Are you serious?

When I first started this site, I did so on the basis of two self-imposed rules: 1) this would not be a venting/therapeutic/raging blog and 2) this would not be a daily journal or "dear diary" type blog. But the events that I have experienced over the past two days - that may make this post appear vengeful - are simply too blog-able for me not to share with my audience. Not only was I dying to tell people about the sheer humor and ridiculousness of what went down, but since I have received snide comments from the passive-aggressive person involved, he has lost any sympathy he may have wished to get from me, not to mention the slightest respect and decency from me NOT to expose his immaturity on the internet. Clearly, brother didn't know who he was dealing with. Am I being as childish? Probably, but this is too damn amusing.

I went on a date with a guy about two weeks ago. I really hate to date complete strangers but he was a little persistent and he seemed normal so I thought I'd give him a shot. At best, a relationship comes out of it, at worst, a casual acquaintance, right? To break him down to stats and numbers as most guys seem to do with girls is not my style, but I will do it only for brevity: he wasn't bad looking - probably a "7," he had an okay government job, he was well-traveled, kinda nerdy and wanting to pursue more schooling, BUT, as I later learned, his personality was a flat zero (in my humble opinion). We went to a shisha lounge for dinner and drinks on a week night. We talked for a bit and as much as I tried, there was no chemistry and really no common interests except for travel. I noticed he was a bit socially awkward, not comfortable with himself at all, and his poor attempts to joke got no more than a couple pity-chuckles. He simply wasn't a good match for me. I offered to pay but he insisted on paying, noting when the bill arrived "ooh! $100? That's so cheap!" We ended the night on a friendly note - no kiss, no hand-holding, no touching, nothing but a goodbye-hug. And I talked to him a couple times on the phone and online to see if maybe I was dismissing him too quickly. Nope, still zero personality.

For two weeks, I stalled seeing him. I didn't answer his calls. I was kind of hoping he'd get a hint. But I was still torn and my damn conscience got to me: should I give him another try? Maybe he was on an off night? Am I being too superficial? But by this week, I seriously was dreading another evening with him and I decided that wasn't fair to him at all. Why waste his time (or mine)? Since he anticipated meeting up again this week, I contacted him on Tuesday to give him only what I would expect from someone who just wasn't into me - the straightforward truth - and THE MOST UNCOMFORTABLE CONVERSATION IN HISTORY went as follows:

me: hey ____, i need to be upfront with you about something and i don't want to lead you on or string you along but at this point i just feel like this isn't going anywhere. i'm sorry, but i don't want to be disingenuous, and you deserve better.
him: *silence*
me: uh, hello? are you there?
him: yes.
me: umm. ok, well i mean it when i say you deserve better. i don't think it's right for you to get anything less than what you give...and i just feel like i wouldn't return the sentiment.
him: *pause* i see.
me: does that make sense?
him: *pause* well, rejection never makes sense.
me: i wish you didn't look at it as rejection. either something works or it doesn't. you can't force it, ya know?
him: yeah well i suppose everyone now is looking for the best. it's just hard to believe the stuff you're saying when i hear the same speech all the time.
me: *nervous twitching* um...well...i can't speak for anyone but myself...
him: so what is it about me that you don't like? you know, i just try to look for the good in people.
me: *anxiously shifting in my chair* uhh i'm not going to nitpick at you, it's not my place...i just can't explain chemistry...
him: yeah i don't really think chemistry exists. it's just an excuse for someone's uncertainty, indecision, lack of confidence and inability to take a chance. what ever happened to getting to know someone?
me: umm...yeah. ok well, i said my piece, i won't argue with you. good luck!! *dying inside*
him: i'm not arguing. i just want to talk about it. why didn't you just say something earlier?
me: umm, well we've only gone out once, and i wasn't sure but since i've gotten to talk to you....well...this is getting uncomfortable. i'm sorry. *pulling gun out of drawer...*

Skip to today. I get an email from Mr. Passive-Aggressive with the following:

"So you blow me off and now I have to pay off a hundred dollar credit card bill from going out. Gee, thanks. Seems like you used me for a good night out. Have a great weekend."

Ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. That is the funniest thing I've ever received. Wait - he thinks that was a good night out? Pobrecito. Wait - didn't he insist to pay? Poor guy - he went on a date and had to pay! My friend suggested I send him a pack of razors with a note saying "I think you'll make the right choice." Even that is too harsh by my standards. No seriously, what the hell did this guy expect? I really did feel bad at the beginning: maybe the dude has had a rough couple of months. Maybe he has seasonal depression. Maybe he is just really desperate for a girlfriend....then the snide comments came out followed by the brilliant email. Now all bets are off, sucker. Really, the email is frame-worthy.

Evidently, I shouldn't have called him to let him down in the first place. This guy thinks I should have done the trail-off method (not answer emails/calls, avoid him at all costs, and never talk to him again) and that I deserved the reaction I got. Guys really prefer to have a girl disappear completely rather than her tell him upfront that it won't work out? And I thought their's was the gender with balls. Suck it up. Don't get into the dating game if you can't handle the possibility of a girl not liking you or *gasp* the possibility that she might actually give you the truth of not liking you. It goes both ways, ladies.

The ice on my heart and soul will melt soon, I promise. Spring is coming.

Red Flags

I couldn't resist sharing some recently-acquired wisdom: just a few things girls should be wary of on a FIRST DATE. Hopefully this will save you ladies out there. . .from a second date with the weirdo that displays any of the behaviors below.

1 - He picks a venue across the street from his apartment.
2 - The venue is a diner.
3 - When the bill arrives, you do the obligatory wallet-reach to show you're willing to split. He responds with "yeah can you pay your share? I'm totally broke."
4 - He keeps insisting you go back to said apartment across the street for "some beer and a movie."
5 - He picks his teeth at the table.
6 - He asks how many boyfriends you've had.
7 - He discusses his ex. Whom he lived with for two years. Describes it as "fun."
8 - He discusses his past girlfriends. Explicitly. That he broke up with over the last couple weeks.
9 - He stares at a girl across the room for half the night and "swears it's his ex" (another one).
10 - He has a lot of ex-girlfriends. Some lasted for a few days.
11 - He always walks ahead of you. Even in a crowded room.
12 - When making plans for the movies, he lists off the ones he wants to see. Then tells you to pick.
13 - He asks you for a compliment. For him.
14 - As the server walks away, he says "she's cute. "
15 - He has a rubber-necking problem when any female walks by.
16 - He chews his nails.
17 - He chides you for smoking shisha socially, but then whips out a pack of cigarettes.
18 - He talks about meeting your parents. This is the first date.
19 - He can dish a lot of teasing and joking, but can't take yours.
20 - He's not emotionally close to his family. Has a non-existent relationship with his brother. (Depending on what you're looking for, some girls may not view this to be a bad thing).
21 - He admits to having "a lot of baggage." Remember, this is the first date.
22 - He tells you he doesn't think you'll make a good [insert prospective career here].

(Yes, these are all from personal experience. Accumulated from only 2 first dates). I could probably list a few more but I don't want to discourage single people out there from dating altogether. Just remember to make a mental note of red flags, and ABORT MISSION early in the night if you have to. I'm now off to the nearest Gay and Lesbian Alliance Meeting.

The New Crack Epidemic

What are you supposed to do when you're at the library, focused intently on exam notes, fresh coffee in hand, when you glance to your right and see an ass-crack in perfect view to all the other library nerds around you. The owner of the crack seems to be just as preoccupied as you were only seconds ago, her nose digging into her laptop, yet her ass is hanging out for all of mankind to see. It's not even pretty, folks. Clearly, ugly betty here spends so much time in libraries that she doesn't get much sun to begin with, but her pasty ass is almost blinding to anyone whose unfortunate eyes were to lay upon it. You rub your eyes to make sure you're not hallucinating. You look around to see if there are any other witnesses. Meanwhile a couple of the mature ones pass by, elbow each other and point to the ass-crack and laugh. Another amused soul silently creeps up behind her with his camera phone and snaps a picture. The girls next to me tap their friends to see the spectacle. As a woman, I was especially embarrassed with the reactions of the women around me - where was the sisterhood?! When there is a stray hair stuck to my wool sweater, does my fellow sister not remove it with one sweep of her hand? When my shirt tag is, unbeknownst to me, hanging outside my collar, does my fellow sister not tuck it inside? Where was the support? But, as a human being, I was offended and disgusted: why on earth is this beast wearing jeans that don't fit over her ass? Sure, "low-riders" seem to be the fashion rage of kids these days, but it seemed her sweatshirt barely reached her waistline, even! Was it possible that, when standing upright, she dared to expose her belly rolls AND half her pasty-white ass?? This, my friends, was not just a bit of exposure of the top curvature of the buttocks - which can be sexy and sometimes deliberate, especially when there is a lacy thong involved - but this here was a very visible, dimply and cellulite covered half-moon. Even the most avid ass-men would have shuddered with disgrace. Thank god there was no butt hair - do people that white-skinned even have hair on their bodies?? Or a tattoo of a heart and arrow - oh the horrors!! if there was a dimply tattoo to boot! I noticed more students around me - male and female - giggling and pointing. Does she not hear them?! Does she not feel a cold draft?! Something had to be done. I could not sit by silently while a poor, unaware, misguided young girl was mocked and laughed at - even though she fully deserved it. I had to take a stand. I slowly closed my book, rose from my chair, and walked toward ass-crack girl with a purpose. Then she suddenly jumped from the desk and scurried toward the bathroom. Hmm. . .maybe it was not meant to be. . . I abruptly swung around, grabbed my belongings and moved my studying operation to another quiet room.

Hey, it's not my fault she was just raised that way :).

**Note: the image above is not of the library ass-crack girl. This is purely a visual to guide the story.

The Experiment: Bar Chronicles, Part II

I was really contemplating giving up the social experiment altogether after the bust at Bourbon. But my partner in crime kept me going, convincing me that we'll have different (and perhaps more interesting) results at the next venue. Grand Central was packed upon arrival and we walked straight to my friends' spot to mingle. We were a rambunctious group of 3 girls and 4 boys, Elle and I being the only non-Puerto Ricans. So we apparently attracted a bit more attention than I would have preferred for our experiment. Before I could think about how differently our girls would be approached in a male/female group, a tall, blue-eyed white dude with a marine haircut was walking by - overtly gawking at us - when he leaned into me and asked if I was Persian. (I was caught off guard because a) I might look anything but Persian, and b) military white dude knows what "persian" is??). After I - mistakenly - said yes, he blurted in broken Farsi: "Salam, haleh shoma khoobeh? Khayli khoshgel hasti." ("Hello how are you you are very pretty"). Here we go, round two. After chatting for a few minutes about the great opener line he used (he wanted to learn Farsi and lived in Shiraz for two years studying the language), we discussed how he was a military marine officer (whatever that is). Next, I asked him if he worked for the CIA or the FBI, or if he can't tell me what he does (this is DC). He said, "I'll tell you over coffee." Slick. He glanced at my circle of friends and said in choppy Farsi, "Are those guys with you? They're ugly!!" Not slick. They're my friends, you moron. He was really insisting on buying me a drink - clearly, I was sober and this was making him uncomfortable. His speech was slurred, he had one too many buttons unbuttoned on his shirt, and he couldn't shift his body weight without spilling his beer on my feet. I felt bad for the guy (which, I know, is terrible for the sake of research) so we kept talking about Persian culture and how he loved Persian girls, blah blah. I laughed at his attempts to woo me (I refused to speak Farsi to him), and asked questions, but I really wasn't into him. I was sort of testing the waters. Plus, a girl will know in the first five minutes of meeting someone if she is into him. Guys, take note. But I genuinely thought he was - brace yourselves - an interesting person. Until he wouldn't leave me alone. Also take note. I realized, ok I'm done, I want to hang out with my friends now, go away, leave me alone. So I said: "Nothing personal but I haven't seen my buddies in awhile so I'm going back to them." "Oh..ok...so let me get your number. Take out your phone so I can call you and you'll have my number." Shit. Can't fake-number this guy. We said our goodbyes, I escaped to my friends and continued on with the night.

Half an hour later he had already texted me "Can I please get you a beer at the bar, let's talk more." Shit shit shit. I ignored and carried on dancing with my friends. Then he appeared, asking if I'll answer my phone when he calls me later. "Not at this rate, buddy. Damn, I met you thirty minutes ago and you've already texted me!" He said he wanted to make sure he'll see me again. ABORT EXPERIMENT ABORT EXPERIMENT. Elle mouthed "are you ok" from a few feet away and I shrugged. The dude got the hint when one of my guy-friends put his arm around me and pulled me away, bless his little heart.

The next day I got a text and a voicemail message from him. Are you shitting me? This is ridiculous. Either I'll have to set him straight or just change my damn number. I boldly (if you know me, you know I can occasionally be bold) opted for the former. I called him, left him a message telling him he's creeping me out, he needs to cool off a bit, I have exams and my family's in town so I'm quite busy. I still got a voicemail message of him explaining his irrational behavior (due to some Persian friends misinforming him to "show a lot of interest" when pursuing Persian girls). Oy vey.

Stay tuned for experiment results and comparisons between venue 1 versus 2.

The Experiment: Bar Chronicles, Part I

Last Saturday night, my friend - let's call her "Elle" - and I decided to conduct a social experiment. We were planning to meet a few friends in Adams Morgan, so we agreed on two official settings: the first venue we would attend alone, just the two of us. The second venue we'd join our friends. Both venues being typical, though slightly more upscale (by A.M.'s standards) pick-up bars. And the mission was to examine how many times - if at all - in what manner, and by what types of characters, we'd get hit on at the first venue versus the second venue. We kept the alcohol intake to a minimum to stay alert (and halfway-charming), and we attempted to make ourselves as approachable as possible. We arrived at the first destination, a new, swanky bar for mid-to-late 20 y.o.'s, called Bourbon, and immediately scanned the crowd for the male-to-female ratio. It looked equally balanced, and promising for the experiment. With our fruity, diluted drinks, we found a high cocktail table at the center of the room and positioned ourselves for the attack. So we waited. And waited. We even took turns going to the bathroom to leave the other alone at the table. Elle, at that point, decided that our generation of males have either been castrated or completely drained of any courage to approach girls anymore. Honestly, I was a little annoyed that, for once, when I had a mission, for the sake of science and social experiment, not one bastard actually came up to us!


Then two vultures swooped right in. A tall, blonde Euro-looking dude, and a short, swarthy brown-haired dude. Swarthy dropped the first line on me: "you know, your friend over there is trouble. She stepped on my toes and didn't even say sorry." I looked at Elle and said, "well, she IS a little tipsy, isn't she." (Of course I want to give the impression we've been downing a few - this is an experiment after all). Swarthy was on a roll, dropping pseudo-witty comments left and right, smug that he was playing the game right. I humored him, and let him go on like a crack fiend on a fix. I watched Elle and Euro-dude having a normal, pleasant conversation. Meanwhile, Swarthy was hopping from topic-to-topic, as if he was a conversation pro. He couldn't keep a thought straight. He asked, "how tall are you? 5'1", 5'2"?" I contained my anger, coolly smiled and eyed him up and down, "No. I'm 5'6". You're 5'8" right?" "Wow, that's right. So where were you born?" "Uhh, Tulsa. How about you." "Near Tulsa! Guess." "Texas?" "Yeah!" "Oh, what part? Elle is from Plano!" The blood drained from his face. "Uhh I wasn't born in Texas. From Chicago, actually. So how do you two know each other?" "We worked together. The assembly line at Ford in Detroit, actually. It was a mundane job, but we met next to each other in line assembling parts of the steering wheels." Swarthy analyzed my expression to see if I was bullshitting and, since he couldn't tell from my deadpan smile, kept flapping his mouth. Then my cell phone rang and once I picked it up, he jumped from our table to the next table to chat up a cute brunette. Hmm, smooth guy. . .doesn't waste time does he. . .? Then he jumped back and goes, "so how about I get your number?" and whips out a scrap of paper from his right pocket, and a pen from his left. "Wow, you're prepared, huh?" I began to write some random digits down - this was an experiment after all - and then handed him the paper. "Hey are you kinda artsy? Can you draw?" "Umm...stick figures, at best. Why?" "Can you draw a sketch of yourself...like your hair and stuff...I don't think I will remember tomorrow." I glanced at his anxious face, trying to tell if he was serious or not, and after realizing he was very serious, I said, "well, Swarthy, I guess it wasn't meant to be." And I tore the paper in 4 pieces, crumpled it up, and dropped it into his glass. His jaw dropped and he reached into his pocket for several more scraps of paper. "Come onnnnn. Are you serious?" He laid down the paper and pen in front of me, and I pushed it away. He looked at Elle, who had missed the entire conversation, then nudged his friend to leave. While Euro-dude was busy putting Elle's digits into his phone, I leaned toward Swarthy and said "Good luck with getting numbers tonight. Try to keep track of what the girls look like so you don't get them confused, honey."

Clearly, he was aiming to make a scrapbook of numbers and sketches he was going to collect the entire night and his motives were so transparent that I just couldn't give him the satisfaction. Even if it was an experiment. Stay tuned for Part II.

Yo, Mahmoud, How Many Fingers Am I Holding Up. . .?!

So every media outlet is creating an uproar over Ahmadinejad coming to address the U.N. Assembly on Tuesday, as well as being invited to speak at Columbia University on Monday. Dude even wanted to visit the Ground Zero site. Isn't that thoughtful? He was probably going to arrive with spray paint in hand to write "A-dogg was here. DEATH TO AMERICA!!!" on the scraps of concrete strewn all over the WTC grounds. You know, I'm actually looking forward to hearing what shit he'll spew to the U.N. Assembly. Will he see another divine halo of light around himself? Wait, I bet he'll levitate a few inches off the ground - that's a sign he is a man of God!! And do you have any idea how vocal and organized the Jewish students are at Columbia? No way this will go down quietly. I'm all for Mahmoud standing on a couple phonebooks behind the wooden podium on the steps of the Columbia College library, looking over a sea of yarmulkes, anticipating shoving his size 8 foot in his mouth. Let him face the music here. You're not in Qom anymore, Dorothy.

I don't live in Iran, so I may feel differently and more seriously toward this issue if I did, but at this point, I equate Ahmadinejad's erratic, unpredictable, laughable behavior with that of Britney Spears. Dude is either really smart or really stupid. Like Britney, he either has a long-term master plan to come back and take over the world. Or he's so delusional that upon every ridiculous step he takes, the 7 billion people around the world simultaneously slap their foreheads and say "jesus, not again." He is simply out of control. Just like we're begging Britney: Mahmoud, we know you're just dying for attention but we implore you, put down the pipe and try to actually LISTEN to the advisors around you before speaking in public.

Word of advice to prospective Columbia protesters: don't forget your tomatoes (or stones, which would be my personal choice). If I was in NYC, I'd definitely attend. Word of advice to Mahmoud: bring a few large bodyguards.