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Flirting Fail

14 Mar

Last week, I introduced you to the concept of the Two Prong Dating Approach, in which – as you know – I am one of the two prongs involved. Aside from the two adventures C and I are planning, I’m also trying to be more outgoing and flirtatious with gents I actually find attractive. (I’m very good at being flirtatious with gents I do not find attractive, which really never works out in my favor. Or theirs.)

Anyway, one evening I find myself at some bar for happy hour with friends. I lean against the bar to order a drink and – lo and behold – the bartender is gorgeous. Tall, dark hair, light eyes … and an accent! I was obviously immediately in love and, since I’d had three Bud Lights, was tipsy enough to have the confidence to flirt completely shamelessly.

I decide the perfect approach will be to highlight my sporty-girl prowess to this Euro-Hottie. And the subsequent (fairly one-sided) flirtation goes like this:

“So, where are you from?” I could already tell he was Irish, but I wanted to play it cool.

Irishness confirmed, I continue, “Are you a football fan?”

Predictably, he asks me to clarify whether I mean “my” football or “his.” Feeling extra cool at this point, I smile and say I mean his. Sadly, he says he isn’t really a fan.

I play out my disappointment with what I’m sure is a charming grin and say, “That’s too bad! We’re going to watch the football game on Saturday!”

Confused, he asks me to clarify what the hell I’m talking about.

“You know, the game! It’s Ireland and Scotland! You should come and help us cheer for Ireland.” At this point, I’m just thrilled with my superior European sports knowledge and pretty much on top of the world.

Until he looks at me with a look that perfectly combines pity, amusement, and something else that suggests I’m about to be very embarrassed.

“Um,” he says, “That’s a rugby game.”

That Time I Skyped With Amazonian Tea Farmers

7 Mar

So, C and I decided back in January that we were going to go on two “out of the box” adventures every month. The point is to meet new people – who are hopefully attractive gents who’d like to date us. We’re calling the plan “The Two Prong Dating Approach, In Which We Are The Prongs.”

For February, one of the adventures was originally a (free) tour of the Chelsea Brewery. Always the creative thinker, C had other ideas for us. “Why don’t we go to this Spanish Speakers Meetup in Brooklyn?” she suggested innocently.

I kindly reminded her that I speak approximately 12 words of Spanish, ten of which are numbers.

“Don’t you think that might be a little awkward for me?” I replied, wishing we could stick to beer, which would at least be in a language I could comprehend.

She’s persuasive, though, and sent me details – something about tea farmers and the Amazon and Skype. At the very least, this would be hilarious. At the most, it would actually be fun. I soon acquiesced, having pretty much no idea what I was getting myself into.

The Saturday in question rolled around and we trekked our way out to Brooklyn. Really, it wasn’t so much of a trek as a 15 minute subway ride, but still. Brooklyn feels far away. It felt even more foreign when we showed up at the address listed on the event website …

If this isn't exactly what you imagine when you imagine a Typical Abandoned Brooklyn Warehouse, then you need to amend your imagination.

Seriously, this place appeared to be some kind of abandoned warehouse. “Whatever happens, this was YOUR choice,” I reminded C, laughing but also confused, curious, entertained, and slightly freaked out.

We walked through the front door and through an unheated, eery-as-hell hallway. I’m talking – there were mannequin torsos and detached limbs strewn about, scraps of fabric and old rugs, dilapidated chairs and tables. Going up the creepy elevator, I was fairly certain we were in some kind of horror movie.

But then it all transformed! We walked into a cozy (still warehouse-y, still very Brooklyn) open space that clearly served as several offices/headquarters. But it was heated! And not creepy!

And…everything was in Spanish. I smiled and nodded and laughed along with the crowd until someone started asking me questions and all I could do was stand there. Mute. Because, you know, when you go to a Spanish Speakers Meetup, everyone assumes you speak Spanish.


Anyway, C did her best to translate and I was actually quite entertaining to most people as I stood, grinning and mute, in the middle of the room. We got to Skype with legit tea farmers in Ecuador, which was hilarious to me only because I could understand none of what they were saying.

We drank the tea and even got to take a box home for ourselves. I flirted shamelessly with the company’s founder (in English) before I found out he was living with his girlfriend. C chattered coherently to everyone but me in her fluent Spanish.

And so we launched our Two Prong Approach – in which we are the prongs – in an old warehouse in Brooklyn drinking tea virtually hanging out with Amazonian tea farmers.

I’m calling it a success, since I couldn’t understand a word anyone said. I assume they all loved me.

Your Boyfriend’s Not Invited

17 Oct

Maybe it’s because it’s birthday season. Maybe I’ve been organizing more RSVP-needed events lately. Maybe I’ve just been attending more of them. Whatever it is, something weird has been happening…

It all started when I had my birthday party a few weeks ago. A close friend of mine sent in her affirmative RSVP … and included her boyfriend. I’d met this particular boyfriend just twice, though they’d recently moved in together. In what I think is an understandable reaction, I was pretty put off by this presumption. He hadn’t been invited, nor did he actually know any of the other guests attending – including me!

He ended up being out of town and, anyway, my birthday party was an absolute blast. I’m sure I’d have had just as much fun had he attended.

But then it happened again. And again. And lately, every organized event has culminated in some girlfriend being unable or unwilling to leave her boyfriend at home!

Here’s the thing – he wasn’t invited. Not only was he not invited, but he also doesn’t know any of the other people going. On top of those things, these are Reservation Required events – random people can’t just tag along, even if the random people are serious boyfriends.

But you know what the real problem here is? It’s not that these girls have become units with their boyfriends – something that inherently drives me nuts. It’s the presumptuousness of it all!

Living arrangements and relationship status makes no difference, really, though the pattern as of late has been the girl with the newly-moved-in-boyfriend.

If you lived with your parents and you were invited to a birthday party, would you bring them along without asking? Do you automatically invite your roommates everywhere you’re asked, even if they have never met the other parties?

Even when you have a friend new to town and you want to introduce her to all your amazing, wonderful, engaging friends – don’t you first ask if it’s ok that you bring her?

The thing that upsets me – no, it actually enrages me! – is the presumption attached to the “Oh, I’m bringing so-and-so.”

So, friends, please – when you get an invitation and it doesn’t have some version of “the more the merrier,” go ahead and ask whether it’s ok if you bring someone else.

Chronicles of the Unimpressive Gents: The Lazy Dude, Part I

25 Aug

This particular Unimpressive Gent Chronicle is completely out of order – in fact, this gent was my first OkCupid date of this round of online dating – but I’ve only recently given him the official allocation into the UG Pile. His Chronicle is split into two parts because I just have too much commentary to consolidate it into one and also it was two dates, so it just makes sense.

He initiated contact over the OkCupid IM system, which I disabled soon after. It was late-ish one night and he suggested we switch to g-chat. (I know, I know, rookie mistake.) As we exchanged stories about ourselves – mine about my outrageous Halloween costumes, his about naming his first Christmas tree “Goldstein” – I decided this gent must be hilarious. His pictures were questionable, but then again, so many are. He g-chatted me again the next day and after an appropriate amount of small talk, asked me out on a date. After some discussion, we decided to meet on a Wednesday night around 7pm at a pub about halfway between our two apartments.

Walking into our first date, he was cuter than I expected. But remember – I didn’t expect much here, so that wasn’t hard. He was tall-ish, had dark hair speckled with gray (despite being just 26), and was not even remotely my type. We ordered burgers and beers and shared some fries and, as I had hoped, he was funny! I’d had a beer pre-date with my stepsister, though, so after my second beer I was pretty tipsy. Here’s a lesson I’ve learned time and time again and yet cannot seem to remember: Everyone’s a lot funnier when I’m tipsy.

Anyway, we proceeded to another bar where we each had a couple more beers. Conversation continued flowing, while the Irish bartenders gave me knowing grins. This is not the first first-date I’ve taken to this particular bar. We decided to call it a night, at which point he offered to walk me home.  Taken aback and trying to shake my initial instinct to cut and run so he wouldn’t know where I lived (what, I’m a city kid), I accepted. At which point he reached for my hand. To hold.

Now, this gesture on paper seems cute and romantic and sweet (at least, to me it does). In reality, I found this to be way. too. much. Like he was trying too hard. We’d only met a few hours before. Like I didn’t want him touching me quite yet. (Ok – foreshadowing – maybe I just wasn’t that into him?!)

Does this directly contrast with however many one-night-stands I’ve had? Yes. Do I have crazy double standards for gents regarding a one-night-stand and for gents who want to date me? Yes, yes I do.

Regardless of my crazy double standards, I let him hold my hand and walk me home and even kiss me goodnight in front of my apartment. Then he asked to see me again the next week.

On paper, it was such a great first date. And in real life, when I recounted it to my friends the next day, it still seemed to be such a great first date. Of course, though, there’s a reason this gent’s been relegated to the Unimpressive Pile of Gents.

(To be continued…)

Chronicles of the Unimpressive Gents

19 Aug

Yesterday, I mentioned that a date had cancelled on me. Today, I wish to enlighten you further on this particular topic. That is, Unimpressive Gents.

Dating has been a popular topic on this blog since its beginning, but an even stronger presence in my life as I fumble through awkward first date after awkward first date. In this round of “Sara Tries to Date Successfully,” I’m using the Two Step Three Prong Dating Method to a not-so-successful degree.

That is to say, I’m actively on OkCupid. However, I am thus far grossly unimpressed with the selection of men. And so begins my chronicling of just how unimpressive these gents are.

One such example of these unimpressive gents is the gent who cancelled on me yesterday. Our original date had been scheduled for a week some time ago during which I’d scheduled plans every day of the week.

I figured I could handle it; I’ve had many weeks where every night is chock full of socializing. Turns out, after a failed first date on Monday and a girls-marg-and-guac night on Tuesday, I was in no shape for another first date Wednesday after work. Did I mention my two best friends were visiting Thursday and Friday and I was leaving Saturday for Maine? Right. I needed a day off. Desperately.

And so I cancelled the morning of. I know, this isn’t nice, but my note was incredibly gracious and I sent it at 9am. This is what I said:

“Hey [Unimpressive Gent]

I’m really sorry, but I’m going to have to reschedule. Some things have come up that I can’t get out of unfortunately. Let me know when a good day for you would be to meet!
Sorry again,


Anyway, he responded nicely and said of course we could reschedule. I held up my end of the bargain and emailed him two days after I’d gotten back from Maine. He replied the next day suggested Wednesday at 7:30. I replied saying that was perfect and asking him where we should meet. For reference, I sent the confirmation Monday morning. Given our pattern, I expected a note no later than Tuesday evening.

So when Wednesday morning rolled around and I still hadn’t gotten word of where this date was taking place, I was a bit confused and ever so slightly irritated. But I did cancel on him the day of last time, so maybe he was just taking his time.

But then it became 11am. And the date was set to happen at 7:30pm. Like, hi, some notice would be nice. Even my day-of cancellation was over 2 hours earlier than this! So I sent him a note:

“Hey [Unimpressive Gent]! Just curious where I should meet you tonight! See you later.”

Crickets…for another 45 minutes.

At just after noon, I received this reply:


Sorry for the late notice on this but I’m going to have to cancel for tonight.

[Unimpressive Gent]”

So not only did he give me a taste of my own medicine, he upped the stakes by waiting till noon, by waiting till I emailed him, and by not even trying to reschedule!

And that is the first installment of the Chronicles of the Unimpressive Gents. Good riddance to them all.

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