Spirituality and Rape (Girl Fail #21)

“Ever have a lucid dream?” my friend asked.

Olivia and I placidly shook our heads. Familiar with the unconventional ways of my friend Noam, I knew this conversation was going places. However, I had no way of knowing whether its destination would deter innocent-looking Olivia; someone we had just met at this party. It was obvious that my accomplice and I were fighting for Olivia’s attention by passing around funny stories all night. May the most chivalrous man win her over as well as her number.Noam eagerly continued.

“Well, you know that it’s when you realize that you’re dreaming and you can control some things? Anyway, I had one last night. I was walking around Manhattan or something when I noticed that I was just dreaming. So I started flying around, looting some stores, having fun and such.”

“Did you have heat vision too?” I quipped. #DCcomics

“So I’m flying around when I spot two women by the park. I flew over, knocked one to the ground and landed on the other. Then I just started raping her while her friend is yelling and screaming at me to stop. And I said, ‘You shut up! Just SHUT UP! Or I’ll do you too!'”

Noam gave pause to lick his lips before finishing. “Then I did. Then I raped her too.”

A fireworks display worthy of the 4th of July went off in my head. I was abject. Dammit Noam, you twisted fuck. I need to find some new friends. How the hell did I live with this guy for a whole year? Things were looking promising with Olivia until you went off the rails! Even Houdini himself couldn’t get out of this one. 

Peering over at Olivia, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Overcome with majesty, she was utterly fascinated by this dream and wanted to hear more. Come to find out, she’s a spiritual dancer (whatever that means) and a self-trained reiki healer who happens to be obsessed with the meaning behind dreams. She pridefully claimed that her extensive dream journal was well over 100 pages long. Although Freud wrote in great length on the subject, making several revisions to The Interpretation of Dreams (1899), she was no Freud. Whether her reasoning was spurious or not, one thing was clear, if it felt right to her, it was right.

You can probably piece together the rest of her personality and beliefs. Here are a few things I instantly assessed without ever having to ask:

• Faithful over skeptical
• Reads her horoscope daily
• Possibly a little solipsistic
• Ambitiously gleeful and positive
• Has shoddy critical thinking faculties
• Thinks everything happens for a reason
• She’s more emotionally “intelligent” than traditionally intelligent
• Believes in tarot cards, palm reading, psychics, mystics, occultists, and the man by Penn Station that squeezes goat testicles while foretelling your future

Noam had won her heart via a dream of sexual abuse and aeronautics. How could the subject of rape, arguably the most traumatizing calamity a woman could ever experience, immersed in the context of a lucid dream not pose as a red flag? I suppose I was the odd man out on this one since she invited him to her next recital and they’re going on a date next weekend.

Don’t let my irreverent sense of humor fool you. I wasn’t putting Olivia down simply because she’s spiritual. I’m somewhat spiritual myself but it’s a pretty wide term and she embodied all the lazy stereotypes of it. Also, my friend isn’t an abuser or psycho – he  has a way of thinking not just outside the box but that there may not be a box at all. Watch him marry this girl and tell her folks how they met.  Surely better than a Tinder love story, wouldn’t you agree?

-Single Guy in NYC
@SingleGuyInNYC

Thoughts On White Women Stereotypes

Let’s face it, some stereotypes exist for a reason and white women are no exception. Since this is my general demographic, it would be idle to deny it as a factor in how I approach, talk, and date them.

For example, it’s in my best interest to assess how close they may be to the suburban/privileged white girl stereotype. Red flags may include, but not limited to, the following:

• Hiring someone to walk their dogs – in a kid’s stroller
• Dealing with the same adversities you dealt with when you were 15
• #Blessed or “everything happens for a reason“
• Making a duck face while posing for a photo
• Talking in acronyms – “O.M.G. this is, like, my jam!“
• Claiming to be a nerd b/c they once read a graphic novel
• Saying “if you can’t handle me at my worst, then you don’t deserve me at my best”
• Or “I love nutella, uggs, leggings, Victoria’s Secret bags and Katy Perry“
• Complicating Starbucks orders
• Facebook check-ins
• Googling themselves

I hate to sound fatalistic but I’m quite confident that if I bring one of these gals back to my neighborhood, they would think differently about the relationship. Now, I’m not exactly saying I live in the ghetto but my area has a few salient traits that rub some folks the wrong way. Last week at midday, I went to get my mail and there was a man in the dirt speaking absolute drivel to himself and smoking a glass pipe, possibly crack but I’m not sure. Remember,this was in broad daylight, he doesn’t live in my building and is a complete stranger. My neighborhood isn’t dangerous but if you’re not accustomed to these types of areas, it’s easy to become disillusioned.

Recently, I invited a woman over for dinner. Like me, she’s a NYC transplant. Dinner was great but it was obvious from the few palatable comments she made about my street that I was going to have to walk her back to the train at the end of the night. And, I did. It’s never elucidated but, instead, tacitly agreed upon that she won’t be coming back here again. So much for my bachelor pad.

Full disclosure, I’m not saying that I don’t embody a few lame stereotypes myself (after all, I do author a blog) or that any of these traits are intrinsically abhorrent. Only some of them are.

-Single Guy in NYC
@SingleGuyInNYC

Guy Responds to 14 Single Women On How They’d Prefer A Man To Hit On Them

As a single guy who approaches women in person – which is quickly becoming more and more antiquated – I wanted to share my thoughts after recently reading an article posted by the societal blog, Thought Catalog. For all intensive purposes, I kept the format of the blog post the same and casually spliced in my commentary. You can find the original post here.

1. “I have actually been waiting for a guy to say ‘Did it hurt?’ So I can respond by saying, ‘When I fell from heaven, yes, but that line hurt more.’ That would be so satisfying.” —Alexis, 24

I sincerely hope Alexis gets her wish because that would be hilarious. However, this line is much superior than “Girl, are you a junk refrigerator left by the curb with the door still attached? Because I want to put a baby in you.” Although, I enjoy that one as well.

2. “Don’t tap me on the shoulder, especially if we’re in a bar. It’s just weird. If you’re going to say hello, be where I can see you.” —Nichole, 25

This is a great point. If it’s one thing we can learn from Star Wars: Episode IV, it’s that Dr.Evazan and his fly-faced pal Ponda Baba  were being dicks to Luke Skywalker in the Mos Eisley cantina. Lest you getting amputated by a lightsaber like Evazan, you best avoid tapping women’s shoulders. Apologies for letting my nerdiest show.

3. “I like a guy who lets me approach him. Give me a couple enticing eye glances so I’m confident you’re interested, and that’s all I need.” —Natalie, 24

As for the remaining 99% of men that know this technique is utterly futile, let me just say that I hear your chuckles and see your eye rolls. It’s like my friend once said to me, “You know man, you just have to be yourself and let the women come to you.” We sat in silence for five seconds, then laughed and laughed.

4. “If he says anything that would come up on Google after searching pickup lines, NOPE.” —Valerie, 23

Wait. Are you searching Google right after someone hits on you? If so, let me retract my statement about a junk refrigerator.

5. “I think it has more to do with the woman you’re approaching. If she’s nice to a fault, she’ll be cordial no matter how you approach her, but if she’s the kind of girl who’s brutally honest and doesn’t care what people think, she could tell you to go screw yourself.” —Rachel, 26

This is the truest comment out of all 14 women. +1

6. “I just like a simple introduction. ‘Hey, I’m (insert name here).’ It’s really not that complicated or awkward.” —Christiana, 24

Oh, how I wish it was that simple. Unfortunately, most men have to conjure up something more eloquent and witty than that in order to avoid insufferable silences or replies of indignation. I truly feel terrible when I get the look (i.e., what the woman in this pic is doing).

 

7. “Buying me a drink is always a good start, but don’t try to guess what my signature drink is. Let me tell you so I don’t have to pretend to enjoy some fruity concoction you thought I’d love.” —Cate, 25

If this was her first thought when asked how someone should approach women, then screw you Cate. Seriously. Also, who the hell is buying you a drink, guessing what you would like, and not letting you interject with a flirtatious suggestion or hint? Screw those guys as well but I don’t think there are many that do that.

8. “I’m not too judgmental when it comes to how a guy tries to hit on me. It takes balls for him to approach a woman in the first place, so I’m not going to be too hard on him when he does.” —Michelle, 24

I want to high five this gal. If the guy isn’t acting like a pervert and/or a dick, it’s always appreciated if we get the same in return.

9. “Give a compliment, it’s simple. Nothing creepy though, don’t say anything about breasts or ass.” —Bianca, 26

This is a tricky one. First off, if someone doesn’t know you, they most likely have to compliment something material and physical. At this point, your success rate will definitely be choppy. It’s like the Jim Gaffigan skit where he claims that attractive guys can say “Hi” to women and they’ll think, “Oh, he’s nice” but when an uglier guy does the same, they’ll think, “What does he want?”

10. “Tell me I’m pretty. I’ll love you forever.” —Morgan, 23

Looks like Morgan has some deep-rooted insecurity issues. If you weren’t anonymous, I’d give you the number to my therapist   :p

11. “I like something funny. If you make me laugh, I’ll want to talk to you.” —Liz, 25

Similar to #9, this is a tough one. Humor is like religion – everyone has their own take on it, even if you’re a fan of the same denomination. Personally, I always find a way to tell a joke less than a minute into the conversation but there is no guarantee that it’ll be gold.

12. “Honesty is always best. If you’re approaching me because you think I look good, then just say that. I’ll take it as a compliment and probably engage in casual conversation after.” —Dayna, 25

Perhaps I should just give the “Hey, you look good” line a try sometime. Granted, it will probably fail miserably but I’d be trying Dayne’s advice and will write about it.

13. “Give me at least a half hour before you try making out with me.” —Zara, 25

Aye aye Zara.

14. “Just be genuine. If you have the confidence to be who you are, then you’ll be fine whether I like you or not.” —Ilana, 26

Oh, how I wish this were ubiquitously true.

-Single Guy in NYC
@SingleGuyInNYC

Throwback: My First Time (Girl Fail #20)

It would be illogical to write – not to mention relive – my Girl Fails without telling you how it all started. I’m going back to high school for this story; back before I had a modus operandi, back before texting and when everyone was on AIM, back when I was battling unwarranted boners and jacking off every 15 minutes, and back when I was oblivious to anything sexually tacit (oh, the irony). Despite my mercurial nature, there was a sensational brunette in my 9th grade English class sitting beside me and I was smitten.

She was shy, allusively charming and, although the same age, blasé – as if she had been on more adventures than Amelia Earhart. But, I could make her laugh. The more I did, the more confidence I acquired and even I was surprised by this recycling of energy. Her best friend sat in front of us and pretty soon we all became close. After flirting for 2 months, I asked her out. She said yes and I got her email address and screen name (not many kids had cell phones at this point). I was ecstatic and eager to fill my friends in on my success, which is why I was surprised to find a rejection note in my locker the next day. She said her life was complicated, she liked a man in another state, and that I was a good guy. It was my first real rejection but I didn’t let it stop me from trying again.

Class was awkward for a week but we got back into our old flirtatious habits and it was business as usual till the end of the year. We chatted online all the time and sent each other funny photos via email. End of the year finals were here and with Summer break quickly approaching, I was afraid I’d be immured in the friend zone for eternity unless I asked her for her number. I couldn’t bare the thought of not seeing her for an entire season.

My plan was to ask her after our English final. Well, guess who finished the test in half the time I did and was picked up by her parents? I was abject. Alas, all hope was lost!

Not quite. Her best friend was waiting for the buses like I was. Believing it was my only shot, I asked her if she’d give me our mutual friend’s number. Noting my candor, she smiled and gave it to me.

“She likes you, you know,” she said, surreptitiously glancing over her shoulder as if her friend would suddenly appear.

I called her that evening, explained how I got her number, how I was sorry I didn’t ask her personally but with the summer here and I didn’t want to lose touch. After speaking for 5 minutes, she said she had to go and I suggested that we hang out sometime.

She sent me an email that night strongly voicing the err of my ways. What I believed to be an innocuous phone call between friends turned out to be the most menacing, disgraceful act normally executed by heartless tyrants. She went on to say that we had absolutely nothing in common, I had no idea who she is or where she’d been, and I was thoughtless (there we go with the irony again). She closed by threatening violence (she had strong, “protective male friends”) if I ever dared to call her again.

From that moment on, I began to over-think every single statement, action, or pass I made at the opposite sex. I feared that no matter how close I got to anyone, I could still be regarded as an evil threat. Every pact could be broken at any time. Every gallant gesture could be misinterpreted as malicious. Every compliment could be tainted by selfish and hidden intentions. As much as I challenged these thoughts, my subconscious seemed to open the door and graciously invite them inside to percolate.

After two years of silence, she instant messaged me randomly one day. (Interestingly enough, I was dating someone at the time.) She asked if I hated her. To be honest, I struggled to find the relevancy of her question since we remained strangers for the past few years. Then again, it was high school and we were all dramatic and peevish twerps expecting our world to end by means of a merciless calamity. Most of us aren’t like that anymore. Anyway, I replied saying that I didn’t hate her and asked if everything was okay. As if she was in a confessional, she wistfully explained what was bothering her and confided in me. She felt lonely all the time and pushed others away for no reason. She regretted the email she sent me and wished she could have taken it all back. Although it was a strange time for an apology, it was nice to hear it from her.

Regardless, the damage was done. She changed the way I pursued women all throughout college and, most likely, is the reason why I continue to contemplate my presence around women to such an unnecessary degree.

Now would you look at that? That’s some Class A psychologist babble right there, and it was all for the price of one large coffee at this quaint cafe on the corner. What a steal!

-Single Guy in NYC
@SingleGuyInNYC

I’m Not Doing So Well (Girl Fail #14-19)

Overcome with lassitude, I sat on my couch drunk, looking down at my hand, not knowing whether or not I had broken it, and reflecting back on my hapless night. Attending local events and parties are perfect for meeting others, so when my roommate told me about a costume dance party in Manhattan, I was stoked. Granted, I’m a little uptight when I dance but with some liquid courage, I was confident I’d reach my stride. The pressure was rising and it was time I went in guns a’blazin’ (i.e. fake-it-till-I-make-it poised confidence). After all, it was going to be a night of masquerading.

I went as Popeye the Sailor Man looking for some Olive Oyl.   😉  Here’s a condensed recollection of my failed attempts.

Girl Fail #14:  With one drink down, I felt loose enough to get my groove on. After joining my friends on the sizable dance floor, my roommate pointed out that this girl around us had eyed me when I walked away and had playfully bumped into me while dancing a few times. He described it as “an obvious sign.” Although I don’t know the protocol when it comes to meeting women at a dance party, it’s discernible that verbal communication has nothing to do with it.

I nonchalantly turned in her direction looking for a nonverbal cue that would evince her interest. Turning back, my thoughts kept me occupied. Should I do something to grab her attention or should I just start dancing right in front of her and hope for the best? What will her friends do if I butt in like that? My best bet is to playfully return her gestures, I think. Popeye’s virility was now being undermined by my convoluted thought process. Our shoulders brushed one another but as I went to face her, Michael Jackson earned her attention with a vivacious dance of his own as he swiftly grabbed her hand and moved to the music.

Girl Fail #15:  Disappointed in my performance, strangled by unruly thoughts, I sought after another drink. Luckily, the bar was outside the dance room – making it possible to have an audible conversation. I was just lacking the caprice of a boisterous lover, so I promised myself I’d strike up a conversation with the next person who caught my eye.

Catching my eye, there was a woman, not very dressed up, sitting alone at the bar. After ordering my drink, I asked her about her costume. Hearing my voice, she looked up with a deadpan countenance. I repeated my question in case she had trouble understanding me but she was fixated on her inscrutable expression. Unsure of what I did wrong, she interrupted me as I began to speak  to confess (in broken English), “I no understand.” Point taken: Hit on those who speak the language. Time to follow the hedonistic credo of “party on.”

Girl Fail #16:  Fast-forward a few drinks later, I returned back to the revelry to test my luck again. With my drink resting on the stage, I began dancing with an attractive woman wearing a straight-haired grey wig that just reached her shoulders. The strange thing was that every time I looked up at her, she would turn and move away but as soon as I looked down, she would dance with me again. My moves may be insipid but at least I have rhythm and a sense of time, so I couldn’t understand her fickle routine. At one point I mirrored a wacky, spur of the moment dance movement she did to try to be flirtatious. She smiled and laughed but as soon as I looked up, she turned away and started dancing with her friends. What’s dancing if you can’t look at the person you’re dancing with?

Thinking I got rejected, my roommate assured me that she’s just being playful and I should say “Hi.” It was worth a shot but her playing-hard-to-get game was bloody obnoxious. The next time we danced, I peered up and said “Hi.” She turned her head away and kept dancing. I don’t go out like this often, so maybe this has become the norm – the closer you get to someone, the farther they become. Or maybe she abhors Popeye.

Girl Fail #17:  While getting another 12oz dose of liquified therapy, my friend and I passed by a group of women. One of them placed a toy spider on my friend’s shoulder and shrieked, “Ah! What’s that on you?” Sharing a fleeting laugh, I tried to start a conversation with them but it went nowhere. It was obvious they were only interested in my friend, who’s girlfriend was waiting for him on the dance floor. It was another dead end.

Girl Fail #18:  My impeccable streak of failures at the dance party along with enough drinks to sedate a baby rhino was starting to get to me. I departed from my group and ventured to an unknown bar several blocks away. Like I said before, the pressure was rising and my night couldn’t be over yet; not while I still had energy, albeit it was scanty.

Did you catch my mistake? I’ll give you a hint: spinach.

Greeted with friendly hilarity by a group of bar-hopping night crawlers immediately put me in a better mood. To my amusement, cheeky jokes about Olive Oyl went over well with this 2am crowd, especially the cute woman drinking whiskey sour. I flirted with her until she started making out with another guy. Moving on.

Girl Fail #19:  Seeing 10 people on the floor on all fours at the bar won my curiosity, so I decided to join them. The leader of the party was a slim brunette wearing a red top who had lost a $300 pear earring her father had given her.

A damsel in distress in need of help.

She was Olive Oyl and I was Popeye the Sailor Man on another adventure. Accepting the challenge, I rolled up my sleeves, ingested an unpalatable lump of canned spinach (or was it beer?), and began a tedious search for the lost artifact.

Less than 10 minutes later, I found it. Her face lit up when she saw the lustrous gem. She thanked me repeatedly and left immediately afterwards.

Closing time. An hour on the train alone inside one’s head after a calamitous night casts an unforgiving shadow that tactfully follows one’s movements. Justified or not, I was angry. It wasn’t just my costume that made me feel isolated. I was beginning to believe that although my circumstances could be much worse, I lacked the ability to improve them. I clenched my fist till my knuckles turned white and slammed them into my living room table. The impact ricocheted through my forearm as I collapsed listlessly on my couch. Cursing my capricious behavior didn’t abate the swelling pain in my hand.

Isn’t it incredible how one never needs motivation to make matters worse but instead seemingly requires exigent motivation to better oneself? I may be losing my vigilance.

-Single Guy in NYC
@SingleGuyInNYC

“Excuse me, are you drunk?” (Girl Fail #12-13)

Hitting on people at a bar has proven to be unpleasantly difficult but I recently found out it’s even worse when the woman’s drunk. While playing shuffleboard with an attractive blonde at an idyllic establishment, our flirtatious banter was interrupted when her boyfriend arrived and planted a kiss on her lips. Sure, that’s a fail but one can’t let a happy couple diminish one’s ambition. There was a time when I thought being the bar-flirt was sleazy but even if that’s true, it’s a moot assertion – it’s survival dammit!

When a man approaches a woman, it’s obvious he’s hitting on her, roughly, 90% of the time. The mission – should he choose to accept it – is not to come off as a creep within the first 30 seconds and successfully convince her that he’s innocuously desirable by the end of the evening. I thought I found my next shuffleboard partner after seeing a woman sitting alone at a table studying her cell phone.

“Hey, you look bored. Want to play a game of shuffleboard?”

She peered up from her device and quizzically gazed at me as if my question was not only perplexing but unwarranted. After a brief moment, she asked, “Pff, what?”

I took this to mean she couldn’t hear me, so I grabbed a seat at the table with her and repeated myself. She smiled and politely declined. Gauging that she wasn’t put off from my sudden presence, I started a conversation with her that lasted for the next couple hours. Turns out she decided to drop by this bar on her way home from a party she had been to, and she was fairly drunk. Just to show you how ridiculous I can be, I thought that if I chatted with her long enough while she sobers up, she’d find that endearing and, possibly, go on a date with me. But like with any slipshod drunk person, the conversation lacked direction and purpose.

My friends left thinking that I was bound to get lucky that night, solely for the reason that I was still chatting with her at 2am. Maybe if I was someone else, it would have led to that but in my experience, it never does. Come to think of it, does it need to? Regardless, she gave me her number right before waving for a cab and disappearing into the disquieted early morning. I texted her so she’d have my number and name but got no reply. A couple days later, I sent this:

Unsurprisingly, we never went to brunch. After telling this story to my roommate, he said, “You know what your problem is? You should just be yourself and let the women come to you!” We sat in silence for 15 seconds then laughed and laughed.

-Single Guy in NYC
@SingleGuyInNYC

Is It Okay To Call Your Date Evil? (Girl Fail #11)

At what point during a date is it acceptable to hurl your glass at the wall and, before you can even hear its explosive impact, begin frantically yelling at the person you entertained the idea would be your next girlfriend? Before you turn away, let me present you with the following which will, hopefully, provide enough context needed in justifying that question.

I met Sarah at one of NYC’s best beer gardens. Eying her from afar, my friend made me promise I would approach her by the end of the evening – side note, every guy needs a friend like that. Out of deference for my peer and noticing that she separated from her group of friends to order another drink, I glided to the bar and gregariously tested my luck.

She was even more enchanting up close but I kept it together best I could. Laughing and sharing rounds, we kept each other entertained at the bar watching live music for the next half hour. I have to admit, there was something mysterious about her that I loved. It sure made it easy to flirt and dally, which is why I was caught off guard when her friends told her it was time to go. Quickly, I took out my phone but before I could speak, Sarah affably said, “Hey, let me give you my number.”

---

The Date

Seeing how my last date never materialized, I convinced myself that no woman would ever want to go out for Italian for the first date. Instead, it’s best to play it safe and go with what I know. Therefore, I invited her to a stylish pub with great live music. She accepted and seemed rather excited about the idea.

I have said it before but because it was nothing but an impetuous false alarm, I’m finally going on a date after being dateless for more than a year, again. My friend even teased that I outdid myself this time and wished me luck.

To much of my surprise, Sarah not only showed up but was there before I was. At that very moment, I got a benign sense that she cared. Don’t you dare fuck this up, I jokingly threatened myself. We started conversing, which mainly consisted of light yelling due to the band playing, at a stand-up table by the wall. About 5 minutes into our conversation, a complete stranger walked over and stood within close proximity to our table, which was quite odd. It appeared as though he was half listening to the band and half listening to us. Then I realized that she knew him based on how she was glancing at him. After the band’s first song was over, he turned to us and she said (wait for it), “Oh, Single Guy in NYC, this is my boyfriend, Kevin.”

A tsunami of thoughts paralyzed me as I stood there frozen, staring down incredulously at Kevin’s extended hand. I hated him. I hated her. And he expected me to shake his ignorant hand? This was an execrable indignation. Christ! How did I miss this? Maybe this is why her friends gave me a few caustically dirty looks. They weren’t trying to be rude, they were trying to warn me! Shaking his hand would mean that I agreed that I was nothing but a fool and that, in fact, Kevin had been the rightful winner. He was not rueful and any effort to change that would be pointless.

I shook his hand.

The conversation only got worse. She truly didn’t realize how she led me on, nor could she pick up how much her boyfriend despised the fact that I was present. She wasn’t mysterious at all, she was clueless. I didn’t care what I said to her anymore. Besides, half of my words would be swallowed up by the band anyway. She continued.

“Sorry, I forgot to tell you. Hope you don’t mind that I -“

“No, no, course not! Totally fine and welcome. Granted, I was sort of under (finishing the sentence in my head) the impression you’d come here alone since it was you who gave me your number but whatever!”

“It’s just that we didn’t have anything to do tonight as well and we were looking for some good spots in the area. I’ve never been here.”

“Absolutely! Yeah, this is actually an amazing place. Hell, I’d be lying to you if I said it never came across my mind to bring a date here.”

Sensing at what I was getting at, Sarah asked “Did you bring anyone?”

“No! It’s just me. Yup, I’m alone. Living the dream.”

In the end, I didn’t hurl my glass at the wall. I didn’t yell, angrily that is, at anyone. I finished my drink and left them to enjoy their night together. There was no need to hate Kevin. The irony was that although he probably despised me, he had my back without knowing it. I wasn’t going to berate Sarah, he was.

Do you miss me Miss Misery like you say you do?  -Elliott Smith

I think she does.

-Single Guy in NYC
@SingleGuyInNYC

Dating Websites (Part 2) (Girl Fail #9)

In 1979, the trial for a convicted rapist and murderer by the name of Ted Bundy began. Despite the fact that all of his victims were women (some say as many as 100 victims), he received hundreds of love letters from deranged female “fans.” Fan mail included nude pictures and even marriage proposals. In fact, dozens of his female “fans” attended the trials and made an effort to resemble those he had murdered. During this time, I bet every single guy in America shared the same sentiment as Bill Hicks:

Why am I telling you this? Well, it’s complicated. I’d suggest starting from the beginning, which is actually my previous post (click here). Carrying on…

Believing it to be a massive cop-out, I swallowed my pride and, reluctantly, joined OkCupid six months ago out of sheer desperation to cast a wider net and to increase my visibility (at least, electronically). My naivety regarding dating sites encouraged me to rely on the rumors and stereotypical experiences of others. I thought, with all the schmucks out there (with their pompous bios, their idiotic poses with tigers, their belligerently perverted openers, and their superfluous dick pics), at least one date would spawn from this online platform. This had to auger well.

450 messages later, nothing. Not one date. Not one friend. Nothing.

Compounded frustrations + a dark sense of humor = laughing in self-reproach at the photo above. It honestly did leave me wondering if those that I contacted went on a date with a misogynistic womanizer and/or jerkoff instead. Although difficult to say, think of all the dating blogs out there, most of which are maintained by women. Of those, many are reflections on terrible OkCupid or Tinder dates.

But fear not because this wasn’t all in vain. I created a fake female profile to compare and contrast my experiences between both sexes.

The Profiles

Pictures:  To make the experiment fair, both profiles had to be appealing on all fronts. Thus, I wasn’t going to pick a photo like this one for my fake account.

I’m a physically fit guy with a six pack, toned body, relatively white teeth, average height, skinny, decent but not perfect complexion, a few gray hairs and a bald spot. With this, I consider myself to be in the “average looks” category – nothing that will get the attention of the nearest Abercrombie & Fitch store but satisfactory to those I’ve been with. Appropriately, I used photos of a girl my age in the equivalent “average looks” category for the fake profile.

Profile Content: Maintaining the fairness of this ploy, the text of her profile had to be equally engaging. A joke for a joke, the same type of vague self-summary spiel, and no interests that could be deemed superficial. Any text that had the potential of being perceived as a flirtatious invitation were edited out of the fake profile. Just so you know, I didn’t list myself as someone looking for casual sex or anything like that either.

Questions: Much of the questions were answered the same way, which renders similar “personality” stats.

As a final test, my friends (both male and female) reviewed each profile and gave their reputable stamp of approval.

Results

Jewish women don’t masturbate on OkCupid

Real Profile: I visited over 600 profiles and sent about 450 messages over the course of six months. Out of those 450 messages, I only received 5 replies. I’ll  reiterate that in case you’re reading too fast. That is 5 out of 450. That equates to about a 1.1% success rate, where success SOLELY means getting a reply. I only received 1 unprompted message but she didn’t seem mentally stable. No one that I visited ever messaged me. No one that visited me ever messaged me unless I messaged them first. I only had 10 quickmatches and, oddly enough, half were overweight bisexual black women (maybe that’s my market?). I averaged about 70 visitors per week for the first month but this number slowly declined. Now I average about 8 visitors per week.

Fake Profile: I visited less than 100 profiles and sent 0 messages. This had absolutely no impact on my ability to get visitors or messages. In fact, before I had ANY content in my profile (only had a couple of pictures), I received 5 messages in an hour! I had equaled the number of replies that took me six months and 450 messages from my real profile in just one hour of creating my fake one. In total, I received 323 messages over the course of six months – all of which were unprompted. 1/10 of the men I visited sent me something. Compared to my 10 quickmatches from my real profile, I had a whopping 1,183 quickmatches in my fake one. It was effortless to maintain about 120 visitors per week for the first three months or so. This number has since decreased to around 50 per week, most likely due to my inactivity.

Discussion

Did the extent of this rough data despond you as much as it did me? Probably not. Most people already know that if the object of the game is to get messages, males must be more exigent with their profiles and more charitable with reaching out to others. These are the unfortunate circumstances – I would argue – that arise from social norms, which cyberspace, as we just witnessed, isn’t immune to.

How about the quality of these messages? I’ll confess that I made the mistake of sending the stereotypical “Hey, how are you?” openers a few times but I quickly made a habit of reading a women’s profile in its entirety and conceiving a unique, dare I say charming, message. This approach, deemed the most chivalrous, takes about 15 to 25 minutes depending on the profile. I did this about 300 times before I lost all hope. I’ve heard the opposite sex say that “no response is a response.” If this is true, I wonder if I was being treated with derision. My last 150 or so messages derived from whatever short, witty thoughts or questions I had after a 5 minute browse of their profile and pictures. Since almost all of my approaches were ignored, I’m counting this as Girl Fail #9.

The most ironic aspect of this experiment was the messages my fake account received. Although, I got the gamut of openers, from magnanimous compliments to sleazy invitations, the vast majority of them were perfectly fine and often times funny. No one tried to romance me with “I want to fuck you in my station wagon” but I did get “…so for me intention wise….Honestly….nothing too serious….a fun friend really. With benefits situation is what I’m open to at the moment. Not looking for anything serious at the moment, but having it with someone fun, easy going, funny, witty, smart….sexy goes without saying. What about yourself?” Maybe I was lucky but I didn’t get any vulgar messages nor dick pic offerings. The flood of compliments I received actually boosted my confidence until I reminded myself that I was acting under a pretense.

My personal favorites:

• I’m just going to completely cut the b.s because you’re the cutest girl I’ve seen here. Let’s get coffee, possibly share orgasms, then get another coffee. So much energy
• I’ve never met (or read to profile of) anyone with favorite movies including ####, #### and the goddamn Blues Brothers. I normally wouldn’t put so much stock in this sort of thing, but, wow, we should meet. Plus, I’m a huge fan of too many books to list.
• Hello I’m #### glad to meet you! I read your profile and think you are really great person and I hope we can talk and get to know each other better. I am attending graduate school to obtain my Masters in Forensic Science. I hope you message me back because you seem like an amazing girl with great qualities, and I would like to get to know you if you so choose to get to know me and you are really cute
• OHHH MY GAAARDS!!!!!!
• Random personality question – how do you feel about PDA? Write back.
• Soo..um this is like ridiculously random and may come off as strange butt,hello there gorgeous lady! 🙂 I have the urge to get on my knees and kiss your feet. haha is this a bad thing?
• You seem like a cool girl, but there is only one way for me to tell… and that is if you take this little quiz of mine.  (provided a 10 question quiz)
• After wading my way through a river of 18 year old college students you seem like an actual person with their shit together. What’s up?
• let’s be a power couple

Did you expect these types of results? What OkCupid stories do you have?

Guys, if you can’t resist sending pictures of your junk, at least do it the right way. Click here to learn more.  :p

-Single Guy in NYC
@SingleGuyInNYC

Girl Fail #8 (Sandals)

I can no longer remember what it feels like to hold someone’s hand, let alone anything else. If the people I met weren’t scoping for Calvin Klein models making six figures, my petulantly redundant Girl Fails would, instead, romance you to blissful content. However, like any lovelorn fool, I present to you with the following.

Location:  A summer-themed, trendy bar in the boroughs of NYC. There were a hundred sandals dangling from a metal frame suspended above the bar in a figure-8 pattern, which is definitely a conversation starter. The bar was also having a $2 draft night, which is completely unheard of in the city. An amazing cover band, one of the best I’ve seen, was performing on stage with a robust crowd feeding them energy. Needless to say, this was the place to be that night.

Outfit: I was looking snazzier than normal; short-sleeved button down shirt, white khaki shorts, and sandals

Who: My brother, his wife, and I

What: While watching the cover band with my brother and his wife, my single guy senses started tingling, so I turned around. Entering the venue were two average girls dressed for the summer season. As they sat at the bar, I started to contemplate how I would approach them. 15 feet from the bar, there was a Song Cemetery with mini-tombstones that read “Call Me Maybe”, “Blurred Lines”, “Somebody I Used to Know” and a few other overplayed hits. Seeing one of girls point to the cemetery and laugh gave me a clue of how I could start a conversation. And with that, I began my descent.

“So, what happens when the band plays a tune from the song cemetery?” I inquired the two girls after ordering myself another round.

Laughing, one of the girls responded with, “Well, the bar actually forbids any band to play those songs.”

“Makes you wonder what band is dying to impress a crowd with “Call Me Maybe”, don’t it?”

We joked around for a few minutes before introducing ourselves and getting into our occupations. It was going quite well and I’m sure we appeared as long time friends from afar. My flirting was addressed to both of them and whoever had the wittier remark would respond first.

Gesturing to the sandals above, I said, “Please tell me there’s a funny story behind all these shoes.”

“I think there may be. People leave them here and they decorate with them.”

“Perhaps it’s a fashionable recycling outreach program?”

“Good call!”

“Some businesses have a take a penny, leave a penny policy. It’s obvious they have a take sandal, leave a sandal policy. How novel!” I added.

“Oh absolutely. Look!” one of the girls said extending her finger to a worn out birkenstock dangling above us. “That one even has someone’s name on it.”

Following the direction of her extended finger, I read “Jesse Oberman” inscribed on the sole of the shoe. “We must find this person before they go home shoeless!” I wisecrack. “This bar is nothing but a clever disguise for a sandal library.”

In my mind, my adroit flirtation brought us to the pinnacle of conversation that evening. Upon reaching that figurative summit, the girl in the blue dress turned toward her friend and coaxingly asked, “I think it’s time to go to the bathroom. What do you think?”

Looking puzzled for a moment, the friend squinted but then had a subtle moment of clarity. “Yes, I think you’re right,” she replied aridly. Standing up, she informed me that they were both going to the bathroom. I told them to hurry back because the band was too good to miss.

After finding my brother and his wife in front of the stage, I turned around just in time to see the two girls walk right past the bathroom and out the door to the street. I couldn’t believe it and couldn’t stop feeling guilty about this. No one goes to a $2 draft night just for one drink while an amazing band is performing. I must have spoiled their evening. If they resented my company, why laugh at my jokes and keep the conversation going? Why lie to me in order to covertly escape? Part of me wishes I ran outside and confronted them. Not in a contentious way but just to apologize – for what, I have no idea – and let them know that it’s fine to stay and I have no problem leaving them alone if they wish.

How can one not feel a sense of indignation from moments like these? I’m beginning to get sick of being told, by women in particular, how much of a “great catch” I am. Yet, fisherwomen keep tossing me back in the ocean with a hole in my cheek.

Yikes, this was a downer post. I’ll comment on something funny next time. Hopefully.

-Single Guy in NYC
@SingleGuyInNYC

Dammit, I Suck at This Whole “Being Single” Thing: Struggles & Treatments

The Struggles:

A man approaches a woman at a bar, says “Hi,” and introduces himself. After an agreeable two minutes of small talk, the man offers to buy the lady a drink of her choosing. Smiling, the woman accepts the kind offer and orders another drink. Holding the paid concoction in her hand, she lifts it up to thank the man then innocuously walks away to sit down at a table with friends.

If you’ve been unhappily single for a while, it’s tempting to not only reflect back on your past experiences but those of your single friends as well. The above short story is an example of this, which is why I’m frugally reluctant to buy a girl a drink at a bar. So what does this have to do with being single? For starters, you’re most likely lonely and occasionally get jealous of couples you see on a daily basis. Not only that but getting rejected ad nauseam. When you vent about your troubles, your friends then vent about theirs. Unless you have a unique sense of fortitude when it comes to rejection and a penchant for having a good time, these stories compound in your head, creating a pulverizing migraine.

I mean, who doesn’t miss the midnight phone calls when you’re feeling blue? Or feeling accomplished because you successfully consoled your lover? Or those “I love you” texts that come when you least expect them to? Personally, I miss having someone to joke around with, especially in public. I was at a party two years ago and my girlfriend seductively leaned in and cooed in my ear, “I’m not wearing any panties.”

“Good news everyone!” I exclaimed to the crowd.

She nudged my ribcage laughing to keep me quiet and it worked. At least until I texted my buddy about it later that night.

A guilty sense of indignation creeps up on you as you ponder each rhetorical question. How come that glib jackass gets lucky? Why didn’t she text me back? Doesn’t she want to be with a good guy? Now what do I do with all this lingerie I bought? How did I just max out my credit card at this liquor store?

“Be good and you will be lonely” -Mark Twain

The Treatments:

Accept the hardships of the situation and get stoic: As my good friend once said to me, “You got balls man. You have to use them!” Straight men, for example, don’t have the privilege of loafing on the sidelines until someone approaches them. Don’t be lazy; you and I both know this girl is too beautiful for you not to say something. Even if you fail, and you will, at least you tried. After all, they can’t all be winners.  😉

Privily take care of your needs in the meantime: Your penis will love and fear you – the essence of sadomasochism – whether or not your consciousness will admit it due to the obvious ploy of masturbation to deal with built up tension. I say “fear” because this becomes a common outlet to clear your head (both of them). Gilbert Gottfried famously phrased this as such, “If masturbation’s a crime, I should be on death row.” If I’m not mistaken, Pee-wee Herman exalted this.

Laugh off your newest lows: It was a sullen struggle at Bed, Bath, and Beyond when I found myself buying lube for my alone time with myself. Or realizing I bought a package of 50 condoms with approaching expiration dates right before the breakup and my sense of parsimony won’t let me forgive myself. In short, have you ever caught yourself having full-length conversations with inanimate objects? Perhaps when your doctor asked, “Have you been having sexual relations?” you blurted out, “You mean, with other people?” Whatever it may be, just give a good laugh about it later and keep moving. Otherwise, this feeling of dejection will resonate when you talk to strangers. Don’t be that person that gives out their number and follows up with, “Here you go but it’s not like you’ll ever call me.”

Fake it till you make it: Seriously, if you want to be <insert adjective here> but it’s not in your nature, at least not instinctively, fake it. If you lumber around others but want to come off as charmingly poised, you act as though you’re charmingly poised. It’s fine to alter your behavior in a healthy manner towards a personal goal as long as others don’t disparage you for it.

So tickle your “Elmo,” get yourself a girlfriend/boyfriend pillow or whatever you need to sleep through the night and don’t be contrite about it. We all need pick-me-ups to get us through these harrowing weeks.

Yes, I’m being hyperbolic but you get point. If not, just leave a comment. 🙂

-Single Guy in NYC
@SingleGuyInNYC