Dating for Dinner

June 1, 2012

You Don’t Want To Hear About My Exboyfriend On Our Date? What Kinda Horse Shit Is That?

Hey remember that time I went on a date and like, wouldn’t shutup about my exboyfriend and how we were soooo cute together and how we might get back together but I’m just not ready to get back together because I’m scared to get back together?!  Yeah, and remember the part where- oh this is great- my date went to the bathroom saying, “I’ll be right back” but after about 25 minutes of sitting alone at the table I realized he was never coming right back? HA! So then I had to argue with the server through fake tears that I should only have to pay for my half of the bill.  Oh boy, wasn’t that just the funniest thing ever?!

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May 29, 2012

Being Interesting Is For The Birds.

The boat ride was great and not just because I got a good tan and took a lot of cute photos of myself – but I totally did that too- but more so because The Guy who took me out didn’t bug me with talking!  Ugh, I hate that.  Have you gone out with a guy who just talks and talks and talks?  I’ve noticed that guys these days flap their jaw too much about stupid shit that nobody cares about like, “settling down” and, “applying for Graduate Schools.”  It’s better to let me handle the engaging conversations about brushing my hair that way I’m not bored to tears with stuff that isn’t monogram coozies!

I don’t mind having more than just a one sided conversation, but every time I do Gawd knows I have sit through some life changing, emotional experience that molded him into the person he is today while I’m sitting there thinking, shut up.  This is not American Idol; nobody cares!  So luckily This Guy was not one of Those Guys.  We just drove around the gulf coast of Florida and he let me talk about my recent breakup/potential reconciliation.  Also, my dog.  A little about how JCrew doesn’t use enough spandex in their basic tanks and a lot about how I was craving Buffalo Shrimp…

I guess since there was no intellectual merit you’re probably thinking well what makes you so special, Sarah?  What if he thinks
 you’re not interesting?  It’s a valid point and I’m glad you brought that up but the truth of the matter is I don’t have to be fucking interesting; I have boobs…

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May 19, 2012

You’re Really Annoying But I Can Deal With It If You Take Me Out On Your Boat

It’s like, sometimes I’m in the mood to go out with a guy that has a good personality or strong family morals and then other times I’m in the mood for a guy with a boat.  This of course is only when I’m down here on the Gulf Coast of Florida for 15 days and want to plan dates to match the theme of my vacation.  Which is why I have only gone on dates here that stay within the “Florida” concept.  Last weekend it was seafood.  I went out for seafood everyday, spectated fishing on the casueway, and made small talk while staring at a clown fish aquarium.  This week I decided it’s the ocean; I’ve had lunch over the water, taken naps near the water, and walked along the water, so it’s only natural to have a guy take me out on the water too.

Duh!

 

 

 

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May 9, 2012

I Knew We Couldn’t Be Together When You Didn’t Take Me To A 5 Star Restaurant

I know I’m on the worst date EVER when the guy takes me out solely for drinks and calls me “cutie pie” a sum total of 8 times in one hour, even though I bear no relation at all to a fucking cabbage patch kid doll.  Or when we’re walking between bars and we stop at a newsstand to buy me a package of starburst and he asks me for one, which is rude because there’s only like, 16 in a package.  It’s especially awful when he’s given the chance to redeem himself as it starts raining, except the oversized umbrella that he offers me is decorated with with red and pink roses.  I repeat, roses.  You can’t date a man who uses an umbrella that looks like it belongs to your Grandmother because the next thing you know, he will arguing with you over the efficiency of a coaster versus a doily.

Not to mention the date is no longer categorized as the “worst”, but rather, the “most gay”…

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May 6, 2012

I’m More Panicked Than That Time My Hair Got Momentarily Sucked In The Blow Dryer

Even though I changed my number, I have been getting a lot of calls this week.  I guess my friends and family are worried I’ll get down on myself and fall into a black hole of despair or something?  But I don’t want anyone to worry because  I have found plenty of ways to deal with the stress of a lying, cheating, bastard of an exboyfriend.  Hey- speaking of coping mechanisms, I’m drinking Wild Turkey  from a dixie cup on this fine Sunday afternoon and it’s bringing up a lot of interesting questions about my life.  I’m starting to come up with some deep shit like, what is the purpose of it all?  Have I made a mistake in moving to New York?  What truly makes me happy?


But more importantly, what should I do with this fucking David Yurman ring?  You know, the ring.  The more I drink, the more I
 can’t decide if it would bring me greater pleasure to have plus 2k in my bank account or go trade it in for an upgraded version from the flagship store on Madison Avenue…?

I know, right?  How can anyone make that kind of decision?  This is one of those gut wrenching predicaments I wouldn’t even wish on my worst enemy.  I feel confused.  Out of sorts.  And lost.  Is this what it feels like to be asked to donate one of my kidneys?

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May 3, 2012

I’ll CC You On That E-Mail… And Totally Go Home With You…

I guess it’s not enough that I’m tormented by a break up that has changed my phone number and left me obsessing over my empty e-mail inbox, but I also had a meeting with one of the online publications I write for…and the guy who started it is totally hot.  And he’s younger than me…and I didn’t wear a blouse with cleavage…

Really, Sarah?  No cleavage? Really?

You know, my life is complicated enough as it is, and now I’m expected to follow along “strategy meetings,” and try in vain not to strategize how to get into Hot Magazine Guy’s pants.  Shit, and I thought trying to get my Colombian EXboyfriend to be honest with me was a losing battle? Ha!  Try making a, “Why, yes I’m paying attention to your ideas” face look legitimate while imagining ripping off cuff links and dress socks to get it on over a conference table.  It’s no fucking joke…

You see?  You see the shit I have to endure?  I think it’s pretty obvious now that the term “suffer” isn’t confined to just terminal diseases and human trafficking anymore…

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May 2, 2012

I’d Rather Listen to the Science of Wave Particle Duality Than Not Eat Bread

You know that awkward moment when you’re on a first date with a guy and the server brings out a basket of warm oven baked bread, but like, your date doesn’t initiate the bread grazing?  Yeah so it’s just sitting there, idle, and of course you want to listen to what he’s saying about his labrador retriever at home that he’s had since college but fuck- the bread!  You don’t know panic until you’ve sat at a 5 start restaurant in NYC and watched a basket of cranberry foccacia go cold before I could get my fat hands on it!   What kind of monster doesn’t  hear the server say it came, “fresh out of the oven” and uncover the linen to enjoy a slice before it cools?

Since I like to make believe I have a few ounces of dignity left, I withhold the temptation to dive in myself.  If that isn’t self control, I’m really not sure what is?  You know, it’s hard to be me.  I know I show strength in the face of bread abstinence for the sake of making a good impression, but to be honest- I’m just a regular girl, pretending to listen while he explains his pivotal but super fucking boring role in the company’s stock value, while I crumble against the urges to consume the entire loaf of bread…

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April 26, 2012

3 Cheers for No More Years

After my breakup last night it was hard to feel anything but heartache.  I guess that’s normal when someone throws away a year and a half’s worth of love and time together for promiscuous sex.  When I finally picked myself up off the kitchen floor I got to thinking how there’s something about realizing when someone doesn’t love me anymore, that makes me want to drink the fuck out of some expensive Champagne!  Yeah, I’m not sure why either, maybe it like, helps the rejection go down a little smoother or something?  Either way, I did feel some gratitude when I remembered the bottle I had chilling in the fridge.

Except I should really be thanking the guy I met several months ago that bought me the nice bottle of Champagne.  So I did, I thought to myself, “Thank you Meaningless Lunch Date Guy; I’m so glad to still have this Vueve Clicquot that I was saving for a special occasion- like a visit from the now former love of my life, but since he’s going to be very busy whoring it up I’ll just drink the shit now.”

As if the juxtaposition of drinking Champagne while crying wasn’t ridiculous enough, I decided to do it at a stranger’s house.  I’m not good with bottles and corks and shit anyway so when “Guy with a Girlfriend” offered to keep me company, and open the bottle, I went to his apartment.   It was a nice distraction; I got to tune out whatever the hell he was saying about his own relationship problems and wonder if I would ever meet someone I’d want to kiss more than the person I just lost.

It was really a morbidly amusing evening.  I mean you have to laugh, right?  Champagne is for celebrating and I’d hardly call being dumped for another girl, a cause for celebration.  But like I always say; there are two types of people in this world: Those who drink expensive Champagne after a breakup, and ingrates.

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April 23, 2012

Welcome To The EXACT Moment I Regretted Not Grocery Shopping

Isn’t it so exhausting when you try to be nice and let a guy take you out to dinner, but all through the main course he won’t shut up about the college incident that lead him out of his personal darkness of anger and drugs into a spiritual journey of Yoga and holistic living? And then you have to mask the disinterest with this awkward half smile and nod your head as if you’re actually keeping up with the whole 2 hour shit that was likely pitched to daytime TV…?  It’s like, congratulations on “defying medical odds” and “starting over from the ground up” but can’t a girl just enjoy her fucking Eggplant Puree in peace?

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April 18, 2012

I’m NOT Going To Hell In A Hand Basket… I’m Going In A Luxury Sedan

It had been weeks since I’d participated in any recreational activities like giving the blind guy who runs the news stand a dollar bill and telling him it’s a 10, so I was lucky to have bumped into a new muse at Chelsea Market who wanted to know my name.

“Victoria!” I decided instantly.  Eh what the hell, I think it’s important to keep myself entertained when my Colombian Boyfriend is 700 miles away, up to no good at No Mas Cantina every night.  So, I told him my name was Victoria.  Which made me laugh inside because, well, my name isn’t actually Victoria.  I would totally have told him my real name except I’d rather die, so I lied.  I could be honest/normal and say my name is Sarah and I’m from Atlanta but that’s boring!  It’s so, cliché to tell the truth at times, isn’t it?.  So, pedestrian…

“Nice to meet you Victoria, I work upstairs in the…”

As funny as it was to hear him call me “Victoria” every few sentences, my attention span directly correlates to how interesting or more importantly, good-looking you are.  So when people that look like they belong in the Mafia stop talking about me and start talking about themselves, that’s my queue to daydream about Fabio under a waterfall in Bali.  Or examine my manicure for imperfections.  Or wonder if I turned off the curling iron before I left the house.  Just about anything really, until it’s my turn to start talking again.

“Would you like to meet me here for lunch in an hour?”

He was asking to feed me?  For free?  I usually take the bait on that one however I didn’t want his mother’s leftover Pasta Fagioli, and this particular day I  had plans to walk to the Brooklyn Bridge.  It was entirely more amusing to make some shit up so I said, “Sure, I’d love to,” even though I don’t really love anything except my dog and a good shoe sale at Nordstrom.  If it makes me sound like any less of a bitch, I certainly wanted to love to meet him for lunch… if he didn’t look like Joe Pesci.

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