Plenty of Fish: Plenty of Douchebags

When my mom turned 40, we threw her a surprise birthday party. My gift to her was an I.O.U. [of sorts] to get a mother/daughter portrait taken. Now, with my meager 15 year old budget, that picture was [most likely] going to occur at Sears Portait Studio.

I had a crisp 50 dollar bill that I stowed in my underwear drawer. It was in an envelope marked “picture”, and there it stayed for approximately four years. [Once upon a time, I was really, REALLY good at saving money. That money was ear-marked for something specific, so it wasn’t mine to spend.]

Time went by, our schedules were busy, and we never got our picture taken. Eventually, when I went to college, I looted the money. I’m sure it bought me a few solo cups at keg parties [or something like that… more like Cinna-pies, come to think of it.]

Anyway, fast forward 12 years, and we finally got our acts together to get our picture taken. Now that I was a real adult, Sears Portrait Studio wasn’t an option [for me]. We had a lovely photographer come to our house and take some awesome photos in our backyard.

MeMom

We loved the photos so much that we have both used them, at various times, as our Facebook profile pictures. [I begged my mom to join Facebook. I guess I’m a weirdo.]

My mom has also used this photo as one of her “secondary” photos on her own dating websites. One day she received an alert that a Suitor had messaged her. She fired up Plenty of Fish to find the following:

Hi!

I hope you are doing well! I enjoyed reading your profile and looking through your pictures. I think you seem like an awesome person, but you are a little bit out of my age range [He was 5 years younger than my mom.] However, I find your daughter really attractive and would be interested in pursuing something with her if she is single and interested. My email address is giganticdouchebag@gmail.com [not really] if you would like to pass it along to her.

Hope to hear from her soon!

Douchebag

WHO.

DOES.

THAT?!?!

You guys. I can’t make this shit up. People are crazy.

Semper Fi: Always Faithful?

As a Manhattanite, it takes some pretty exceptional circumstances to get me to leave my borough. Convincing me to go to Brooklyn is much easier than getting me to haul my ass to Queens. (I used to live there. I’m allowed to say that.) Unluckily for me (and fortunately for my Queens-dwelling friends) there is a bar that I will traverse subway and bridge for, nestled in the heart of Astoria. The drinks are amazing, the patrons are super chill, and I have a gigantic crush on one of the bartenders.

[True story: one night, with the help of a few too many pickletinis, I left him a note in the check presenter on the postcard that accompanied my credit card slip. It read:

Do you like me?
Circle one:
Yes No Maybe
Erin
212.555.5555

No, he never called me. But that’s ok, I have faith that love will persevere! Oh to be young and dumb again…]

Anyway, one fateful eve when I decided to grace this outer borough with my presence, two friends and I just so happened to stumble into my favorite bar (I can’t possibly imagine who orchestrated that…) We settled on some stools just a stone’s throw away from the bar and hunkered down for some hardcore Friday-nighting.

Within an hour or so, we were approached by two gentlemen. They told us that they had been in the armed forces, one in the Army and one in the Marines. Somehow, against all odds, they became friends (they were like a modern day, wartime The Fox and The Hound). Marine took a likin’ to me and we chatted it up a bit. He ordered himself a drink while we were conversing. Eventually, he needed another.

“Can I buy you one?” he asked.

“Uh… Sure!” I replied.

When our drinks arrived I began sipping mine, but apparently his wasn’t to his satisfaction. He had it remade (3 times).

Eventually he asked me for my phone number. I was hesitant, but (like always) I was trying to break out of my comfort zone and I obliged.

Then, Marine and Army made the fastest exit I have ever witnessed in my entire life.

As some seats had opened at the bar, my friends and I decided to move as to have better access to my friend, the hot bartender. The waitress informed us that it would be best for us to close out with her before moving. She arrived with my tab and imagine my shock when upon it appeared:

1. The drinks I had purchased for myself
2. The drinks Marine had purchased for himself
3. The drink Marine had “bought” me

Apparently he had helped himself to my tab. (He had somehow been convincing enough to the waitress when telling her to which tab the drinks should be applied.)

That is some shady ass shit.

Always Faithful? Not so sure about that.