Posts Tagged ‘online dating’
Don’t Call It a Comeback, Betch
Posted on: February 21, 2013
May 30, 2012
It’s been over a month since my dreaded…day…of…(it’s still really difficult to talk about. There is no closure. I still don’t understand it. I still can’t wrap my head around the events. I’m constantly questioning every single day of employment, what I could have potentially done wrong, how I got here…all that wonderfully depressing shit((yes, it’s worse than a breakup)) and I’m having a REALLY DIFFICULT TIME figuring out what to do now that I have all this free time to not meticulously plan someone’s day to day life. I’ve spent the last nine years building a career, saying a big “fuck you” to higher education, and building one of the best resumes I’ve seen thus far from a 27 year old, so having actual time to do whatever the fuck I want is….weird. Did I mention horribly depressing? I did. Let’s just set that tone real quickly; this post will be a lot easier to understand once you realize I’m a prime candidate to take over the Zoloft rock’s job.
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Well.
… that was depressing.
Friends! Hi! How’s it going! Anyone out there still holding the glimmer? I sure as hell am! The excerpt above was the absolute last thing I wrote dedicated to this blog before my tailspin of depression which turned in to the absolute best six (err…nine…) months of my life. You see, life has been intense. I know you’ve all held your breath waiting for me to update you on everything Tracy, but for a while there, I didn’t think I would make it out alive. Maybe that was just my liver talking. Maybe my liver still doesn’t know what I’m doing. Maybe I hate my liver and my liver hates me. Maybe… We move along.
I never realized how difficult it was not having a job. (Before you read the following few paragraphs, please feel free to let out an audible groan. I realize how little sorrow you feel for me over the next few words you read, but I promise they have a point. Or maybe the don’t. I don’t give a fuck.) While I complained on a daily basis about sitting behind a desk, I didn’t understand how difficult it was to have a conversation about not sitting behind a desk. That desk became my identity. You see, so many interactions are formed around that job. It’s shocking how much self worth and value is established around a job- any kind of job- but just a job. I didn’t know how to not talk about a job or, not having one. Try going on a first date three weeks after losing your job. Let me know how awesome it feels when you’re trying to build yourself up as this incredibly worthy, date-able specimen (trust me- it ends in a paid cab ride because you had four too many Manhattans. Trust. Me.) Try having an interest in going to dinner or lunch with your friends and talking about their lives and their jobs and how much they are succeeding in life as you dive deeper in to an abyss of self doubt. It was daunting and depressing and instead of not talking about not having a job, I did everything that a person without a job did. (Get ready for the groans, kids…)
After a few REALLY LONG WEEKS of being more miserable than I can even begin to explain, I physically forced myself to snap out of it, and realized I was granted an early summer vacation. Time was of the essence and I was going to use that wisely (kinda wisely…) I made plans with practically every person I knew and every person I didn’t know. I inadvertently started a mission to thoroughly enjoy my life and whatever came of it. This included, but was not limited to: concerts, days on the beach, drinks, concerts, Disneyland, lunches, concerts, really awkward/amazing online dates, more drinks, dinners, fuck I spent a lot of money on concerts. While my parents weren’t too fond of the idea, I planned a solo road trip to Salt Lake City to see some of my best friends and my favorite band, Passion Pit. Apparently, the lead singer was going through some SEVERE inner turmoil as well and canceled the show (which may or may have not affected my already wavering depression issues), but I still packed up Winnie Cooper (that’s my ride, for any of the three readers who don’t know me…), and hit the open road. My trip was beyond enlightening. The Utah kids were Coachella friends that became family and I had a long week of whiskey and even more soul searching. I’m not exactly sure when it hit; between three caramel macchiatos, an entire jumbo pack of fire breathing beef jerky and an exhausting 13 hour drive home, I was determined to completely change my life. And, I did.
I came back to LA knowing fully well that summer was on its tail end and I would be diving off the deep end into my first semester of school in over nine years. I was an absolute nervous wreck at the idea of even walking in to a class room (Where would I sit? Would I be the oldest in the classroom? What if I saw people I knew? What if my clumsy ass fell while walking in to the classroom and everyone laughed at me and I would forever be known as that old girl who fell in slow motion on the first day of classes? What would I wear?), let alone the fact that I had to crash every single class…. (BIG shout out to Los Angeles Community College District registration dept. Really appreciate that registration date where all classes were filled four weeks prior to my registration date. That was super tight of you. Even more props for the financial aid I couldn’t get because of my 2011 income. GREAT, supportive start to my new scholastic me, really.)
Oddly enough, all of the fear and anxiety was completely unwarranted. My first day of school was…absolutely incredible. I felt completely in my element and inspired to put every effort in to achieving the one regret I’ve held on to thus far in life- not getting my degree.
Super fast forward to today, because Lord knows I’ve been doing a phenomenal job with staying accountable with my blog dreams: I managed a 3.0 in my first semester of school, stayed out of as much trouble as possible over winter break (not really, but that’s a whole different blog post..), lost about 30lbs, and found myself a suuuuper sweet boyfriend.
WHAAAATTTTT?!?!
And that’s where I’m ending this post. A few doubts, a few questions, and a whole lotta suspense.
Love you guys xoxo
Jerk the Glimmer
Posted on: March 27, 2012
(Hi. Hello. My name’s Duke. That’s not my real name. Some of you know my real name, but that’s neither here nor there. Many of you have yet to grasp that I post on this blog too – and when I write, it’s in blue – hence the blue font you’re reading. Contrary to popular belief, I have never used online dating to find men – not that I wouldn’t – I just don’t like men, or online dating. Tracy does, and that’s fucking weird, which is why I share a blog with that weird sexy bitch. Anyway, this is just a public service announcement to let you know who I am, again, and what color I write in, again. Now back to your regularly scheduled pissing and moaning…)
I’m still shaking off the depression from reading Tracy’s rant about seeing the sun after work. Fuck the sun and its mocking glare, sadistically laughing at me in my windowless closet! Whoa, ok, let’s pull it in – I actually like the sun, and daylight savings time, because I hate waking up and leaving work in darkness like a goddamn Alaskan (they’re not reading us up there anymore, are they Tracy?).
Through the first tangent and onto the next one… You’re lucky you live in an age where people who used to get paid for talent now give it away for free – thanks again, interweb. At least it keeps the pedophiles at home surfing the Gymboree catalogue instead of out trolling playgrounds with primer colored vans marked “FREE CANDY” on the side. Too on the nose? I like to set the bar high early on, just as a litmus test. If you’re still with us, you are creepy – and that turns us right on. Speaking of creepers and interwebs, did you hear/see/read Rick Santorum’s comments about internet porn perpetuating vile and deviant behavior in today’s public? I just want to thank Rick Santorum (if you haven’t yet found out what “Santorum” is, please google it – I can’t repeat the definition here because it makes me blush), and the entire right-wing candidate pool for always giving me something to talk about when I have absolutely nothing to share with you people. I always thought it would be hilarious to run for President under a fake persona and just exaggerate every socially regressive talking point until the American public realized it was being fucked with – Borat style – and started laughing at how ridiculous political discourse had become… but the character I’d invent would be just like Rick Santorum, or Sarah Palin, or Michelle Bachmann, or Newt Gingrich, or Mitt Romney… and the American public already takes these people seriously. I guess anyone with a microphone has to be treated as if their “ideas” are legitimately viable.
Where was I? Oh right… Rick Santorum said he wants a more strict reading of obscenity laws so he can protect the public from the vile harms of internet pornography. Porn, according to Santorum, is toxic to marriages and relationships, and contributes to misogyny, violence against women, prostitution, and sex trafficking. Nevermind that studies have shown that sexual assault and rape have declined considerably since the advent of the internet. I suppose there’s no proof of a causal relationship there, but I don’t know any other invention that made access to orgasmic release easier, cheaper and safer for the public at large. As much as I talk shit about the internet for draining people of their capacity to retain knowledge (I don’t remember, just google it), and dumbed down their personalities to the point of their individuality being nothing more than an ability to share ideas and art that other people have created – I still think it’s an amazing, interesting, vital, filthy, disgusting, beautiful tool that shouldn’t be censored in the slightest. Personally, I’ve never seen internet pornography, but I hear good things – and if you have access, you should give it a try some time (and feel free to review your favorites right here in the comments section, or on our facebook page – like us, follow us, please or Tracy will beat me – click the button!).
Furthermore, (sorry, I have to get this train back on track) he’s accused the Obama administration of siding with pornographers over children, because the federal government isn’t out shutting down all nudey sites (not like they have anything more important to do). Rick has vowed to do what Obama could not – raise America’s kids, because after all, that’s what we’re looking for in a President. Even his own party is criticizing him for putting too much emphasis on social issues like this one. But, he and his running mate, Rush Limbaugh, will hold steadfast in desluttifying America and making it repent for its sins. Papa Santorum knows best, now go back upstairs and put some gosh darned clothes on!
Whatsup, Ireland? How’s it going, Ecuador? Good to see you Germany and Indonesia! Thanks for stopping by, Alaska! (Listen, it’s practically its own country and I betcha a few Palin’s will 2nd the motion. (and in one swift sentence, there go all of our Alaskan readers, floating away on glaciers with their polar bears and igloos…TRACY, SHUT UP ALREADY.))
I wanted to start this post with a big shout out, thanking all of our international readers for checking out the blog! We’re so happy to be a click in your day! Now, you are more than likely an actual friend (shock- we actually have them) reading these words, who’s left the warming embrace of political, social, and economic turmoil, also known as “The United States of America,” for greener pastures in other countries (ya, I’m talking to you, Hamburg), but you have no idea the absolutely absurd amounts of value I place upon you. While some may believe that hounding your friends to read your eloquent words formed into barely readable sentences is hardly considered notable “hits” for a blog, I have much lower expectations (morals/values/whatever) and appreciate each and every one of you bowing down to peer pressure. Not only have you accepted my bullying, you’re actually passing this blog around to your little commie/socialist/grass skirt wearing friends (we are an actual blog. We have stats. I know exactly who you are. Don’t trip…I know no names, only exact locations where blog was accessed. I kid. We’re not that creepy. I think…)
Can someone explain to me the significance of daylight savings time in 2012? Yes, I specified 2012. I did not ask the significance of daylight savings time in 1912, where every household had at least four working family members, a block of ice for a freezer, and a butter churner in the back yard. Ok, maybe it wasn’t that drastic. Maybe it was? Any time period pre- regular automobile ownership is something I will never comprehend. I have a hard enough time watching Don Draper manually change the TV channel on Mad Men (but MAN I can TOTALLY get behind drinking scotch and smoking in the workplace..), let alone understanding the complexities of a 1912 lifestyle. What I’m trying to get at here is that we no longer need to subscribe to the idea that farmers need more daylight, while we’re dragging ass for a few days adjusting to a time that was forced upon us.
And what the fuck, world? Some states participate, some don’t? Some countries do, some countries don’t? Apparently, Indonesia sat down last year and said “meh, we don’t want to do daylight savings time this year…” What? How? Who declared this and why can’t we vote on it in California? And, really, what kind of ass-backwards state do WE live in requiring more daylight and fewer homos? SWITCH THAT UP PLEASE.
PS- Do you know how incredibly depressing it is watching the sunrise on your morning commute and then watching the sunset during your afternoon drive home? (Don’t get me started on new traffic congestion because people are now blinded by the rays on the drive home. Buy some sunglasses, flip your mirror down; we’ll all get through this together.) Although my office is awesome, it’s still INDOORS. It’s like the world is telling me “HAHA! How much would you have enjoyed THIS today?!?”
-Tangent- It’s an incredibly sobering feeling when you realize you can no longer online date for lack of quality men. Listen, I’m not searching for the finest cut filet mignon. Although I love filet mignon, I would choose a New York (unless you’re buying, because HELLO- New York cut is ten times more flavorful without that bougie filet price tag…). Ya, I’m using steak as an analogy for online dating. You understood it, so stop judging me (and if you didn’t, brush up on your beef knowledge before messaging me on facebook again. You’ll have even more potential to become my actual friend. Need even more of a backstory? Go here:http://wp.me/pHfRF-3m ) Almost every single person I’ve met online has been a complete opposite of what their elaborate profile described to me. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve met a few (very, very, VERY FEW) genuine guys from this whole experience, but not enough to make me believe that you’re not all a bunch of liars. A couple tips, guys:
- Don’t send me a picture from 2008, hell anything earlier than August 2011. I don’t care that you seemed to be the “man” in a picture with a sombrero and 30 stacked solo cups in Cabo. It’s Cabo. My parents have the same exact pictures, in the same exact bar, at their time share. I’m sure it was an awesome trip, and you just love the way your skin glows, but you’re 40 lbs heavier in real life and balding. Fortunately, you’re still moderately attractive in real life, but how can I not judge someone creating this “I’m wealthy with a full head of hair and ripped abs” persona online, who shows up at a bar in Tevas with a gut.
- We’re in LA, not the Colorado outback. Get rid of your Tevas.
- I’m sure your bff4LYFE is this super hot chick that you drooled over in high school, only to become besties over facebook in college after being rejected too many times. That’s awesome, really. Maybe refrain from putting every single picture of the two of you on your profile? I promise there is little to no competition, but I want to know you’re not looking for a third in the bedroom as I peruse your digital problems.
- It’s weird emphasizing your mom is your best friend. My mom is my best “mom” friend, but my best friend is my best friend, not my mom. My parents are awesome and we’re super close, but (and they’ll remind you..) they’re not my friends. They are my parents. They have friends that are a lot cooler than some “20 something chick” they created that drunken, hazy night in the 80’s. True story- At 10 years old, I tried “running away” after an argument and in the midst of searching for my favorite stuffed animal (totally necessary)my Dad swooped into my room, packed my bag, walked me downstairs, opened the front door, ushered me out of the house and said “Best of luck! Call me when you find a family better than this one!” Real bonding moment with Dad there… As excited as I am in wow-ing your folks with my…charm…I have little to no interest in shopping for lingerie with your Mom or calling her to gossip about orgasm articles in Cosmo. You should feel the same way.
My bigger problem is figuring out where one goes once realizing online dating just won’t work. Do I join an anonymous help group? Is there some kind of “singles only” farm we get shipped off to? Speaking of farms…..I was going through some old photo albums a while ago and found a picture of our first family dog, Samantha.
“Aww, Mom! Look! Samantha! She was so sweet to me…” –me
“Ya, until she tried to attack your brother when we first brought him home from the hospital.” –mom
“Um…What?” –me
“Your brother was sleeping on your lap and Samantha was insanely jealous. She jumped onto the couch and almost bit his face off. We had to put her down after that.” –mom
“EXCUSE ME?!” –me
“Honey, how many times do we have to go over this? She also attacked the neighbors, the neighbor’s kids; she was an old, aggressive beast. There was no other option.” –Mom
(my face goes blank. My jaw drops to an almost unhinged level.)
“Mom. Wait. Are you fucking kidding me right now?” –me
“Oh, come on. What’s wrong now?” –Mom
“MOM. YOU TOLD ME THAT YOU AND DAD TOOK HER TO A FAMILY THAT HAD A FARM OUTSIDE OF SAN DIEGO WHERE SHE COULD RUN AROUND AND HAVE MORE DOGS TO PLAY WITH!!!!!!” –me
“Oh, you believed that?” –Mom
“WHAT WAS MY OTHER OPTION, MOM?!?!? I WAS FIVE YEARS OLD!! I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU NEVER TOLD ME AND LET ME LIVE THIS LIE FOR TWENTY YEARS?!?!?” –me
Don’t get me started on the story of my second best friend and pet fish- Bubbles. I’m still fuming.
Well Done
Posted on: September 14, 2011
Why hello there, glimmerheads! It’s been a hot minute (week, month, whatever) since we’ve spoken, but how are you? Me? I’m alive! Believe it or not, I held the glimmer long enough to not buy a gun and “go corporate” and instead got a new job! (Pause for gasp, shock, sigh, and breathe….)
Now, said new job is still within the same company, but at the absolute very least, I’m no longer responsible for spoon feeding or physically wiping my bosses’ asses. I no longer have to scrub coffee out of the poor, tantrum ridden carpets! No more verbal abuse over the phone as bossman blames me for his chauffer’s poor driving skills in Omaha! I survived hell! Can you believe it?! I now have actual responsibilities, and yes, that scares me closer to death than I need to be, but ultimately a pretty goddamn rewarding drive home, full of reflections of daily accomplishments and accolades. Who would have guessed how far a simple “you’re awesome” or “thank you” really goes? My new job makes me feel needed, wanted, appreciated- basically how any normal human being should feel. This may explain my lack of posting, but after switching to this new position and thanks to multiple comments from coworkers, I realized I was on suicide watch for the last three years. Apparently, once you start smiling again, people get weirded out by the lack of somber attitude, and wonder what’s really wrong. I’ve been elated to inform them, my absolutely freaked out parents, and all of you that I’m actually HAPPY!
Ahhhh fuck.
This blog is sooo gonna die soon.
Nope, I will not let it.
There are so many other aspects of life in which holding the glimmer is absolutely crucial. I’d tell you the recent events of a gorgeously long legged pedestrian (ya, that’s actually me, all five foot five of me) crossing the street and getting hit by a drunk driver AFTER said drunk driver had already hit a car and was trying to flee the scene around 3am in Hollywood, but I still have anxiety and leg spasms, so why not dive into where holding the glimmer is most needed- my love life.
Here is my declaration: I’m officially an on-line dater. Go find me. I don’t care. I just told you I’m online dating; do you think my integrity, morals, or values really matter anymore? Actually, are you mildly attractive with a steady income, little to no emotional or personal issues that need fixing (ie: mom/dad issues, past major drug problems, abandonment anything…)and need a date? Needle in a haystack I say, but hey, maybe you’re out there! Blog dating is still online dating, right? Duke, I think I’m on to something here…
Online dating, you are a beast of many colors. After a slightly too long “off and on” relationship, I decided I was interested in feeling actual worth again and with little to no interest in wading through the pudding-like consistency of a bar scene to find my next beau, signed myself up for some good ol internet fun (don’t you dare define fun, ok?) And fun I found!
After completing the unnecessarily arduous profile, I sat back and relaxed, hoping Mr. Right (now?) would show up in my inbox. Roughly 39 seconds later, I received this: (please note, every single name below HAS been changed (kinda), in fear of repercussions and, well, I slightly feel bad for them…)(Ok. Maybe some haven’t. Sue me.)
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Ikeepawordforyoualways:
Gorgeus Halo my beautiful. I am in study to become doctor at UCLA. GO BRUINS! Wanna meet to talk to me possible today ? Ciao
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Ok. Who the fuck is in charge of admissions at UCLA, because this person either needs to be fired, or sue the shit out of Ikeepawordforyoualways for slandering such an institution.
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Justthetip:
Wanna cuddle?
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Right. Let’s cuddle. Is this before or after you saw my legs off with a dull machete and carve out my arms then spoon feed me my toes with my own (now detached) hand? (Let’s be real honest. Screen name Justthetip- hilarious. Do I want to cuddle? I don’t even remember what it’s like to cuddle, let alone if I even know HOW to cuddle, but you bet your ass I want to. Unfortunately, I have to trust my instincts and anyone willing to be that forward in a “first impressions” kind of world gives me the heebee jeeb’s.)
After countless “let’s bang” or “will u marrie me plz” emails, I thought I found gold when I struck up a convo with a seemingly literate and attractive man. After a few email exchanges, we decided on meeting for drinks. I mean, what could go wrong over drinks?
Nothing. Absolutely nothing went wrong. There was good conversation, he made me laugh, I made him laugh, we shared some similar stories, parted ways with phone numbers and decided to meet up for dinner a week later. Easy enough, right?
The day of date, he suggested Hamburger Hamlet (let it be known- this restaurant was AWESOME…. in 1972. It was a celebrity hot spot, dark and intimate, couldn’t get a table for hours. This place is now an elderly melting pot, tables always available, a sad old hostess and a menu full of tasteless “creations” with a Rockefeller like price tag.) I cringed inside and thought to myself, “with all the awesome restaurants in Los Angeles, of all places to ever choose, of any restaurant that serves to the under 80 crowd, WHY THIS PLACE?” It wasn’t fair to judge, so I kept my first instinct quiet and decided to make the best of the decision and show up.
I got to the restaurant and sat down at the bar about 10 minutes before anticipated date and ordered a Jack and Coke. As I’m waking my senses with whiskey, and realizing my date is now 10 minutes late, in walks M (that’s what we’re calling him. Just go with it.), wearing a zip up hoodie, jeans, sneakers, and with ear buds still in ear, because who could stand to walk in to a restaurant without music, right? Kill me.
We say hi, give an awkward hello hug and he comments, “Oh, you’ve already started?”
Well OF COURSE I’ve already started drinking. I hope my eyes didn’t roll back too far into my head when making eye contact, because I promise they would have if I were fully sober.
“Excuse me, bartender? Can I get a screwdriver?” –M
A Screwdriver. Really. A. Screw. Driver. A screwdriver? Are your parents in Laughlin for the weekend? Are we in your mom’s garage playing beerpong and listening to Blink182? Is this your first time consuming alcohol? Honestly, think of the last time you ordered a screwdriver from a bartender, waiter, hostess, whomever. I’m sure it won’t take too long for you to think about because you NEVER HAVE. Screwdrivers are for children who don’t drink. Screwdrivers are in lieu of Mimosa availability.
Sigh. Just go with it Tracy, just fucking go with it.
We get a table and start trying to form a conversation, but I’ve never sat next to a man who’s ordered a screwdriver, so I’m a little off myself. The waiter comes by and asks if we need more drinks and I order another Jack and Coke and M orders a Corona. Yes, a Corona. Because, what better beer would you want to quench your thirst while sitting at a restaurant that charges $50 a person minimum. I was under the impression that Corona’s were reserved as a “pool” beer, a “beach” beer, maybe an “on sale at a great price” beer, but never have I thought Corona’s were an “order at a restaurant” beer. Maybe it’s just me.
After being informed of M’s lack of interest in shell fish because it “tastes weird”, we are ready to order. As a connoisseur of the soup, I ordered the lobster bisque with a half chicken sandwich. Probably not my best order, and damn those garlic fries looked good, but I was on a date. One must be aware on a date.
“I’ll have the 12oz angus rib eye.” –M
“How would you like that prepared?” -waiter
“Well done, of course.” –M
woah.
Excuse me. I said excuse me. Are you joking? Are you fucking kidding me right now, sir? Did you honestly just order a well done steak, and then further emphasize how well done you enjoy your steak with an “of course”?! Of course you enjoy the taste of footwear for dinner? Of course you’re cooking off a campfire in Uganda?
The waiter awkwardly walks away, and M goes right back in to full conversation.
“WOAAAAHHHH woah woah woah. Hold on a second. We need to assess something here. You’re from Chicago and you just ordered a well done steak?” –me
“Ya, I don’t really like raw meat.” –M
“Oh of course, I mean, who eats raw meat.? But a well done steak? You should have just ordered a hamburger, or we could have gone to 7-11 and gotten you some beef jerky. Medium? Medium rare? Both non-raw options that give you full flavor of the steak. That just seems like such a waste of perfectly wonderful meat.” –me
“It’s just how I’ve always had it. That’s not going to change.” –M
“Well ok, I uhhmm, I have to go to the bathroom……” –me
I take out my phone and text Courtney- “he ordered a well done steak.”
“I’ll call you in 5. Get out of there immediately.”
And I did. I pulled the “my friend needs me and I have to go” card. Of course I felt guilty, but I couldn’t sit with this man and watch him attempt to cut that poor piece of meat, knife grinding into the gristled, tasteless product.
Maybe I’m that girl. Maybe all I could think of was introducing this specimen to my father at a dinner table and he orders a well done steak, with repercussions of us both getting verbally berated by the man for wasting meat, money, and time. Maybe this makes me sound like the biggest bitch of the west coast, but what else would I discover from a man who orders….screwdrivers…and eats leather? I’m just not willing to take that chance. I may be single, but I’m not desperate.
So yes, justthetip, just for a second, just to see how it feels.
Hold the Glimmer 