Due to an increase in readers (Thank you!), Darcy has decided to move a bigger site with her very own address. Please visit me at www.darcydates.com
I am trying to track how many people are reading so PLEASE register to follow the new site and leave comments as you wish. I really appreciate all of you reading and sharing my crazy journey with me!
Friday, May 14, 2010
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Townie-rific
One weekend, one spring, I went to visit my friend who lives in "the country". She is a dear friend who I love spending time with. Our friendship developed when my ex-husband and I owned a house in this "country" town. We have remained friends ever since. I love to visit her and our children have remained friends throughout the years. It's always a nice time for us to catch up and for our children to run wildly through the fields.
On this particular visit she informed me we were going to a party.
We arrive at the aforementioned party and the house is beautiful and even more beautiful at night with the strategically placed lights that light the house and the pond just so. There is a bonfire in the backyard, ducks on the pond, candles and tiki torches lining walkway. The host and hostess are the best looking couple I have ever seen. After a good hour chit chatting around the fire I tell Lizzie I need to get back home. I wanted to make sure my child, Bear, was okay with the babysitter and I had had all the chartucherie one girl could eat.
I grabbed my jacket and was getting ready to leave when the host comes running up to me.
"You're leaving??" She asks, and actually seems genuinely disappointed.
I am so flattered. I hadn't met her up until today. Was I actually the life of the party?
"Yea, I have to be getting home, I have to wake up early and.."
"Don't go! Stay! Please!" She cuts me off. Is she pleading? Really? Now I felt very important.
"Oh, you are so sweet. I really enjoyed meeting you too!"
She squints at me for a second with a guilty smile.
"OK! Here is the thing. I texted a guy. A single friend! I told him you were here and I thought he'd really like you."
I am shocked. I glance around and suddenly realized everyone was in on it. Its like I had a Scarlett letter, except it was not an A, it was an S for single, which in the country is a rarity. I was like a unicorn. I was flattered and felt awkward all at the same time. This must be what it feels like to be a single Jewish lawyer visiting your grandmother in a Boca old age village, I thought to myself.
"Oh. Okay. Thank you?" I was not sure what the correct response was in this awkward situation. I re-loaded a plate of chartucherie (what non-Jews feed party guests) and I sat back down with a flock of antique dealers and landscapers (country jobs, in case you were wondering).
I feel my way through the dark to find Lizzie. I see her face illuminated by the bonfire.
On this particular visit she informed me we were going to a party.
We arrive at the aforementioned party and the house is beautiful and even more beautiful at night with the strategically placed lights that light the house and the pond just so. There is a bonfire in the backyard, ducks on the pond, candles and tiki torches lining walkway. The host and hostess are the best looking couple I have ever seen. After a good hour chit chatting around the fire I tell Lizzie I need to get back home. I wanted to make sure my child, Bear, was okay with the babysitter and I had had all the chartucherie one girl could eat.
I grabbed my jacket and was getting ready to leave when the host comes running up to me.
"You're leaving??" She asks, and actually seems genuinely disappointed.
I am so flattered. I hadn't met her up until today. Was I actually the life of the party?
"Yea, I have to be getting home, I have to wake up early and.."
"Don't go! Stay! Please!" She cuts me off. Is she pleading? Really? Now I felt very important.
"Oh, you are so sweet. I really enjoyed meeting you too!"
She squints at me for a second with a guilty smile.
"OK! Here is the thing. I texted a guy. A single friend! I told him you were here and I thought he'd really like you."
I am shocked. I glance around and suddenly realized everyone was in on it. Its like I had a Scarlett letter, except it was not an A, it was an S for single, which in the country is a rarity. I was like a unicorn. I was flattered and felt awkward all at the same time. This must be what it feels like to be a single Jewish lawyer visiting your grandmother in a Boca old age village, I thought to myself.
"Oh. Okay. Thank you?" I was not sure what the correct response was in this awkward situation. I re-loaded a plate of chartucherie (what non-Jews feed party guests) and I sat back down with a flock of antique dealers and landscapers (country jobs, in case you were wondering).
"He will be here in 10 minutes."
"Great!" I don't know about this.
I am sitting on my adirondeck chair gnawing on some type of salami/pepperoni/date/parmesan chunk when I decide to gather up the facts.
"So Michelle, tell me about your friend. Does he live in the city?"
You see, this particular area is mostly city folk with weekend houses, so chances are he was only here for the weekend.
"No, actually he lives in Pleasantville." Pleasantville is not really the name of the town, it's changed for privacy reasons, and there is nothing pleasant about it. It's one town over from the town I was visiting (which by the way is amazing and my own private heaven). Pleasantville is a place where no one really lives. Well they do, but not people I date, per se. It's hard to describe Pleasantville and maintain diplomacy, so I will skip this part for now.
"Oh, what does he do?" I ask. Hoping for the best, but predicting the worst.
"He is a model!"
Crickets
"A model?" Now keep in mind we aren't in NYC or LA or even Miami. We are in the country. I didn't know people model in the country.
"I don't know if he is your type but i figure its someone to kiss at least."
Where is my Binaca when I need it? Did she just really just offer up someone for me to "kiss"? I actually think it's kind of cute and funny. I love her immediately. I wonder if she met her husband when she was 16 and hasn't dated since then.
"Oh! Here he comes." She gets very excited.
With that I see some type of pick-up truck/mustang/Saturn extravaganza pull up to the house. I die a little inside. I know this is going to be bad. I am sitting in a dark field waiting for my model to show up. My model who lives between an A&P and a Stewart's.
I see him walking towards me.
"He is also a body builder" She adds quickly. I wonder if she thinks that's a good thing.
Was it too late to get trampled by a deer? It's too late. He is getting closer fast and sees me. He is wearing a members only jacket and dress pants. By dress pants, I mean pleated parachute pants for some type of desk job in 1984. He has a ton of hair, but for reasons I still can't explain his hair is shaved an inch above each ear. We are basically in the woods so there is no oncoming traffic to throw myself in front of. DAMN YOU COUNTRY LIVING. If i'm lucky, maybe a falling tree will land directly on my head. Is that a helicopter I hear hovering over my head waiting to airlift me to another location? Nope. Dead silence. We are in the country.
"Hi!" I say politely.
"Darcy this is Skylar." Michelle says. Of course it is. I picture him to have a sister named Kayla and a brother named Braden.
Skylar smiles at me (kind of) and immediately looks at the ground. Michelle disappears into the night and I am pissed. I have no idea what to say to this man.
"So! You're a model?" I realize how ridiculous this sounds, but its all I could muster up.
"Yea, I am. I am also a body builder. And an actor." Skylar doesn't look up at all. He continues to look at the ground. He suddenly rattles off a string of some type of automotive certifications he has. Something about coolant and rotor rooters. I wonder if Skyler is autistic.
I look down at what I am wearing. A cream cable knit sweater and a Barbour coat. I wonder why Michelle thinks we would be a good match. Maybe it's because I am alive. That could be all they require in the country.
"So! You live in Pleasantville?" I am wondering why no one, particularly Lizzie, is rescuing me from this situation.
"Yea. I live with my parents."
"Yea. I live with my parents."
"That's sensible." I say
TAXI!!!! I want to scream. I keep it all inside. I am in the forest and there isn't another car for miles.
Skylar tells me he is acting in a movie. About Zombies and bodybuilders. He tells me about all the famous people in the movie, and by famous, he means the understudy for Mr. T in DC cab. Before I know it Skylar, who still has yet to make eye contact with me pulls out an IPhone and is showing me his modeling pictures, shots of his abs, and a power point presentation of the proteins vs. carbs he eats in a day. WHERE THE FK IS LIZZIE?
I tell Skylar I really need to run. It was so nice chatting and the five minutes seemed like an eternity. Well, I left that part out.
"You on Facebook?" He says.
"Yes"
"Okay, well friend me and we can hook up in the city. I am there a lot for my movie."
"Will do."
Skylar starts to spell his last name for me so I can find him on Facebook. He kept spelling, and re-spelling. He changed the spelling several times.
Skylar starts to spell his last name for me so I can find him on Facebook. He kept spelling, and re-spelling. He changed the spelling several times.
"No, that's not it" and he would start again. Does he not even know how to spell his last name? I am confused. Can it be this bad? My next thought is that I can kick Skylar's ass in Scrabble.
I feel my way through the dark to find Lizzie. I see her face illuminated by the bonfire.
"You ready?" I ask.
We say our brief goodbyes and on the way to the car I ask Lizzie if she could believe what just transpired.
"I didn't even see him. It was so dark. What did he look like?"
I couldn't believe I had no one to share this experience with.
When I got home I googled Skylar. After all he was a model/actor, he had to be somewhere on the Internet and I could show his pictures to Lizzie. Sure enough, there he was. Actually he was everywhere. Although Skylar wasn't famous for his movie, Skylar was famous for being some type of beef cake model popular with the gays. He was a gay icon of sorts. There were blogs written about Skylar and his hot body with dozens of men commenting on Skylars good looks. Skylar was kind. He would respond to all of their posts. I never friended Skylar, but I friended the hostess who wanted to set me up. She is reading this blog. Thanks for trying Michelle. I really do appreciate it.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Real Texts From Real Men
A man that has been asking me out on a third date made a donation to a charity I am involved with. After first sending me an email that he made a donation, he sent me the following:
"By the way, I had my brother make a donation too. I told him if he made a donation I might get in your pants. He said sure."
Cannot. Be. Real.
"By the way, I had my brother make a donation too. I told him if he made a donation I might get in your pants. He said sure."
Cannot. Be. Real.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Cinco De Mayo
On Cinco De Mayo I had a date with a Mexican. A Mexican Jew. It sounds like a made for blog story, but I assure you it is not.
Roberto was handsome in an intellect kind of way, but more importantly, he was tall. We decided to meet for drinks, coincidentally on Cinco De Mayo.
"We will stay away from any Mexican places" he says.
What fun is dating a Mexican if you don't get tequila on Cinco De Mayo I think to myself. He tells me Mexican restaurants will be too crazy tonight. I think we may not be a good match.
Roberto walks in a couple of minutes after I do. Is he carrying a murse? I panic.
Phew, it's a backpack.
He says hello. I like Roberto's accent. We walk to our table. Roberto is not typically my type, not that I have one, but if I did he would not be it. Roberto has a great smile, which I like.
"What are you having to drink?" He asks.
"I'm just going to have a glass of wine." I say.
"I'm going to have a fruity drink." he says.
Not sexy, I think to myself. I wish he would ditch the word fruity.
As I watch Roberto peruse the menu for his fruity beverage, I see it. Glaring at me. Roberto is wearing MAN JEWELERY. It is a necklace. With something hanging off of it that is more big than small. Like a car wreck I want to look away but can only stare.
The waiter approaches our table.
"I will have the Pinot Grigio" I say.
"And you sir?" the waiter asks Roberto.
"I want something fruity. I want a fruity drink."
I cringe. I wonder how many times Roberto can fit the word fruity into a sentence. Apparently a lot. I picture Roberto's drink to arrive with a ton of umbrellas. Possibly a cabana perched on the top of the glass.
"What is your best fruity drink?" he asks. Twenty seven...I silently count the word fruity.
The waiter suggests a drink with limoncello and 100 of the bars other fruitiest ingredients that may or may not come with skittles and sprinkles on top.
"No, I don't like that." Roberto says. He doesn't smile. In fact he was rude. The waiter must have thought so too because he responded in a huff "Well what do you like sir?"
"Fight fight fight", I silently chant (In my head).
Roberto tells the waiter he would like a fruity martini. Thirty eight...
While we are waiting for the drinks to arrive I notice Roberto is not talking. At all. He is just sitting back watching me. I squirm. I think Roberto must dislike our date. Maybe I am not fruity enough for him. I ask Roberto about his job. He answers in one sentence. I quickly look through my bag for a set of pliers as I realize this entire conversation will be like pulling teeth. Damn it. I left them at home. Sigh.
An hour into the date I realize Roberto has probably said 120 words, 95 of them being "fruity".
I tell Roberto that I used to speak Spanish nearly fluently after studying it for years, but I don't speak it anymore so I have lost it. Roberto tells me I will re-learn it with him and we can speak it together. I wonder what date he is on. I also wonder if I would only learn the word fruity.
I tell Roberto a story about my uncle, to which he responds, "I hope you introduce me to him one day." Roberto is having fun?? He thinks there will be another date? I have already counted how many tiles were on the floor of the restaurant and played I spy with myself 4 times, all to prevent me from lighting myself on fire with the votive on the table.
Two hours, two drinks and two appetizers later I tell Roberto I really need to get home to the sitter (thank g-d I had a curfew). We walk out of the restaurant, Roberto clutching his murse, I mean backpack.
When we get outside Roberto says, "Promise me I will see you again." I am confused but smile politely. Roberto seems like a nice guy even though I know next to nothing about him. I can't understand why he would want to see me again as he just stared at me the whole time and didn't interact with me whatsoever.
Roberto compliments my necklace. I do not return the compliment about his. In fact, I am wishing it away. I say goodnight and begin to walk away. I am not even down the block when Roberto calls me on my cell phone. I panic. I don't answer. What did he want to talk about? We had two hours to talk and he didn't say a word! He doesn't leave a message but sends a text:
"You looked so sexy walking away from me down the street. I hope I get to see you again."
I am surprised. Where was this Roberto in the restaurant. I wonder if Roberto is just shy and I am being hard on him. He seemed like a wonderful father. Maybe there was a language barrier? Whatever the case, he didn't watch reality TV (I have very low standards) or make me laugh.
Mañana is another day I think to myself. Seis De Mayo here I come.
Roberto was handsome in an intellect kind of way, but more importantly, he was tall. We decided to meet for drinks, coincidentally on Cinco De Mayo.
"We will stay away from any Mexican places" he says.
What fun is dating a Mexican if you don't get tequila on Cinco De Mayo I think to myself. He tells me Mexican restaurants will be too crazy tonight. I think we may not be a good match.
Roberto walks in a couple of minutes after I do. Is he carrying a murse? I panic.
Phew, it's a backpack.
He says hello. I like Roberto's accent. We walk to our table. Roberto is not typically my type, not that I have one, but if I did he would not be it. Roberto has a great smile, which I like.
"What are you having to drink?" He asks.
"I'm just going to have a glass of wine." I say.
"I'm going to have a fruity drink." he says.
Not sexy, I think to myself. I wish he would ditch the word fruity.
As I watch Roberto peruse the menu for his fruity beverage, I see it. Glaring at me. Roberto is wearing MAN JEWELERY. It is a necklace. With something hanging off of it that is more big than small. Like a car wreck I want to look away but can only stare.
The waiter approaches our table.
"I will have the Pinot Grigio" I say.
"And you sir?" the waiter asks Roberto.
"I want something fruity. I want a fruity drink."
I cringe. I wonder how many times Roberto can fit the word fruity into a sentence. Apparently a lot. I picture Roberto's drink to arrive with a ton of umbrellas. Possibly a cabana perched on the top of the glass.
"What is your best fruity drink?" he asks. Twenty seven...I silently count the word fruity.
The waiter suggests a drink with limoncello and 100 of the bars other fruitiest ingredients that may or may not come with skittles and sprinkles on top.
"No, I don't like that." Roberto says. He doesn't smile. In fact he was rude. The waiter must have thought so too because he responded in a huff "Well what do you like sir?"
"Fight fight fight", I silently chant (In my head).
Roberto tells the waiter he would like a fruity martini. Thirty eight...
While we are waiting for the drinks to arrive I notice Roberto is not talking. At all. He is just sitting back watching me. I squirm. I think Roberto must dislike our date. Maybe I am not fruity enough for him. I ask Roberto about his job. He answers in one sentence. I quickly look through my bag for a set of pliers as I realize this entire conversation will be like pulling teeth. Damn it. I left them at home. Sigh.
An hour into the date I realize Roberto has probably said 120 words, 95 of them being "fruity".
I tell Roberto that I used to speak Spanish nearly fluently after studying it for years, but I don't speak it anymore so I have lost it. Roberto tells me I will re-learn it with him and we can speak it together. I wonder what date he is on. I also wonder if I would only learn the word fruity.
I tell Roberto a story about my uncle, to which he responds, "I hope you introduce me to him one day." Roberto is having fun?? He thinks there will be another date? I have already counted how many tiles were on the floor of the restaurant and played I spy with myself 4 times, all to prevent me from lighting myself on fire with the votive on the table.
Two hours, two drinks and two appetizers later I tell Roberto I really need to get home to the sitter (thank g-d I had a curfew). We walk out of the restaurant, Roberto clutching his murse, I mean backpack.
When we get outside Roberto says, "Promise me I will see you again." I am confused but smile politely. Roberto seems like a nice guy even though I know next to nothing about him. I can't understand why he would want to see me again as he just stared at me the whole time and didn't interact with me whatsoever.
Roberto compliments my necklace. I do not return the compliment about his. In fact, I am wishing it away. I say goodnight and begin to walk away. I am not even down the block when Roberto calls me on my cell phone. I panic. I don't answer. What did he want to talk about? We had two hours to talk and he didn't say a word! He doesn't leave a message but sends a text:
"You looked so sexy walking away from me down the street. I hope I get to see you again."
I am surprised. Where was this Roberto in the restaurant. I wonder if Roberto is just shy and I am being hard on him. He seemed like a wonderful father. Maybe there was a language barrier? Whatever the case, he didn't watch reality TV (I have very low standards) or make me laugh.
Mañana is another day I think to myself. Seis De Mayo here I come.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
He Will Boil Your Bunny
What is it with these needy men? Is this a new thing? Was it always this way? Are men becoming women because of Oprah and Dr. Phil? Isn't it supposed to be the women that are needy?There are a gazillion books on dating that state women should be elusive, bitchy even.
The one common theme is basically to never ever under any circumstances contact a man or show the slightest bit of interest. EVEN after you are married. DO NOT MAKE THE MISTAKE OF BEING AVAILABLE EVEN AFTER YOU ARE MARRIED they claim. WTF? "I'm sorry I can't be home Saturday night with you and the kids. I have plans. With who? Oh, that's not important." That would go over swell.
These books are insane and I am concerned people might actually listen. There are some different schools of thought in this book genre. Some will tell you to basically wait in silence in a closet somewhere until the man you are involved with comes looking for you...when he feels like it. He may or may not have some sort of animal he just hunted hanging over his right shoulder. In the meantime you should be taking up hobbies like knitting in a group of local women, you should be taking up some type of meditation, maybe have a spa treatment. You should be volunteering with charities (the proverbial "they" are very into recommending charity work to single people (See Supermarket Aisles and Charity Work, April 30, 2010).
I picture soup kitchens and clothing drives to be filled with single people walking around aimlessly. Does anyone else do charity work? Or does everyone go by their match or Jdate moniker as they offer up another serving of potatoes?"MustLoveDogs, can you hand me that stack of plates?" "Sure JewCan'tTouchThis, right after I stir the gravy". "ShabbatShiksa can you help you help me fold these sweaters that we just received?" "Sure Hot2Trot, right after I fax this press release. By the way, I'm willing to convert." But, I digress.
These books will tell you to let them go into their caves, men are like rubber bands, and so on and so forth until ultimately they are actually living on Mars and you on Venus and you never get to see each other because the commute is way too long. I like to call it locationally undesirable dating.
Then there are the aggressive books like "Why Men Love Bitches". They will tell you not to call a man back, leave your laundry at his door with a mere note telling him to do it and then tell you to set his house on fire, kick him in the face, and when he is left bleeding on the floor with no house and a bloody face and as he is calling for help, lean in close and give him the finger. It is only then that he will love you, and maybe even put a ring on it.
Let me tell you what I have learned in the modern dating world: Men are needy. They are clingy. If they like you they will actually stalk you. The guy who wrote "He's just not that into you" has a point. If he ain't callin' he doesn't like you. Because if he does like you the WILL hunt you down (see: Real Texts From Real Men, May 4th, 2010- Specifically Buck Hunter text)
If you don't call them back they will send a follow up text, possibly a piece of certified mail requiring you to sign for it. They will call again. They will then send another follow up text confirming you received their voicemail, they will have their lawyer subpoena you for a mere response of whether or not you want to be in a relationship. Just when you think you have blown them off and they should be getting the point and you haven't spoken in two weeks you will receive an email: "Are we going to go out again or are you moving on?"
WHAT IS GOING ON HERE??? I thought the women do this and it was completely against "The Rules". I thought it was horrifying and you are never, EVER, under any circumstances whatsoever, to show you actually LIKE them. I thought it was the women want commitment. Guess what folks. It's the men. I have gotten bitched out by guys for my disinterest in something more than a casual date or two. Between the invites to meet the parents, to the "who are you texting?" to the "who did you have dinner with?" to the "why can't you see me more than once a week", sometimes I feel like I am actually hearing "Now? Now? What about now? Do you want a relationship now? Now? How about now? Are we exclusive now? Now? Maybe now? Are you ready now? Can we go out again now? now? now can we? nooooowwwwwwwwwwwwww?" That's what I hear. And when I do I shut down. Wait a second? Am I becoming a man? Are all the hormones in the non-organic processed food I eat making me a man? This is not good. Note to self: Check if you are becoming a man. Kidding. Kind of.
To be completely honest, I like a man that is not afraid to tell you he likes you. I like a man who emails the next morning and says "That date was incredible and I can't wait to do it again ASAP" and then actually puts a date on the calender. I like hearing that he is interested and not having to "wait it out and see." Life is too short for games, for waiting, for rules. Live life for today, as you never know what tomorrow brings. If you like someone, tell them. If they don't call you back, leave them alone.
The one common theme is basically to never ever under any circumstances contact a man or show the slightest bit of interest. EVEN after you are married. DO NOT MAKE THE MISTAKE OF BEING AVAILABLE EVEN AFTER YOU ARE MARRIED they claim. WTF? "I'm sorry I can't be home Saturday night with you and the kids. I have plans. With who? Oh, that's not important." That would go over swell.
These books are insane and I am concerned people might actually listen. There are some different schools of thought in this book genre. Some will tell you to basically wait in silence in a closet somewhere until the man you are involved with comes looking for you...when he feels like it. He may or may not have some sort of animal he just hunted hanging over his right shoulder. In the meantime you should be taking up hobbies like knitting in a group of local women, you should be taking up some type of meditation, maybe have a spa treatment. You should be volunteering with charities (the proverbial "they" are very into recommending charity work to single people (See Supermarket Aisles and Charity Work, April 30, 2010).
I picture soup kitchens and clothing drives to be filled with single people walking around aimlessly. Does anyone else do charity work? Or does everyone go by their match or Jdate moniker as they offer up another serving of potatoes?"MustLoveDogs, can you hand me that stack of plates?" "Sure JewCan'tTouchThis, right after I stir the gravy". "ShabbatShiksa can you help you help me fold these sweaters that we just received?" "Sure Hot2Trot, right after I fax this press release. By the way, I'm willing to convert." But, I digress.
These books will tell you to let them go into their caves, men are like rubber bands, and so on and so forth until ultimately they are actually living on Mars and you on Venus and you never get to see each other because the commute is way too long. I like to call it locationally undesirable dating.
Then there are the aggressive books like "Why Men Love Bitches". They will tell you not to call a man back, leave your laundry at his door with a mere note telling him to do it and then tell you to set his house on fire, kick him in the face, and when he is left bleeding on the floor with no house and a bloody face and as he is calling for help, lean in close and give him the finger. It is only then that he will love you, and maybe even put a ring on it.
Let me tell you what I have learned in the modern dating world: Men are needy. They are clingy. If they like you they will actually stalk you. The guy who wrote "He's just not that into you" has a point. If he ain't callin' he doesn't like you. Because if he does like you the WILL hunt you down (see: Real Texts From Real Men, May 4th, 2010- Specifically Buck Hunter text)
If you don't call them back they will send a follow up text, possibly a piece of certified mail requiring you to sign for it. They will call again. They will then send another follow up text confirming you received their voicemail, they will have their lawyer subpoena you for a mere response of whether or not you want to be in a relationship. Just when you think you have blown them off and they should be getting the point and you haven't spoken in two weeks you will receive an email: "Are we going to go out again or are you moving on?"
WHAT IS GOING ON HERE??? I thought the women do this and it was completely against "The Rules". I thought it was horrifying and you are never, EVER, under any circumstances whatsoever, to show you actually LIKE them. I thought it was the women want commitment. Guess what folks. It's the men. I have gotten bitched out by guys for my disinterest in something more than a casual date or two. Between the invites to meet the parents, to the "who are you texting?" to the "who did you have dinner with?" to the "why can't you see me more than once a week", sometimes I feel like I am actually hearing "Now? Now? What about now? Do you want a relationship now? Now? How about now? Are we exclusive now? Now? Maybe now? Are you ready now? Can we go out again now? now? now can we? nooooowwwwwwwwwwwwww?" That's what I hear. And when I do I shut down. Wait a second? Am I becoming a man? Are all the hormones in the non-organic processed food I eat making me a man? This is not good. Note to self: Check if you are becoming a man. Kidding. Kind of.
To be completely honest, I like a man that is not afraid to tell you he likes you. I like a man who emails the next morning and says "That date was incredible and I can't wait to do it again ASAP" and then actually puts a date on the calender. I like hearing that he is interested and not having to "wait it out and see." Life is too short for games, for waiting, for rules. Live life for today, as you never know what tomorrow brings. If you like someone, tell them. If they don't call you back, leave them alone.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Do Not Touch
On the subway today I saw an ad placed by the MTA in regards to sexual harassment being a crime in the subway:
"A crowded train is no excuse for an improper touch."
Neither is a date, I think to myself.
PSA to all my dates:
"A date with me is no excuse for an improper touch." I contemplate running this announcement in the NY Post.
I am onto something here. Women everywhere should band together and form a charity to raise money for this cause. Maybe Jill Zarin can get on board between her fundraising for her orphanage in Africa and for teen tours for her daughter's friends whose parents lost all their money with Madoff.
I can picture her saying "Help me and Bobby save Ally's friends and get them the teen taw's they deserve. Oh! AND help us help Dahhcy"
"A crowded train is no excuse for an improper touch."
Neither is a date, I think to myself.
PSA to all my dates:
"A date with me is no excuse for an improper touch." I contemplate running this announcement in the NY Post.
I am onto something here. Women everywhere should band together and form a charity to raise money for this cause. Maybe Jill Zarin can get on board between her fundraising for her orphanage in Africa and for teen tours for her daughter's friends whose parents lost all their money with Madoff.
I can picture her saying "Help me and Bobby save Ally's friends and get them the teen taw's they deserve. Oh! AND help us help Dahhcy"
Real Texts From Real Men
These are actual texts from real men.
Remember Andre? Andre, by the way, holds two advanced degrees. He plays in a basketball game on occasion with friends I introduced him to. My friend sent Andre a text inviting him to play in a Sunday night game. Andre responded:
"No can do, I am headed to Brooklyn tonight to see BJork. Chicks dig Bjork and I like to F**k chicks."
"Good luck with the sex", My friend replied, than called me immediately to ask what the hell was wrong with this guy.
Andre, apparently, also holds an advanced degree in being an idiot. Not that we didn't already know that. (see: Can You Be Friends After a De-Friend, April 30, 2010)
One CFO of a very very large company asked me out for Thursday night. I said I could not go as I had a fundraiser to attend. This is his actual response. Not doctored in any way. Swear on my Blackberry:
"Can I please come to this fundraiser? I want to put my d**k in a puff pastry and lay in on a platter and than serve it to Muffy Jane Dusty C**t and see if she ups her donation. It's for the kids."
I am speechless, which is rare.
Who is this Muffy he speaks of? This is wooing? How does one even concoct such a text or idea for that matter? WTF??? This is how he asks me on a 3rd date?
I tell him I am horrified, which takes a lot.
"Does this mean I don't get a 3rd date?" He asks.
Crickets
Note to self, stay away from the pigs in a blanket.
Very big lawyer sends me a text that he is out with an old friend playing "Buck Hunter" (video game involving shooting and hunting down bucks- I explain because why would anyone ever know that) He invites me to come along:
"I just shot and killed three bucks. I called them all Darcy."
"Um...Hmmm" I respond
"Are you scared?" He asks
"A little?" I say
"You should be. I'm a mighty buck hunter!"
**See ("As Long As You Are Happy", May 3, 2010) about how I am becoming a lesbian.
Remember Andre? Andre, by the way, holds two advanced degrees. He plays in a basketball game on occasion with friends I introduced him to. My friend sent Andre a text inviting him to play in a Sunday night game. Andre responded:
"No can do, I am headed to Brooklyn tonight to see BJork. Chicks dig Bjork and I like to F**k chicks."
"Good luck with the sex", My friend replied, than called me immediately to ask what the hell was wrong with this guy.
Andre, apparently, also holds an advanced degree in being an idiot. Not that we didn't already know that. (see: Can You Be Friends After a De-Friend, April 30, 2010)
One CFO of a very very large company asked me out for Thursday night. I said I could not go as I had a fundraiser to attend. This is his actual response. Not doctored in any way. Swear on my Blackberry:
"Can I please come to this fundraiser? I want to put my d**k in a puff pastry and lay in on a platter and than serve it to Muffy Jane Dusty C**t and see if she ups her donation. It's for the kids."
I am speechless, which is rare.
Who is this Muffy he speaks of? This is wooing? How does one even concoct such a text or idea for that matter? WTF??? This is how he asks me on a 3rd date?
I tell him I am horrified, which takes a lot.
"Does this mean I don't get a 3rd date?" He asks.
Crickets
Note to self, stay away from the pigs in a blanket.
Very big lawyer sends me a text that he is out with an old friend playing "Buck Hunter" (video game involving shooting and hunting down bucks- I explain because why would anyone ever know that) He invites me to come along:
"I just shot and killed three bucks. I called them all Darcy."
"Um...Hmmm" I respond
"Are you scared?" He asks
"A little?" I say
"You should be. I'm a mighty buck hunter!"
**See ("As Long As You Are Happy", May 3, 2010) about how I am becoming a lesbian.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)