"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.