The Bitch is Back

Guys, I am exhausted. The past month and a half has found me all over the East Coast, and I made my first foray into the Midwest. (Hayyyy Chicago, you be good gurl.) Should we take a little journey to see where I went and how fabulously lost I still am??? BLOKAY, sounds good!

Miami

Gurl. GURRRLLL. Gurl DOWN. 

(Gone. With. The. Wind.)

Have you ever been to Miami? No? Because it's not a real place, not even a little bit. It is the land of beautiful people, topless swimmers, outrageous night clubs, and expensive restaurants. Miami also has the Ke$ha-esque ability to turn any atmosphere into a glitter filled, alcohol infused, parental disappointment worthy party. Of course, all of that being said, the first night that I was there on "vacation," my friends and I promptly fell asleep at 9:30pm and slept until 9:30am. Like they always say, when in Miami.... sleep for 12 hours? 

(I've never been so refreshed and disappointed in myself at the same time. Blarg.)

We spent the next couple of days making up for it by laying by the pool and drinking many a "Bucket-O-Liquor," which was the specialty of the hotel we were staying at. I can honestly say that I feel like I did everything I wanted to do in Miami. It's a ridiculous city that I am glad I visited... but I don't know if I'll go back anytime soon. The one thing I did not do was find love in that place. I realized, unlike most strippers, I do not tend to do as well in climates that require less clothing. I am one of those people that would do really well in a place that involves sweaters and layers, like Canada. (Its aboot time I move further north, EH? I'm done. I swear.) 

DC Pride

Holy crap ballz. Last year, for DC Pride, I drank far too much at brunch and ended up falling asleep at 8pm. I saw some of the parade and ended up with a press-on tattoo. (On. My. Face.) This year I wanted to do Pride the way it was meant to be done. I wanted to remember everything. I wanted to feel the pride of my people. I wanted to enjoy adult beverages. I wanted to attend the parade. I wanted to dance at the gay clubs. I wanted to see the festival. I wanted the weekend to leave me bleeding rainbows. (I said all of those in my head like Veruca Salt. You know, from Willy Wonka.)

(She understands what's important in life. Ain't nobody got time to be good.)

I decided to throw a little pre-parade BBQ for all of my lovely gays. We dabbled with drinks, danced in the heat, and pounded some meat. (Ew, pervs, I meant burgers and hot dogs. Grow up.) The parade was spectacular and over-the-top, like it should be. There were bears on bikes, Mormons in cars, gay boys in underwear, cowboys in ass-less chaps, and Wonder Woman (literally — Linda Carter) leading the parade. The true fun, however, began after the parade and post-survival nap. My friends and I owned the night by pre-gaming at my place and then dancing up a storm at Cobalt, in the heart of the gayborhood. What I wasn't expecting was my lovely departure from classy, upstanding citizen to drunken, dancing floozy. 

(Too soon? Sorry, Reese.)

After a few (many) drinks at the bar, I decided it was time to make my way to the bathroom. Unbeknownst to me, on this simple walk across the bar I would encounter two gentleman friends. One of these gentleman I knew from a previous date, whom you have never heard of. (The date had gone well... I can't jinx that shit!) When I got semi-close, he pulled me in and began to dance with me. I shimmied and shook and maybe even Mac Daddied it up with him a little. Once my confidence was boosted, I realized my bladder had slowly begun to take over my entire body. No matter how much I tried to Vulcan Mind-Meld my bladder into disappearing, I had to abandon my impromptu make-out to take care of nature. 

On my way out of the bathroom, I went a-searchin' for the man of my dreams (for one night only). Instead, what I found was his friend, who decided that it was now his turn to shimmy, shake, and Mac with me. I decided that all this attention was a gift from the Pride gods, and I needed to accept my new fate as the Pride Vixen, otherwise, I would be disappointing the fates. Much to my chagrin, the original shimmy shaker walked up and decided to throw a hissy fit. Unfortunately for me, it was not because I had made out with both of them, rather it was because the both of them... WERE DATING. 

(Mothertruckin' ass dogs.)

Other than assisting in being a homewrecker, the rest of DC Pride went perfectly. I saw Icona Pop and Emeli Sande play the festival, and I took home a new award in the amount of sweat one person can sweat in a 90-minute period. It's really a gift. 

Chicago

I'm not gonna spend a lot of time discussing Chicago. 

NY Pride

DOMA was repealed four days before NY Pride happened. I can say, from the bottom of my heart, I have never cried so much during a parade in my life. (Except for that one time in Disney World. We still don't talk about that.)

The night I arrived in NY, Swifty, her husband, and I made our way downtown to the West Village to go to a gay bar or club. We found ourselves, first, at Pieces, where the bar was completely and totally overcrowded. To our surprise, there was a coat check available at the front of the bar... a coat-check in JUNE. Turns out it wasn't a coat-check at all, it was a CLOTHING-CHECK. That's right: You could check your clothing at the door and walk around in your boxer-briefs, briefs, or JOCK STRAPS. 

We stayed standing for an hour (obvs oogling) before heading to the next bar. We decided to head to Stonewall... yes, of the Stonewall Riot fame. For those of you who know me, I am more than mildly obsessed with social media, so it should come as no surprise to you that I am an avid user of Foursquare. (Because it isn't creepy that someone can track your every move.) Well, I went to check into Stonewall and was surprised to see there was an event I could check into. The event was titled "LESBO GO-GO."

First I felt: 

Then I was all like: 

After I realized it was dancing, I was like: 

(Cause, bitch, I DON'T PLAY with my music)

We rolled into this history-making bar and bee-lined to the upstairs and downed a few drinks. I don't think I have been around that many dancing lesbians ever in my life. It took me a few minutes to get over the fact that I had changed the color of my shirt with my own sweat. (I'm impressive like that.) Just as I was getting over this not-so-secret fabric changing power I have, my friend Nomad (she, like, travels lots, duh), showed up and immediately pulled me up on the stage in front of all the lesbians. Much to my surprise, I danced like my life depended on it. At one point, whilst on stage, I thought I was so impressive I could definitely try out for So You Think You Can Dance... or at least their drunk bar version of the show. 

The weekend only got better from there. Brunching, dancing, and lots of eating ensued. There was the emotional Pride Parade — Edie Windsor was the Grand Marshall of the parade. I got ramotional. It was quite the weekend. 

Match.com

So, over a year after I originally talked about it, I finally took the plunge and purchased a membership to match.com. When I originally dabbled in it, I didn't pay for it and kinda let it hang by the wayside. On Sunday, however, my good lady friend Simba and I had our own little Sunday Funday that ended with buying a SIX-month membership. I don't know how things got so aggressive. 

(THIS IS WHAT MY INSIDES FEEL LIKE ABOUT DATING.)

The six-month membership comes with a guarantee; the site guarantees that if you do not find love within the six months that you paid for, then you get a SECOND six months for free. Because I am half-Jewish, I casually want to not find love and get another six months for free. (Hey, it's a deal! Gimme a break people.) I'll be sure to let you know how it goes. 

Miami: A new meaning to Hot Mess

DC Pride: Politically incorrect and loving it 

Chicago: Shhh

NY Pride: Am I a lesbian now?

Match.com: Jesus, Joseph, and Mary

And Then There Were None

Where have I been? That's a really good question. I have been awkwardly neglectful and stressed about my absence. Part of it is my own fault, part of it is work, part of it is doing research. (Research? Did I just try to make myself important? DID I? Yes, yes I did.) When I say research, what I mean is that I have been tirelessly going on dates for the last month. Remember that time that I made a promise to go on a certain number of dates before the middle of May? Cahmmm ahnnn, you remember. Fine, read it HERE. Well, I want to discuss the dates with you... in detail... now.

Date One: The Peaceful Snob

The first date I went on was at the very end of April. It was casual and friendly and not filled with any of the sparks or butterflies that you would want from a relationship starting date. The guy was a hippie teacher who had spent a couple of years in the Peace Corps. (Do you see where issues might arise? DO YOU?) I had decided that this date was going to be amazingly interesting and culturally enlightening, or a complete and total whack job. 

This was kinda the opposite of everything I thought it was going to be. The date started off normal enough with us making small talk about our lives and where we are in our careers. He fit all of the basic criteria for a mate: 29, teacher, tall, seemed to be grounded, witty. Then things took a turn when we began discussing his time in Africa. Out of nowhere he became a travel snob and started discussing his family's wealth. 

(Joan is perfect for expressing CONSTANT SURPRISE and mild annoyance. Thanks, Botox.)

I was slapped in the face with this. I wasn't expecting it. How does one prepare for this? You have just spent TWO years of your life working for the needy, the poor, the down trodden and the thing you want to discuss with me is the traveling you did? Not only did he tell me all the countries he visited, he then went into the trips he was able to take with his family. I think he told me about this one kid he helped once, and it was "like pretty cool."

I wasn't really sure how to continue the date after that. We tried to move on but I was so dumbfounded that I am sure I didn't make sense. Peace Snob just went about his business and continued to bring the convo back to himself. We parted ways with an awkward handshake/handhold thing and a promise of a second date... THAT WILL NEVER HAPPEN.

Date Two: The Intense Latino

So date two was a bit more promising than the first. The guy was a hefty Latino man who worked as a lobbyist. We met at my go-to place, Crios, in Dupont Circle. I go there for two reasons: (1) It's easy/close to where I live, and (2) They have fucking delicious margaritas, and if I can't enjoy the date I can at least get tipsy.

Latino Heat was obviously into the idea of a Mexican restaurant as well. We had decent conversation at the beginning and then got really deep into family shit. I usually get weird about this stuff, but I let it slide after the second marg. (Let's cool it on the judgement. Two more margs and we would have an issue.) After we finished our dinner, we slowly made our way up the street and when I turned to say goodbye, he went in for the kiss. Because I am a gentleman I didn't stop him... but I felt... nothing, literally, nothing. It felt like I was kissing one of my best girlfriends... nice to have lips on me but not really doing anything below the neck. (Wink, WINK.)

Despite the less than exciting experience, I decided to go on a second date with him to see if the sparks could be found. Unfortunately for him, our second date coincided with a massive work emergency that ended up consuming my attention for most of our date. We went to Mellow Mushroom in Adams Morgan, also not far from where I live (I'm a man of convenience), and nommed on some pizza. The sparks were far from present, and as I walked back to my apartment, I decided to let this fizzle out. 

Unfortunately for me, Latino Heat seemed to think we were a match made in heaven. He began texting me incessantly about hanging out again. I told him about my busy work schedule and then decided not to text him back. Then, in a period of 24 hours, he texted me 8 times. Eight. OCHO. ACHT. ATE. EiGhT. 

(ZOINKS)

I didn't know what to do with all of them. They ranged from normal checking in to increasingly creepy and clingy. 

Text 1: Hey, I know you are busy and stuff, I just wanted to check in and make sure you are okay. 

Text 3: Hey, I haven't heard from you. I was thinking our next date could be something casual and intimate. 

Text 5: So I really think we could have something special, let me make you dinner this week. 

Text 8: I have looked at your OkCupid profile a few more times, and I really agree with it that we are a match. I think we should make a go of it. 

I'm sorry... you are continuing to look at my OkC profile? WHAT? WHO ADMITS THAT? He might be admitting it because you can SEE when someone has looked at your profile. He actually looked at my profile every day for a week. I just... I just... I can't. MATCH FAIL. 

Date Three: Tiny and Bland

To round out this trifecta, I decided to go on one last date in May before I headed to Miami for my work/vacation trip. This guy was cute, dark, and gainfully employed as a consultant. (Read also: my dream man.) We were messaging back and forth, and he had some painfully adorable lines that swayed me into a date. The one thing that was holding me back was his height. Tiny Dancer was all of 5'6" to my 6'1" frame. 

(Just not my cup of tea.)

I sucked it up and went on the date anyways. I had somehow convinced Tiny Dancer to go to Crios with me after a rather long Friday at work. (Man. Of. Convenience.) We had a lot in common and the conversation just kinda flowed between us. There wasn't a great deal of attraction, mainly because I considered bringing a booster seat on the date, but he was nice, nonetheless. We had a few sticking points where I knew we wouldn't work out in the long run — beyond the height. 

1. He had a rule against having any alcoholic beverages after 9pm. Ever. 

     2.  He was a Republican. (No offense, Republican readers... I'm just... I... well, it's a thing.)

(This is from Aubrey O'Days stint on RuPaul's Drag Race. She, surprisingly, is not a drag queen.)

     3. Finally, the worst offense, he didn't like reality TV, especially Bravo. 

(If anyone can give a "Bitch Please" face, its Madame Hillary Effing Clinton.)

I am fairly certain he felt the same about my liberal, reality TV watching, hard partying ways. Plus, I was a giant next to him... and girl, that ain't cute. As if he needed an extra thing against me, the gorgeous host at Crios called me out. Close to the end of the date, the host swung by and stood near me, looking me up and down for a second. 

Cahhhute Host: You've come here before. A lot. You always have fun boys with you. 

Me: *shocked* Way to blow up my spot! 

Tiny Dancer: Fun boys?

Me: I hang out with a lot of gays? I like Tex-Mex. THEY HAVE GOOD BRUNCH.

Cahhhute Host: See! I told you, you're so funny! 

Anddd, another one bites the dust. 

Last week I was in Miami, this weekend is DC Pride, next week I'm in Chicago, and then I am going to NYC Pride. I want to update you on all of these things, Amanda Bynes, and the future of my liver. (Hint: It's not a bright one.)

Peace Snob: A new type of terrible 

Latino Heat: A hunk, a hunk of CREEPY LOVE

Tiny Dancer: Fell just short of being terrific. (See what I did there, DO YOU?)

Fabulously Lost: Hot Mess, since '88

High Anxiety

I am an anxious person. This may be news to the people who consider me to be their closest friend, but the people who are actually my closest friends, this is very accurate. Basically I get really awkward and weird (more than normal, obvs) when I get into a situation where I feel really anxious. I have decided that you are all worthy recipients of the list of things that make me weirder than I am on a normal basis.

(What is this baby looking at? WHAT is so concerning? I am forever in awe of weirdo babies)

~List of reasons why I'm an anxious freak-a-do~

Silence

What does this mean? How does silence make someone anxious? Shouldn't silence make you zen and calm?

ZEN? ZEN? DOES THIS SOUND ZEN? UGHHH YOU'RE THE WORST...and by that I mean I am the worst.

I have no idea why this affects me so much, but I cannot handle silence. I don't just mean when people meditate and it happens to be silent. I mean that if there is no noise whatsoever, I begin to have an irrational breakdown. My ears begin to feel like they are going to fall off and I need some sort of noise. I usually have music playing constantly. When I say constantly, I actually mean every moment of my day up until I fall asleep. I panic when I sleep over friends places because it is weird to turn on music as you are trying to fall asleep. Because I'm a freak.

(This is what happens when you are silent. People. Die.)

Dark Clouds

This one is hard for me to admit to. I really love a good thunderstorm and I like being in doors watching them from the comfort of my own home. This doesn't change the fact that for the first 5-10min of me watching ominous clouds descend upon the land, I am convincing myself that it is a tornado. (Yup, you read that right. No need to second guess yourself) 

(OUT OF NOWHERE? HOW IS THIS NOT SCARY? This photo has set me into an anxious state)

I am not a fan of scary movies. I hate them more than life itself. I don't find it entertaining to have the living shit scared out of me for 2hrs. I don't like walking into a movie knowing that I won't be able to sleep later that night, no matter how much music I have playing. (See above random excuse for anxiety) So you may find yourself pondering, much like I do, why I would agree to sit down and watch the hit '90's movie titled Twister. They aren't hiding it in the title, they weren't trying to pretend like it was anything other than what it was, a movie about a tornado. I took one thing from the entire movie (mostly because I was watching the entire thing through the cracks of my fingers, judge me not people) and that was that you can tell when a tornado is about to hit because the clouds are green. Green. The color green. 

IS THIS FUCKING DOCTOR SUESS??? I can't trust green clouds? Does this apply to other things that are green too? Are all green things working together to ruin my life???

The short and simple answer to all these questions is, yes. Yes this world we live in can be figured out through color (heeeyyy girl, I'm a rainbow. SURPRISE) and green clouds are the worst thing you could ever see in the sky. I am astonished because I have seen green clouds, no less than, 10-15x in my life since I have seen this movie. Luckily, none of them ended up in a tornado...at least to my knowledge.

Sweating

I talk about sweating a lot on this blog. I talk about it because it plagues my life. I get it, I'm not athletic and I start sweating if the temperature is above 66 degrees (that is, unfortunately, not an exaggeration). So why put this in this post? WELL, thanks for asking kiddies! I add it in here because I have begun, in the last year, sweating when I think that I might sweat. 

('Guuuh-huh???'- thats the noise (s)he is making. Duh.)

I, once, was a carefree kid who didn't recognize all of the situations that he would sweat in. Then, like 5 years ago, I became overly aware of the sweating issue and would start to panic when I felt that first bead of sweat roll down my face. The first drop was the bane of my existence and then became the sole thing running through my head. If you see me slightly gaze off into the distance or try to "discreetly" wipe my brow, it usually means that I hace completely checked out of our conversation and I am trying to plan my escape so I can go sweat by myself in the corner. The corner of shame and dispare. 

Large Groups of People

HA! Good thing I just moved into a city. A city with lots of people...some may call it a large group of people. I moved here for so many reasons and one of them, surprisingly, was not for the abundance of people cramped into small areas. I get irrationally awkward when there are too many people in elevators and the only way I know out of it is by making weird conversations. 

Examples: 

*Cramped elevator the other morning*

Me: No stairs for anyone? So, guess we all aren't going to be winning the weight loss challenge. 

*Cramped metro car*

Me (to my friend): Wouldn't it suck if  everything just stopped and we were stuck for an hour. I would have a panic attack. 

*Cramped into a small work space for a happy hour at work*

Me: I am definitely sweating in places I didn't think possible. 

(Where's Waldo wasn't a fun book for me, it was, and is, my personal hell)

So, you see, it doesn't matter whether I am with friends or not, I shut down and become like rain man about one extremely awkward thing. (Yet another reason why meeting a boyfriend in a public space will NEVER happen for me. *wink, nudge, nod*)

Silence: Horrifying

Dark Clouds: I blame Helen Hunt for this one. I am not Mad About You, Ms. Hunt. 

Sweating: A constant worry

Crowds:  Brings on sweating and creates a silence...in my heart.  

 

Why I Hate Surprises...

Before I get into my dating woes (because why would 2013 be any different?), I wanted to tell you a few quick updates about my life situation.

Mama Fab had only one thing to say after last week's post, which had a whole section dedicated to her sass.

Mama Fab: It's about time your friends know where you get all of your fabulousness. 

But, like, how is she right all the time? It's not like she decided to tell me it was a funny post, or that she enjoyed the part that she was in, but, instead, she made it about her. Obvs this woman is my mother.

(Like, I'm not saying my mother is NeNe Leakes, but I'm also not saying she isn't. #realtalk)

(Side Note within a side note: I don't think I could be more homosexual. I'm writing about my mother while watching reruns of RuPaul's Drag Race. I'm a living, breathing stereotype...andddd I lovvvveee itttttt- [said like Oprah])

Ok, the other news I wanted to share with you issss......KG and I....FOUND A PLACE. 

I have been waiting for this moment for.ev.er. I looked for the longest time by myself and out of nowhere I start looking with a friend and now I have a place. I couldn't be happier with the place and I am moving in three weeks. This is all sorts of cray. With all this time, I can guarantee you that I will wait until 6 days before hand and become a dramatic queen about everything up until the move. Luckily for KG, he will be in Israel and will only see me after I have already moved in. LUCKY HIM. I will be writing a farewell post to the best roomies (GET IT MAMA AND PAPA FAB) at some point rulll soon. Mmmk?

There is one other thing I would like to say (after I've had a glass of wine...or two). I am not trying to point fingers, because I'm not that kind of girl, but I feel like it is necessary for everyone to connect the dots. The inauguration just happened and I was reminiscing about where I was 4 years ago during the first inauguration. I was with my bffl Rachie and my big time college Ex (we were together at the time, duh), in my own apartment, casually successful in my job, had a world of dreams in front of me, surrounded by my best friends, slept until whenever I wanted, drank like a fish, and really just living the dream. 

Now, 4 years later I am living with my parents, single, all my friends are spread out across the country, I have to wake up when other people decide I am supposed to go to work, and I have to pay bills. I'm not saying it is Obama's fault, butttt CHU KNOW WHAT I'M SAYING.

(Good point, RIGHT Obamz?)

Alright ladies, it's story time. This is a bit of a throwback to my college days when I was young, fabulous, and broke. (Not much has changed.) Remember that time that I made out with Black Bieber? Ok, well in that post I spoke about girlfriend, who is one of my nearest and dearest friends. We are kinda, sorta like the devils on each others shoulders. We often convince each other that whatever the worst thing you could possibly do in a night would be the best thing to do right then and there. (i.e. alcohol is usually involved)

Anywayz, girlfriend and I had this thing where we would casually go through attraction phases (we would be into the same type of men at the same time), and more than once we would be attracted to the same exact guy. One of these times, we found a guy who we were unsure which way he swung. (Shocker, I'm attracted to a sexually ambiguous man) 

(but...just...love...me)

We, of course, had to turn this into a friendly game where we would invite him to do things with both of us and then also try and get him alone with us. Once, girlfriend convinced all of us to watch Paranormal Activity and let me tell you...this bitch does NOT do scary movies. Apparently neither did our sexually ambiguous friend, we both ended up curled up underneath girlfriend until she agreed to turn off the movie. LET'S just say, we decided he leaned a little more to my side of the baseball end zone. (I'm good with sports)

So, you ask, where did the terrible date come into play?  Well, don't you worry your pretty little head, we will get there. You may also ask when his nickname is going to come into play, because you are aggressive and you can't be patient. You see, our little friend decided to ask me out on a date and wanted to plan it out himself. He told me he would pick me up and he was really excited to take me to one of his favorite places in College Park. I was the giddiest girl in all the land. 

(Isn't he just the cutest? Ugh, I love me some silver fox)

He picked me up and we started driving down Rt. 1 away from most of the restaurants in the area. I began getting excited that we might be venturing away from the places I had become to accustom to over the last three years. But then it happened, just as I thought we were going to get on the highway and drive away from good ol' CP, he turned into the Ikea parking lot. 

(It's just the pits)

Me: So, are we stopping here for a quick furniture run? Need to pick up some tupperware?

Ikea: No, goof, this is my favorite place to eat in College Park! I knew it would be a surprise. I bet you have never eaten here before. 

Me: Yup, you're right. I honestly have never consumed food at this lovely furniture store. 

Ikea: Well you're in luck, because they have the best meatballs ever. They are from Sweden! 

I forgot to mention, Ikea, is as dumb as a brick. He is hands down one of the most attractive men I have ever sort of shared with any of my friends, but the boy is clueless. He was one of those men that didn't need to say much, because he was just so pretty. He had these piercing blue eyes and a smile that made you swoon. So when he says things like "Ikea's meatballs are from Sweden" you just sort of smiled and pretended he never said anything. #denial

When we got inside, it took us twenty minutes to get to the cafeteria portion of this building, because it's an EFFIN' MAZE. I was getting more and more annoyed with every twist and turn and all he could do was talk about how excited he was for these damn meatballs. When we finally arrived, I wasn't even sure I was hungry and I realized I was completely overdressed for this place. This was not the date I had dreamed about throwing in girlfriends face later. (Bittttch puhlease, you know I was gonna make a big ta-do about this whole date. I had out done her! But not really)

Oh, but it gets better. Not only were we on this date where we were having real life Swedish meatballs, my lovely date felt the need to answer a call from his roommate in the middle of our date. 

Ikea: Hey Roommate, is everything okay?

*Pause*

Ikea: Oh man, that sounds awful. You know I'm out with Fab, right? I told you about the whole dinner thing. 

*Pause*

Ikea: I guess I could ask him. Hey, uh, Fab, do you care if Roommate comes and joins us? He likes Swedish food too! 

Me: Sure, that will just be the icing on the cake.

Ikea: Are we getting cake? Aw man, Roommate loves cake!!

But, like, that's just how on top of things he was. It was the moment that I realized I no longer wanted to compete for him. You know, besides the whole ambiguity of his sexual orientation and his general misunderstanding of most normal social situations. Roommate ended up joining us and added just as much to our conversation topics as Ikea had. We eventually did get cake, because I had put it into their minds that cake would be part of the date. 

girlfriend and I have not competed for any man since, but she is still one of the best wingmen I have ever had. 

I am going to casually try and go into hibernation over the next few weeks to save money for the big move. Being as fabulous as I am, this is going to be a very difficult task for a social butterfly. Also the guy who I went on a 3rd date with...total dud. I've given up on 2013 and finding love. (Calling all drama queeeeeens!)

DC: Ready or nottttt

Obama: The reason I am single

Ikea: A maze of both furniture and love 

Fabulously Lost: Curer of homosexuality #datingfail

The Next American Idol

So yesterday I mentioned, in my Award Winning Blog (I am going to ride that one for awhile, just an FYI), 11 facts about myself that you may or may not have known about me. I also promised that I would write posts about each of these facts because they warrant further examining by you lovely people. Well, I would like to take some time to address fact number 11.

• I have three songs that I am convinced I can sing and would get me a record deal if the right people heard me sing them. I cannot sing any other songs. I would be a three hit wonder. (One of the songs is from Rent...so a 2-hit wonder)

 Basically, I am going to be the next American Idol...or extremely close.

(Just me and Simon, fighting off the haters.)

 So these three songs, when they are on, sing to my soul. It isn't because I can directly relate to them or because I feel like they are musical gems in the grand history of music. It is because every time I hear them, I sing with every fiber in my body and I feel as though I have hit every single note perfectly, sometimes better than the original artist. Is this a little crazy? Yes. Is it plausible that I can hit all of these notes and be the best singer that no one has ever heard? No. But in my head, I have a Grammy and a Tony. Soooo...Jokes on you. 

This is such a big deal for me guys. I have never told anyone my secret fact about the songs I am able to sing. You can't request them. I can only sing them when I feel moved...or when I am alone. Ok, here it goes. Judgement free zone, right? (I can feel you nodding your heads with your fingers crossed behind your backs. Scoundrels.) 

1. Will I? - Rent : Real talk, I am obsessed with this musical like most musical theatre nerds. (Why yes, that is the theatre snob way to spell THEATRE. Suck it). When I first saw this musical I was 13 and I fell in love with every single character. I don't think I fully understood how dark and depressing a majority of the musical is. (For those who don't know...it's about a group of young people in NYC dealing with the HIV/AIDs crisis of the 80s. SUPER uplifting for a confused gay teenager). Anywhoz, it wasn't until my junior year in high school that I had this magical gift to sing this song. It is the simplest song, lyrically, in the musical but had the most profound impact on me. I began putting it on all of my mix CD's (because that was a thing back then. PRE-ipods/playlists all you young whippersnappers) I would belt it as I drove down the road in my 1995 Nissan Altima with a rainbow bumper sticker plastered on the back. (I was big into "Statement" pieces). To this day, when the song comes on, I lose all focus on what else is going on and begin trying to match the pitch of the artists singing the song. 

(Holy ballz guys, when I found this video of Canada's "So You Think You Can Dance" team doing it...I just about lost my shit. I also just lost 20min of my life doing the arm movements at my table. I am a dancer in training) 

2. White Christmas - by Any Male Artist - This one should come as less of a surprise for you guys considering your vast knowledge of my intense love of Christmas. This was another high school discovery of mine (STOP THE PRESSES... Angst ridden teen finds himself in theatre and music.) Growing up my voice has always held itself slightly above what is considered "normal" for boys and men. (I am all for redefining "normal" but when I was 14....my voice was far from the "normal" octave) The only time that I found my voice actually sounded better normal was when I was in musical theatre. My teacher in 9th grade told me to sing in more of a tenor or baritone (i.e. fairly low)

Around Christmas time, again my junior year, I was joking around with my bffl and singing this song in the car. She freaked out (in a good way) because my voice hit an all time low. Well, I joke sang it at lunch the next day (because I wanted the same attention) and this kid, Mike, turned and was like "SHIIIIIT, I want you to sing at my wedding one day." I laughed it off and told him he was ridiculous...then ran home and wrote about it in my journal. (Facts: Mike got married earlier this year. I was not invited to sing at his wedding. Asshole)

  3. Back Here - BBMak - What? How can you not remember this wonderful British boy band? Yes, they may have been one-hit wonders. Yes, this song did come out almost 13yrs ago. Yes, I first heard this song on Now, Volume 5. (Ugh, that Now was so good! N*Sync, Backstreet Boys, Britney Spears, Aaron Carter, Jessica Simpson, Mandy Moore, Destiny's Child, and 98°. I think they peaked on Vol. 5) So, you may ask, why did I choose Back Here as the song I would hit every note and sound like an angel while singing, when I had so many other gems to choose from? Well, the answer is simple, I DIDN'T CHOOSE THE SONG! It chose me. It. Chose. Me. Sorry, I'm not sorry about this. 

I was working on my British accent at the time (because my phone was ringing off the hook with people wanting to hang out with me) and I just felt an extreme connection to the three lads singing this song. For the last 13 years, when I hear this song, I am immediately brought back to my childhood bedroom where I sat on the floor reading the lyrics off the pamphlet insert, memorizing every single word. I sing for that 11yr old boy. I sing to cure broken hearts. I sing to stop world wars. I succeed. 

Chorus: Until you're back here baby, Miss you, Want you, Need you so. 

I mean, I don't really know why they didn't get a Grammy. It's mind-boggling to me. 

So there it is, those are the three songs that define the early part of my life and are what will, one day, gain me fame and glory among the music community. Don't you worry your pretty little head, this guy is on his way. WATCH OUT  BIEBER! 

Fabulously Lost: The next Kelly Clarkson....or Rebecca Black 

Rent: A positive musical about AIDs

White Christmas: Magical in so many ways 

BBMak: Truly fabulously lost in the pile of one-hit wonders  

Harry Potter in Shambles

Most of my close friends are aware of my odd fascination with most things Harry Potter related. What I really mean by "odd fascination" is that I tend to try and fit anything HP related into my daily conversation. I think this is a normal thing, but I have been told that I should hide that type of crazy from most people until several dates in. (Other "odd fascinations" I have include, and are not limited to, '90s teen bop music, '00s teen bop music, '10s teen bop music {Shut it...Selena speaks to me], and Sabrina the Teenage Witch. And Britney.) Whenever I thought about which HP character I would end up with I, along with most human beings, imagined I would date Harry or Ron or even Malfoy (loves me a good bad boy. he's a fixer-upper.) I never in a million years thought I would end up on a date with Hagrid.

Now, my Hagrid (it bothers me that I can say "my Hagrid" forever and for always...), wasn't as hairy as the mythical friendly half giant that lived on the grounds of Hogwarts, but he wasn't too far off. This gentleman began messaging me over OkCupid and seemed decent enough. I had gone on a string of bad dates with people that had fit my "type" (which means they were black.) and decided that I needed to branch out and date people who were outside of my "type" (which means non-black). This was mistake #1.This seemed logical enough for me and gave me new found hope that I was supposed to find someone who I wasn't conventionally attracted to and that we would find love in each other because of our differences!

Hagrid worked locally at a restaurant and was 27 years old. He was 6' 4", had some light scruff, and only had face pics on the site. (this generally means he has something to hide, but as we know...I'm a desperate daisy and tend to forgo any warnings) He didn't delve into exactly what he did at the restaurant but he did say that he loved where he worked because of the regulars. This should have been seen as a red flag, but instead I saw this as him being a friendly guy who enjoyed getting to know the patrons of the restaurant he owned. (Notice what I did there...he said he worked at a restaurant and I convinced myself he owned it. #crazypartyof1) Hagrid told me he wanted me to come to his restaurant where he worked for our first date, but I decided I wanted to be treated like the gem that I am and wanted to go to his favorite restaurant in his neighborhood in Baltimore. This was mistake #2.

When I arrived at the "restaurant" that he chose as his favorite in his neighborhood, I should have probably turned around and left but I didn't. This was mistake #3. The outside of the bar looked like it was made of wood that scavenged from an old dirty pirate ship. The neon sign was like the little sign that could, flickering every so often to let you know they were O-EN.  There was also one window on the first floor and it was blacked out. I decided that this was just "rustic charm" and tried to give this dive a chance. 

Hagrid was sitting there at the end of the bar when I walked in and his "scruff" was a full fledged beard and when he stood up, he not only towered over me, but he was twice the weight of me (and I am no tiny duckling). Instead of the normal handshake to say hello, he engulfed me in a hug...and smushed my face into his beard nest thing. Not running away at this point was mistake #4

Hagrid: You look just like I thought you would! I hope you like my choice, I'm a regular here.

(There he goes again with the "regulars"....)

Me: You look...just like....you. This is an interesting place...do they have good food/drink specials. 

Hagrid: Well I wouldn't say they have good food, but the chef knows how to heat up a good burger. 

Ummm he knows how to heat up a good burger? What the hell does that mean? This is a restaurant shouldn't they be cooking the burgers fresh? Shouldn't it be a specialty since that is standard bar food?? WHERE THE HELL AM I?!?!

Me: Well it sounds like you know a good burger...what are their drink specials

Hagrid: Beer

Me: Oh nice, uh..err...do they have anything else?

Hagird: I'd stick to the beer

Me: So I guess I don't really need to look at the menu do I? (mistake #5)

Hagrid: That's the spirit! I knew you'd like this place.  I hate sissy fem gays who can't handle a little roughness around the edge. 

So... I don't think about myself as a "sissy fem gay" but I also like the finer things in life. My family never taught me how to camp and I like new clothes and nice restaurants and being treated well and staying in hote....ok so I might be a little bit of a "sissy". (who the hell cares. Suck it judgers) On the same token, I loves me a good dive bar because they tend to have good greasy food and cheap drinks. This place just looked like it was mice infested and hadn't been cleaned since the mid-1800s. I let him do all of the ordering because I couldn't understand the garbling of the bartender when she came up to us. She looked like a cross between and amazon woman and a yeti. Impeccable english.

(This is a real painting. All I had to type in was "Yeti Woman" and soooo many pictures came up. people are weird)

 We tried to make small talk about everything and anything and slowly began to realize we had very little in common.

Hagrid: Do you like dogs?
Me: Yeah, I didn't grow up with dogs but I like the idea of small to medium sized dogs. My bffl has a boxer that I'm in love with
Hagrid: Oh...I have a great dane. He is kinda unruly, like me! 
Me: Ha..ha..thats cool. What do you like to do for fun on the weekends?
Hagrid: I work most weekends at the restaurant, so I don't have a lot of time to hang out. 
Me: Right! What kinda restaurant is it?
Hagrid: It's actually almost exactly like this place a few streets over...its owned by the same guy!
Me: *shudders* Fun....so what do you do there? (mistake #6)
Hagrid: Well I was a bartender, but I drink too much sometimes so I was demoted to bar back. He can't fire me though cause I blew him once. He's afraid I'll tell his wife. *begins a hearty bellowing of a laugh that almost knocks over our "beers"*

As you can see, we have very little in common. For starters, our dog choices are not compatible. While this seems minor in this very moment you have to remember that I am on the search for long term lovin'. This means that if he prefers bigger dogs, later in life (Not that we would EVER get there) he would want a big dog. I have no urge to have my kids learning to horseback ride on our dog. Second, he works most weekends because he is a bar back. I work during the week and usually use my weekend for "extracurricular activities." Finally, I have no issue with his job choice or that he works at a bar that looks like you get herpes from sitting in it, but that he is proud of his job security due to blowing the owner at one point in time.

The really 'effed up part of this (disturbed that we haven't reached the effed up part yet? ME TOO)  is that after we awkwardly finished out food (and by finished I mean I pushed around the charred circle that resembled what used to be a burger) Hagrid asked me if I was okay walking him back to his place....and...I...said...yes. HOLD YOUR HORSES. I had no intention of going back to his place for hanky panky, but I was intrigued by the adventure of seeing where a half-giant lives. (I hear you judging me. I feel it with your eyes. That's just rude. Can't a guy just walk a giant home?) This is mistake #7.


Anywhoz, what I saw there is something that both shocked me and left my jaw dropped for days. Hagrid opened the door to his Baltimore row home and let me into what looked like the island of misfit...well...misfit everything. As soon as I walked in there was artwork on the wall that was large and in charge and had pizza smeared on it. I could tell it was pizza because there was a slice stuck to it in the top right hand corner.

Hagrid: We had a party that was a little wild 
Me: Oh wow, is it like an after work thing on the weekends?
Hagrid: Uhh...no it was like a Monday? I don't know, whatever the first Monday of the month was.


Nowwwww, we were closing in on the beginning of December, so this Pizza Artwork had been left on the wall for almost a month. But WAIT...it gets better! We moved past this Picasso and moved onto the living room where clothing made up what should be where a carpet was. Men's, women's, and children's clothing was strewn about. (Did you squint at that for a second? Did I just say children's clothing? Yup, yup I did) I also saw random children's toys laying all over the place and began to question what I had gotten myself into and just as I turned towards the door I was almost completely knocked over by a massive furry bear of an animal.

Hagrid: DOWN NICKELBACK! GET DOWN! 


You'd think I'd be startled by this stampeding elephant dog but, in reality, my mind immediately went to the fact that his dog was named after Nickelback, the widely hated American rock band. Not only did I find this a dumb name for an animal, but I also was appalled because I don't like this band and I have never found their songs (which all sound the same) all that exciting or great.

Me: Did you say your whale dog's name was Nickelback?
Hagrid: Yeah, they are the greatest band of all time. I have a tattoo dedicated to them on my body, you'll see it later if you're a good boy. *winks*
Me: I think I'll pass, I generally don't need rewards for being a good person. Why the hell are their children's toys and clothing everywhere?
Hagrid: Um, they're my roommates sons clothing. You remember the bartender from the bar we ate at? I live with her and her 3 year old son. Don't worry, when we have parties he stays at his grandma's down the road. 


Yup, he calmed my nerves. Hagrid let me know that the child is  not around for their pizza slinging, wolly mammoth stomping, incoherent garbling, beer guzzling parties. I am now completely comfortable with the situation I have gotten myself into, THANKS for that Hagrid. It was at this point, and only now, did I feel that I was ready to leave. As I walked towards the door I could hear him following me to let me out. I turned around to the most surprising event of the evening. This was the final mistake, mistake #8.


Hagrid lifted me off the ground, put me against the wall and planted a kiss on a majority of my face with his giant man bearded lips. I felt like my head was being taken over in an alien death kiss as my feet wiggled in the air. After what seemed like eons, he put me back on the ground.

Hagrid: I have wanted to do that all night. You have nice lips
Me: Uh, well I think I should go.
Hagird: If you ever wanna go out again, let me know. I can get you free drinks at the bar...if my boss isn't there. 


I, as I know it must surprise you, did not take him up on this kind offer. I cut down the beanstalk, sans any golden eggs, and never saw the giant again.

Internet Dating; Infinity
Fabulously Lost: Curbing Harry Potter Fantasies
Mistakes: Blatantly obvious to everyone but me
Voldemort: He won this battle.

Valentines Shmalentines

So I am sitting here the night before Valentine's Day listening to Jay Brannan and Adele with lit candles, thinking about whether or not to cancel on this guy for our date later this week. For those of you who don't know who Jay is, you are missing out on some depressingly sad songs about gay male relationships. Lezz-be-ahnist, what screams desperate and tortured like sitting alone in your cold apartment, listening to a mix of depressing and slightly more depressing music, with your off brand candles from Target.

I am most definitely one of those people who hates Valentine's Day, PDA, cute couple names, Facebook official relationships, and photos of people kissing....ONLY when I am not in a relationship. When I have someone I sometimes make sure I am doing all of those things at once (Because how the hell will people know I am happy if they don't see all of it together on Facebook every two hours. YOU know who you are, disgusting relationship people.) So as you can probably tell, I am not with anyone on this fine evening before the holiday based on love, so I am a little bitter.

The one and only Valentines Day where I had a real Valentine  (not one of my girl friends who also happens to be bitter and single and desperate enough to go out with a gay man) was kind of a dud. I was 21 and we went to a crowded restaurant in DC, I bought him tickets to his favorite band and in return I got a replacement earring for the one he helped me lose two nights prior. Romance has always been kind of illusive to me. So it should come as no surprise that in a plea for attention and validation I went on a date the night of the Superbowl, in hopes that we would fall madly in love in one week and then have each other for this fine day. And if you haven't been paying attention...you will realize that didn't happen.

The Thursday before I went to New York I decided to hop on my handy dandy GPS Gaydar device known as Grindr. Thats when I began talking to this friendly fellow who lives close to the gay bars I often make appearances at over the weekend. (Read Also: I immediately decided he was a winner because then I wouldn't have to cab it home after the bars. Slumber Parties to come!!) We chatted on and off over the whole weekend and when I got home he kept trying to get me to meet with him for a drink. I was exhausted and kept pretending that the Superbowl was keeping me at home (HA! I watched Madonna walk around with a walker on stage and I watched the last 45 seconds of the game.  Golden Girls had a marathon on...not my fault). When the game was over I took stock of my life and realized I was never going to meet anyone if my closest ideas of what a good relationship was, was solely based off of Blanche Devereaux's escapades.

So I pulled myself together into a somewhat acceptable form, sprayed cologne on, and made my way down to Central. As I walked in I found Mighty Duck sitting there, and he seemed to be more attractive than I thought he was going to be. (mainly because he was white...and I just don't do white very well.) We sat down and had a drink and kinda hit it off, things were going so well that we ordered a second and third drink. We were talking music and movies and a lot of other surface things. He then asked if I wanted to head back to his apartment to watch a movie. In my cute, but still tipsy, state I decided it would be good to watch something and have the dranks wear off.

When we got back to Mighty Ducks apartment we made a beeline for the t.v. (which happened to be in the bedroom...I'm a classy guy). I didn't notice much in the apartment because it was fairly dark, but seemed nice. We put on some crap movie on T.V. and start mackin' it up, not getting too handsy...because a lady doesn't give too much up on the first date. He pulls back a couple minutes in and we have a conversation I will never forget.

Mighty Duck: You are the first guy I am making out with since I broke up with my boyfriend.
Me: *like a total idiot, channeling my inner therapist* Ohh, what happened? Are you okay?

(What? Are you okay? WE were mackin' it on his BED and you asked "Are you okay?" Ok Dr. Buzkill lets see what the therapist finds out...)

Mighty Duck: Yeah, we broke up three weeks ago. He was such a jerk and a total deadbeat. 

Me: Awww, and what makes him a deadbeat and a jerk, Mighty?

Mighty Duck: Well he lives in bumblefuck in a house his parents own and he works in the pool industry. Plus he is old...he is like...31.

Me: Wow, that sounds really familiar for some reason. To be fair, you are 26...31 isn't that old. But hey, thats just me! What does he look like?

Mighty Duck: He is half-black and about 5'10". Omg and I didn't tell you, he has 3 kids, oldest one is 13.

Me: *Sheer terror of realization* Is his name...is it....Grandpa?????

Mighty Duck: Yeah! How did you know??

Yup, thats right....I was on a date with Grandpa's ex-boyfriend. The same boyfriend who Grandpa cheated on, with me, while on the dance floor of Central as I shook my money maker. I was completely mortified at this point and decided I needed to go to the bathroom. As I walked through the living room I  noticed a mannequin with a white suit on it,  but not just any white suit, one that had a jacket straight off of a Britney Spears tour. This jacket had silver chains and rhinestones all over it and it had feathers shooting off the shoulders. (Yes I said feathers, like duck feathers as shoulder pads). With everything else I had just been forced to digest, I decided to ignore this and just go to the bathroom. I gave myself a pep-talk and went back to his side. 

As we sat and talked more, and I sobered up more, I was beginning to notice that the decorations in his apartment were a cross between an old Victorian home and what a 12yr old girl would think an old Victorian room might look like. Mighty Duck then brought up his birthday being that Wednesday. He told me that he was going out Tuesday and Wednesday in Baltimore and DC on Thursday. Then he began talking about Saturday. 

Mighty Duck: Saturday is going to be the major party night! Did you see the gorgeous suit in the living room?

Me: Uhhhh yeah? Kinda hard to miss...its very...Gaga?

Mighty Duck: Omg I love it....I'm wearing it on Saturday to Central!!! I die! 

Me: Wow...don't you think its a bit much for Central? It's a pretty...eccentric costume...

Mighty Duck: Life is better in costume, duh!

That's not true at all. Life isn't better in costume, in fact life is fairly uncomfortable in most costumes. Unless you were picked to wear your pajama's as your costume, life is NOT more fun in costume. Also...how the hell was I supposed to make him my Valentine's date when he is obviously a bit off his rocker? I decided I needed another bathroom break at this point, since I was now completely sober and on a date with Grandpa's ex who also happened to be into dressing in Nicki Minaj's rejected tour costumes. 

When I got into the bathroom I was blinded by 3 major things I had failed to notice before, that could have tipped me off that he was a bit fem cray cray. 

1. In silver and rhinestones above his mirror was the word "GORGEOUS". (It was probably the  most inaptly named sign I had ever seen...)
2. Everything had some sort of pink on it, whether it was bows or pink letters, or just straight up pink accessories. 
3. There was a Coach make-up bag filled with make-up on the counter. He lives alone. He owns a Coach. Make-Up, Bag.

I was over this whole thing so very fast and needed to escape. When I began to open the door I saw this tiny chihuahua out of the corner of my eye. I yelped and then it scurried out of the bathroom. Shivers went down my spine as Mighty Duck yelped,

"O.M.G You let BRUISER out!"

(Yup. Yup. Yup. his dog was named after Legally Blonde)

I rushed out of the bathroom and let him know I was ill and needed to go home. He protested for a moment and then let me go. Several days later, while I was sleeping I received several texts from him: 

Mighty Duck: come over, its my birthday. [1:45am]

Mighty Duck: ??? [1:47am]

Mighty Duck: Are you on your way? [1:50am]

Mighty Duck: Come cuddle me warm [1:52am]

Mighty Duck: Guess you arent coming, but if you read this, come. [2:14am]

I ignored all of them and went on my merry way. That Thursday I ventured out on the town with gay bffls and our straight lady friend. We danced around with each other, drank obscene amounts, and had a grand time. When I got home I jumped on Grindr to see if anyone messaged me before clocking out, since it was 3am. I had several messages, one being from Mighty Duck.

"Guess you found someone to fuck tonight. Goodnight"

In my drunken stupor I decided to respond and see where this went. 

Me: Haha...whaaaat? Thats an odd greeting?

Mighty Duck: I saw you dancing with that black guy. You were dirty dancing.

Me: He is my bffl....and dirty dancing? Are we in middle school? Also did you see the white guy I was dancing with?

Mighty Duck: Yeah...is he who you are going to fuck tonight?

Me: So crude. No...the black guy and the white guy are dating. And the girl I was dancing with was a straight lady friend, not gonna fuck her either...no need to ask

Mighty Duck: So are you in bed with both the guys?

Me; No....also wtf? 

Mighty Duck: My point exactly, why didn't you talk to me

Me: I didn't see you. I was too busy figuring out which one of my unattainable friends I was going to sleep with. 

Mighty Duck: I knew it. If you aren't sleeping with them, you should come over.

Me: Really? Reaaaallly? I'm gonna go ahead and pass. Goodnight

Mighty Duck: No...come over. Now

Mighty Duck: Now?

Mighty Duck: Are you on your way?

Mighty Duck: When are you getting here

Mighty Duck: ??????

Mighty Duck: :(?

Mighty Duck: ? boo

As you can see, my new found stalker who happens to be Grandpa's ex is currently my deterrent from heading out on another random date with the "eligible" bachelors of Baltimore. (I also realized I have now dated a majority of the city #winning)

Fabulously Lost: 0 (I detracted .5 for this past date and gave it to Internet Dating)

Internet Dating: 12

Costumes: Best left to Nicki and Britney

Golden Girls: Only suitable activity for the late nights. 

Ducks and Dogs: Don't mix...unfortunate combo

Valentines Day: Sucky Holiday (unless you wanna be my valentine?)