Some Random Thursday Notes…

I really hate when guys from Tinder say:  “why the hell are you on Tinder?” implying there must be something very wrong with me that they haven’t yet figured out, which makes me think there must be something very wrong with THEM…

“Why is anyone on Tinder??” is usually my response… which makes them realize they’re on Tinder as well, which is how they started talking to me in the first place.

Guys from OkCupid say “Tinder’s just for hookups…” which is when I say to them, “Some people say the same about OkCupid.”

Guys from match.com say “OkCupid and Tinder are for people who aren’t actually serious about finding someone to date.”

And when I ask why they think that, their response is “because you don’t have to PAY for those sites.”

Oh I’m sorry, I’d feel much more comfortable PAYING MONEY for my next boyfriend.  You’re right.  Let me weed out the dating sites based on how much they cost.

Guys who are on no dating sites at all say, “Why are you on those sites???”

“WHY NOT????” I obviously have not met my future husband at the library or at a bar… so whyyyyy the heck not?

In any case, I must somehow be oozing desperation?  My married co-worker who covers the LA territory texted me yesterday:

A:  “Are u on Facebook?”

Me:  “Yeah I am”

A:  “I was going to show u a buddy’s profile who I think you should meet.  6’5, blonde, athletic…36 or 37… sells advertising for a   reputable magazine… fun dude.”

Me:  “Besides the blonde, sounds good.”

So I checked him out, and gave A the go-ahead to send him my info.  I think he’s a little too good-looking for me.  But A assured me he knows what he’s doing, and he thinks we’d hit it off.  I don’t really mesh well with “pretty-boys” because I feel like they usually want “pretty-girls,” of which I am not.  I’m not the girliest of girls.  And it’s hard for me to pretend I am.  Not that I’d want to pretend I was…but you get the point.

In other news, I pulled up to an office yesterday for work, and put my scrub top on (I wear less clothing to drive between offices).  I got out of my car with my pants still pushed up to my knees like a gangsta, and as I walked towards the door they began to fall into place… one at a time.  So if you want to picture this… bright neon sneakers with a shirt half-on, tank top underneath, and one pant leg rolled up to the knee…with a huge bag over my shoulder.  There was no one around at this time, so I had plenty of time to fix myself before I reached the door.

So I thought…. a dude in a Mariner sitting in the parking lot rolls his window down as I’m walking by his car and shouts out “Hey!  Are you from Jersey?”

I jumped.  I didn’t see him there.  Damn, I need to get my plates changed.  I turn around to his open window.  He’s in blue Boston Scientific scrubs, so I felt immediately comforted.  One of my own.  I haven’t seen any device reps around since I’ve been out here.  Turns out he is originally from Long Island too, only a half an hour from where I grew up.  He moved out to the west coast with another large device company a couple of years ago.  We immediately had a friendly connection; he felt for me being such a newbie here, and he sold a spinal cord stimulator, which is a position I had applied for back east.  So we had a lot of common ground.  We exchanged cards.

I’m wondering if I may have been too friendly, because he has already texted me several times, and actually called me this morning while I was on a conference call.  I thought he’d be a great professional connection to have, but I’m not sure if he is seeing this connection as professional or personal.  And as awesome as he seemed, I’m not really into dating anyone in the same profession.  Sales people are such d-bags.

I guess that’s enough for my long-winded update of the day.  It’s Thursday.  Thank goodness…. I’m thirsty.

xoxo

Gossip Girl

Jake from State Farm [take 2]

If you knew me at all, you’d probably know I don’t usually “just let things go.”  The whole Jake from State Farm not talking to me ever again was bugging me.  Not because I was yearning to see him again, just because I didn’t really understand WHY he wasn’t trying to see me again.  I talked about him at least 3 times a day.  Every day since meeting him.  Each time included a “wtf.”  No one could really give me any clues as to why he might be ignoring me.

On one of our daily post-work road trips to shop for cars, my sister and I were talking.

“I want to ask Jake from State Farm really bluntly… like w…t…f?  But I want an actual answer.  Like a real response.  So I’m not sure how to word this.”

Carissa’s like, “Hmmmm… I don’t really know.”

I’m mulling it over, trying to think of different ways to word it….. Carissa says, “Why don’t you just say wtf?”

“Yeah, I mean, my actual question is, ‘Jake from State Farm…. WHAT THE F***?…. So I might as well just say that.”

I grab my cell, pull up “Jake from State Farm” and text him “wtf”

That’s it.  “wtf”

2 minutes later, a text box pops up.  I’m driving.  Carissa’s using my phone to navigate.

“Jake from State Farm.  He responded.”

“Read it.”

“Hola.”

“WWWWTTTTTFFFFFFF????  Hola???  After 2 weeks…. hola???”

“You kind of deserved that response.”

The conversation was kicked off and JFSF gave me some lame excuse about being out-of-town and then having his dad visit.  I just commended him on his slick “fade out” move and told him I was just taking the moment to call him out.

I still didn’t have closure because he didn’t give me an actual explanation.

Jake from State Farm continued to text yesterday, and asked what I was doing this weekend.  I told him I had no real plans and I was going out in PB if he’d like to join.  He didn’t respond until we were already out, and his response included an invite to hang out at his house, which is on the beach in Mission Beach.  I told him I was already out, and wouldn’t be coming over, but he was welcome to join us in PB.

He said PB “wasn’t in the cards.”

Douche.  My sister and V hate him at this point.  Then he CALLS me.  At the bar.  To tell me he will pay for my cab to come meet him at his beach house.  Ummmm NO.  If you want to see me, you will COME HERE.  He says no.

I’m standing there bitching about him to Carissa and V, when I turn around, and the creeper is standing in the doorway between the bar and the outdoor patio just staring at me.  Ummmm…. Jake?  From State Farm??

He looks like shit.  Excuse my language.  But he looks like absolute shit.  To be more precise, he looks like a lesbian on drugs.

I go over and hug him.  His hair looks like it hasn’t been washed in days, and I’m not sure if his eyes are open or closed.  I guess they were somewhere in between, but more on the side of closed.

He tried to pull me in for some dance moves, which I initially agreed to.

Then my little sister comes over, pulls JFSF aside and says to him forcefully:  “Jake from State Farm, I don’t like you.  I don’t like you at all.”

Ohhhh geez, she’s been hanging out with me wayyyyyy too much lately.  I’m just standing there smirking and enjoying it, because this is not in my sister’s character.  I felt like the roles were reversed.  It’s usually me giving guys the: “I will murder you if you do anything to my sister” lecture.  But Carissa has taken this on in full force.  And I don’t mind.  Because Jake from State Farm needs to take a long walk off a short pier.

We hung out for a little longer.  V says “I don’t like him… at all.”  Brie’s boyfriend Colin says, “Don’t like him.”

We left.  I don’t know what Jake from State Farm did.  I wouldn’t have been surprised if he just passed out where he was standing.  He was so out-there, it was kinda crazy.  He sent several texts, a few last night, and one this morning, to which I did not respond.

Jake from State Farm, you were fun while you lasted, but I’m officially over you.  Peace out, cub scout.

xoxo Gossip Girl

 

Jake from State Farm

I’m sitting in my car in Mexico waiting for Olive Garden to bring food out for a doctor’s office, so I figured I’d start a post.  I might not actually be in Mexico, I don’t know… but there’s border control everywhere and my car thermometer says 119 degrees.  I think they might be looking for my sister’s new Mexican lover, Tonto.

So I’ve only been out in SoCal for two weeks, but I’ve already made some general notes about the men here:

1.  They’re lazy

2.  They don’t care that they’re lazy

3.  The lazier they are, the cooler they think they are

4.  “The waves are totally tubular dudeeeee”

5.  They expect you to go hiking with them

6.  They’re pretty sexual… surfer-sexual

So I’ll start you out here with my first dude story…. There was Jake [from State Farm].  Jake from State Farm somehow matched with me on Tinder at some point when Carissa and I were in the dead middle of the country on our drive out here.  Don’t ask me how, because that game is based upon your proximity to each other.  All I can think of is that he originally swiped right on me (swipe right = “I’m interested”) when I was out visiting San Diego in early July, so I guess he automatically popped up once I started playing the game again during the drive.  He was “surfer sexual.”  Long(ish) wavy hair, an awesome tan, baby blue eyes and some scruff on his chiseled face.  When he messaged me and asked why I was 2000 miles away, I explained, and he told me there would be beers waiting for us at the finish line once we arrived in Pacific Beach.  He conveniently lives in Mission Beach, about a mile away.  Okay… I’ll take it.

We messaged intermittently over the week.  We progressed to texting.  Then when we finally arrived, we were obviously BUSY, but he was persistent in wanting us to cash in on those beers.  Persistent to the point of CALLING me after I told him I was busy car shopping with my sister.  Okok.

So we arrived on a Friday afternoon.  That Sunday was obviously reserved as Funday.  Carissa and I hit up a spot on the beach for beers, and Jake from State Farm said he was going to come meet us.  As we’re sitting there at a table on the deck sharing a pitcher, Carissa burps loudly, as she does, and then looks up and says “Jake?”

I guess she recognized him from the Tinder pictures she saw.  I didn’t know he was going to be there so soon, so I wasn’t even on the lookout.  It was him.  I think the first thing I said to him was “Oh, hi.  I have that same shirt.”

I don’t know why I said that.  It was just a white cotton button down.  I guess I’d categorize it as “classy surfer-casual.”  He looked good.  As good as his photos.  But when he finally took his aviator sunglasses off when sunset hit, he looked even better.  His eyes were super blue and went nicely with his tanned surfer skin and natural dirty blonde highlights.  This, my friends, is usually not my type…. buttttttttt “when in SoCal….”

We started talking.  Soon, my friend Tier, and roommate V came to join us.  Jake from State Farm and I talked a lot about random things, and he admitted he was tracking our journey by clicking on my Tinder page over the past week to see how many miles away we were.  We discussed a book that has a lot of meaning to me, even though I’ve never read it.  I decided he was the sign I needed to allow myself to read it.  Weird?  Yeah… we were sort of on the same weird wavelength.

The sun was down and our group decided to move on to another bar along the boardwalk.  Jake from State Farm very well could have taken this as his cue to say “nice to meet you,” and go on his merry way.  But instead, he suggested another bar that was hopping, and offered me a ride on his beach cruiser.  The group got a head start on foot, and I hopped on the back of his bike, standing on the pegs.  He rode me down the boardwalk, with the night crew partying at the bars to our right, and the calm ocean on our left.

We got to the next place which was a little more rowdy than the daytime beach scene.  When dance music comes on, I like to act like an idiot.  Half to mock the people actually dancing, and half because I start laughing so hard, I can’t stop.  To my surprise, Jake from State Farm shared similar dance moves.  From the moment we started, we were in sync.  Our “moves” just jived perfectly, and we couldn’t have looked like bigger morons.  That was it.  I was in love.

Love… true, true love.  It was the Sunday before my first day of work, so I left to go home before the rest of the crew.  Jake from State Farm left too, but had his bike, so we said goodbye and parted ways as he headed back to Mission Beach and I grabbed a cab back home.  When I got home I sat around for a bit, and V came in soon after.  I told her,

“We’re in love!”

She knew.

I was obviously not being serious…. at all…. but this combination of a common novel, and our off-the-wall dance moves kept me intrigued.  We texted that night, and both admitted we had Facebook stalked each other.  We said we’d love to see each other again soon.

Then…. nothing.

Nothing I tell ya.  Nothing.  One, maybe two random boring texts, with long breaks in between responses over the next two days.  That was it.  Kaput.

Jake from State Farm, W……T…….F?

My sister says, “Get over it, he’s not your type anyway.”

“Maybe not, but I just don’t get it.”

“He’s short.”

“But he’s a good dancer.”

“Neither of you is a good dancer.”

“That’s the point.”

It’s true… he’s not my typical “type…”  But that was kind of also the point.    Two Sundays ago, “surfer-sexual” was my type.  Jake from State Farm… he was my type.  And now…. poof.  Into the wind…. like the cloud of smoke from all the drugs he probably does.  He’s gone.  See you never, my sexual friend.  See you never….

xoxo Gossip Girl

The 4 Month Husband

Although I’ve tried to branch out from blogging about primarily dating stuff, it seems it’s hard to get away from it.  When you’re 30 and single, dating sort of becomes a necessary hobby.  Well, necessary if you ever want to find a significant other before you’re old and wrinkled with 17 cats.

There was one guy I met last October that I never blogged about.  I suppose it was because I thought there might be some potential, and I didn’t want to jinx it.  It was a football Sunday.  I went out to a boozy brunch with my brother, sister-in-law, and friend Meg at our favorite spot, CK 14.  Afterwards, Chase had to leave to catch a flight out of town for work, so the girls continued on, wandering the streets of NYC in our football jerseys (such big sports fans, I know), until we stumbled upon a big, rowdy sports bar.  We made our way through the crowd, found a spot in the back near a TV, got a couple of pitchers, and made some friends.  At one point, Brittany announced:  “I’m going to find you a husband today.”

“No, Britt, please no.  There’s no one here I’m interested in.”

It was true.  I obviously did a scan of the bar on our way in, and everyone appeared to be douchey frat boys.  I wasn’t in the mood to look for a husband.  I just wanted to drink beer and watch football (maybe I should find a wife).  But when Brittany’s on a mission, Brittany’s on a mission.  And wingman she is.

At one point, she disappeared to “go to the bathroom” and never came back.  About 20 minutes passed when one of the guys we were sitting with said “maybe you should go look for her?”

It was cold out; we all had our coats and bags on the chairs.  Meg was fading and wanted to leave.  After she left I collected all of our things and went looking for Brittany.  Where I found her was in another room at the front of the bar, surrounded by three guys.  She sees me coming and says,

“Oh here she is!  Court, I wanted to introduce you to your future brother-in-law, and your future husband!”

Oh great.  I should have seen this coming.  She had been gone for so long that all three of the guys knew my entire life story, my career path and my dating history.   Brittany briefed me on my new husband’s background, and detailed me on why she specially chose him out of ALL of the guys in the bar (there were A LOT of guys in the bar).

I had a short conversation with my husband before he looked at his watch and walked out to make a phone call.  He had a flight to San Francisco that evening for work, and he tried (unsuccessfully) to get on a later one.  He quickly said his goodbyes and left.  Without my number.

Brittany was DEVASTATED.  Like actually devastated.  She just didn’t understand.  “Britt, this happens.  This is life.  It’s not a big deal.”

“But WHY didn’t he get your number????”

“I guess he just didn’t like me that much!”

Britt tried to give HER number to his friend in case he ASKED for MY number.  She wasn’t ready to give up yet.  He said that made no sense.  She suggested I give him my number.  ladjfa;ldksfja;dlkfj;fjda;lfjads;l f  Fine.  I gave his friend my number.  He texted me several times.  I don’t know why.

A few days later I got a text.  “Hey, it’s [husband].  I was in such a rush I forgot to get your number.  I’m really glad Pat got it for me.”

Mmmmm… okay.  Anyway, the guy travels like crazy.  It seemed he was only in NY for like a day every two months.  It was 4 months until we had our first date.  I liked him.  He was the perfect mix of tall athlete, a hint of hipster, and a touch of cowboy.  If a shoe collection could tell a story, his closet (I now know) is lined with Chuck Taylors, Sperrys and cowboy boots.

The date went well… we had a couple of drinks mid-week back at CK 14, which seems to be our middle-ground between the upper east side and Hoboken.  He was funny.  And charming.  And from the midwest, but had skulls on his belt.  I was digging it.  We said goodbye near the subway, and that we hoped it would be sooner than 4 months before we saw each other again.  Then… nothing.

I got a random text from him a while later, saying he was flying back into town and would be around for the night.  It happened to be the night I dressed like a clown and made balloon hats in the subways with my sister.  I told him “Maybe we can meet you later, but we’re dressed like clowns.”

He said “Okay, let me know when you’re on your way.”

“Carissa, he didn’t even ask why we were dressed like clowns.”

“That’s weird.”

So we met him and his brother and his friends.  Dressed like clowns.  At a bar that was not clown themed.  We had a blast, Carissa gave me the stamp of approval, “I actually don’t hate him,” and that was that.  “Bye!  Hopefully we’ll do this again, in sooner than 4 months.”  After that night…. nothing.  WTF.

He texts me out of the blue on Thursday… 4 months later.  “Happy hour tonight?”

“I can’t, I have a thing from 7-9.”

“Oh… a thing!”

“A Yelp event… I didn’t want to sound nerdy so I tried to get away with ‘a thing.'”

“Nice try.  Super nerdy.”

Turns out he was around all weekend, so Meg and I went to meet up with him after the Yankee game last night (or should I say DURING the Yankee game… we opted to blow that popsicle stand during the rain delay).  He invited us to his place since his friends weren’t going out til later on.  We grabbed some beer and headed over.

We were greeted by a fancy doorman, who actually opened the door for us, and went up to his 11th floor apartment.  Holy freakin’ crap.  It was decorated impeccably in somewhat of a vintage/nautical/California theme and had a gigantic balcony completely furnished.   I’ve noticed lately I tend to fall more in love with people’s apartments than the people who live in them.  But honestly, I’m in love.  With the apartment.  And his shoe collection.

Somehow it came up he is moving to Atlanta for work on the 30th.

“WHAT?!  You can’t move to Georgia!!!”

“You’re moving to California the day before me!  You have no say.”

“Ugh, this is horrible.”

We went out and had an amazing time.  When it was time to say goodbye, I said…. “Well… maybe I’ll see you in 4 months?”

“Actually, most likely we’ll never see each other again.”

“OMG that is a horrible thing to say.”

“I’m just being honest…”

And that’s that.  Farewell, husband… until we meet again (or not).

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