Sex, Lies, and French 75’s

Girl Number Five

Lying is often hysterical and I thoroughly encourage people to take advantage of opportunities to do so, though I do not suggest looking to me for advice. Socially, I am barely adept enough to tell the little white lies we all depend on, and usually rely on an abrasive mix of tactless sarcasm and churlish indifference to get by, which is occasionally funny in its own regard. Sometimes however, lying is of no benefit to anybody whatsoever, and becomes a dangerous game of disappointment. No one wins. No one laughs.

For example, say you’re filling out an online dating profile in the hope of attracting a few prospective suitors. Don’t list your age as twenty-two when you’re actually twenty-seven, don’t post a bunch of skinny pictures of yourself from five years ago when you are currently explosively fat, and don’t tell me you never do drugs if you are currently high on drugs. There is absolutely nothing wrong with being a twenty-seven year old overweight drug addict, but there is something wrong with lying about whether you are. Granted, I’m going to be far less likely to take an overweight, pill-popping alcoholic out for sushi, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t some other fella who would kill to watch you eat ten pounds of raw fish and drink an entire bottle of Chianti. That guy just isn’t me.

I have not been doing this long, but I believe there is an etiquette that ought to be followed when it comes to online dating. Before you faint from the hypocrisy of that statement, give me a chance to explain. Yes, this is coming from the bastard who posted all of his unanswered messages last week, which managed to be offensive to just about everything that walked or crawled at one point. But, I have never failed to be anything other than a gentleman on any of my dates thus far, and I have never intentionally given anyone the wrong impression of myself. Now if for some reason they read my messages and assume I’m a suave and sophisticated person, it’s not my fault.

Date number five started in typical fashion, with me driving around the side streets of downtown Austin completely lost. I was desperately trying to find where this girl lived but refused to look at my iPhone out of some sort of boyish sense of pride. Somehow I recently managed to convince myself I can find my way around using the night sky, despite the fact that I know nothing about celestial navigation. The last time I attempted it, I wasted fifteen minutes before I realized what I thought had been the north star was in fact the red eye out of the Austin-Bergstrom International Airport.

When I finally looked at Google Maps and found where she lived, I parked outside her place, got out of my car, and texted her. I’d been practicing my sexy man lean (advice from my sister, who insists you can get any woman to fall in love with you if you can lean against something just right), so I did that against my car.

I stopped my sexy lean when I saw my date undulating down the stairs like a walrus on heroine. I’m not going to say she was obese, but she had definitely been hitting the jelly donuts hard since the last picture she uploaded to OkCupid. And I think those jelly donuts were filled with tequila. For a moment, as I watched her drunkenly waddle towards me, I contemplated making a break for it – I know I’m out of shape but there was no way this chick was going to catch me. Or, I thought, maybe I could pretend like I’m here for someone else.

I only let these ideas dance about my mind for a few moments before I killed the music. I hugged her and didn’t allow any expressions of disappointment to play across my face. She had certainly been dishonest about her body but it’s not like I’m the most handsome man alive. Besides, I might have a fine time with her anyway, even if I’m not attracted to her. Also, she might have hot friends.

Fifteen minutes later I realized just how stupid I am. It took us five minutes to walk to the restaurant. She had clearly lubricated herself already, and not in the good way either. I’d say she had managed to get a good three drinks deep before I had arrived (lesson: always talk to the person on the phone before you go and pick them up). She spent most of the time rambling on about how she knew everyone in the city and that her “bro” at the bar would totally hook us up tonight. When we got there, her “bro” at the bar got the same look on his face as I probably did when I first saw her, but it quickly changed when he realized all the seats at the bar were occupied. To my dismay, we ended up sitting off in a corner that was far too secluded from the safety of the public. It was candle-lit and disgustingly romantic.

My date’s mouth remained open for the next hour and half as she projectile vomited words into my face, stopping only briefly to consume food and imbibe more wine. She wasn’t a mean person, but she was pretentious, acted like she knew everyone and everything, but never said anything interesting. Every now and then I would interject a random remark to amuse myself, but there wasn’t much to do besides suffer through the pain.

So, I did the only reasonable thing I could think of – I got absolutely soused. I wasn’t going to let this girl be the only drunk in the room. I’m not sure how much I drank exactly, but it was enough so she didn’t bother me anymore, which I imagine was quite a bit. After we finished eating and drinking, I paid for the meal, and we walked back to her place, where I came to the unfortunate realization that I was far too inebriated to drive home.

“You should come up to my place and stay for a bit,” she says.

That was the worst idea I had ever heard so I did it. Her place wasn’t so bad. It was kind of cozy. She started playing an episode of Black Books (British TV show I’m a fan of). She had some cool artwork on her walls and the chair I was sitting on was nice. No, this wasn’t so bad at all. But, just when I was figuring I could spend an hour or so here to sober up before driving home, she handed me a giant paper cup full of wine.

Well, I didn’t want to be rude….

An hour later, when I realized I was drunker than I had been an hour earlier, I got the brilliant idea of asking her if I could lie down for a bit. I told her I wasn’t trying to be cheeky, but I had work tomorrow and wasn’t sober enough to drive. She seemed all too willing to accommodate me and showed me to her bed. I lay down and was feeling pretty good about myself until I discovered that she thought this was an invitation to not only lie down with me, but basically on top of me. I recognize the fact that this was her bed, but she was definitely too close. When she started playing with my hair and touching my chest I knew I had made a grave error in judgement.

“Hey, look, I’m sorry. I’m just drunk and wanted to rest before I drove home. I have work tomorrow.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody.”

What the hell wasn’t she going to tell anybody? Where she buried my body? I pathetically struggled to get up but quickly retired. My shoes were tangled in a blanket, I was drunk, I couldn’t drive, and I’m pretty sure this girl was stronger than me. Sometimes it’s best to just accept your fate.

So, I played possum.

Sure, I got molested for a while, but who hasn’t been?

Girl Number Six

My last date had left a bad taste in my mouth, literally, but I had already told the next girl I would see her. We had talked for over three hours on the phone the previous night so I had a much better feeling about her. I even told her the story of date number five and she laughed and told me not to worry. That helped.

But when I finally saw her, I immediately decided I hadn’t been doing enough worrying.

“Oh sweet, merciful Christ,” I think to myself. “She’s gorgeous.”

Her petite frame bounded down the stairs effortlessly. She landed on the ground with a huge smile and her big green eyes stared at me. She was the opposite of my previous date, whose picture deceitfully depicted a flourishing garden, when in actuality the flowers had wilted. This girl’s photographs had done her no justice at all.

I realized I hadn’t gotten out of my car to do that sexy lean thing. It was too late. She opened the passenger door and got in. I don’t remember what I said to her. We got Ethiopian food. I didn’t drink at all. She giggled a lot. We got ice cream afterwards and went back to my place. We drank wine and watched Breakfast at Tiffany’s. I took her home.

I thought things had gone really well, which is why I was so surprised by what she told me in the car.

“I’m sorry,” she says, “but you’re really sort of awkward.”

It’s been a long time since I’ve felt emotional about much of anything, but for some reason when I heard her say that, maybe it was because I thought things had gone well and she had a good time, I actually felt my face and my hands get hot. My heart started beating fast. I knew what was about to come. This was where I get rejected, which isn’t a big deal. I’ve been here before. I’m good at this. But, for some reason, this one hit me harder than usual.

“Sorry, really. You’re a nice guy and you were better back at your place. But you’re a little weird. Not in a bad way. We just don’t… gel. I’m not feeling it. I’m sorry but I want to be honest with you. You’re funny and cute enough but… I like you a lot in theory.”

I wanted to ask her what liking someone in theory meant but it had become physically difficult for me to talk at that point so I didn’t bother. I thought about how girls say sorry a lot when they do this. I wasn’t sure what she thought she needed to be sorry about.

It dawned on me that I possess the characteristics of a truly awkward person – I am strange without knowing it. I am odd when I think I’m normal.

“We can still be friends though,” she says.

Girl Number Seven

Evidence is mounting. I am finding it increasingly difficult to ignore the fact that I’m kind of a little bitch. I took the seventh potential love of my life out to a few different bars on our first night together. The weather was cool and pleasant, so we walked around East Sixth Street (Austin’s hipster central). The bars were quiet. She smoked cigarettes with her long thin fingers and wore a black turtleneck, black shorts, and black flats. She drank French 75’s and talked about old things. Classically beautiful. Smart. She was four years older and four inches taller than me.

I thought things were going well so they probably weren’t. She didn’t laugh as much as the other girls. I wasn’t trying to be funny. I mostly listened and asked questions. We ran into three of her ex-boyfriends that night. I thought that was funny.

On the drive home her hand found mine. At the next stoplight her lips found mine. I walked her to her door and we resolved to get dinner the following night.

We split a bottle of wine at the Mediterranean restaurant we had chosen. She was a little tipsy when she got back in my car. I was too. She pulled me close to her by my hair and put her tongue deep into my mouth. With her hand that wasn’t gripping my hair, she took my fingers and pushed them between her legs, and up under her skirt.

“Take me back to your place,” she whispers.

It had been a while since I had had sex and I was nervous. I put on a record – Keep It Hid by Dan Auerbach – and drank a glass of wine while she drew on my mirrors. Her skirt fell to the floor. This didn’t help my nervousness.

When I tried to rip open the condom I accidentally threw it across the room. This prompted a laugh and an, “Oh my, you’re not very good at this,” from the curly haired brunette lying in front of me. The condom went behind the headboard and I had to crawl under the bed to get it.

Thankfully, ancient memories of how this worked and where things went came back to me and she enjoyed herself. When it became my turn, she started an interesting sort of cute dirty talk. I really liked it but I couldn’t finish. I tried for a while but eventually began to slow.

“Hey, it’s okay,” she says softly. “The last time you had sex you were in love, weren’t you?”

KAB’s Guide to Combating Boredom

Not going to lie, this week so far has been kind of on the boring side, at least on my end. The weather has been downright depressing and dreary, with little optimism for sunshine in the near future’s forecasts.

For those of you who sat through the University at Albany’s commencement ceremony this past Sunday, like I did, in the cold, unrelentless, miserable rain — props and congrats. One bro even iced his friend sitting in front of me to make light of the situation (react to that as you will; it happened). The lame weather last night also kept me inside, but I hope that those of you who ventured out to Northern Lights to support The Nightlife‘s CD release and hear Norma Jean play had a good time.

Anyhow, I’ve decided to draft up an incomplete (and perhaps mediocre) list of my personal suggestions for combating boredom on rainy, dull, work/weekdays, because well, they happen.

Obvious Idea #1: Get Netflix.

It’s $7.99 a month. You can watch an assortment of movies, TV episodes and documentaries online through your computer, through your TV (via Xbox 360/PS3/Wii) or even on your iPhone or iPad if you got one. I don’t have cable, and don’t think I will ever need it. You can cancel your account if you become bored of it, or don’t use it enough to make it worth the inexpensive monthly cost. You can try it free for a month, cancel it at anytime and I think at this point, Netflix is considered a standard to utilize. For example, last night I watched Toy Story 3 for the first time and don’t give a shit what you think — it was great.

Obvious Idea #2: Go hang out at a coffeeshop.

If you live in Albany, chances are, you can probably walk or bike to one. Set up camp, mark your territory and get caught Facebook stalking your friends and friends of friends in public. The drinks and eats at a coffeeshop are usually fairly priced, even for those on a tight budget. My two fave spots happen to be within the same block of each other and both are hang-out-and-play-board-games-friendly. Each has a different vibe to fit the mood I’m in at the time as well.

Just to name a handful within a couple mile radius of my current location in Albany: the Sunspot Cafe, Hudson River Coffee House, the newly-revived-spot-formerly-known-as-the-Muddy-Cup, Vero, The Daily Grind and well, I guess there’s also even the infamous Dunkin Donuts on Lark if you’re looking for an underwhelming fight. Each one of these places has something different to offer and just might be the cure to your boredom. Remember, leaving the comfort of your own home and going out to one of these places is, in fact, doing something!

Obvious Idea #3: Learn how to cook something.

Cooking is something that takes effort, attention and patience — all while mixing up your daily routine and taking up time productively. You can be as creative as you want, or simple as you want, all while creating a product that hopefully you can enjoy afterwards. Lis tries out a new vegetarian/occasionally vegan recipe every week and we’d love to hear if some of you have tried them out firsthand or have any cooking suggestions or ideas. Catch up on her recipes here.

Obvious Idea #3.5: Learn how to do something. Then do it.

Find a new hobby, or rediscover an old one. I like to paint but don’t really make time for it, which is something that I hope to change one of these days. Make time for your to-do list, or even make time to make one. If you list out the things that are on your mind, or things that you want to do, chances are you’ll get around to actually doing it if you’re consciously aware that you want to do it, know what I mean?

Obvious Idea #4: Read the local news.

KAB, for one, compiles it simply for you in the form of the “Interestingness In The Local News” feature. Read the news and be in the know, it’s good for you.

Obvious Idea #5: Listen to new music.

Friday is two days away! That’s still a fairly large opportunity window to expose yourself to the exclusive mix that DJ MikeQ did for this month’s Outpost1, and scope the interview too! Also be sure to listen to the mix that Party With Tina shared with us earlier this week and catch up with the sounds of our friend, Dwell. I hope to see you out at the Fuzebox, and don’t forget to get there early!

Bonus level – Catch Andrew and myself on the airwaves of WCDB from 6-8pm on Friday for the debut of our radio show and as per usual, 8-10pm for your official pre-game musicks from Deep Children!

My Unanswered Dating Site Messages

These are some of the ones I sent that didn’t get a reply. Because I’m such a considerate fella, I rated what I remember my level of drunkenness being at the time.

“Hey, you seem cool but you’re too tall for me so don’t bother responding to this. Thanks.”
Drunkenness: I’d had a few.

“This is where I’m supposed to come up with something witty based on your profile in the hope that you’ll respond, but I think a girl who likes waffles would see right through that…”
Her profile said she liked waffles, obviously.
Drunkenness: Slightly more than a few.

“I was so discouraged by your “you should message me if” section that I decided there’s no fucking way I’m passing up this opportunity to be rejected.”
Drunkenness: Quite a few.

Okay, in my defense, this girl’s profile said she liked puns and only a guy who could hold his own in a dance-off should message her. I’m not proud of this, nor am I proud of the fact that it took me twenty minutes to come up with it.
“I’m pretty sure I could hold my own in a dance-off with you being that I majored in physics and minored in mathematics. I have algorithm.”
Drunkenness: Totally sober.

Her profile specifically said no creeps.
“I actually was a creeper for a while but they fired me for being too much of a fucking gentlemen. Was holding doors and shitting. Coffee want maybe something sometime toaster?”
Drunkenness: Embarrassingly drunk.

“.emitemos em htiw eeffoc teg ot ekil d’uoy ebyam gnikniht saw I”
Found that gem a good week after I apparently wrote it. Had to stare at it for a moment before I realized it was written backwards. I have no fucking clue why I would have done that.
Drunkenness: Mentally unstable drunk.

“test message please ignore”
Drunkenness: That drunk level where you think you’re being really witty but aren’t.

“My favorite swear word is cuntflaps. What’s yours?”
I’m really sorry about sending that one. I don’t remember doing it. I almost didn’t think it was me somehow when I read it the next day, but then I looked at the profile of the girl I sent it to. It was some super right wing conservative Christian. That’s totally something I would think was funny.
Drunkenness: This one goes to eleven.

This girl said she only responds if she thinks you’re cute.
“Am I cute enough? I don’t really care to talk to you; I’m just drunk and felt like validating myself.”
Drunkenness: Depressed drunk.

“I stay up late at night and do scientific bear analysis wearing just a labcoat. Care to join me?”
I think I meant to write beer analysis, not bear analysis, but who knows.
Drunkenness: Pervert drunk.

“Did you know Mr. Snuffleupagus has a first name?”
Drunkenness: Cute drunk.

“What’s your favorite dinosaur?”
Drunkenness: Geek drunk.

“I know beauty is a vain thing to comment on, but I couldn’t help but tell you that you remind me a lot of a young Audrey Hepburn in your pictures. You have this wonderful Breakfast At Tiffany’s thing going on. Please don’t ever change that.”
Drunkenness: Emo drunk.

“I read once that the great white shark is similar to a serial killer in the sense that neither of them kill at random. They stalk specific victims…so, do you want to go on a date with me or do you want to go in the trunk?”
Drunkenness: Rapey drunk.

“Not to be a dick lady, but your profile says the first thing people usually notice about you is your eyes and your sense of humor. Seriously? You’re in a fucking wheel chair. You have no legs. There’s no fucking way the first thing people notice about you is your sense of humor. Sorry, but that’s just bullshit. I’m a little dude. I’m not going to say I have a nine inch penis and am six feet tall because people are going to be sorely disappointed when they meet me. You almost sneak it past people in your pictures. I didn’t even notice it at first but I can tell you’re a paraplegic. You’re not fooling me. And you fail to mention your shortcoming (why don’t you chew on that pun for a bit) anywhere in your profile. How fucking taken aback would someone be if they decided to go on a date with you and they get to your place only to discover you wheeling your broken ass down a ramp? You should be ashamed. That would not be cool. That information needs to be front and center. Go change your screen name to ihavenolegs. Have some self respect. Besides, isn’t there like a dating site for cripples and tards that you can go on?”
Drunkenness: Awesome drunk.