A Tale of Two Pick Up Lines

Oh, the joys of being a lady on the streets of New York City: it’s probably best to take all events, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only. [Thanks, Dickens]

Scenario One: Age of Foolishness

I was walking up my street to procure some chocolate and beer [pre-Snatched, naturally]. While chatting on the phone with my mom, I could feel the person next to me pacing me. I slowed down a bit and caught a glimpse of a very tall gentleman out of the corner of my eye. As I slowed down, he did as well. It was so surprising, that I just stopped walking while still trying to carry on a conversation. 

He stopped, too. And stood in front of me. 

“Can I help you?”

“Whoa. You don’t need to be like that. I just wanted to ask you for your phone number.”

“Uh. No. Sorry.”

“Yeah… You should be…”

And then he walked away. 

WHAT!? You guys.

WHY would you think it’s ok to just ask someone for their phone number when you’ve never said HELLO or even asked their name?! WHY?! 

Scenario Two: Age of Wisdom

Yesterday, after leaving my first Snatched class and strolling across 40th Street, from behind me I heard a gentleman say, “Excuse me, miss. You dropped something.”

I turned back to see what could have possibly fallen out of my bag. I didn’t see anything on the ground. 

“It was your halo…”

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. It was so cheesy and wonderful at the same time. “Why, thank you!”

“No. Thank YOU. God bless you.”

 

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Snatched: Let’s Start At The Very Beginning (Week 1)

Maybe I’m alone here, but I’m OBSESSED with body transformations: The Biggest Loser, 3 Fat Chicks, Mark Fisher Before and After Photos… You get the gist. I’m just really inspired by people’s ability to set a goal and achieve it. So, consequently, I’m going to document my Snatched journey here. If you don’t want to see pictures of me in my bikini with all of my jiggly bits on display, you can just skip this here blog for the next six Mondays.

I took some before photos and measurements this morning, and I’m going to share them here. For someone who is HYPER-critical of her body, I have to say: I didn’t cringe when I saw these. Maybe I’m becoming a little bit more forgiving of myself in my old age. [Or maybe I can just thank the glorious natural light in my living room and somewhat fuzzy Photobooth photos.] Anyway, I want to make this journey a positive one, so I’m going to say this: I’m just excited to see where I will be six weeks from now!

Also, I don’t actually have a starting weight. My scale chose THIS morning to be… ahem… uncooperative.

Side note: I have had my scale [purchased at The Sharper Image] since 2006. I spent way too much money on that scale because I had learned a very valuable lesson my senior year of college. My roommate and I purchased a scale at Target for approximately $5. Every time I stepped on that scale, it read 155 pounds. Imagine my surprise when I graduated, arrived home in California, stepped on my mom’s scale, and it read 171.4! As it turns out, you get what you pay for. And if you want to be in denial, that will only cost you $5. Incidentally, that is the most I have ever weighed in my life, and if I ever, ever start to creep close to that, I know that some changes need to be made [and also, that’s a good indication that I’m in the throes of depression].

Anyway, my scale has been on the fritz for the last year or so. I’m pretty sure it needed a new battery. As I prepared to weigh myself for my pre-Snatched numbers this morning, I decided to investigate this battery issue. [I assure you, my insistence upon investigating the battery issue had NOTHING WHATSOEVER to do with the fact that I was displeased with the number on the scale. NOT AT ALL. NO-SIREE-BOB.] Anyway, as I tried to figure out what was wrong with the scale, I broke it. Somehow. Good riddance.

I contemplated NOT buying a new scale, so as to not be a slave to the numbers, but… that just isn’t feasible for me. I’m co-dependent. Also, I’m currently in a DietBet challenge and I need a scale to verify my final numbers. So, I bought a new one. I’ll update my current weight tomorrow morning when I weigh myself.

Ok, so the moment you’ve all been waiting for. [Or, just me.]

The Numbers:

Height – 5’2″
Weight – In the last two weeks, my broken scale has read anywhere between 144.6-151.0. I’m sure these numbers are not to be trusted
Bust – 36.25″
Waist 1 (Natural Waist) – 28.5″
Waist 2 (1 inch below belly button) – 33″
Hips – 40″
[I also took measurements of my thighs, calves, and arms, but I won’t bore you/creep you out with those numbers… Maybe I’ll post them at the very end.]

ImageSnatched Before Photos – May 13, 2013

Anyway, we had our first class today and it was so wonderful. Mark assured us that we would hate him in a mere two weeks, but for now I’m looking forward to more classes this week!

Below The Belt

Me: Sorry it’s been a little while.This is probably not going to be that pleasant for me. <Nervous laughter.>

Nicole: So why are you here today?

Me: Uh… I… Um…

Listen, Nicole. I’m obviously here to endure excruciating pain while hair from my nether region is ripped from its resting place. In my overactive imagination, the story I’m sure she wants to hear goes something like this:

I met the most beautiful, charming, rich, non-commitment-phobe man last week and we’ve spent all 216 hours that we’ve known each other together; if we’re not together, we are texting, emoji-ing, tweeting, facebooking, g-chatting, and hey-tell-ing. We’re in love! BUT we’ve waited to have sex because we wanted it to be special and…. well… TONIGHT. IS. THE. NIGHT! And YOU are my chosen waxing lady to make sure that all goes perfectly!

Me: I… uh… am going to California soon?

Nicole: Oh, really? When?

Me: May 22?

Nicole: Oh. Well it’s too soon for that!

Me: Yeah… Well… I guess I’m just starting to get myself ready for the summer?

Note to self: Don’t lapse on your waxing if you don’t want to endure the scrutiny and judgment of your new esthetician.

OkCupid: The Art of Subtlety

I received a message from a suitor whose profile waxed poetic about being a mama’s boy. 

NotSubtle: I like short girls and you have amazing boobs. I’d love to meet you.

Me: Haha umm… thanks? Did your mother approve that message ;)?

NotSubtle: Well played. So where in NYC do you live, miss California?

Me: East Village. You?

NotSubtle: Upper west side. Perhaps one of us could make the cross-city trip to hang out one of these days.

Listen, NotSubtle. Thanks but no thanks. While I’m sure that you looked at my pictures before you read my profile, it’s sort of expected that you at least pretend that you are messaging me because I am so witty and intriguing and hilarious, and NOT just because you’re looking for a good tittyfuck. 

Maybe it’s time for me to explore other avenues. There are tons of straight men taking sewing and cupcake decorating classes, right? 

OkCupid: LOLz Via Text

A few weeks ago [pre-asthma-inducing-sickness], I was preparing to go on a date with a guy from the OkCupes. He was an attractive, fit gentleman with very short, sort of ginger-y colored hair.

About two hours before our date was set to commence [while I was suffering through a hungover treadmill workout], I received the following text message from him:

So, some people have suggested that my profile pics are ‘misleading’, so I’m sending a more current pic so you can recognize me:

LOLzPic

You guys.

THAT is how to win my heart over.

500 points for hilarity, sir.

OkCupid: You Should Message Me If

For those who are not versed in the wondrous ways of OkCupid, the final profile section is entitled “You Should Message Me If…”

Some standard responses:

-You’ve gotten this far.
-You feel like it.
-You find my pictures attractive.
-Why not?

Others seize this as their opportunity to pontificate on their perfect match, something along the lines of:

-You are over 5’8″ (sorry short girls! I’m 6’3″…)
-You are very interested in maintaining your fitness – I spend at least 5 days a week at the gym, so this is something that is very important to me. I expect my partner to take this seriously, too.
-You know the difference between you’re and your.
-You aren’t currently recovering from a long term relationship (been there, done that… take it from me, it doesn’t work).
-You don’t have a cat. I’m allergic!
-You’ve gotten this far. (But please, PLEASE make sure you’ve read my whole profile. I have been very specific about what I want/am into and if you aren’t aware of that up front, there’s no point in wasting my time.)

I have to hand it to these men. If you can just peruse hundreds of thousands of women, for free, from the comfort of your own home, you might as well be specific about what you want.

I opted for the less-is-more route.

You should message me if…

You are awesome. Those who are not awesome need not apply.

You should NOT message me if you are a scrub. I don’t want no scrub, a scrub is a guy that can’t get no love from me.

Some hilarious resulting messages I’ve received:

You don’t want my number? 
-Scrub

Hey – I’m not hanging out the passenger side of my best friend’s ride, trying to holler at you. I’m doing the okcupid method, which I guess is a very small step above that?

Some NOT hilarious messages that I’ve received?

What’s a scrub?

Usually I want to write back one of the following responses:

1. Did you live through the 90s?
OR
2. Do you know how to use google?

I hold back the snark, though. Instead, I just send this link, with no additional commentary.

Anyway, this “you should message me if” section always reminds me of an article that I read recently, that said you are allowed to have three deal-breakers, and that’s it. THREE.

I’ve thought a lot about what my deal-breakers are. Of course, on the unabridged wish list are the obvious, occasionally superficial sorts of things (in no particular order): likes to cook (and does so regularly); wants 2.2 kids, a house in the city and a summer home, and a dog; appreciates the arts; has a nice body (but not overwhelmingly so… please don’t make me feel like I could out-eat you at the Coney Island hotdog eating competition… God. Women are impossible!); doesn’t smoke; thinks I’m hot; loves his family and my mom; has drive and ambition; is gainfully employed; et cetera.

I think that limiting yourself to ONLY three deal-breakers is a productive strategy. If you’re like me, given enough time, you could convince yourself that even Ryan Gosling is an unacceptable match.

Assuming that there is something that has drawn me to this hypothetical suitor in the first place [ie I’m attracted to them in some way], I present to you my three deal-breakers. [These are subject to change at any time, I guess…]:

1. Must be liberal. [I’ve thought really, REALLY long and hard about this. It is indeed actually my number one deal-breaker.]

2. Isn’t intimidated by a strong, independent woman. [Sorry, buddy.] Also, it would be helpful if this person, on occasion, thinks the sun rises and sets out of my ass. I promise to afford them the same admiration.

3. Makes me laugh.

See! I’m so easy to please! [However, now that you’ve made it past the initial selection criteria, if I can just direct your attention to the unabridged list…]

What are your deal-breakers? Do you think three is a good number?

OkCupid: They Sell Filters At The Hardware Store, Right?

Ya’ll. You read my blog. By now you know there aren’t many things that I’m not willing to share. [And honestly, if we were having this conversation in real life, instead of over the interwebs, that list would grow even shorter.]

I would go so far as to say that I sometimes lack a filter.

What can I say? We all have our crosses to bear.

Two Saturdays ago, I went on a date with a gentleman from OkCupid. I was a little tentative to agree to a Saturday night date because:

1. Even though I’ve jumped into the online dating scene (mostly) whole-hog, I feel like I should be able to find something [ANYTHING] else to do on a Saturday night, with people that I actually know. Saturdays are sort of sacred, I like to believe.

2. I was still in the midst of training for my half-marathon, and Sundays were my long run days [not to mention the fact that this particular Saturday/Sunday happened to be the evening of the time change, so sleep was going to be a fleeting mistress no matter what.]

I met this Suitor at 9:00 [let’s be honest, I was running late. 9:15] on Saturday evening at an amazing shoe-box of a bar in the East Village. On my journey to the bar [wherein I was hit on by a Skateboarding-Iron-Worker-Employed-By-The-Freedom-Towers-Project], I promised myself that I would spend no more than two hours and two drinks with this man. I had a lot to get done on Sunday [and had already spent all day Saturday recovering from Friday night’s debauchery… we’ll leave that story in the “things I won’t be sharing on this blog” category].

Once we got past the first awkward 30 minutes [such is the initial OkCupid date], we started to have a really nice time. The conversation never faltered. We laughed. There was some good-hearted ribbing. Two drinks and two hours quickly arrived.

“Do you want to go somewhere else?” my Suitor asked.

“Um…. Sure! Why not?” I answered. [Any dreams I had of conquering the next day’s long run were immediately dashed.]

We headed to another bar, where I enjoyed too many cocktails.

Confession: It’s really, REALLY hard for me to say “no” to free alcohol. [Can I get an “amen”?]

The events that next transpired are a bit hazy. They went something like this: I was having such a wonderful evening that I decided it was time for me to become Facebook friends with this gentleman I had known for all of 3 hours. The Facebook friend request/accept happened IN THE BAR. But, OH SHIT! I’ve already mentioned this guy on my blog, which is plastered ALL OVER my Facebook page, so now I have to TELL him about my blog. So I did.

In the moment, this all seemed like a normal, natural course of events.

The next morning, my head pounding with rage and my stomach triple-dog-daring me to even TRY to run, the preceding evening came back to me in a horrific flash.

I opened my laptop to seek out my new friend, attempt to do some sort of damage control. There was nary a trace of him. There wasn’t even a pending friend request. One of the following things must have happened:

1. When I got home at 2:30 [which was actually 3:30] the night before, I realized the folly of my ways and immediately unfriended him; or
2. This guy was truly a gentleman and knew that becoming Facebook friends on our first OkCupid date was a stupid idea and he did me the courtesy of unfriending me; or
3. I imagined the whole scenario.

There is a HUGE learning curve with online dating (and some of us are quicker than others *ahem*). Personally, I prefer to make my mistakes in the most grandiose way possible so that I am sure to learn from them. They are as follows:

1. When you set a drink and/or time limit for yourself before a date, you should probably stick to it. Sober-self is much wiser than drunk-self. [EVEN IF THE DRINKS ARE FREE AND SO, SO DELICIOUS!]

2. NEVER, under ANY circumstances become Facebook friends with someone you are on a first date with. [You guys. I know. I am SO DUMB. This is like, social-media/online-dating 101. You live and you learn.]

3. Don’t talk about your dating blog on your OkCupid dates.

4. Unfriend is the unsung-hero feature of Facebook.