Ego Boost

Here's a little hump-day evening pick-me-up for you.  I went out with a guy last night who, while absolutely a perfect gentleman, was about as interesting as talking to my cat while watching paint dry.  He seemed nervous about everything from ordering wine to thinking about what he was going to say next to, I don't know, existing. I also think he lied about being 32 because he mentioned something about all of his friends who, "have been in the city for 20 or 30 years." Even if you happen to have gone to college here in Nuevo York, that time span isn't really realistic.

The best part of my night was getting back to Dumbo and seeing that the pizza place downstairs was still open and willing to serve up some super healthy carbs and cheese.  I digress.  The point is I'd already deleted his number out of my phone and forgotten about him until:

Is that normal?  Is this something people generally do? I can't stop laughing.  I was fine just pretending it never happened. Anyhow, to all of you, good luck, you know, with the things.

Vennifer.

Crazy Sauce

I was working on something about all the ridiculous back and forth in the world of online dating.  And while I do believe that one will ultimately be funny, as it directly involves both Alvin and the Chipmunks AND Harry Potter, something has come up which needs immediately attention.  It's this:

I'm sorry, what?  I don't even know what to do with this one.  I mean, I obviously want to go out with him for the story, but I think it's going to have to be my final story.  I think it's going to be my final story because this lunatic is obviously going to make a skin blanket out of me.  And while Casey is always prepared to order a champagne tower and mardi gras Indians for my memorial should I happen to meet an unfortunate end, I don't yet have a working will that will legally bind my parents to bury me in New York and donate all my remaining assets to Hillary's future superPAC.  Stay tuned, though.  It can't take too long.  

K, enjoy the weekend, yall.  

Vennifer.

Crowdsourcing Bullsh*t

And then there was the time I was on the way to our nation's Capitol, writing this post and texting with a gentleman, who is actually in some of the older stories, while he was reading this blog for the first time. So meta.

A couple of months ago, I needed (read: wanted) to get out of a date.  I'm normally on board with giving someone more than one chance to see if there's a connection, but the one time I’d been out with this guy caused me to develop a nervous twitch at the thought of seeing him again.  Or maybe that was just the chardonnay shakes.  I can’t be too sure.  Anyhow, he didn’t make it terribly appealing to get together for round two when he texted me, “Seafood? Is 6:30 or 7:00 good?  How about we meet in Midtown?” Just what every 31-year old New Yorker wants to sacrifice her Friday night to: seafood in Midtown at the 75+ crowd seating.  

I happened to run into my friend Tara in the lobby soon after seeing his suggestion and immediately started to whine to her how I needed out.  I told her, “I’m just going to be direct and say, ‘how about we don’t.’”  She told me that was too mean, so I made up some BS about working on a new biz pitch which sounded totally plausible and came to me disturbingly fast. The thing is I’m honest, sometimes to a fault, but I feel like certain situations just call for it.  This is one of them - notice the date range:

If you ever happen to locate your dignity again, please grab ahold of it tightly.

I've since used the new biz pitch excuse on at least two separate occasions. It's a good one. However, in order to keep it fresh, I decided the best thing to do would be to build up an arsenal of excuses to use right off the bat and never again find myself with a looming Midtown seafood predicament.  

The most reasonable way to do this seemed to be crowdsourcing on Facebook. What I learned is that most of you are quick to channel your inner 11-year old and make poop jokes. And it's not that I don't find Oops I Crapped My Pants funny, I do, but it's not something you're realistically going to tell someone. Even if your'e me. Here are some of my other favorites coming out of that request:

• I have to petition the White House
• I have to feed my cat
• I have to get more cats; the farm isn't going to populate itself
• Spastic colon
• Sudden onset of crabs and lesbianism
• Needed to wait for a good excuse from one of my Facebook friends telling me how to get out of a date last minute. Er, wait a minute...
• Maybe just show him my Facebook wall
• Whine about my day blaming various other racial groups. If he doesn't cancel on me, call him a racist and cancel on him.  

And of course, more diarrhea, emergency diarrhea and STDs. Thanks, everyone. It's been a real pleasure. Maybe one day, if any of this ever works out, I'll get you all to weigh in on my vows. They may not be the most sincere, and surely won't give Shakespeare a run for his money, but it will certainly be entertaining when I promise to love and honor someone through every imaginable digestive ailment.  

A couple of people suggested I give this guy a chance, saying he's clearly interested. He is undoubtedly persistent; I'll give him that. However, once again faced with the prospect of spending an evening with him, the only thing I could think to say was, "how about we don't."

Until the next catastrophic engagement, 

Vennifer.

This Happened Yesterday

Just in case anyone didn't believe I actually did it.  I did.  And he is still talking to me.  It's never the ones you want who still talk to you.  It's the ones who text you pictures of a peach rose.  What. is. that.

OK bye.

Just a Suggestion

First off, why does everyone always want to talk on the phone?  I hate talking on the phone.  I only even call my parents two or three times a month on average.  Fine, maybe it's four or five or 13 because I generally have questions Google can't really answer like:

• Can you send me this childhood favorite recipe?
• How badly would we say my hand should be bleeding before I go to the hospital?
• Are you absolutely sure I don't have some long lost sibling who wants to live in Florida and take care of you when you're super old and if not, have you heard it's never too late for adoption?
• The Kardashians are younger than me and they're freezing their eggs for publicity - should I be doing the same?
• Will you pay for it? Why not?  Fine, agree to revisit this later?
• A mosquito bit me - do you think I have West Nile?  And how long would we say I should wait before picking up and going to the hospital?   
• Do you think that because I am alone in this big house in the suburbs for the weekend, I am more likely or extremely more likely to be murdered during a thunderstorm by the killer from I Know What You Did Last Summer?  

And then I mostly get hung up on.  Whatever, you get the point.  Sometimes the need for additional phone calls arise, but it's basically all for emergency situations only.  That's essentially the relationship I have with the phone function of my smartphone.  More smart, less phone.  So, no, I would not like to catch up over the phone this week.  I will almost certainly be having a chardonnay or bottle thereof.  If you'd like to catch up with me while I do so, beautiful. 

Anyhow, on to my original suggestion.  Maybe don't ask someone out, make plans and then and only then go on to tell them that you're fighting off a cold and may get them sick.  That's, well, sick.  Either just fail to mention it all together, or do the polite thing and excuse yourself and reschedule.  Meeting for a drink is not like trying to catch a triple rainbow, folks.  We signed up for internets dating and made it through the tedious introductory process; we're both interested parties here.  At least we were both interested until I could only picture you snotty and sneezing. 

Vennifer

Latte Me Tell You Something

OK, that was so cheesy I just gagged.  Sorry.  Anyhow, here's the deal:  I would not like to maybe get together later in the week for coffee.  Unless it is at 5:30am and we are two crazy roosters on the way to Soulcycle - in which case I think we would have already found that we are soulmates - I am never going to want to meet for coffee.  Caffeine after lunch is a sure fire way to make sure I never go to sleep again and lay in bed stewing about how much I resent you for a date I was never really into in the first place!  And frankly, I'm a little concerned that you don't understand after work hours are reserved for chardonnay... and bourbon.

Short post, but it needed to be said. 

Vennifer.

My New Boyfriend

Hey there.  How goes it?  Happy Friday to all, more pleasantries, yadda yadda yadda.  I just wanted to take a hot minute to introduce you all to my new boyfriend.  He's a real tall drink of water, don't you think?  Sitting there so regally casual (that's not a thing) in that chevron stripe chair.  Or maybe it's the ghost chair?  I can't be sure.  He's always switching seats and whatnot, but he's also always telling me the nicest things and encouraging me to drink more wine.  I previously thought I was the only one who got him, but then I turned on the RNC, saw ole Clint Eastwood and was absolutely thrilled to realize I wasn't alone in my connection with invisible chair people.  What. A. Relief.

OK, listen, he's yelling at me to go to the airport now.  Don't want to be late!

Happy Laborless weekend, everyone!