Please Don't Bring Me Flowers: The Anti-Romantic

Though R and I have plenty of things in common, we certainly are far from being exactly the same. There is one critical similarity, however, that has led us to embark on the business venture that is our book about bad dates: our mutual hatred for all things romantic.

Romance and nice gestures make me squirm. Unlike most girls, I do not appreciate receiving a text in the morning before work telling me to have a great day. I don’t care that you had fun on our date or that you really enjoyed talking to me. Either you want to see me again or you don’t, and nine times out of ten, I don’t want to see you again, so it doesn’t matter.

Not too long ago, I went on a first date to get drinks with a guy and was unimpressed. He was kind of rude to the waitress, and that’s a dealbreaker for me. He also seemed to have a bad habit of asking me questions about myself but then interrupting me when I answered them. Regardless, he sent me an email a week or so later, saying he had a great time and asking if I’d like to get dinner the following week. Though I sent a polite response saying thank you, but I didn’t feel much chemistry, inside I was screaming “WHY DID YOU HAVE TO ASK ME TO DINNER AND RUIN MY DAY!?!?!”

Most girls would love it if a guy they were seeing cooked them a romantic dinner, right? Not me. A friend of mine was seeing one of my close friends, who has severe and complex food allergies. Over time, I’d become somewhat familiar with what she could and couldn’t eat, so my friend went to the trouble of bringing me to the grocery store with him so I could help him pick out ingredients for a romantic dinner that wouldn’t kill her. I pretty much went home and vomited afterward, a similar response to when my like-minded romance-hating friend told me her date brought her a rose. “Ew,” I said. “That’s disgusting.”

I’m not saying I want someone to slap me around, verbally abuse me and spit on me, not by any means. Though I like guys who are direct and assertive, I don’t tolerate inconsiderateness. Let me demonstrate this critical difference:

The other day, I went on a sushi date with a guy. When it came time to order, I told him everything sounded good, and that I’m adventurous and like everything but salmon and cilantro. He in turn asked the waitress to just pick some stuff for us, but nothing with salmon or cilantro. Perfect! He passed the test, and I’ll probably go out with him again. If we were in a relationship and I wanted to go to a particular sushi restaurant and eat a specific type of sushi, I’d expect things to be different. But for a first date, that is exactly how I like a guy to handle it.

Now let me tell you about how I don’t like a guy to handle himself. I was recently trying to plan a date with someone, and we were picking a day. I said I was free Thursday, he said Tuesday would be better, and he would be able to leave work around 8. I asked him what time he thought he could get to a location about halfway between his work and where I live—I work early, so I wanted to make this happen as early as possible. He said “Well it will be easier to meet by my work.” Hold on a minute here. We picked the day that’s easier for him and harder for me, then he wants me to meet him near his work, which is nowhere near where I live, because it’s easier for him? Not acceptable, and not a good first impression at all. As a result, I have decided not to go out with him. R, of course, supports this decision.

I’m not asking for a man to be rude to me. I’m just not into flowers and flattery. As you can probably tell from my decision to nix the man who wanted me to meet him near his work, I value manners and politeness. Maybe I’m a little old fashioned in my approach to gender roles in dating. But I think we can all agree on one thing—I’m certainly not old fashioned when it comes to romance.

Love Always,
S

Living Life Unprofessionally

As you may or may not know, S and I are working on a journalistic endeavor that involves asking women around the country about their bad dates. We’re interviewing and uncovering these truly remarkable stories—women who have been dumped on street corners to fend for themselves mid-date, others who have had men scheme elaborate birthday plans after only a first meeting.

What’s been interesting along the way, though, is discovering the way that certain people react upon learning about our project.

The fun dating-expert girls from my gym (who so graciously have invited me out and into their homes to hear their stories) unilaterally react with excitement. They’re always chomping at the bit to reveal their stories. Understandably, the details roll off their tongues faster than their clothes flew off their bodies when that one-night stand happened in the first place. As one girl described it, sharing with us is like therapy. And who wouldn't want to have to pay their shrink to listen to them?

You’d think it would horrify older women the most when they hear about our project. After all, they’re all prudes who saved themselves for marriage and thus the worst sex on the planet, right?

Oddly enough, they also respond well to our undertaking. Most older women (and I’m talking the grandmothers of today) find the project to be clever, even cute. But, sorry nana, the story of you going on a horrible date and later finding out he was the son of the Shah of Iran is just not the type of “funny” we’re looking for. This is a true story coming from a woman who, at seventy-five years of age, miraculously still has her marbles. At least on the days when she doesn’t call me to tell me not to swim in a public pool because I’ll get bladder infections.

What’s funny, though, is how people in the professional world react to this topic. I quickly discovered that posting a question on Linked In as innocuous as “I’m working on a journalism project, need women as sources to talk about bad dates” immediately prompts a barrage of hate mail. Like seriously, words almost as bad as what Tiger Woods is probably still getting daily about how disgusting his overtly sexual behavior is.

Maybe the people who react so violently are the ones who have never even BEEN on a date, never mind a bad one, because they’re too busy reading the question section of their professional networking site. (Honestly, who is it that answers those questions anyway?)

I appreciate you women out there telling me that my boss would be ashamed of me for posting such a query on a professional site. Don’t worry, he’s already ashamed of me for other things I’m sure.

Really, I actually consider your thoughts. OK, fine, maybe I don’t listen to those specific frigid middle agers whose most recent fun experience was when their kid failed to puke on the car ride to Chucky Cheese.

Now’s the time in life to mess up and make both professional and social mistakes—and if it takes a little inappropriate behavior along the way to do it right, so be it.

XOXO,
R.

Significant Strangers

A few years ago the NYTimes ran an article about a group of commuters from Long Island. They had all been riding the same trains together roundtrip daily for over a decade, more or less because of similar work schedules and because they lived in close proximity of one another.

Every Friday afternoon on their trip home they'd celebrate. Celebrate making it through another week in their meaningless jobs, rejoice in the fact that they had dealt with their boss's vicious comments and outrageous demands for another five days. One girl would bring a bottle of wine, another would bring fresh bread from the hot baker she'd flirt with as she passed his store window daily. One of the business men assigned himself the weekly duty of picking up gourmet cheese, and his buddy would usually grab a six pack from the package store outside his office building.

But what was so unique about this gathering? None of them knew each other outside of their daily commutes-- they had all met after seeing each other regularly. Maybe they realized they were sitting next to the same people each morning or afternoon, or perhaps someone haphazardly spilled coffee on another person one day, prompting apologies and ultimately leading to a conversation. Who knows. The trajectory of events doesn't matter so much. They made friends with the people around them-- people who in the end they probably spent more time with each day than their own families.

I think about this sitation when I notice myself eye-raping that gorgeous man with the ultra-short brown hair on my subway ride each morning. Being the sicko that I can be, I've picked up on the fact that he gets on somewhere between three or four stops after me. I also know that he hops off the train one stop after me. I mean he must-- that's the train's final destination. Today though I got my hopes up and thought maybe, just maybe, he was getting off at my stop and I could happen to "bump into" him on my way above ground. Really he just stepped off to let a flood of people exit without having to maneuver around him. And that just made him that much more dreamy-- a guy with manners!

Now I'm not trying to imply a connection between the first part of this story and this man that I'm going to marry in about six years. (Yea, we're getting married and having three kids. Obviously.) Not at all. But what I am trying to say is how I'm starting to realize that these seemingly meaningless people that we see regularly maybe do mean something.

Take for example that disgusting couple who commutes together every single morning. They always wind up in my car. They're not disgusting because they're ugly or forgot to shower-- they're actually so lovey-dovey they probably already took two showers together this morning. Who knows, maybe it's out of some deeply repressed form of jealousy that I end up despising them, cringing at the very first sight of them at 7:43 each morning. Without without fail though, when I'm BBMing with S, she gets an abrupt message from me-- right in the middle of our morning conversation involving me coaxing her out of bed all the way from a million miles away-- that says "UGH, that gross commuting couple is here AGAIN."

Realistically, do I ever expect to approach Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome? Of course not. And am I ever going to tell that couple, the girl with her cutesy winter hats, the man with his rugged North Face backpack and scruffy facial hair, that on the surface I find them repulsive but I'm really hoping for happiness as simple one day in MY life? Again, of course not.

The story of the New York commuters represents a rarity-- something nice developing after years of potential misery on the Long Island Rail Road. The people I see daily-- well, they're not going to become my drinking buddies for 5pm on Friday nights anytime soon, but as weird as it is, after months these complete strangers have become fixtures in my morning routine.

Carrie Bradshaw once said that "It's romantic when someone offers me a seat on the subway." So for now it's important to notice the simple little gestures and then maybe in the future, if GOD FORBID I'm still doing this daily ten years down the line, the couple will do that couple-y thing, move to the suburbs and a new revolting pair will replace them. And I can do more than just intensely stare at my piece of eye candy. Hey, a girl can dream, right?



XOXO,
R.

How Sarah Jessica Parker Ruined Our Lives

For those of you who don't know, R and I live in different cities and went to different colleges. We met when we were summer interns at a major news publication, and bonded while browsing through personal finance books at Barnes and Noble for an assignment. We became fast friends.

Midway through the summer, a friend of mine who was an intern at an event planning company managed to get me an invite to the launch party of an organic skincare line. When she told her boss I'd write something for the Style editor at my internship, she put me on the VIP list. I brought R as my plus one.

When we found out that the guest list included a few fashion magazine editors and Sarah Jessica Parker, we went into heavy planning mode. We spent weeks deciding on perfect outfits, what we would say when we met SJP, etc. When dress shopping, I kept thinking, "WWSJPW?" That's "What Would Sarah Jessica Parker Wear?" When the day finally came, we were both a bit on the nervous side.

The afternoon was off to a good start. A woman came up to me and said “Where’d you get that great dress that hides your bra straps?!” I thought to myself “Oh my God, are my bra straps sticking out?!” But it turns out they weren’t, and she actually liked the dress. Success. A bit later, another woman asked me who my dress was “by,” and I hesitated a moment, wondering if I should lie. “Oh, thank you, I just got it at H&M actually.” The truth. She was shocked—another good sign.

The theme of the event was "Sexy Green," so naturally, the "signature drink" was something green and fruity that didn't taste remotely alcoholic. I never know what to do with my arms or hands when I’m uncomfortable, so consistently having a drink in one hand helps. Except these drinks were literally gulpable, I was thirsty, it was hot outside—I could think of a variety of other excuses. I think R and I were both feeling a bit tipsy as time went on, but we stayed composed.

The end of the event approached, and SJP had not made an appearance. We were pissed. We had another cocktail, said our goodbyes, got our swag bags and left.

We were drunk and desperate for Pinkberry. We stopped at the one by R’s apartment to get our fix. As it always was in the middle of the summer, the line was long. It was clear we’d be there for awhile, so we began to debrief.

“Sarah Jessica Parker and I are SO over,” I said. I realize now how silly we must have looked— two drunk girls in fancy dresses standing in line at Pinkberry talking shit about SJP.

The man in line in front of us seemed to be pretty amused. He turned around and smiled, and I continued. “I even hate her character on Sex and the City. I’m done with her, she is an inconsiderate bitch!” At this the man turned around again and started laughing. We smiled back at him… he was really, really cute. When he turned to face the front again, R and I giggled quietly to each other.

We got to the front of the line and placed our orders, then moved to the end of the counter to wait for them while we talked more about our newfound hatred for SJP. R picked up where I had left off. “How do you just say you’re going to an event and then not go? That’s just rude. She’s Sarah Jessica Parker. If she says she’ll be there, people make special arrangements for her. Like if you’re not going, don’t say you are.”

The man turned to us again. “You two are funny," he said. We smiled at him while I desperately tried to come up with something clever to say. While the wheels spun in my head, the guy behind the counter called a name. It was his. He had two of them… Wow, he must be hun—

Right then, a woman came up behind him, put her arm around his waist, and took one of the containers from his hands. His girlfriend. Damn. I smiled at him one last time and turned to R with a frown.

All in all, it was a disappointing evening. No Sarah Jessica Parker, the love of our lives had a girlfriend—was there any hope for humanity?

But thinking back, I’m reminded of something Lo said to Lauren Conrad once on The Hills (yes, I am aware of the dangers of seeking wisdom in MTV reality television). I like to think of this whenever I know I’m feeling down.

“Eat your Pinkberry and enjoy life.”

Love,
S

When the Worst is Really the Best

The idea of a first date is a scary one. I get it. No, really, I do. As one friend put it, she always feels like it’s a job interview, where the sole purpose is for the other person to pass judgments and decide if they deem you worthy enough of a second meeting. Legitimate concern—that I won’t argue—but really, what’s the worst that could happen?

I try to always remember that a first encounter can go one of three ways, none of which ultimately are all that horrific. Let me break it down as follows:

--Possibility A: It goes really well. Now when I say possibility, I sort of intend to imply in this particular case a “a rarity” or “unlikely event.” In either case, it happens that a first date can leave you wanting more, if not because of magical chemistry but because you simply enjoyed each other’s company. Don’t expect this outcome, but rather be pleasantly surprised when it does happen.

-- Possibility B: The date is FINE—not GREAT, but he didn’t insult you, offend you, or leave you drunk searching for a cab on a desolate street corner at 2am. This situation represents the WORST case scenario. Curious that it’s the worst, right? A neutral date leaves you without craving another get-together and with an uneasy feeling that you just wasted an hour of your time that could have been better spent, perhaps scrubbing strains off your stovetop or balancing your checkbook. Because both are things we really do regularly.

I guess the plus side is that at least if your heart isn’t fluttering when you gaze into his baby blues (OK, I even just grossed myself out) you’re one step closer to knowing what type of person you’re not looking for. The one way that you can turn around this less than ideal situation is if you can later develop a friendship. Believe it or not, that actually can and does happen.

--Possibility C: Your date is so bad that you want to leave faster than if you were stuck in a padded cell with Miley Cyrus playing on repeat. Remember Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day? I think there’s something to be said about the title of this childhood tale: sometimes the concept transcends to the adult world and, even more specifically, the dating scene.

Maybe it’s as simple as your date telling you he doesn’t get very much action in the bedroom. It could be as unnerving and embarrassing as he gets arrested as you’re enjoying fine wine in a candlelit restaurant. (Both examples are drawn from true stories, I swear.)

Regardless, there are bound to be situations gone awry and sometimes, when we’re incredibly lucky, they actually make for the best dates. What more could a girl want on a Sunday morning than to share a multi-coursed brunch with girlfriends—accompanied by sidesplitting laughter as you recount the hilarity of your escapades? Isn’t it fun to be able to laugh, and I mean REALLY laugh, at the inappropriate and uncalled for behaviors of last night’s dinner partner?

After all, if a guy spends a date describing in detail his uncircumcised penis, at least you can smile knowing that you’ll never have to experience it firsthand or know if he washes under the flap.

XOXO,
R.