Queen of Awkward Moments

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Like the popular section in magazines, who wore awkward best?  This is a really hard call since there are so many similarities: similar hideous floral dresses, equally horrible haircuts, and the failed attempt to smile/look happy.  They both perfectly capture the look of discomfort that let everyone know how awkward you felt at that age.  It’s safe to say that this contest has no winner but I definitely lose since one of these pictures is me.

The upside to being awkward at a young age is that it prepares you for the plethora of awkward moments that are bound to come through out life.  Go West might be the “King of Wishful Thinking” but I’m the Queen of Awkward Moments.

Last Saturday was a perfect example.  I woke up at 5:00 AM to the sound of pounding on my wall.  I got up to see what the hell was going on and was displeased to discover my roommate having hardcore sex in the living room, whipped cream and all.  As I turned on the lights we both screamed and I ran back to my room disgusted and weirdly kind of hungry.

I laid there for the rest of the morning pissed off and trying to figure out what I could say.  Plenty of aggressive and angry digs came to mind but as time went on I realized that I had to be assertive and just make the best of the situation. I finally decided to come out from hiding and my roommate was cooking in the kitchen.  I was mustering up the courage to give the speech I had been working on for the past 5 hours when my roommate asked if we could pretend like nothing happened and assured me it wouldn’t happen again.  That seemed a lot easier than going into my courtesy manifesto, so I let it go.

I decided exercising would be a great way to start fresh so I got dressed and went to the gym.  I was running on the treadmill listening to my exercise mix filled with rap, hip hop, and mash ups that make you move.  I don’t dance on the treadmill but when a song I really like comes on I sometimes run to the beat.  Unfortunately as I got really into “Blurred Lines” I lost my footing and went down on the treadmill like a sack of potatoes on a conveyer belt. I slammed into the machine behind me at full force and the entire gym got silent and three employees darted towards me.  Everyone wanted to make sure I was ok but the attention was like adding insult to injury at that point.  I didn’t need a spotlight on my moment of embarrassment but there was no one working the lights.  I assured them that I was fine, gathered my things, and went home.  I had no broken bones, my ipod was working so there was nothing really damaged besides my ego.  I was used to that by now.

The day dragged on and I had a busy night in the city.  I had been MIA for some time and decided to jump back into my social life head first.  I had been sick for a while and hadn’t gone out but then I got used to staying in, which was a cycle I was about to break.  I got a reminder about a few events people posted on Facebook and realized that a friend, maybe acquaintance would be a better word, I hadn’t seen in years was having a birthday party in the city.  I was mapping out my whole night and was feeling good about the social progress I was making. The gym and roommate sex incidents from earlier were fading away and I had hopes that the day would end a lot better than it had started.

I arrived at the bar of the estranged friend and could not find anyone I knew.  As I headed towards that back I realized there was another back room where the party was probably taking place.  As I entered, I saw my friend along with his immediate and extended family having dinner.  When I made eye contact with him he had a look of shock on his face and his family just looked confused.  It was too late to pretend I didn’t see him and walk out, so I had to make a grand entrance.  I put a smile on my face and went and gave him a big hug.  He actually said, “Wow Bev, haven’t seen you in years.  Wasn’t expecting you.  Good to see you.” It was like I had run into him at a random bar.  Thanks for the comforting words and letting me know I was accidentally invited!  I had to sit there for an hour while his family interviewed me.  I was mortified.  It was like being on a bad first date.  Unwelcoming questions, checking your watch to see if you stayed an acceptable amount of time, and just a feeling of discomfort that spreads through out your body.  Finally after an hour I said I had to go to another birthday party and hugged him goodbye.  His mother was so sweet and gave me a hug and went to give me a kiss on the cheek but got me smack on the lips instead.  As if the situation wasn’t embarrassing enough.  Red faced and in a hurry, I left the bar.

I grabbed a cab to go to the next event on my list and the driver actually looked into the rearview mirror and asked with concern, “Are you ok”?  I was still trying to process what had just happened but mumbled, “Yeah.  East Village please.”  Onto the next circus.

I arrived at my destination and found myself surrounded by nameless bars in the hipster abyss of Alphabet City.  Why was it so cool to have a bar that doesn’t put the name anywhere in sight?  I walked back and forth down the block several times.  I gave up and decided that the bar on the corner seemed the most likely to hold a party, so I walked in and everyone looked at me like I had 7 heads.  When I stopped and took a look around I realized that I was crashing not only an engagement party but a toast the parents were giving to the happy couple.  I apologized profusely, probably making it worse, and then ran out of the bar.  I tried the tiny bar next door and of course that was where my friend’s party was.  I saw someone I knew as I walked in and they said, “There you are!  I saw you outside passing the bar like 10 times but then you disappeared.”  Thanks for the heads up! It was really good to see her and my friend, the birthday girl, but she was bouncing around the bar making the rounds.  I went to go to the bathroom and as I was crossing the bar, a group of girls entered and I was trapped.  It turns out it was all the girls I went to camp with when I was younger.  No one was rude but there also wasn’t a steady flow of conversation.  After the “Hi! How are you’s” I had nothing to say. It was a lot of standing there saying “Yeah…so” and then dead silence until the other person would make up an excuse to get out of the situation.  Why am I so terrible at small talk?  I could have just said,”I have to go to the bathroom.  It was good seeing you”, but no.  I had to be the awkward person that just stands there.  I finally got a hold of the birthday girl and got a chance to talk to her.  Her new work friend cornered me and asked if I would go have a cigarette with her.  I took this as my chance to bounce so I said yes.  I said my goodbyes to the birthday girl and headed out with her coworker.  I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

It was freezing outside.  She was blowing smoke in my face as she began the story of her new found love affair with an orthodox Jewish colleague from Miami.  I didn’t know this girl’s name but I did know that she was horny, scared of a commitment, and wanted advice on how to proceed.  Before I could come up with some sort of answer she hugged me and asked if we could be best friends.  I didn’t answer.  As I stood there while this girl was hugging me to the point of suffocation, a drunk girl and her friends walk by and she says, “OMG!  You guys are the cutest couple ever!”.  And on that note I broke up the pow wow, got a cab, and headed home.

I was happy to be in the social scene again, but when I was MIA I didn’t have to deal with these weird people or awkward moments. No wonder I didn’t go out for so long.  I wasn’t expecting to have the best night of my life but I also wasn’t expecting the most awkward one either.  I guess when I come back, I really come back. I was a bit tipsy and decided to get Burger King as a consolation prize.  I was scarfing down BK in the elevator when the door opened. I went to step out and slammed into my roommate and partner in sex who were trying to get in. There was just staring and a look of disgust on their faces.  With a full mouth I said, “Excuse me”, pushed through them, and proudly walked towards my apartment.  When I reached my door I couldn’t find my keys.  Fuck! Obviously I locked them in the apartment.  I attempted to break in using a credit card when my neighbor, with a disapproving look, found me drunk and struggling.  My credit card broke in half and I wound up sleeping on my strange neighbor’s couch instead of swallowing my pride and calling my roommate.  I had to listen to Enya the whole night and woke up to him and his boyfriend staring at me on the couch.

After the creepy wake up call I decided to try my luck at my apartment.  I pounded on the door and a grumpy roommate opened the door and had the balls to tell me I was being rude!  I was so tired and embarrassed from the past 24 hours that I just walked straight into my room, fell face first into bed, and slept for 8 hours.

I felt revived after my nap. But then the events from the day before began to replay in my head.  I had a feeling of embarrassment in my gut that wouldn’t go away.  I opened a drawer and found my fifth grade picture and it weirdly made me feel better.  It was reassuring in the sense that if I could make it through that bout of awkwardness then I can recover from anything.  It is surprising how time can heal all wounds and by the next morning I felt so much better.

But as sure as the sun rises, more awkward moments will come my way and I will think, “Holy shit.  What is wrong with me?”  But I will look back at that picture and reflect on my past embarrassing moments and realize it’s not that bad and I will come out even stronger.

In the spirit of Thanksgiving, I am thankful for my resilience and ability to make the best of awkward situations.  And hey, they do make great stories.  Until the next post!

Happy Holidays!

-Bev

how i met my first date

Now I can't forget my first date!

Now I can’t forget my first date!

With wedding season in full swing and being the token single girl at every event, it’s hard not to think about dating.  Hearing all the stories about how each couple met, I started thinking about the story of how I will meet my future husband.  Nothing came to mind except the insane story of how I met my first date.

This story is legen-wait for it-dary! And it’s a good representation of my dating experiences thus far.  I may have a cute story when I get married of how I met my husband but my kids will probably know this story just as well.

I started dating on the older side having been too shy and awkward in high school to flirt with a guy let alone go on a date.  Being the “cool girl friend” was more my thing.  “She’s like a dude” was something I actually took as a compliment and was the only straw I could grab at.  So when I finally had my first date I was really nervous.

First, let’s start with how I came to meet this Prince Charming.  I was at dinner with a friend when I started to feel a little under the weather.  We were finishing up when she got a call from her cousin who was at a bar right near her apartment. So we finished dinner and headed to the bar.  I started to sweat and heard my stomach making weird noises as we got out of the cab.  I decided to go up to her apartment while she met up with her cousin, Joe, and I’d catch up with them when I felt a little better.  

I was so sick in the bathroom when I heard the door open.  My friend had come back with Joe and a friend. Perfect.  Her bathroom was directly next to her living room and you could hear everything.  I was trying to get myself together but was still feeling horrible.  Fifteen minutes passed then 25 minutes.  I felt like I had to wait it out until they left.  It was embarrassing at that point to just walk out of the bathroom after a half hour and be like, “Oh, there you guys are. I’ve been looking everywhere!”.  It’s not like it was my apartment either where I could pretend I was in my room. All of a sudden my friend tried to open the bathroom door and I slammed it shut.  She said, “Sorry Bev, I forgot you were here”.  Then you hear men’s voices saying, “Who’s Bev?” Those bastards blew up my spot.  I washed up, threw some water on my face, put the fan on.  Nothing helped.  I walked out so awkwardly trying my best to ignore how terrible I felt and forced a smile. Thankfully the guys were drunk and didn’t notice or care at the moment.    

I was cornered on the small couch by her cousin’s friend who was talking to me an inch from my face.  As he rambled on about something (I could not follow his story), I kept imagining how I must have looked- sweaty with a really uncomfortable look on my face.  The guy was decent looking and nice enough but seemed like he had a screw or two loose.  He reminded me of Cliff O’Malley (Lochlyn Munro) from “Dead Man On Campus”.  I thought he was going to chant, “My name is Cliff.  Brother of Joe.  Got me some crack.  Want me some hoes”.  He didn’t but he did open a beer and then flick the cap directly into my friend’s eye.  She was bleeding from it and he just laughed at first.  Then he felt really bad and tried to help by getting her a cold compress for her eye. Instead he slammed the tray of ice cubes into her face and got ice all over the floor.  On top of that my situation was not improving so I figured this was a good time to sneak out.  I was trying to make my way out as discretely as possible but he popped out of nowhere as I got toward the door.  He would not let me say goodbye and despite my pleading, insisted on escorting me to a cab.

Next thing I knew he was standing next to me in the elevator. I was desperately trying to act casual but I was so scared I was going to fart or vomit on him.  The intense awkward silence didn’t help. As we approached the lobby he asked for my number. I felt put on the spot so I gave it to him. It was raining out so he decided to back out of the grand gesture and headed back upstairs. He opted for the “shout down the hall” goodbye because he couldn’t wait the extra minute for the elevator to come back down. I was too sick and delirious to care about how weird the past two hours had been and found myself a cab. I did not think in a million years he would contact me after that.

I was half right.  He didn’t contact me afterwards until about 3 weeks later.  He texted me to see if I wanted to get dinner that weekend.  I was really weary about going on a date with this guy.  I wasn’t sure if my instincts were right in that he was a chromosome short or I was just nervous to go on a date.  His behavior was so inconsistent and I was so out of it the night I had met him that I wasn’t sure if my perception of him had been off.  So I agreed to meet him for coffee and felt that was a safe first date.

The date.  I arrived a few minutes late and when I finally got to the correct Starbucks, after multiple attempts, I found out that I was a third wheel on my own date.  At the table was my date and a familiar face, my friend’s cousin, Joe.  My date smiled and waved but didn’t get up to say hi.  Joe and I had the most awkward hello. We both went to give a kiss on the cheek and had the embarrassing back and forth before almost kissing on the lips. I sat down and there was silence.  I was blushing from embarrassment and couldn’t really pay attention to the conversation or lack thereof. I can talk to a wall but this was painful.  Joe was trying his best to get my date involved in the conversation but you could see how uncomfortable he was being there.  Who takes a friend on a date? I decided to go get coffee.  All my date said was, “Cool.” He didn’t want anything and didn’t offer to get me something, go with me, or God forbid pay.  So I got up and paid for my coffee.  I got back to the table and sat down. The guys were talking but that faded quickly into another batch of silence.  My date grumbled something about a bar.  I had just gotten my coffee and wanted to finish it. Joe tried to escape but my date protested and screamed, “No!” and grabbed at his jacket. He really knows how to make a girl feel special. So Joe sat back down and we started talking again. About three seconds later my date interrupts us by pounding on the table and says, “We need to get to a bar now.”  He said it around 10 times in a row until we agreed to find one.  

We get to the bar and he immediately got himself a drink.  Again, he didn’t offer to get me anything.  I ordered a soda and he got annoyed that I wasn’t drinking.  I didn’t want to pay or commit to the time it would take to have a drink so I opted for something quick and easy.  It was a different location but same situation.  Joe and I were attempting small talk again while my date downed drinks.  He slammed the glass on the bar and goes, “What is the best thing about twenty eight year old girls?” I said, “What?”  He said, “There are twenty of them.”  The music had faded out towards the end of the joke so it was really quiet in the bar.  People were staring and giving us dirty looks.  He didn’t laugh or make eye contact, he just went back to being silent.  Joe looked so embarrassed and was awkwardly laughing.  I took the pedophile joke as my cue to leave. I said, “It was really nice to meet you but I have to get going.”  He just replied with bye.  Joe had to be like, “You’re not going to walk her to the door?”  He said, “No I’m good”.  Then he begrudgingly got up and walked towards the door.  I turned to say bye and he was in my face trying to kiss me.  Seriously??  My fight or flight reaction kicked in and I tried to flee but tripped over the rug by the door, fell and cut myself.  He headed straight back to the bar and left me annoyed, injured, and with a deep skepticism of dating.  I may have bled out of my knee, but I popped my dating cherry and finally was no longer a virgin to the dating scene.

My first date seems pretty on par with how my dating life panned out.  My story certainly set the bar for horrible dates.  Hopefully that was the worst, although I have had some pretty close seconds.  Who knows, maybe at one of these weddings I’ll meet the man of dreams and have a cute story to tell my children.  But for now I’ll just stick with how I met my first/worst date.

Like sex, dating gets better with time even though there are some bad experiences along the way. It’s what you make of the bad dates that determines how well the next one will go. That’s why I choose to find the humor in the situation rather than focus on how traumatic it was or could have been.

Continuing to make lemons into limoncello.

-Bev

F*CK, MARRY, CLIFF…PICKING THE LESSER OF THREE EVILS

FMC

It’s slim pickings nowadays in the online dating world.  I think the picture above says it all.  I have not been going on many dates lately because I have been contacted by creepy, creepier, and creepiest.  They just progressively get worse.  It’s extremely discouraging and further supports my previous sentiments about online dating but for some reason I am still on the website. I can’t complain, I have gotten some great stories out of it and pictures to boot.

As I looked through the visitors who contacted me, the game Fuck, Marry, Cliff came to mind.  Your friend would name either 3 really awesome people or 3 really awful people and you’d have to pick who you would fuck, who you would marry, and who you would throw off a cliff.  I know it’s a sick game but I didn’t make it up and most people have played it at some point in their life.  So the picture above reminded me of that game and my immediate reaction was to throw myself off the cliff…in every scenario.  I’m sure some of them are great people but that doesn’t mean I have any interest.  Especially when the first impression is an embarrassing screen name, questionable picture, and/or a boring or uncomfortable message.

Let’s examine the average visitor who contacts me from the random sample above.  Okay, Papi Da S. is the least harmless but anyone who refers to themselves in third person as Papi will probably not be my soulmate.  So let’s start with TD.  Was this glamour shot taken before the Key Club Intergenerational Prom or is this just business cas?  Between the tux with the coattails and using the word fancy in his greeting (especially when it is asking if I would be interested in doing something) that’s already two strikes at first glance. Let’s move onto the next Don Juan, Graffin65.   For some reason I automatically assume he’s had a skin graft from looking at his screen name and picture.  Maybe a name change would be advisable.  Nevertheless, he looks like a solid candidate…for a free meth clinic.  Besides the fact that he was probably tweaking in Tompkins Square Park when I was born, he’s almost 20 years older than me.  That would be fine except for the fact that my profile explicitly says I’m looking for someone 28-36.  He was only about a decade off…give or take.  I hope he is on drugs if simple mathematics is a struggle at 48 years old.  I don’t know if we’ve saved the best for last but EagleCross is certainly special.  What really sealed the deal for me was his 1987 Miami Vice getup and the stimulating conversation, “Hi”.  I hope he’s not depending on his wit and good fashion sense to win people over.

Since I’m not someone who avidly looks for dates, I usually only go on the site when someone messages me.  Unfortunately, the characters above are the usual suspects contacting me so last time I took a glance at the visitors section.  I came across a really disturbing profile that put everything into perspective.  Warning: This may not be appropriate for people with sight.

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Yes, that is a tattoo of Jesus and Lucifer on his chest.  Yes, he drinks water on the reg and was a cheerleader in high school.  He’s one bad ass cheerleader.  His pictures may be disturbing but his sob story about his Miniature Dachshund, which seems like an appropriate breed for him, brought some depth and humanity to his character.  His entire profile was one big cliche but I highlighted the most important parts.  He wasn’t even the weirdest guy just the most notable that looked at my profile in the past day.  This made the list of guys who contacted me look better and better each second.  I might have to reevaluate that Fuck, Marry, Cliff game…or just wait until someone who seems like a viable option contacts me.

The one thing I do appreciate about the Goth Cheerleader is that he is realistic.  I think he could tell that we probably weren’t a good fit just by looking at pictures and my profile.  I may have a tattoo on my chest of a devil’s pitchfork busting through a Star of David and only wear leather chaps on Saturdays, but that’s private.  He could probably tell his hair band facade was too hard core for me.  Seriously though, these sites are supposed to be convenient AND help you to avoid meeting someone who has nothing in common with you.  That’s what the short profile is for.  No, my profile does not capture all of me but it is a good starting point to see if we have similar interests and are attracted to each other.  I give a good enough description of who I am and clearly state what I’m looking for.  If you’re too lazy to read or just don’t care then you better have something amazing to grab my attention.  “You’re pretty” and “Hi” don’t quite cut it.  You need to be smart, witty, or so handsome that I couldn’t refuse a date.  All three separately are pretty rare so hoping for a triple threat is pretty unrealistic.

That’s all I’m asking for.  Some realistic expectations.  I don’t think I’m Bar Refaeli but I’m also not contacting someone that looks like David Beckham.  There’s being bold and having courage to contact someone, which I fully support.   And then there’s being completely out of your league.  This is not determined just on looks but intelligence, morals, and interests.  Opposites do attract but there’s at least something that holds a common bond.  So to improve your chances and your self esteem, a good rule is to list three things about the person you like or interests you (besides thinking they’re hot and wanting to bang them) before you make contact or respond.

So if you ever find yourself picking the lesser of two, three, or four evils, do nothing.  Don’t settle!  Someone good for you is out there and if not online then somewhere.  Adjust your expectations of yourself and others and the dating process gets better.  I’ve recently done this for myself and I am actually talking to a few guys with potential.  Now at least I’m having conversations and going on dates with people that I actually want to meet.  If it goes horribly wrong then at least my readers have something to laugh about.

To everyone celebrating Passover, Easter, and Holi- Cheers!  To staying away from the cliff and finding someone you can fuck and marry!  Happy Holidays!

-Bev

Bad Dates Come and Go…But Messages Are Forever!


  Bo the Black Swede

Yes, this message is real.  And no, I did not answer.

Along with online dating comes online communicating.  When you are in a bar, men are less likely to come up and try some cheesy pick up line or tell you exactly what’s on their mind.  But online, all caution is thrown to the wind.

The above message is only one of the many disturbing emails I have gotten.  Where do I start?  Does any guy seriously think that a girl is going to swoon over a proposal to be a fuck buddy, “I mean no disrespect”.  That’s ironic because your assumption that I would be interested in that is pretty disrespectful.  Luckily I don’t care and have a good sense of humor.  But be warned men…there is that “REPORT” button and there are people not afraid to use it.

I actually found this to be one of the funniest emails I have ever gotten.  As mentioned yesterday, this is the Black Swedish Sex Addict.  The only reason I mention race is because until recently a black guy in Sweden was about as common as Polio (post 1962).  When I think Scandinavian I picture a giant white guy with blond hair and blue eyes listening to bad techno (is there even good techno?).  So that caught me off guard initially.  But as I read on it only got better!

Boy does this guy have a way with words.  Who wouldn’t want to kick it and have crazy times in and out of bed with a friend with benefit?  Is there only one?  Obviously not because I had already laughed and hadn’t even gotten to his description.  Here’s where he put the hook in, “I’m fun, hung, and love to laugh”.  Now I feel better.  Because I wasn’t sure if I was going to go ahead and claim my benefit if he wasn’t hung.  But then he throws me a curveball, “he doesn’t like to beat under the bush”.  Was that a sexual innuendo?  I don’t know if he was trying to be witty or is just kind of stupid. I’m going to err on the side of caution and go with dumb but let’s also add weird to the list!  How did he manage to go from talking about sex and his penis to Scandinavian pastries???  Again, sexual innuendo?  I guess he was coming with guns fully loaded.  He had one chance and gave it all he got.

As disturbing and funny as this email is, you can tell this guy is not a dick.  He at least has the courtesy to be upfront with what he wants.  He’s also European so I’m attributing some of the weirdness to his culture.  I’ve gotten emails that are just like, “You’re hot.  Let’s get a hotel room now!” or “Honestly, do you like small penises?”.  He at least had a story, some personality, and actually seemed genuine.  My hat is off to you Black Swedish Sex Addict.  You managed to do something creepy in the most honest and nicest way possible.  I still don’t want to hook up with you but I have a little more respect for you.

Please tell me that other people get just as ridiculous emails?  I would love to hear about them!

Silver lining: At least he didn’t ask If I wanted some Negerbollar which translates to Negro balls.  (It’s a Swedish pastry…and actually goes by the more derogatory name in Sweden.  Here’s a link so you can be reassured I’m not a racist: http://superblog2.blogspot.com/2005/01/nazi-chocolate-balls.html )

All this kinky pastry talk has gotten me hungry.  Going to find myself some chocolate balls.  Maybe I should have contacted him after all.

Until tomorrow.

-The Big Baller Bev