BIG COjones: Stupid Cupid: Part Deux

The Christmas season is my favorite time of year, and while I adore spending time with my family and friends, I do not relish the barrage of questions from the extended family regarding my current relationship status.

"...but you're such a beautiful young lady there must be a guy in your life!" followed by the uncomfortable glance at my mother who must disappointingly corroborate my story.

In the past this has never really bothered me. I have always explained away the issue by telling Cousin Charlene I couldn't choose between the eight boyfriends I'm stringing along or explaining to Aunt Ethel why I don't have time for one anyway. However this year a different kind of exchange took place. At a sorority reunion the day after Christmas (see, bitches, you thought you were safe) when giving a formal 'life update' I playfully told my long lost friends I was, of course, single, but planning to start exploring my sexuality. Now, while I am so proud to say that there was immediately an overwhelming acceptance of this news I was, in fact, joking. I realized it was once again time to share some of reasons I am still without a boyfriend and to squash the sneaking suspicions of those who think I'd be better off with a lady.

So in the spirit of being a good sport, I give you the much anticipated return of the nightmare that is my dating life. Fortunately for me, none of these examples are nearly as nauseating as last years' batch, but I hope they entertain you nonetheless.

He sent me this message in October...

Freddy Spaghetti

New York City does not have a reputation for being the friendliest place on earth, so when a (clean) stranger strikes up a conversation with me on the subway I am always pleasantly surprised. He and I had gotten on at the same stop and he had slyly made his way to my end of the subway car. He was tall, unconventionally handsome, and wearing a fitted suit so naturally I had already noticed him.

"You look like you're doing something exciting tonight," he leaned over and said in a deep voice with a thick Brazilian accent. I swooned... and realized I should wash my hair and wear makeup more often. He was a Columbia MBA student, a semi-professional rugby player, and couldn't take his eyes off me. We spoke for a while, he even stayed on my train when he should have taken the express, and it seemed like the makings of true love. Before my stop he asked me for my number and if I would like to get lunch later that week, an offer I aptly accepted.

Several days passed before he finally asked me if I like Italian food and would be willing to meet him on campus after his class the next afternoon. We met up and exchanged pleasantries. As we started making our way to lunch I realized we were headed toward another school building, and trying not to be rude I asked him where he was taking me.

"You said you like Italian right? The dining hall has a pasta special on Fridays so I thought we could go there. I have a meal plan."

Now, I am not terribly picky when it comes to food, but anyone who has been to college can relate to the image of an over-sized, multi-line dining facility when it's filled with hundreds of undergrads in their pajamas as a not-so-ideal first date venue. As we walked in I told him I had never been there before and asked what was good, but before he could answer he darted off to some unidentified line and left me standing awkwardly by the fountain drinks with the 18 year old who was mixing together four flavors of soda. By the time I had my food he was nowhere to be found and I had to wander through the hall until he finally stood up and waved to me from the far corner. Trying to salvage our time together I began asking him about his friends and his hobbies, but the conversation quickly devolved into him asking if I had hot friends I could bring to his next rugby game, then inviting me to his school's happy hour before promptly revoking the invitation for some reason I couldn't hear through his full mouth, and telling me his uncle is an architect and he thinks it's a useless profession. When we had finished our meals he seemed to sense my aggravation and asked me to sit tight while he fixed a to-go plate before he would walked me back. Luckily we left with a mutual distaste for one another and I never heard from or saw him again.

The Captain

As a full time architecture student it is easy to guess that I don't have a ton of free time to spend seeking the perfect mate. So when another student comes across my tinder I give them more than a glance before deciding which way to swipe. I, like most people, treat tinder as a game more than a place to find a boyfriend, but when law students from my hometown message me I am slightly more inclined to pay attention, especially when the message is coming in the middle of the day and not in the form of a booty call. Even though he wasn't an "ideal" candidate, The Captain and I spent an entire day messaging back and forth sharing school war stories and the great things about Pittsburgh. By the end of the day my fingers and patience were worn, so I extended the invitation for coffee. He responded with a counteroffer to come to his school's happy hour the day after next. I was a little hesitant and asked if I could bring a friend if he was serious, which he told me would be alright. We signed off saying we would both be busy the next day so we would talk the day of the happy hour.

When Thursday morning rolled around I texted him with a simple message asking if drinks were still on. Minutes passed, hours passed, I got the hint and told my friend that there would be no happy hour that evening and went on with my day. Then around 5pm I received this unpleasant confirmation:

"Sorry, sweetheart. This ship has sailed."

First, let me make a quick public service announcement to all my male readers out there, DO NOT call a girl sweetheart.

At no point did I ever press after that initial message so, second: if you are a pasty, overweight, and generally boring, do not assume that a girl wants your dick so badly that you need to send such rude followup messages to get your point across.

Stage 5

For those of you unfamiliar with the practice of online dating, there is a certain amount of back-and-forth that typically takes place once you begin talking to someone. These exchanges are sometimes dragged out over days, sometimes weeks, and you end up becoming pen pals with someone rather than their 6o'clock. I started talking to Stage 5 on a day I happened to have very little work, and we got along splendidly. He didn't quite meet some of my physical standards, but was very funny, and his quick-witted banter was enough to get me to ask him to drinks that night.

As usual, I was running a little late, so he was already at the bar when I arrived. We hugged, I explained my tardiness, and was about to climb up onto the empty stool next to him when he choked back his drink and told me to wait. Assuming he must have asked for a table, I stood quietly while he squared his tab at the bar. I was observing the room when all of a sudden he grabbed my hand and told me to follow him and say nothing to no one. "Rape. He's gonna rape me," I panicked to myself as we sailed past the booths of dining middle-aged couples. Walking unquestioningly into the kitchen, he led me past the cooks and the freezers, through a storage room, and out into what must have been the enclosed courtyard of the building. It was three stories high, decorated with a bunch of antique found objects and filled with some of the most beautiful people I have ever seen. The table of tall foreign models smiled at us while the fedora-fitted bartender poured us some cocktails. To say the least, the place was really freaking cool.

And so was Stage 5. He was a photo editor for Vogue from a somewhat rural part of Virginia and we could relate on a lot of levels. We shared anecdotes, we gossiped, we made fun of the bartender's hat; it was great. The evening was a blast, that is until he put his hand on my knee and I remembered I was supposed to be romantically interested in this guy, which I was not. When we finally left I was sick to my stomach; this guy was nice and really seemed to like me, but I just wanted to be friends. A simple goodnight kiss on the cheek and the promise for a call later in the week was a good sign for me to get my shit together and figure out how I was going to let him down gently.

Several days later I finally got up the courage I needed. I called him, but was met with a text message saying he didn't like talking on the phone. Phew* I can do this an inhumanly as possible. The conversation went something like this:

"Hey, Stage 5. I had a ton of fun with you, but I think we would be best off as friends. Is that something you would like to try?"

"But you asked me out."

"Yeah? To get to know you, which I think I do and you're awesome, but I don't think I want to keep dating you. I'd really still love to hang out as friends if that's something you want."

"It's not. I thought you liked me. I feel like you made it kind of clear that you liked me. I think you should spend some more time with me and give me another chance before you blow me off like that."

I made it clear? I made it clear by...asking him out first? I can admit that I was tipsy and flirty and what have you, but this reaction should have been an obvious red flag. Knowing, however, that I had really hurt his feelings I left things a little open ended. One night he asked me to dinner, but I had an evening class and couldn't go. A week or so later he invited me to a party, a very fancy, high profile party, that in all honesty I would have LOVED to attend. Yet my shitty school schedule couldn't really permit staying out until 4am schmoozing on a Monday night so I politely declined. His reaction was over the top. He sent me an avalanche of text messages (which I should have saved before dropping my phone into a puddle) decrying my academic pursuits telling me they were worthless since I would never know what it's like to love another human being and how life isn't worth living unless I foster the relationships I've already made. Our relationship. Our three week relationship that consisted of exactly one date. On and on the messages went explaining how I was wasting my time, and on and on I let them go. My only response was to tell him to enjoy his party. He texted me the next morning apologizing, that he must have been drunk (at 4pm on a Monday?). I didn't respond, and was met with more anger. A couple days later he messaged me again to tell me his family would be in town and invited me to Thanksgiving dinner at the home of his rich/famous artist brother.

"I think that would inappropriate since we're not really dating and since I'm not sure I even want to be your friend any longer, but thank you for the invitation. I hope you have a lovely Thanksgiving."

I didn't hear anything from him for a few weeks, until he tried to ask me out again. And then wished me a Merry Christmas. And then wished me a happy new year. Then asked me out again. Then asked me if I had Valentine's day plans. I finally just told him I was dating someone and he sent me the last message I have ever received from him:

"Yeah...maybe that's something you should tell someone before you lead them on for three months."

Dickhead.

Thor

Bergen, Norway is a small city about the size and population of Cincinnati, so I never expected to see the tallest, fittest, most beautiful man in all of Norway there in line for a restroom in the basement of a hipster bar. Lacking all subtlety, I was pretty obviously staring at this fine specimen as he went into the unisex bathroom and nothing changed when he came back out. He glided past me back into the bar, but must have doubled back because in an
instant he was by my side with his hand on my arm breathing Norwegian into my ear.

"Sorry?..I don..." I stuttered, cupping my hand to my ear.

Now bent eye-level with me, he pushed back his long blonde hair off his chiseled jaw and repeated himself in Norwegian.

"Oh no sorry! I only speak English." I admitted with an apologetic shrug.

He stood upright and smiled...and my God what a smile.
He leaned back toward me and put his hand on my side. I was dying. This could not be real life.

"There's no toilet paper in there."

And then he walked away.
Ladies and gentleman, my life.

As always, I take the good with the bad. I went on a number of great dates with really wonderful guys over the last year, and while I am still optimistic, here are some of the reasons I will probably end up alone with a cat: