Tag Archives: love

48 Hours: OKCupid

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I have begun to realize that if I’m left alone long enough with a bottle of Rite Aid’s finest $3 cabernet, I get an overwhelming urge to join OKCupid. I don’t think that’s a sign of any kind of alcohol problem, but when I finally joined, it definitely felt like I was subletting a finished basement in rock bottom.

OkCupid-LogoI had thought about joining since I moved to LA, but then a few weeks ago on a whim, (wine/whim. Synonyms, really) I actually did it. While I sat on the couch with my roommate, I devised an OKCupid profile:

Profile Question: “What are you most likely to be doing on Friday night?”
My Answer: “Drinking wine while I watch a Golden Girls marathon by myself.”

Profile Question: “You should contact me if….”
My Answer: “….you enjoy feminist rants because it’s kind of my thing.”

That last one is actually just a direct quote from New Girl. You might think I wasn’t taking the questions seriously, but if you know anything about me, you know that if I said literally anything else it would have been a lie.

After finishing my profile, I sat back as the predatory messages from uninhibited men hiding behind computers started rolling in!

The messages ran the gamut from either ignorant, creepy, or very creepy, but nearly every message I got included some sort of comment about the two questions above. Like:

“You’re a feminist? So, you want to castrate me?”

Yes. But just you, specifically.

“I don’t mind feminism as long as it’s not about bringing down men and isn’t in poor taste.”

Awwww. From the mouths’ of bros.

Of the 60 or so messages I got in the 48 hours before I deleted my profile, only two were from people I would consider dating. When I replied to one of those guys, I asked him his experience on OKC. He said the thing that bothered him the most was how many women wore some sort of fake mustache in their pictures. I was all, “uggh, totes, I feel you. My least favorite thing about guys on OKC is kinda like that, except instead of fake mustaches it’s the sexually suggestive comments about your looks that make you feel like an object to be used instead of an actual person, LOL!!”

I started to consider deleting my profile about 12 hours into creating it, but figured I’d keep an open mind and see if anyone good popped up. By hour 48, there was still no person of interest, BUT there was one guy who messaged me that would definitely be a person of interest to the police if I was murdered!

His message was simple and to the point.

“How many shoes do you own and do you like to cuddle?”

And with that, I deleted my profile.

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I would not recommend OKCupid to single women unless you’re interested in the caliber of men that can’t afford Match.com.

If that is your thing, my advice would be to create a profile then discuss with your roommate or next of kin what photo you would like shown on the evening news after your inevitable disappearance. Tell them that anything from your Facebook profile picture album is pre-approved. If you’re just missing have them choose a photo that looks like you, yet still flattering. Something that really makes people want to find you. Now, if they’ve already discovered your charred remains and can only identify you by your dental records– go nuts!! Use the picture from the week after that lucky bout of food poisoning. Remember? Your hair was blonde and you still went tanning. It looks nothing like you now, but let that be the way the world remembers you. You deserve it.

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Dating in LA: Scooter

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Scooter really is his name. Maybe I should have made up an alias for him, but honestly, the name is like, 80% of the story.

So, the two of us were texting before our blind date, and naturally I dropped that I had a blog because, truth be told, this thing is a real dick magnet. Sorry, for the crude phrasing, but there is no better way to put it. This blog is the Greased Lightening of digital media.

Scooter asked if I was going to blog about him.

Although I was entering into this date with an open mind, I knew somewhere deep down the odds were that I would end up blogging about a blind date with a guy named Scooter.

And here we are.

I have no choice. You know who did have a choice? Scooter’s parents. They did not have to name their kid Scooter, practically forcing me to blog about him.

But like I told Scooter, I only blog about people if you give me something to blog about. Bless his heart, he thought I meant if we had a great date, but I set him straight and let him know that this was all in his hands. I only blog about a guy when he gives me 400+ words worth of material (See: 700 words on The Bicycle Thief). Unfortunately for Scooter, I’m already passed 200 words and I haven’t even made it to the restaurant yet.

Scoots and I met at a restaurant in West Hollywood, where the waitresses’ uniforms looked like they were in a production of Newsies at Saint Agatha’s School for Wayward Girls. It was both adorable and uncomfortable.

To get the conversation rolling, I told Scootie-Toots that he looked like Peter from Homeland. 

MV5BMjEyNzk5MjIwNV5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwMDA5MzM3OA@@._V1._SX600_SY800_With a cold, dead stare he said, “no, I don’t.” (SOMETHING PETER FROM HOMELAND WOULD SAY).

It was as if I just told him he looked like Mandy Patinkin.

“But it’s a compliment,” I told him. Maybe he thought I meant Mandy Patinkin? “He’s the young guy who works with Carrie on season 2.”

“No, I know who you’re talking about, I just don’t look like him. We’re just both the same age with dark hair. That would be like if I told you that you look like Emma Stone just because you’re both pale red heads.”

K, SCOOTER!

At this point, I’m a little miffed. Obviously, I look like Lindsay Lohan circa Herbie Fully Loaded.

“Right, but I don’t look like Emma Stone and you do look like the guy from Homeland.”

From there the conversation only went down hill. We moved on from him vaguely insulting my skin tone to him flat out pooping on the city where I basically grew up.

“So, where did you go to school?” Scoots-boots inquired.

“Emerson College in Boston.”

“Oh, I spent about 6 months there for a TV show I was producing… Terrible city.”

“You know that those Boston Marathon bombing occurred in Boston, right? Like, two days ago.”

“Ya, it doesn’t make it any less of hell hole.”

It should be noted that Scooter was saying all of this in a pin striped blazer. He was saying this in a pin striped blazer, and this whole time his name was SCOOTER.

Finally, the bill comes, and I made a VERY half-hearted courtesy reach for the check. He looks at it and says to me, “guess what our waitresses name is.”

“Melissa.”

“Worse, Victoria.”

SCOOTER SCOOTER SCOOTER SCOOTER SCOOTER SCOOTER SCOOTER SCOOTER SCOOTER SCOOOOOOOOTERRRRRRR!!!!!

Victoria, if you are reading this, you were perfectly lovely, and those suspenders looked darling on you.

Scooter, if you are reading this, you can’t have that poor of an attitude AND be named Scooter.

Razor Scooter and I have not spoken since.

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Happy Mother’s Day!!!

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Now that my mom and I live in different time zones, I constantly have to worry about her spoiling my favorite shows.

These are some texts from last night. I think she’s beginning to understand the sentiment #SorryImNotSorry…. she’s so hip.

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Happy Mother’s Day, Mama!

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My Tinder Criteria

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My friend, Gabi, has recently gotten me obsessed with the dating app, Tinder. The way it works is you sign in with Facebook, it shows a couple of your profile pics, and people can either “nope” you or “like” you. If you’re noped, it goes to the next person, if you’re liked and you like them back, it’s a match, and you can chat. Basically, you just judge people on whether you think they’re hot enough to potentially date. There’s also the option to see if you have mutual friends or Facebook interests and to write a small profile, but really it’s just about looks because the novelty of us both liking Happy Endings wears off pretty fast. 

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I don’t plan on messaging or meeting anyone because as it is, I think Match.com is a death trap. A free app where you don’t even post your full name and people only pick you based on your looks just sounds like a place where really kinky serial killers go to find red heads with blue eyes so they can torture them (me) for a week then put your (my) severed fingers in a deep fryer. Regardless, nexting people turns out to be a strangely therapeutic way to pass the time.

I’ve already developed a quick system on how I nope people:

We’ll start off really easy/sane with age: 23 and below get an automatic NOPE.

Guys wearing fedoras. I like to keep to that standard both online and in life.

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Guys in front of a step-and-repeat (I’m only being shown LA guys).

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Professional headshots (I’m only being shown LA guys).

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Guys in tank tops.

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Guys wearing tank tops in their professional headshots.

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Anything featuring an instrument. 

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This guy just looks like a handful.

Guys taking their own picture in the mirror. 

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Pictures with kids in them (are they yours?!).

Except this guy. They look so adorable, and she’s probably his niece.

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Nope, definitely this guy. He’s a monster and that little girl is a decoy.

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And whatever is happening in this picture. 

pickle Predator!!! Predator!!!

Happy Valentine’s Day

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“I was going to give you this when I got home from work, but I decided you might have already hanged yourself by then.” -Dad
Happy Valentine's Day

(An Alex and Ani bracelet my dad gave me today. Yes, that’s an adult, human wrist and not the bare bone of a 3 year old!)

Don’t you worry, kittens, I’m not actually bitter over Valentine’s Day. My dad is my Valentine every year, so I have no reason to complain. I’m even wearing red today and started thinking about my future wedding. I decided that my future fiance and I will include in our vows that if things get too difficult, we promise to get a divorce instead of poisoning the other slowly with their morning coffee and 20 drops of Visine. Based on what I’ve seen in episodes of 48 Hours: Mystery, this might be a conversation more couples should be having. Like, look, if you have someone on the side, please just divorce me, I won’t be that mad, and you don’t have to pay me alimony. Just don’t suggest we go on a cruise to save our marriage, then drug me with a handful of Lunesta and throw me off the back of the ship. And I will promise you the same. Forever and ever, Amen.

But, if you’re just looking to kill me for the insurance money, I guess I don’t have much of a say in that.

Happy Valentine’s Daaaay!

P.S. Here are some posts from last years V-Day:

Valentines for Single People

5 Ways to Spend Valentine’s Day

And an essay my friend wrote for Hello Giggles about her experience on Millionaire Matchmaker.

 

Advice to Men on How to Not Get Murdered

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The only thing that comes close to my love for SVU is my love for true crime stories. I wish everyone would watch them because you learn so much about how to not get murdered. Like, I know not to go to unpopulated places at night, and at any given moment, I can name you three different objects in the room that I could use as a weapon. Sure, you live in an almost constant state of fear, or as I like to call it, “alertness,” but you are not dead and free to watch more 20/20 Investigates. Add some wine, and that, my friends, is called living.

My newest Nancy Grace level obsession is the Jodi Arias death penalty trial. To give you a quick run-down, Jodi was dating this guy, Travis Alexander, for about a year on-and-off. After they had broken up, they continued to have sex, until the day Jodi killed Travis. She traveled to his house in Arizona from her house in California, where they did the do, took naked pictures of each other, and then at some point Jodi stabbed him 27 times, slit his throat, and shot him in the face twice.

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First, she said that ninjas broke in and attacked them, but she escaped. Now, she’s saying that he was an abusive pedophile and she killed him in self-defense, but I’m pretty sure she’s a pathological liar and he never hit her. My theory is that he quickly became aware that he wasn’t interested in committing to her, but he kept her as a back-up when he wanted sex and companionship. He gave her mixed messages about his feelings, so she thought that she just had to be patient and work to win him back (which never happens). One day, she finally realized it’s never happening and that he had been using her all along, so she killed him.

Up until the murder part, this sort of thing happens all the time.

Her defense is trying to say that no one would go back to a partner that didn’t care about them unless they had some sort of battered woman’s syndrome from physical abuse. Some “expert lawyer” panelists on HLN are even saying that this makes sense! Do these idiots even watch Girls?! You don’t have to abuse anyone to make them keep coming back to you like a desperate lunatic, all you have to do is not text them for a week. And that is no justification for murder! If they let this lady off, it just sets a precedent that you can kill someone in self-defense for attacking your heart.

Now, what can you learn from this, boys? First, if someone is really into you and it’s not mutual, you should move along and let them be because they might kill you. If that’s not an option, at least pick your emotional murder victim carefully. If someone exhibits the warning signs of craziness, don’t mess with them. Getting murdered and having your phone sex sessions played in open court can’t possibly be worth the gas-station-bathroom-crazy-person-sex she is offering.

I mean, look at how dead she is behind the eyes. That is a lady you don’t screw with!

ImageProcessor She should be put away for those bangs alone! Heeeeey!

5 “Nice Guy” Myths

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Addendum: When I say “Nice Guy,” I don’t mean actually nice, kind men. I’m talking about jerks in sheep’s clothing. The Nice Guy I’m referring to is the kind of guy who, somewhere along the way, was taught that if he was polite to a woman or listened to her while she talked pilates class drama that she owed him something. An example would be when  you’re on a date with a guy, and he’s very polite and gentlemanly and insists on paying the bill. Then, when you don’t go home with him he gets angry or annoyed or calls you a tease. “But I’m being NICE and you stupid girls always talk about how you all want a NICE guy.” Which then usually prompts these guys to think, “well, girls only date assholes and if you’re too nice to them then they just want to be your friend,” never stopping to think that being polite (particularly, when you’re doing it for disingenuous reasons) isn’t the same as being a good person. 

Before we get to the hard hitting facts portion of this blog, I’d like to show you the source material for today’s post: The Nice Guys of OKCupid. A slightly controversial tumblr about men on the dating site who call themselves “nice guys,” yet also feel like ladies should be “obligated” to shave their legs, while they let their jazz dots and chest hair roam free. Here’s a nice little write-up on the site.

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Example

This new tumblr has inspired me to dispel some myths so we can educate these “Nice Guys” (who are actually just jerks that think opening your car door is the fastest way to open the door to your heart. Just kidding. Your vagina).

MYTH: Nice Guys finish last.

FACT: Tom Hanks seems very agreeable, and one might say that he has done well or finished first in both career and romance (Rita Wilson, you are aging like wine). This saying just makes no sense at all. Perhaps it is a very effective way to convince yourself that nothing is wrong with you, only with the women who choose not to date you. The saying “nice guys finish last” seems like the cousin to the phrase “I’m too dedicated” in response to the question at a job interview, “what’s your worst quality?” You do have a worst quality and it is not that you open doors and don’t back hand me for getting sassy with you.

MYTH: “I’m so nice that I keep getting put in the ‘friendzone.’” 

just-friends

FACT: There is no such thing as a friendzone. The friend in question just doesn’t find you attractive. Remember in “Just Friends” when the women didn’t want to date fat Ryan Reynolds even though she liked his personality? At that point he was no where near attractive enough for her. She was so hot that she was making like a Rockford Peach. Girl was in a League. Of. Her. Own. Then when Ryan gets hot, suddenly, “ruining their friendship” isn’t such a big deal anymore. Do you really think that we would choose not to date a good guy that we found attractive and we knew liked us because of some weird friending policy that we instated at our last “Ladies Trying to Ruin the Lives of Men” meeting that all women of child bearing years are obligated to attend?

MYTH: Women only date assholes.

FACT: Well, Rihanna dates an asshole. Your point checks out so far…

BUT, this one time in college I dumped a guy because he was an asshole. Sorry! Foiled again, Nice Guy!

MYTH: If I’m NICE to a women then she is obligated to date me or give me her panties to show my friends in the bathroom at prom (I’M not saying “panties;” I’m using Nice Guy vernacular). 

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FACT: Just because you displayed some basic human civility doesn’t mean anyone has to throw you a boobie parade.

MYTH: This isn’t true! You’re an uptight, feminazi bitch, Dara!

FACT: Heeeyyyy! Calling someone a bitch isn’t very Nice Guy of you! And I am not uptight, you should see me after I’ve had a mojito.

5 Reasons Why Taylor Swift Can’t Find Love

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May I take a stab at this one? I have a few ideas:

1. Taylor is sooooo tall. That eliminates an enormous amount of the male celebrity population right there. That only leaves her with guys who are okay with her being taller and guys who are actually taller…So Tom Cruise and Jason Segel. And since Jason is taken by Michelle Williams (but ultimately by me. Just get me to Hollywood and you’ll see!) that leaves her with Tom. I dunno… I think she’d make an okay scientologist. Think about it, Taylor. Jenna Elfman and the guy who played Hyde on That 70′s Show could be the god parents to your future alien children. 

2. She keeps dating these young guys. A high schooler like Conor Kennedy is probably pretty immature and not anywhere near ready to settle into a long term relationship, but this speaks to a much bigger problem for Taylor: that she is a total weirdo. What I’m about to say is sexist, and a very unpopular opinion amongst the men that I tell this to, but I know I’m right: Girls (ages 15 to 28ish) who date a guy more than 2 or 3 years younger than them are weirdos. If you think I’m wrong, then you are either a weirdo girl who dates young guys or you’re a guy who thinks he’s a stud because he dated an older lady once. You don’t have to believe me, but trust, a 28 year old woman is only dating a 23 year old guy who works at Applebees because she can’t find a 28 year old man with a stable job who is willing to date her. She’s probably going to tell you she’s on the pill, and then when she gets pregnant she’ll say that she must be one of those .01% that birth control doesn’t work for. JUS’ SAYIN’. To circle this back to Taylor, I think guys her own age and older are catching on that she’s a total weirdo.

3. She’s scaring guys off with her love songs. Taylor, I know how it is. Being the Taylor Swift of blogging (right? riiiiiiight?) I understand that it’s irresistible to write about guys, but if finding love is very important to you right now, maybe consider writing a Christmas album and let that ride for a while.

4. She falls in love with everyone. This is what 8th graders do! She needs to start writing songs about how she sort of dated a guy for a couple months but then they just kind of phased each other out, but sometimes when she’s in town they make out a little bit. They can’t all be the love of your life, Taylor! Hide your cards a little bit next time. I have a bad feeling that the “love” was all on your end in these past relationships. I’m pretty sure John Mayer is a sociopath and unable to feel love, so I think that proves my point. UGH, and get rid of that house you just bought next to Conor’s. SO WEIRD, TAYLOR.

5. SHE IS TWENTY-TWO! Good lord, US Weekly, give her a break- she has so much left to do. She hasn’t even taken a year off from working and bought her way into Harvard yet.

Oops: When People Find Out I Blogged About Them

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So you can just color me uncomfortable because as luck would have it, when you put a blog on the internet anyone can read it- including, and especially the people you might have written about. Particularly, if you always post about your blog on Facebook, and then your friends post about your blog on Facebook, which is really just solid marketing, until it turns out that your subject in question is just one Facebook friend removed from you.

See: The Compulsive Bike Stealer.

Last night I got a new comment on that post…..
I mean, he called me “pretty lady” so he doesn’t seem that mad about it…

Meanwhile, on Facebook:

That comment was from our subject.

Oops.

But really, at this point both his cousin and the Bike Stealer himself outed his identity for anyone on Facebook, so it’s hard to feel guilty about a little story told ’round the internet through Gallery Girls stills and Wayne’s World clips.

Now I just sit and wait for the day when this all catches up to me and I never get a date again because guys are afraid I will blog about them. But I won’t blog about you if you don’t do anything weird. I think we can all agree that’s fair? I mean c’mon you guys!!! He stole bikes!! What was I supposed to DO?!

Plus, for all the guys I have written about, there’s a handful more that are even weirder that you’ll never even read about.

Here.

I’m just giving it a few years until they all forget who I am and then I’ll probably write a book or something.