"Show Me Your Tits!"

So recently, I went on a coffee with a seemingly normal guy who appeared to have his shit together. But I was wrong.

We met for coffee at a really cute cafe right around the corner from my place. He also lives in the neighborhood which made him geographically desirable. While I sat there and sipped on my coffee (camomile tea for him with an excessive amount of honey), we chatted about work and life and dating. He is 35 and like I said, seemed to have his shit together. After coffee / tea, we went to the grocery store across the street so I could introduce him to vanilla almond milk. He mentioned he is a lacktard (my nickname for those who are lactose intolerant) so I really talked up almond milk. It's amazing. My breakfast is forever changed. It's my current obsession, along with coconut water, Faye yogurt and kale chips.

After grocery shopping, we parted ways and made plans to see one another again. And then that's when shit got weird.

The next morning, he sent a text saying "My cereal will never be the same. You really knocked socks off.  #neverneedcowmilkagain" I hate when people do this. Why? You are not posting this on Twitter. You are texting. Why must you use the # and run on words? Use punctuation and spaces.

I responded with "glad I was able to knock your socks off. Almond milk has changed my life. Did you have a good evening?"

Creeper, "Knock my socks off you did! Maybe soon I can knock your bra off."

Ummm...What. The. Fuck. How about dinner first? I thought it was highly f-ed up, but I played it off and basically ignored the comment. Later that day, he asked if I was free to watch a movie. I was not, but even if I didn't have plans, I would feel super uncomfortable going to some dude's apartment who I just met to watch a movie. He could be a cannibal:

http://abcnews.go.com/Blotter/cannibal-cop-trial/story?id=18442029

Days later, I hear from him again. It was Tuesday at 6:30pm. He sent me a text that said, "Hey! I think you should send me a topless pic message!"

Oh yeah? Really? You think I should do that? What the fuck, creep? Do girls actually respond to this with a boob shot of themselves? What's the normal response here, because I was appalled. I wanted to google "photos of saggy grandma nipples", but didn't want that in my Google history. I didn't even wear anything provocative to our little coffee date. I have a pretty large rack that can't be concealed in a sweater, but that's not even my point. I could have had my nipples out on the table and still, this text would be inappropriate. What ever happened to dinner and drinks? It's like he skipped a few stages. He is thirty-effing-five years old. Grow up. We are not setexting teenagers.

I responded with, "I think you should delete my number."

Creeper, "Done. Thanks for the almond milk."

Choke on it, creep.

The most uninteresting man

Yesterday I had a first date with someone that I met online. I generally do not look forward to first dates at all anymore, mostly because I have been so disappointed and I find them to be more like a job interview. Whatever happened to having a little fun and sharing a few laughs? I don't want to talk about my job at all. I don't want to give you a brief on my career and tell you the most challenging part of my job. It's the f-ing weekend. The last thing on my mind is work.

Plus, the guys in New York are so fixated on money and possessions that I often feel really uncomfortable. And they LOVE to talk about themselves. I sometimes think they just want to go out with someone new because they need a new set of ears to hear that they are oh so wonderful.

This guy yesterday had a giant stick up his ass. I would have had more fun watching paint dry or grass grow than having brunch with this asshole. He is a runner, which is about the only thing we have in common. Only, I have been running since I was 12 years old and he just started 2 years ago, but he thinks he knows more than me. He got shin splints last January and "they were not properly treated" so he is still having problems. He went back to his doctor and demanded that he recommend him a new sports medicine doctor and physical therapist. For shin splints. I think he should have also asked for a gyno referral to check out his giant vagina. When I got shin splints running track or cross country in high school, our treatment was you just suck it up and keep running. If they're bad, you maybe get to rest 2-3 practices but then your ass was out there running again. And our coach was an occupational therapist, so he knew a thing or 2 about injuries. I have never heard of anyone going to a sports medicine doctor for shin splints. So, immediately I think he is a real manly man.

He then went off about how his building is no longer rent stabilized and they raised his rent by 11%. He was pissed. Because of this, he is now going to buy a place. He talked about how he has looked at over 2,000 apartments online and has looked at 50+ in person. Hand to God, here are some comments regarding some of these visits:

• "I now take a tape measure with me. Do you want to know why? Because some of these closets are only 18 inches deep. A hanger is 14 inches long. I mean, that doesn't give you any room what-so-ever." In my mind I am thinking, what the fuck. It gives you 4 inches. Unless you have a puffy coat, you should be fine dude. 
• "The fixtures at another place were so not up to my standards. The outlet covers were not even parallel to the floor and ceiling." Note: some of my outlets don't even have covers and that doesn't bother me in the slightest. Clearly, this is not going to work. 
• "Another place, I asked the broker for the cabinet manufacturer. For starters, the cabinetry was not deep enough so I knew I had to replace. But, I believe I had those same cabinets in the past and they started to turn slightly yellow, so I needed to make sure they were made by a different manufacturer. Why would I pay $2M for a place like that, where they do not have quality fixtures." Again, if you are looking at the depth of a cabinet then I am going to assume you have a vagina. 

He then proceeded to stay on his soap box and told me about a recent issue with his bathroom at his current place, which also pushed him over the edge to stop renting and buy his own place. He told me he had his bathtub re-caulked "because you should do that every 2 years." I am thinking, "what. the. fuck." After he emailed and called his super numerous times, he finally got the work orders approved. When they came to re-caulk his tub, they broke a tile and this really put his panties in a bunch. So, he emailed and called his super multiple times again in order to re-tile his bathroom wall because of this broken tile. One lonely broken tile. Again, once the work orders were approved, they came and "RE-GLAZED his tub." He really emphasized that. He didn't ask for that but was thankful however they did not fix his tile. So again, he proceeded to stalk his super to fix this one fucking tile. Finally, they came out and the super was specific to the contractors (or whoever does this) to only "re-tile the one wall." Instead, they did the entire tub area, floor and ceiling. He really puffed his chest out and he was so proud about this. ONLY - they put a hole in his tub and it leaked whenever he would shower. He again, hounded his super to fix this. Are you sick of this story? Because I am so angry and tired of writing about it. He sucks. At the end of this thrilling story, I merely said, "wow, your super must love you." At this point, I couldn't leave fast enough. 

Bottom line, he was the worst. He is more high maintenance than I could ever hope to be. He is born and raised in New York. From age 12 - 18, he went to boarding school in Vermont. After boarding school, he "HAD to get back to the city." He said he applied to only NYC schools and campuses. He couldn't take living in the middle of no where. New York is the greatest place on earth. His words - not mine. The kicker was when he asked me if "I summer anywhere?" I wanted to laugh but I just said, "yes, Central Park." He didn't even laugh. After what felt like the longest 1.5 hours of my life, we left and went our separate ways to never see each other again. 

My $50 Drink

My Favorite

I have been on a bourbon / whiskey kick lately. I don't know why or how this really started, but alas, here I am. My bank account hates me for it.

The other weekend, my good friend Meg had her work holiday party. What am I talking about "the other weekend?" It was a month ago this happened. I am horrible with time. Anywho, at her holiday party, I was sipping on my delicious whiskey, which was free. I love free alcohol. After the dancing and free booze ended, we continued the party at some fancy pants lounge. My good friend David from high school and his girlfriend were in town and they were meeting up with us there. He was visiting from DC (where he currently lives) and I haven't seen him in almost a year, so I was jumping out of my skin excited to give him a big hug and meet his lovely new girlfriend. We meet in the hotel lobby and after a few hugs, we slipped some name to the bouncer so we could go up to the rooftop lounge. I hate bouncers. Seriously dude, your job is not all the serious. Don't be a dick.

We all go upstairs. It's loud. I mean, I am screaming to David who is 2 feet away and I can barely hear myself..that loud. It is also really dark and I can't really see any of the bottles behind the bar. This has nothing to do with the fact that my vision might be slightly impaired from the free whiskey. Nothing at all. The only bottle that I can clearly read the label is Johnny Walker Blue. I ordered it like I was ordering eggs at brunch - like it was no big deal. "Oh, I will have a Johnny Walker Blue on the rocks, please. Also, a Corona and a Amstel Light, please." The bar tender, who is an asshole, didn't bat an eye and gave me exactly what I ordered. To be fair, she wasn't really an asshole but I think she could have said, "really idiot? do you want Johnny Walker Blue? You look like you might be new at this game." David seemed to be impressed with my order and asked if he could have a sip. Of course I handed him my glass and he said, "it's really good. I have never had this before." Little did I know that I should have charged him $10 for that little sip. After I get the tab, I nearly shat myself because my tab was $66. Now, I have spent well over $66 on a tab before so that's not the shocking bit. It was the fact that I ordered 3 drinks that led to a $66 tab that kind of made me go, hmmm - what the fuck. I was so confused and just assumed that the beers were pricey because we were at this fancy pants lounge. And then I took a closer look. Nope. The beers were reasonably priced at $8.00 each. And sadly, yes, $8.00 is reasonable for a beer in Manhattan. However, my glass of what I thought was whiskey but it really scotch was 50 fucking dollars, which is not reasonable by an standards. I am such a rookie.

As I am straining my voice screaming at David 2 feet away because it's so unbearably loud, I just keep thinking "this is not worth $50." It was good, don't get me wrong, but not $50-for-one-drink-good. It didn't give me an orgasm and I felt like it should. I don't know what $50 should taste like but that wasn't it. I actually enjoy Fruit Punch Kool Aid much more than Johnny Walker Blue.

Note to self: don't go chasing blue or purple labels. Stick to the rivers and the labels you're used to... Or just stick to good ol' trusty vodka and soda.

2012 - Good F-ing Bye

It's been a long time. Too long in fact. The good news is that I have collected lots of great stories over the course of 2012. I have tons of new material.

As I sit here on the last day of 2012, only one thought crosses my mind: Good F-ing Bye. 2012 was, how should I put it..um, not good. Actually, just 1 month was awful. I had kidney stones which a kidney infection shortly followed. My grandma died. And the marathon was cancelled. So there was that. All of this happened over the course of 5 weeks from beginning of October through mid November, so that is what is fresh on my mind. On a happy note though, there were some positives this past year: I got a promotion at work. I moved into my own studio apartment on the Upper West Side. And I went on some pretty amazing trips. You have to take the good with the bad, right?

I looked back on my New Years resolutions last year and I just had to chuckle:

1) Complete the 9+1 program with the New York Road Runners so I am guaranteed entry into the 2013 NYC Marathon: Did not complete the 9+1 but do have entry into the 2013 marathon thanks to Hurricane Sandy. 

2) Call my grandma each week. Big fat fail. And now she is dead. 

3) Travel to some place new. Amsterdam, check. 

4) Get bikini ready by May and reward myself with a trip to Vegas (this will also accomplish #3). Another big fat fail. 

5) Make a budget and stick to it. Hahaha. Not even close. 

So, I was 1 for 5. Way to go Denise...way to go. 

This year, I will also set attainable resolutions and hopefully this time next year, I will have completed all of them. Here is to an amazing 2013 with 13 new resolutions: 

1) Run the 2013 NYC Marathon.  

2) Really complete the 9+1 program with the NYRR in case you want to run the marathon in 2014.

3) Quit smoking, for reals. Stop bumming cigs - those count too. 

4) Send birthday cards to your friends. This is easy. You can do it. 

5) Make a better effort at keeping in touch with your friends. Call them more often. Your phone does more things than just texting and Facebook. 

6) Travel to some place new. Iceland perhaps?

7) Visit Corinne. (see Corinne..I am serious about coming to Minneapolis)

8) Stop being a chunky monkey - lose some lbs. Bikini ready by May, seriously. 

9) Make a budget and really stick to it. 

10) Fall in love. 

11) Update your blog weekly. 

12) Read 20 new books. 

13) Go home more often. As in Ohio. Twice a year is not enough. 

There you have it. Here is to hoping. 

I wish all of my friends all the happiness, love, success and laughter in 2013!

XOXOX

"But I am not gay"

I received the most amazing email from my beloved Aunt Donna today. Here is her note to me:

Hi there,
Just want you to know, I love you no matter what. I saw your life partner today and I am so proud of you. I guess we all have a way of expressing ourselves and sometimes our past has a way to inspire others...I hope I have inspired you to acknowledge things we can not change. I love you like my own daughter and if I had a daughter I would love her to be just like you; confident and assured in herself. You are such a blessing in my life and others around you...don't ever change the way you are.
Hugs and kisses to my niece; Denise.

I, of course, love my aunt dearly and was rather confused by the note. Life partner? What is she talking about? Who did she see and where? Did she run into someone at Kroger? I responded:

Hey Aunt Donna -
You saw my "life partner" the other day? Who is that? Not sure what you mean...
Hope things are going well with you. I am leaving tomorrow for Costa Rica! I am so excited. I can't wait. Bring on the sunshine and beach! I love you!

To which she responded:
Oh, I thought you were saying you had a girlfriend...haha....Aunt Donna totally misunderstood as your child is listed as Scarlet:-)  Me and my crazy thoughts.
You have a wonderful time my dear....be safe and enjoy your much deserved travels.

So, yes, my aunt definitely thought I was gay. For the record, I am not. I am still holding on to my "straight" card. 

However, I love her note. I love it for many reasons:  <stepping up on soap box>
1) She realizes that homosexuality is not a choice, "I hope I have inspired you to acknowledge things we can not change." People do not choose to be gay. I actually went on a date with a guy who told me that my gay friends chose that path and that they would eventually grow of this phase. Needless to say, there was not a second date. I have a hard time understanding how someone could believe that we are in control of our sexuality. Sexuality is not a choice. Lady Gaga said it best, "baby, you are born that way".  The nature vs. nurture debate makes my head spin. It's nature. End of debate.

My favorite YouTube video is a guy who asks people this very question, "Is homosexuality a choice?" Shockingly, most people responded yes, to which he combated, "When did you choose to be straight?" 

Someone does not actively made a conscience decision to be straight. Same goes for the other side of the coin.

2) I also love her note because she is so accepting. I love that she loves me regardless of who I love. It breaks my hears to hear from my good friends where their parents, family and friends do not accept them because they are gay. In fact, some stories have brought me to tears. I don't understand this ignorance. How you could not love your child, sibling, niece, nephew, cousin, friend, etc. because of something out of their control? And besides, how does other's sexuality really impact your life? Who are you to judge who people love?

It wasn't too long ago that women couldn't vote. It wasn't that long ago that black people had to drink out of a different water fountain and had to attend a different school. Can you imagine a world like that today? I can't. 

Can you imagine not having equal rights because of something that you have no control over: your gender, skin color or sexuality? Can you imagine not being able to marry the one you love? There are millions (that's right, millions) of people who are unable to marry their love, their soul mate.  I can't wait for 20 years down the road when we are all sitting around, asking ourselves, "do you remember that time when gay people couldn't get married? I can't imagine a world like that today."

I believe that every person has the right to marry the one they love.


If you support gay marriage, please take the time to sign the Human Rights Campaign petition:

http://www.millionsformarriage.org/

<stepping down from soap box>

And Aunt Donna - I love you!

I heart New York

This sums up beautifully my feelings for New York. When I lived in Chicago, I always had this expectation that I would eventually move home, back to Ohio, at some point. Chicago never felt like home.

I felt that way, too, once I first moved to New York - I would live here for a little bit and then eventually move home. Ohio was always 'home' to me. Now, coming up on my 2nd anniversary with New York, I can't imagine living anywhere else. I can't imagine living in Ohio anymore. New York feels like home to me because New York has become my home now.

Sorry Ohio, you have been replaced. Don't worry, I will always love you.

Bad News Bears

Not my shingles..but this is what they look like. 

This past summer, I contracted shingles. Sexy, right?

At this time, I was seeing/hooking up with a guy who I will refer to as BNB (bad news bears - not because he was bad news bears...but, well, you will see). On a random Monday, I woke up with a patch of "dry skin" on my hip. I thought it was a bit strange that I would get this patch of dry skin in the middle of summer, but I didn't think too much of it. I assumed my skin was angry at my new lotion but only this patch was angry - the rest of my legs were a-ok.  The next night, I stayed over at BNB's. I woke up Wednesday with shooting pains running down my leg. My "dry patch" of skin looked real aggressive. There was a significant amount of blisters. I immediately jumped in a cab and headed home. I knew that I needed to seek some medical attention stat for this situation. I do not have a primary care doctor in New York, so I always go to the Duane Reade clinic, like a real winner. I have great insurance, so I always feel a little out of place hanging out with the degenerates at Duane Reade.

My doctor's office

When I went to DR (coincidence this is short for both Duane Reade and doctor?), I told the "doctor" that I thought I had shingles. I had them as a kid, all over my face. It was real cute. I remember waking up when I was 5 with "pimples" down the right side of my face. They were also in my mouth and on my ear. I woke my mom and told her that I needed some pimple cream. She took one look at me and started to cry. That's not exactly reassuring for a 5 year old. I remember my face felt like it was on fire. These pimples were intense. She took me to my pediatrician and he sent us to Children's Hospital. I don't know why, but I loved going to the hospital when I was little. I was excited beyond belief. I also remember that no one would tell me "no" that day. Popsicle? Yes. More popsicles? Yes. Ice cream? Yes. More ice cream? Whatever you want. I ate my face off in popsicles and ice cream. I couldn't shovel them down my throat fast enough. I had to milk this opportunity. When my dad got there, he walked in the room and walked out immediately. Years later, he told me that he actually cried when he saw me because I was so hideous. Thanks dad.

So, this "doctor" at DR, who I am sure graduated at the top of her class, told me I had herpes. I started to cry. I have never had an STD. I thought it was a little bizarre that you could get an STD on your hip. I always just assumed that they would happen around the who-ha region. I asked her how this was possible and she started to chuckle. She informed me that shingles is a form of herpes and that I did not have an STD. Fuck you doc. When I ask you if I have shingles and you respond with "you have herpes", well - you can see how that can confuse someone. I don't need a technical debrief here. A simple "yes, you have shingles" would have suited me just fine.

I had just got back from Peru and she said it could be caused from stress, changes in altitude and climate, etc. I also have 'the shing' string due to my face incident and she says it lays dormant and can flair up at times for different rhymes and reason. Once we sorted out through the STD confusion, she told me that I was contagious only if someone touches it. She told me that if someone had been in contact with the area that I had to tell them. Just great. Just f-ing great. I did not want to do this. I did not want to tell BNB this news. Shingles isn't exactly sexy. After much debate, I decided to do the right thing and send an email. Here is my email, verbatim. I really do have a special way with words.

Subject: Bad News Bears
Yesterday, I woke up with some sort of small rash on my thigh. I just thought it was an allergic reaction to something, but when I woke up this morning, it had gotten way worse. I just got back from the doctor and she confirmed it is shingles (awesome, right?). Apparently, it's caused by stress which is odd because I really don't have a care in the world. Anywho, it is contagious (and utterly painful).  She actually gave me extra meds, so if by chance you get it - I will give them to you. She also said to wash any sheets. I don't think I am going to the Hamptons tonight, so you are welcome to use our washer & dryer (it's in unit). I am sorry - I really hope you don't get it.

From my Seattle friends - thanks Leigh and Andrew

There is no "hi, how are you?" "how is your day going." I dived head first into the shallow end. At the time, I didn't realize the awkwardness of my note. I did end up going to the Hamptons that night and I read my crafty note aloud to my friend, D-Ro. She laughed until she had tears in her eyes. It was then that I realized, wow - this is a really an f-ing awkward email. The note became the joke of the weekend. If you say "anywho" to any of my New York friends, they immediately start laughing. When they see signs for shingles vaccinations, they send them to me. 


On a side note, BNB's response couldn't have been any nicer if he tried. He said he was sorry for the pain I was in and not to worry about him, he has had them before, etc. He really handled it like a champ.