This Actually Happened Last Week

Just like Liza Minnelli manifests around gay (at least according to the cinematic atrocity that was Sex and the City 2, a film I have seen no less than 13 times, whatever) ridiculous manifests around me. 

Last Wednesday evening I set out on the dual mission of rooftop champagne with friend followed by a late date with IA.  In spite of technically living in Brooklyn, it is surprisingly and delightfully easy to catch a cab in my neighborhood.  However, having them pull up directly outside my front door is a luxury for which I’ll hurl myself into the street.  Caught up in the satisfaction of not having to hunt down a ride, I failed to notice the exceedingly shellacked gentleman also trying to make his way to Mannahatta.   It properly scared the proverbial shit out of me when all of a sudden he was there, keeping me from closing the taxi door.  

So it’s not like he was a face-eating hobo zombie on bath salts or anything.   He actually seemed perfectly nice.  He was just a clean cut sort of dude who was wholly obliterated.  He was also wearing one of those “hello my name is” stickers and it said, “fucks on the first date” in the white part.  He begged me to take him to the city with me, pleading that he was so drunk (umm, yeah) and was desperate to get back home.  He offered to pay for the cab.  I said I’m perfectly capable of covering cab fare to the Flatiron.  Anyhow, after a lot of nonsense back and forth and a lot of Jim Halpert looks from the driver, I said, “Fine! Don’t touch me! Don’t barf on me! And we drop me off first!” 

We set off.  Here’s the conversation that ensued en route to the bar:

FOTFD (fucks on the first date): You’re so beautiful.  Who are you texting?

Me:  A guy I'm seeing.  Not that it’s any of your business. Please stay on your side of the cab.

FOTFD:  I’m so drunk.  I’ve been drinking all day.  I’m so drunk. He’s not going to answer you. 

Me: No one is debating that.  And he’s actively answering me.  He thinks I should get out of this cab.

FOTFD:  Come on, you’re beautiful.  I’m a nice guy.  I want to be your friend. Here’s my phone.  Put your number in it.

Me:  I’m definitely not giving you my number. 

FOTFD:  Fine, give me your email.

Me:  No, I don’t have an email that doesn’t include my full name.  It’s fine.  We’re just sharing this cab. That's all.

FOTFD:  I’m a nice Ohio guy.  Come on.  I’m a TV producer. 

Me:  I’m sure you are a perfectly lovely person.  Who do you work for?

FOTFD:  MLB.  We’ve been so busy with the All Star game and we finally had a day off.  I’ve been drinking all day.

Me:  Again, I totally believe you there.  And I work with their ad sales dept.

FOTFD:  See?  Let’s be friends.  I’m a nice Ohio guy.  Where are you from? 

Me:  I’m from Florida.

FOTFD:  Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnnnnn, fuck Florida.  Everyone is racist down there. 

Me:  Right.  There are a lot of racist people there.  Also, I don’t live there.  I live here.  I have for nearly eight years.  I have no plans to return. 

FOTFD:  Noooooooooo I bet you’re just as bad as everyone else. 

Me:  I assure you I am not.  I really don’t give a shit who or what anyone is. 

FOTFD:  Look at my arm next to you.  We’re not the same. 

Me:  Anyone with functioning eyesight can see that.  I assure you I am not a racist person. Not in the least. 

FOTFD:  Touch my arm.  Touch a black man.

Me:  OK.  …oh hey look.  Nothing happened.

FOTFD:  Fuck Florida. 

Me:  OK.

This went on for a while longer while he simultaneously tried to convince me he was going to see his girlfriend and assured me he wanted my friends to be friends with his friends.  Right, I don’t get it either.  Around this time, I got a text asking me to stop off for ciggs before heading up to the roof.  I saw a Duane Reade and screeched for the cabbie to pull over and let me out.  Just as fast as I’d hurled myself into that cab, I launched my ass out of it.  I’d had enough.  FOTFD hadn’t.  He leaned across and grabbed my arm imploring me to not go.  The cabbie meanwhile was alternating between having unspoken, judgmental conversations with me through the rear-view mirror about being irresponsible and looks that said, “Please don’t leave me with this loon.”  

In the end, I got a free inter-borough cab ride, addressed race relations and gave him some rep’s biz card so that we could be friends in the future.  You’re welcome. 

Vennifer.

Please Take a Hint

When a guy doesn't like sports, it not only nominates him for a lead role in The Red Flag Diaries, but in my mind, it justifies me no longer paying attention to anything he's saying and/or not being particularly kind for the rest of the evening.

#Single4eva

So you're telling me you've never seen The League, you don't watch football on Saturday OR Sunday and I'm just going to go ahead and safely assume you don't play fantasy (Team Fritatta 2012!) no trips up to the Bronx?  Or the Garden? And you're wondering why I ran out of there last night?! I wasn't entirely sure that you weren't, in fact, an alien! 

Vennifer.

This is Where I'm Coming From

Mom: How's it all going?
Me:  Good, I guess.  I'm still seeing the Florida guy and IA.  They both seem to like me (...at least until they find out about this blog I have).
Mom:  It must be your hair color.
Me:  Mom, I think you're supposed to be a little more encouraging than assuming someone your only daughter has been seeing for almost two months must like her solely on account of her hair color.
Mom:  Well, they like girls with dark hair.
Me:  OK, I see we've entered the stereotyping phase of this conversation. I think we're done here.  But really Mom, if anything, I'd have to imagine they'd generally prefer blonds.  It's comparatively more exotic.

That's just a typical conversation between the Mothership and me, spending five minutes talking about my personal life before she inevitably changes the subject to tell me about some deal she got on Suze Orman style jackets at TJ Maxx and lets me know that she's basically cut out and snail mailed me half the Jacksonville newspaper.  Because why not just tell me to go to the paper's website and find the articles digitally?  Forget it.

Mom:  There's this really interesting article on how you shouldn't be posting all of this stuff on Facebook.
Me:  Mom, I'm definitely putting this whole conversation on FB as soon as we're off the phone.
Mom:  Jennifer!
Me:  K, mom, gotta run.  I've got to get out and peddle these brunette locks of mine while the getting is good.

So I don't have a horrible date story to follow here. I thought I would post a real gem of an email I got the other day.  Minus the poor kid's email/phone number, here is what he sent me, verbatim... well, verbatim with my internal monologue as I was reading .  This is what I'm dealing with, people:

hi jen, [already losing points - I'm Jenn with 2 n's - also I didn't realize we were on a nickname basis yet]

good afternoon!! how are you? my name is som - rhymes w/ ohm - and i'd love to get to know more about you. how was your wknd?

i live near princeton, nj, and work in finance. at present, i am helping a couple of friends with raising capital for their start-ups. i'm a former journalist w/ an mba.

activities wise, i am pretty much up for anything..i enjoy movies, theater, cooking, jazz music, reading nonfiction, surfing the net [wait, are you 65?], watching sports, working out, road trips and more.. [is anyone else feelinga little: "Dear Chase, I feel like I can call you Chase because you and me are so alike. I'd like to meet you one day, it would be great to have a catch. I know I can't throw as fast as you, but I think you'd be impressed with my speed. I love your hair. You run fast.  Did you have a good relationship with your father?  Me neither.  These are all things we can talk about and more..."]

my personality is also an interesting mix..i'm loving, giving, caring, passionate sexual [WHAT - seriously?!], gregarious, generous, aggressive and patient. [aggressive and patient? so you're bipolar?  NEAT!]

you can also find me on fb/linkedin/skype under som _________. feel free to google me as well. [There's no crying in baseball! You can't just openly encourage e-stalking!  That takes the fun out of it!]

som

som- - - - - - - - @gmail.com
(646) xxx xxxx


Oh, Som rhymes with Ohm, you are the 2nd person who has openly encouraged me to google them recently.  Is this what people do now, because it's super weird.  Right?  Is nothing private anymore? And not to belabor the point, but that really takes all the fun out of it.  If I'm into you later on, please trust that my friends and I are going to e-search the shit out of you.  What?  I'm a girl. It happens. As for now, please know you've dodged a bullet with my lack of interest.  On to the next shiny object.  There's an NYPD officer who has just reached out.  He is not an attractive man, but again, he's NYPD.  Not sure you can pass that up... at least once.  Just to try it.  Yes?  Thought so. 

Until the next failed romance,

Vennifer.