Metaphorical Man-Bagels

It’s been a while since I posted. I will give you the nutshell version of what happened with the married Ukranian fellow:

He got real creepy, sent me a picture of my mom in highschool and turned up at my roommate’s work to bother her after I told him the relationship was inappropriate. Aside from the fact that I don’t know how he knew who my mom or roommate were, or where he got their info, that just took it one step too far. I called NYPD, who said there wasn’t much they could do since he wasn’t really threatening me (being creepy wasn’t a crime). Luckily, my roommate’s boss took on a surrogate dad role and ended up calling the guy (who had rather unfortunately left his business card at my roommate’s office) and read him the riot act in a scary Brooklyn accent and told him not to bother us again. Then called the guy’s work to report him to HR and legal. 

There have been no further incidents, and, lest you assume I was kidnapped since I haven’t been particularly active with communication (since that is the conclusion my sister immediately jumped to) I am fine. It is actually because I was without a phone for a week and living in a communication black hole. 

That said, having a phone back is hardly any different. The option now exists to call me, but almost no one ever does. Or even texts. I am a lone, metaphorical tumbleweed, rolling across the desert. 

So many bagels... so little time....

This morning I was greeted by a puffy eye and about 10 Facebook status updates about people getting married, getting engaged, celebrating an anniversary, or the birth of their child. And all I can think is “I am 25 years old. Why is everyone finding the love of their lives here except for me? I can’t even go on a nice date with someone who I have any chemistry with!” MY Facebook status update that I contributed to the cyber world was somewhat of a short ballad to my bagel and all the joy and carbohydrates it has brought to my life.

Mostly, I guess that’s just really sad, but you know what? Screw you, happy people in functional relationships. My bagel DOES bring me joy. It doesn’t judge me for dancing haphazardly in my office to my Whitney Houston/ Christmas Pandora station. It is not jealous when I sometimes get drunk and lazy and gnaw down a frozen potsticker without heating it up first. (It is patient when I realize, mid- chew,  that a hot, tasty bagel would have been such a better choice). Bagels are may not contribute much to a relationship, but they seem to follow most of the requirements of that 1 Corinthians passage that everyone reads when they get married anyway.

I suppose until I find my metaphorical man-bagel, I’ll just have to keep eating real ones like a heifer until I don’t fit into any more bridesmaid dresses.

Confessions of a Married Ukranian

I don’t think I shared this when it happened, but in my epic fail trip to Boston, I met a guy on the bus on the way back. He is a Ukranian guy I’d met when he asked me about how to solve a Rubik’s cube (which I had been solving at the time). Bonding over Rubik’s cube solvage and a discussion about skydiving lead to us sharing emails and going on a bike ride a few weeks ago. 

It was awkward.

A fun ride in the park, of course, but very strange as far as unconfirmed first dates go. It was one of those ambiguous “hanging out” sessions where you just don’t know if it’s supposed to be a date, friendly, or a business connection.

Last night I didn’t really want to get together, but I’m on this new kick where I try to say “yes” to things as much as possible to be open minded (newflash to myself: if your instincts do not immediately say “yes”, do not say “yes”.) I had already said “yes” too many times. Last night was our second “hang out/ date/ wtf.”

I arrived at the Park Slope bar we had agreed to meet in. Some band he wanted to see was there. I was already crabby from being tired and also being lost in Park Slope, but I was trying to be cool. I figure at least I’ll have some wine, listen to good music, and be able to mention in person that I don’t see this continuing and just clear the air about the dating vs friend zone confusion. As soon as I got there, he tells me in broken English:

“So, I need make a confession to you. I am world’s worst liar.”

Me: “Okay. What are you talking about?”

Him: “I am 38 years old. I have marriage for 10 years. I have 8 year old daughter. I did not tell you this on purpose.”

Me: “Um. Yeah. I don’t remember any of this. Why didn’t you tell me?” (Fingers crossed that it’s just an oversight)

My second "date" was comparable to this.

Him: “Well, because from this perspective, it looks like I fall in love with you? I have bad sleep for weeks. I think of you all time. And my marriage I re-valuate. I am at that point in my life.”

Me (in head): What. The. Fuck? I am an accessory to a mid-life crisis.

Me (out loud): “Wow. Um. This is a lot to process.” 

I ended up drinking 2 more glasses of wine. Because, mainly, what ran through my mind was “I can’t wait to blog about this.” So much awkwardness. Sometimes I stay just to see what happens, and this was looking up from a content perspective. 

Him: “Would you like to listen to the band?”

We had come to hear the band. I’d assumed they were having a warm up session, but apparently the show had been going on for a while.

Me: “Sure.”

We went to the back to see the band. It sounded like 7 people throwing brass instruments down a well. Retrospectively, it was Brooklyn and they’re probably playing for free in a bar that is the size of Carrie Bradshaw’s walk in closet. A jam session is about what I should have expected.

Me: “Awesome.” (Apparently, I am actually the world’s worst liar.)

He ended up giving me a ride home since it was dark when we left. Due to a previous discussion we had had about Crème Brulee ice cream on our bike ride, he had bought me some. He had it wrapped up in some cold paper towels to keep it from melting. Just waiting in the car. 

Nothing creepy about any of this. Nothing at all.

Now today I’ll have to let him down in an email, throwing around terms like “inappropriate relationship” and hoping this doesn’t turn into something weird and stalker-y. This guy only knows the area I live in (I had him drop me on the corner) but hopefully he doesn’t wise up to which apartment. 

What immediately comes to mind was when I was in college and I used to get index cards and hair clips left in plastic bags on my car windshield in my apartment parking lot. Usually with cryptic notes like “I love you, Ponytail” on the index card. Never even figured out who left those, but let’s just say I’m very happy that I’ve never been kidnapped and forced into a trunk at knifepoint. Seems like that should have happened to me by now. 

Also, I think I am done with my “Yes Girl” thing.

Boundaries.

I’ve been incredibly lonely lately. I realized that I am closer to my roommate (a girl I have known for less than 3 months) than I have been with any boyfriends I’ve had in the last 3 years. This may be because she is not someone I am trying to impress, and I make less than no effort to “keep the mystery alive.” How anyone does it in marriage is beyond me. 

Some example conversations I have had with my roommate that exhibit the nature of the relationship include:

• Bowel movements, including the phrase “I spent the whole day in the bathroom. I was basically just shitting a pile of wet sand. It was probably the tacos.”
• Vinegar faces. “So, when he cums, he bites his tongue in his cheek and I couldn’t figure out why I recognized it for a while. But THEN I realized it’s the same face my grandma makes when she’s concentrating really hard.”
• Dietary habits. “I am too lazy to cook. I think I am going to eat these Chef Boyardee raviolis from the can. Don’t judge. Less dishes.”
• Health issues. “…you know how sometimes when you have diarrhea and there’s sometimes blood in it?”
• Relationships. “Do you ever wake up because you farted in your sleep, but then you wonder ‘Wait. Was it him?’ I just can’t wait until we can cross the ‘fart boundary.’ I have been holding it in like crazy.”

Me dashing out of the kitchen, but less blood.

This morning we crossed the threshold of “apartment nudity” when she came upstairs to find me cutting up cucumbers in the kitchen- naked. (Yes, I get ready for work completely naked until the last minute when I finally cave to being confined by conventional clothing. No, I did not know she was home.)

As soon as I saw her coming, I ran off to my room (knife still in hand, probably looking like Christian Bale on his hooker killing spree in American Psycho) and she yelled down the hall after me “Dude! I don’t CARE that you’re naked!” For having met this girl on Craigslist 3 months ago, I’d say I hit the jackpot.

Moronically upbeat mug... I want one.

I’m not saying I would want to have all (or any) of these conversations with a significant other, but it’s nice to just be able to let your guard down and do/say whatever you want around someone. I’ve never gotten there with a boyfriend. I’m always jealous of people in these happy, carefree, completely non-PC  relationships. How do people FIND people who accept them for who they are?! Even after months of dating, I always still feel the need to keep constantly shaved legs, NEVER talk about anything that occurs in the bathroom, will not take off makeup in front of him, and definitely don’t go completely caveman on my food like I do when I’m alone. Not even when I’m drunk!

  

Maybe I’m just one of those people who wasn’t meant to have a One.  

Troll Apocalypse?

I saw a woman on the street on my way in to work today who scared the hell out of me. Giant lips, long, fried, black hair... she looked like a muppet. I do not understand this “beauty” trend. It makes everyone look like cartoons!

Here are what seem to be the steps:

The modern woman?

• Fake n’ Bake until your skin has the color and consistency of a leather belt.
•  Botox inject your lips until they look like two sausages attempting to escape from your teeth.
• Fry your hair completely flat.
• Apply fake eyelashes. Thicker the better.

If you have fur or snakeskin to clothe yourself in, all the better. Or inappropriately short skirts that show off muscular, manly legs in the case of this morning’s creature.

 

Luckily this doesn’t seem to be taking off as HUGELY popular, but it certainly has become mainstream enough that I’m finding it on the streets of midtown Manhattan on a Thursday morning, instead of in a back alley of tranny prostitutes (for which this woman could have been honestly mistaken). Ma’am (Sir?) please stop looking like an oversized Bratz doll that is old enough to be my mother and try to age gracefully. Or possibly join the circus. Not cute.

I Think I'll go to Boston... And Get Yelled at by a Stripper

This weekend I had more disappointments the world of men. I need to re-evaluate what I'm doing wrong, because I think it really must be me at this point.

I went to Boston. I was going to meet up with a former long-distance romantic interest (We aren't getting back together or anything, but what's wrong with getting some?) So, he had picked Boston. I was going to pay for my own ticket up there (luckily he picked somewhere on the east coast that I can actually get myself to) but then I would ask "So are we going on Friday or Saturday?"  No response. Then I'd say something like "So let me know about this weekend. Are we staying with your friends again?" His response "I'll let you know soon!" Followed by... nothing! I requested that he let me know by Thursday, which I DO NOT think is unreasonable, since who buys flights a matter of hours before departure? You should know if you are going to Boston from California within 24 hours of take-off, I think. And he didn't let me know.

On Friday I told him "I'm going to Boston either way. I need a break from NY." He texts me "Let me know when you get to Boston." I texted him when I got there. He didn’t tell me if he was coming at all on Friday. I texted him to ask if he was going to on Saturday, and then Saturday night at 5:30 pm I get "I'm here! What are you up to?" My mental response: Um, well. I wrote you off and made other plans. The flight is 6 hours, so there is no reason for it to take an ENTIRE DAY for you to get back to me, and you could have at least texted me "I am getting on a plane" when you were at the airport, you know? This "Surprise! I'm here! Drop what you're doing and come hang out" business is crap.

So, on principle, I didn't see him. I just said "I'm not on standby for you." That's what he gets for not coordinating with me. I mean, it was supposed to be a fun get-together, not a shitload of work and power plays.

Now, unfortunately, this did me no favors either, as I did not get laid and I ended up awkwardly inviting myself over to basically a complete stranger’s house. For lodging, I tried my highschool ex-boyfriend first. We had stayed friends and he has a girlfriend, so I didn’t think it would be weird. Nor do we have any unfinished business since we dated like 8 YEARS AGO and it mostly involved making out and going to Coldstone a lot. However, his response to my request "Would it be weird if I crashed on your couch Friday night" was "Have your boy toy put you up." I guess we are not as good of friends as I had thought. I would gladly have let him stay with me in NY any time and I’ve never asked him for anything! I’m sure this is more a moral high-horse situation though where he decides to act like my dad or something and have a "I can't support your whore-like activities" moment, which are frankly none of his business.

I can't do this.

So the conclusion was that I crashed on the couch of a 33 year old divorcee that my sister met on an airplane. And thank goodness he’s a nice guy and not totally weird. He even kindly let me tag along to a birthday party for his friend that included a nice dinner at a steakhouse and a series of strip clubs.

Adding to my memorable Boston experience, I got yelled at by a stripper in strip club #1. The guy letting me crash on his couch was asking me if I was okay with being at a strip club and I was responding to him with "Yeah. It's fine- Portland has a lot of them. I'm always impressed with the acrobatics! I can't even touch my toes!" and the girl stripping climbed up on the counter in front of me and started yelling "Bitch, you can't do what I do!"

Me: "Uh... I know. I was literally just telling him that."

Stripper: "I see you talking smack!"

Me: "No! I agree with you!"

Then she went upside down on a pole, doing crazy shit that I can’t even do in my fantasies shouting “Bitch, you come up here and try it!” Ma’am, I absolutely cannot use my own leg and the pull of gravity to gradually lower myself on a metal pole to the stage floor while being pelted with dollar bills. I just can’t! I’m impressed and not about to try it!

So the weekend was… interesting. But I have some new evaluating to do. I feel that all the men I am involved with romantically (or, rather, have been) are just not as fucking cool as they obviously think they are. But it’s really on me now- why do I pick people who are so self-centered? I need to cut these people out and broaden my horizons to the nice guys of the world.