on my part since I was A) drunk, and B) he could barely string together a coherent text message. But I was wearing booty shorts that gays loved, so I felt I at least could have been at my best. Maybe it was because of those reasons, and the fact that I haven’t gotten laid in awhile that I go over to his house.

INT. APARTMENT- EARLY MORNING

The apartment is huge in the trendy neighborhood of SOHO. As our protagonist walks in there are three bankers doing lines in the living room.

SALLY

Hey….whats up (memory gap)…do all bankers do coke?

NEPALESE

Yeah probably. And bankers wanna party. Let’s go!

All three leave the apartment to continue to party. The end of the evening culminates in a 4 am gyro and the protagonist passing out half naked with contacts fused to her eyeballs.

INT. NEPAL’S BEDROOM- LATE MORNING

Sally and Nepal lay in bed till 3 pm watching movies from his king sized bed. They cuddle for most of the morning and then fool around. Sally discovers what an East Asian penis looks like. Sally is not impressed. However, she enjoys the level of intimacy and feels that he is equally enjoying himself. When its finally time to go, she stops at the door for a kiss. He gives a quick peck like he couldn’t be happier to see her go.

The next day she sends him a text message. FADE IN- Empty phone screen.

FADE TO BLACK

ROLL CREDITS

Wait…what? That’s not how I thought the movie would end! I thought this was a damn Rom-Com!! Where the girl always gets the guy! Where’s the fucking happy ending where the couple falls in love, a fabulous wedding, and a house in the Hamptons?!?

Unfortunately this isn’t a movie, but instead the shit show that is my life. And I don’t get it? What am I doing wrong here? Was he turned off at some point? Did I walk into bad lighting? Has it been too long since my last wax? Did he smell that fart I tried to keep firmly under the blankets? And why is it I have to reach into my bag of insecurities every time I get rejected? Why is this MY fault when I’m clearly the better party? Shouldn’t it be his fault that he’s the arrogant prick with a small prick? Why then am I the one getting the cold shoulder??

And yet maybe it is my fault. Maybe, like the guy wearing his penis on his sleeve, I wear my neediness on my sleeve. Perhaps I wear the eau de toilet of desperation. Of loneliness. Why does my feeling of security rest on some badly spelled words on a phone’s screen?

But then again…I think I just got a text message…  

On Dating Vegan:

First off, let’s agree that being in a relationship consists of 80% eating. The weekend brunch, the Friday night fancy dinner, late night snacks… they say every happy couple gains 15 pounds.  I know I did, in fact I went on a diet the day after my last relationship ended. Nothing says sexy comfort like a soft pudgy mid section. But lets face it people, food is the center of boring relationship time. So what does one do when the choices of restaurants are severely limited by your partner? Do I convert to eating a less delicious version of what I enjoy most? Do I embrace the tempeh bacon, the soy cheese, the tofu scramble? To all my bacon loving friends out there I have two words: Hell. No.

So that alone set the tone for my next dating adventure. Vegan=more boring. Yes I dated a vegan in high school, but I was 14 and experimenting with sexuality, drugs, and yes even vegan dating. I never considered it a real possibility in my adult life. So here I am, with a vegan, drinking hot chocolate (he’s drinking dark chocolate of course) in the middle of a blizzard. Now I understand from Paula Abdul that opposites attract, but I am not so sure this is true in every circumstance. For example:

1. I am a chatty Kathy. He is not. What this means is I continue blathering on incessantly while he continues nodding. This makes me so uncomfortable that I just nervously talk more revealing unnecessary details about myself. “Yeah I was thinking about a colonic. Except for you know, the discomfort of it all…Maybe a cleanse is the more reasonable option…”
2. He is a major nerd. Like he reads comics religiously, plays video games on all 4 of his systems, and spent a year and a half of his life playing World of Warcraft as a source of income. Yes, I said income. Meaning he sold his “gold” for real money. Am I the only person that finds this strange and ironic? While I have been accused of being a dork, an eccentric, a hipster, or in fact a total weirdo, but a nerd? I think not.
3. He is chubby. Possibly fat. I thought vegans ate fucking vegetables?? Salads, broccoli, celery?? This is my diet menu!! Why then is he holding on to his pounds like he’s carrying baggage? Oh, did I mention his baggage?
4. There are 3 suitcases that can be declared as baggage. Suitcase number one has his drug charge. Now I’m from California so when it comes to weed I don’t judge as harshly. He was living in Missouri (which I now understand to be hickville) when he got caught with a pound of weed. Why did he have a pound of weed you ask? Obviously he was dealing to his World of Warcraft friends. How else can you justify not moving for 8 hours a day and being fixated on a fictitious world?
5. So. What’s in suitcase 2 and 3 you may ask? How bout kid 1 and kid 2. Yeah. As baggage goes, that’s pretty heavy. Kid 1 comes from the first time he ever had sex and she got pregnant. That movie Juno, turns out to be based on his real life. Except that Michael Cera’s character should have been played by Jonah Hill. And you must tell yourself well lesson learned…shit happens..condoms suck…blah blah blah… Well how bout making that mistake TWICE! As in two different baby mamas! He thought she was on the pill…pull out method usually works…blah blah the usual. EXCEPT THAT’S NOT USUAL!

Is it? Have I gotten to the age where everyone has baggage? Kids and a pot belly? Is that what my quarter life crisis has come to? I have only the anti social nerds to choose from! Sex in the City did not describe the chronicles of the quiet nerd! Is not outrage the appropriate response? He was sweet and nice, but is it horrible that I need to a guy to be a fit, well paid asshole! Treat me like shit, and then I love you! As long as you pay for stuff and have the ability to lift me off the bed, then Im picturing my trophy wife life! So Im sorry to say, vegan take out is NOT on the current menu. 

The Old Switcheroo.

Many have attempted the old switcheroo, but many have failed. Im still waiting to find out the results, so hang on to your pannies folks. But in the meantime, let me give you the backstory:

It all begins with a superbowl party. We will call the individuals involved Squish Face and Nepalese Squeeze. I'll admit I went to the party (which was a party of a friend of a friend's fuck buddy) with the intention of meeting someone new (every opportunity ladies) when in walks squish face. He rolls up with all his squish face swag and delivers the classic line, "I like your glasses (wanna fuck)." The latter part was only implied of course. So my horny desperate self is like ok ok, squishy isn't that bad looking...I'll rock with this. We chit chat, flirt, the whole bit....BUT in between conversations I start sweet talking Nepalese. First of all, he's Nepalese....I mean raise your hand if you've met someone from there. And all my girls holla how many foreign dudes Ive picked up in my day. So exotic=me likey. Also from San Diego. Nice. Also studied in Madrid...ok ok...asks me about art...ooooohhh shieeet. And for the kill: HE'S RICH BITCH! Rich as in being an investment banker, which is dime a dozen around here, but guys Im a broke ass art teacher so I'll take it. So I give him my digits..oh so sly...but I turn around and there's squishy. Did I mention that they are best friends?

Don't get me wrong, squishy is totally doable. Yes his features are unnaturally close together, but meeting a man in New York is like trying to find an apartment. You always have to give up something. And anyway this man spit game like he was throwing dice! He walks me to the train, we make out a little, I coulda sucked on those lips all night! And apparently so could he, cause the next night he asks me out. We get drinks at his local watering hole, only to invite me back to his place for make outs. So this is fine, in general I make out like I'm in middle school. Except here's the problem: how do we say this.....He took it out. He took IT. OUT. And more than that he somewhat insisted that I suck it. Now I consider myself a very giving person, but I resume my pretend middle school level of experience and ignore it. Then I find an appropriate excuse to leave.

Don't misunderstand. I'm not even as perturbed as I ought to be. It's just that his desperateness stank up the place....or maybe it was his complete eagerness to use his penis to find the glory hole that is my vagina. I mean damn. Let a girl learn your last name first. And here this guy is making me feel bad that I don't want to put out on the first date!

So the switcheroo had to be done. I liked the other friend too, and this one was..how do you say...wearing his penis on his sleeve. Strategy had to be imployed. How long do you wait....a few days...a week..a month? How about a week? This coincides with Valentines day. I send the vaguely friend zone text...
(paraphrased)
Me: Im going to a few galleries this Saturday if you want to come
Him: Im busy this Saturday. But do you wanna meet for drinks tonight?
Me: You serious? Its Valentines Day?!
Him: I don't believe in the sanctity of Valentines day.
Me: Ok then, saints be damned. BAR TRIVIA!

So we meet. I look hot. He looks less attractive than I remembered. He is really good at trivia and as a person who watches Jeopardy religiously, this is hot. He mentions how much money he makes like 3 times. I'm shallow, so while annoying I tolerate it. He also talks like he's deaf. Like completely unaware of his octave level. And this is coming from a LOUD person. I kept wanting to shush him the whole night. He pays for everything. We go to an obnoxiously romantic bar (per my suggestion) where literally everyone is making out. Like the people at the bar, the people in the corner, the people in the middle of the room have their legs wrapped around each other....everyone. So clearly we make out, after all I'm 12. He drops me off in a cab. But acts for the most part like a gentleman--he keeps grabbing my butt, you'd swear this thing had handle bars. But I being the good girl I am pretending to be, I leave him alone in the cab to think about me while he jerks one off.

So here's the question guys: Have I pulled off the switcheroo? Is this an acceptable course of action? Am I pulling a Yoko for breaking up their bro love? Will I get both or will I get none? And most importantly: Am I really a make out whore?

These questions and more will be revealed with more inappropriate details than necessary on the next:
THINGS THAT GO BUMP IN THE NIGHT!

Valentine's Day is for Suckers.

So its Valentine's Day, the DAY of all romance days, the day of all card carrying, stuffed animal toting, flowering smelling, fake and insincere displays of love to end all days. Yet the smug people in couples like to feel sorry for the poor schmoes like me that have no one to waste money on. As such, I've created the following list:

Reasons Why I am Happy to be Single on Valentine's Day:
1. I do not have to fight for a reservation at a mediocre restaurant for a $100 mediocre meal.
2. I do not have to subject myself needless hair removal in which I endure scalding hot wax to look like a small child. I am not scouring my nipples for that random hair, or plucking that ugly mole hair out. In fact, I haven't shaved my legs in a week.
3. I don't have to receive some shitty standard "girls gift" like a drug store perfume, or a crappy stuffed animal. I mean seriously, what does a grown up even do with a stuffed animal? I don't want to have to throw it away when the guy isn't looking.
4. Let's face it married people. Once married getting laid can feel like a chore. Like "oh damn I guess its Valentine's Day so we better do it." or "Damn guess I better give a BJ." As a wise friend once told me, sometimes you just don't want a dick in your mouth. Me? I get to finish this bottle of wine and pass out to The Office. Or if Im feeling frisky I can pull out the rabbit. He always loves me and always does what I want him to do. And I never feel guilty about it.
5. Ok I'll say it. All I really want to do is eat candy. And I don't want that old shitty candy in the heart shaped box. Give me snickers. Give me skittles. Give me Godivas. But don't make me endure another box of drug store candy, where I need to bite into every piece only to spit out every chalky nougat bite. Or if it was good candy, I don't want to share. Its my candy damn it. MINE.

Honestly, my best Valentine's Day starred a booty call and multiple orgasms. No spend the night. No cuddles. Just a marathon of loving and a good day to you sir. And I didn't have to buy him a damn thing. Was your couple Valentine's day this rad?