Archive for the ‘ romance (or lack thereof) ’ Category

Why I’m Tired Of Online Dating

Like many, many other women in Los Angeles, I do the online dating thing. And I’ll admit that I’m a veteran of ten-plus years (although I don’t really count OK Cupid – I used it for the fun quizzes during the early 2000’s). While I’ve met some incredible and not-so-incredible guys from various sites, there’s always one constant that irks me: dirty messages. Not cute dirty messages, but the straight up foul ones. For example:

http://theletterkae.tumblr.com/post/113986464409/i-dont-know-about-you-but-i-doubt-a-guy-would


http://theletterkae.tumblr.com/post/113984671184/replies-id-like-to-send-but-wont-1-i-like-all



When I was still in my twenties, I used to get messages like those a LOT. If it wasn’t about their penis, it was about how they *loved* Asian girls. Since I’ve entered my early thirties, the amount has decreased – not significantly, but enough where I don’t feel compelled to turn off my profile and wait for the crazy to die down.

Until I got this one in my inbox:
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I’m bummed that I didn’t log in before this guy disabled his profile. I kinda wanted to see the face of the person who thought this was a great ice breaker (although knowing my luck, it was probably a faceless, shirtless pic of pecs and abs). And I think that’s what ended up bothering me. Usually when I get a crude message, there’s a picture of the person. It helps somehow to be able to see who’s being a jerk so I can neatly categorize and file info away into my “Approach With Caution” dating catalog. Without a face to the words, it’s like a black hole is calling out insults. And I can’t respond because it won’t go anywhere.

As much as I wanted to laugh it off, it left me feeling kind of…slimey. I didn’t like that a faceless stranger wanted to shove his penis inside of me and got excited thinking about it. It’s awkward enough to be asked if you’re interested in penis via text.

But when a cock knocks you down, push it away and get back up. (That’s a legit saying, right?) I started conversations with other guys and it always seemed to go south after sharing a couple of punny jokes. Twice I was asked if I would sit on faces about three lines after “how’s it going?” One asked me if I was wearing green underwear for St. Patrick’s Day and made a request that I at least wear “sexy panties” when we met for a drink. Another one (who took about three days to reply to a text) came up with this witty banter:

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Spring was definitely in the air, but instead of new grass emerging from the snowy ground, it felt like young men’s erections were pushing through the dirt.

I complained bitterly to a male friend of mine about what I’d been through for the past few weeks. He was incredibly empathetic but since he lives on the East Coast, he could only stay awake for so long. So I reached out to a male acquaintance who was having similar dating issues. This conversation did not go well at all. (Apologies for the highlighted text boxes – for some reason my phone likes to make bright color boxes to indicate quick replies.)

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So…yeah. It’s annoying (to say the least) that this is the norm for ice breakers. Other blog posts, BuzzFeed articles, and Tumblr have featured similar complaints from female writers, but I haven’t seen any slack in guys being so crude in their icebreakers.

Current status: waiting for my knight with the shining Macbook Air who starts a casual conversation before leading into sex talk.

You Can’t Fool Me (I Hope)

I was browsing through OK Cupid this evening when this came up:

okcwhitey

I’m still not sure if that’s the same guy with two different profiles or if they really are two separate people. Then again, I’m the girl who couldn’t tell her blonde-haired boyfriend-at-the-time apart from other blonde-haired guys (especially those who hang with Snoop Dogg/Lion).

Crate & Barrel Wouldn’t Lie To Me

Last night, I was winding down with an episode of “Say Yes to the Dress.” It’s not that I enjoy the show, but if it’s on, I’ll watch about fifteen minutes’ worth. (My pleasure in watching this show is the same pleasure I got out of “John and Kate Plus Eight” – it’s a fabulous train wreck.)

I just finished screaming out my frustration at the women who were spending six thousand dollars on their dream dress (YOU CAN’T EVEN PEE IN IT BY YOURSELF!) when the commercial break started. A white background with black text and a catchy tune playing in the background flashed on the screen:



It’s the second to last set of text that made me literally scream out loud, “SAY WHAAAAT?!”

Mark & Katie

The VBF’s name and the oldest version of my name was right there on TV. Followed by the Crate and Barrel logo. What I’m taking away from this commercial: the VBF and I will someday go shopping at Crate and Barrel, because the TV said we would. And the TV never lies, at least not to me. Plus, it’s backed by Crate and Barrel, one of my favorite home stores in the entire world.

It’s the VBF’s birthday today, so I won’t ruin his day by suggesting we need to buy matching coffee mugs. We’ll pick them up later this weekend. ;)

It Smells Like Christmas

The VBF was shopping for Christmas presents for his family when he shared his philosophy on gift giving: Get them something they’ve been wanting but wouldn’t buy for themselves. It’s usually something practical, but it could be pushed down the list into the “When I Have Extra Cash” section.

At the start of December, the VBF was getting a jump on his Christmas shopping for his family. We popped into a small boutique gift shop in Downtown Culver after brunch and looked around. All kinds of items were displayed: handmade stuffed animals, one-of-a-kind jewelry, fancy candles…everything to please the hipster palate.

We were browsing through various scented candles when I came across a white frosted glass jar with a pine tree on the front. The candle smelled exactly like a Christmas tree – something I missed terribly after my parents switched to an artificial one three years ago. I almost bought it, but the price tag was outrageous, so I inhaled deeply and got a little nostalgic.

Fast forward to the weekend before Christmas. The VBF and I were exchanging gifts early, as he was flying to Alabama for the holidays. He handed me a brown paper bag that had been tied with ribbons on top. I dug past the tissue paper on top, and discovered this:

Christmas present


It was the candle I had picked up at the boutique. He remembered that I really liked it, but knew that I would never buy it for myself. That alone makes this candle the best present I’ve received from a boy.

Rock ‘n’ Roll Half Marathon

The veggie boyfriend ran in the Rock ‘n’ Roll Half Marathon in LA on Sunday. He finished around 1:43, a new personal record for him.

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Bragging rights.


When he told me he’d signed up, I offered to do the good girlfriend bit and wait for him at the finish line with coffee. He responded with, “You’re my Emergency Contact.” (I swear, this one is always one step ahead of me.)

However, this presented a couple of interesting obstacles:
1. The VBF works a graveyard shift. The race was scheduled to start at 7:30 am, and he usually goes to bed around that hour. A drastic schedule change would have to take place. Was it possible that he could get enough sleep and still wake up stupid early to run a race?
2. I’d never waited for anyone to finish a race. I’d stopped by to support Nina and Will, but that was usually post-race and over breakfast. Did I have the patience to wait for over two hours while the internet love of my life ran through Downtown LA?

The answer to both questions was, “Yes.”

The VBF decided to stay awake for most of the day once he got off work. By the time we met up for dinner, his eyes were bloodshot and he looked ready to face plant into anything soft. (I half expected him to pass out at the table once he consumed his first carb of the evening.) Dinner was short and sweet and I took him home.

The next morning, I picked him up while it was still dark. We headed over to LA Live, parked, and grabbed a cup of coffee. He went off to the starting line, and I settled down with my iPod and my Blackberry. Before I knew it, he was standing over me, exhausted.

We headed back to the Westside, ate brunch, and then passed out. It was well past midnight when I shook the VBF awake to tell him I was going home.

I’m proud of him for running a half marathon with just a little more than a month of serious training. I’m happy I was there to congratulate him when he finished. But even more so, I’m thrilled that both of us caught up on the sleep we lost over the weekend.

It Wasn’t Meant To Be

Calexico at the Fonda Theatre. What better way to spend my Wednesday night?

Unfortunately, it wasn’t meant to be.

I had made plans with the Veggie Boyfriend the night before to go over the game plan: I’d pick him up between 7:15 and 7:30, and then we’d head over.

At 7:20, night of the show, I’m at the VBF’s house. I text him: “I’m here.”

Five minutes pass. I call him. Maybe he just got out of the shower and hasn’t bothered checking his phone. No answer.

Another five minutes pass. I text him: “Did you fall asleep?”

Another five minutes pass. I call him again. Same result as the last call.

Ten minutes pass. His neighbors must think I’m lurking. I call again; no answer. What. The. Fuck.

It’s almost 8:00PM. I don’t know how bad traffic will be if we don’t leave soon. I’m annoyed at this point. I call one more time, but there’s no answer.

At this point, I want to just go home and curl up in bed. But I also really want to see the band; the last time I saw them was at least three years ago. Plus it’ll be a crowd of indie peeps – I should be relatively safe in that crowd. And I’ve got Twitter to keep me company.

So I drive off, severely annoyed. Somewhere between the Westside and Mid-City, I go from being angry to a little worried: what if something happened? What if something bad happened?

I arrive at the Fonda, and the Santa Ana winds are starting to blow. It’s nothing serious, but it’s a little chilly. I get a drink at the bar and listen to the opening band. They finish a song, then stage goes dark, and small emergency lights come on. It takes me a minute to realize that the power has gone out in the theater, not a dramatic effect. The theater crew makes announcements from the stage with no megaphone (really, Fonda?). After nearly forty minutes of sitting in the dark, the show gets cancelled. Calexico comes out to play one song acoustically, with the promise of making it up later on.

It wasn’t the best night. One of my favorite bands couldn’t play, the wind had knocked out the power in the neighborhood, and I had a potential late-boyfriend. So I did what any girl in her right mind would do: I stopped by my local fast-food place, bought a chocolate malt, and drowned my sorrows in junk food.

P.S. The veggie boyfriend is alive and forgiven.

It’ll Be Cute

Sometime last night/early this morning (whatever you consider 3am to be), I woke up to hear the VBF say, “Oh HELL No.” This was followed by, “You need to see this.”

He was watching a horror version of “The Phantom of the Opera,” which had Julian Sands as the lead character. Because he’s nothing if not considerate, he’d kept the volume low while I slept, which meant he missed a lot of dialog but got a lot of screaming. It was partially the screaming and his “Oh HELL No” that gently shook me out of my slumber.

I’m not a fan of horror flicks, so I declined his offer. From the pattern of flickering lights in the room, I knew he was rewinding to the point he wanted me to see.

VBF: You need to see this.
Me: No.
VBF: C’mon, you love Julian Sands.
Me: I don’t do well with scary movies in the middle of the night.
VBF: Just watch it. It’ll be cute.
Me: I’m not wearing my glasses. (I was lying on my stomach and didn’t want to turn over.)
VBF: Put them on. It’ll be cute.


I knew he wouldn’t stop bugging me, so I obliged. A girl was screaming up and down a flight of stairs, desperately trying to find a way out. The Phantom (Julian Sands) discovers her; her screams increase in volume and desperation. The climax: Julian leans in and bites her tongue off.

Me: That wasn’t cute.
VBF: Did you see it?
Me: Not all of it.
VBF: You’re missing out.
Me: No, I’m not.
VBF: Why was she screaming with her tongue out?
Me: That wasn’t cute.
VBF: Aw…


He leaned in to kiss me, and I kept my lips shut. As cute as he is, I sure as hell wasn’t going to fall for that approach.

Drag Queens and Leather and Weddings…Oh, My!

I have absolutely no concept of time when it comes to weekend trips. The veggie boyfriend and I were going to leave for San Francisco early on Saturday morning and then come home late Monday afternoon. In my head I had a bunch of little things planned for us to do before we headed out for my friend’s wedding: stopping by the Wharf, grabbing brunch with a few friends, maybe running a hill for fun.

So how is it I forgot that there are only twenty-four hours in a day, and that about eight of those are spent sleeping?

Golden Gate Bridge
We managed to do at least one real touristy thing.


Saturday night started off with dinner and a drag show at Asia SF. (If you’ve never been, I highly recommend it: drag queens dancing on bars and lip syncing and words with double meanings.) We hit up two more bars afterwards: Bourbon and Branch and Tradition. (I used to drink a LOT with this particular group of friends, and the wedding/reunion was an excellent excuse to cram in as much as possible to make up for lost time.) The veggie boyfriend kindly offered to be the designated driver, so no one was in any danger.

Sunday morning was going to be a calm day of brunch and walking around the city, or so I pictured. However, the Folsom Street Fair was set for that day, and the VBF wanted to check it out (he’d heard about it on a podcast). We knew that driving there wasn’t an option, so we relied on public transportation. Along the way I saw a few leather daddies, but nothing prepared me for seeing full-on naked men and women. All they had on were shoes (and maybe a leather strap or two). It’s definitely an interesting culture, but I think the VBF got tired of me winning at Genital Punch (the FSF version of Punch Buggy that I made up). I did get a few pictures in, but the safest one I can share with you is this one:

Folsom Street Fair


We raced back to the hotel, got showered and dressed, and caught a cab to the church. The ceremony was short and sweet, but what thrilled me to no end was the look of happiness on my friend’s face. The food at the reception was amazing, but I think it helped that her brand new husband is a sous chef. I hit a fashion faux pas when I discovered another woman wearing my dress, but I guess I can chalk it up to both of us having good taste.

Elizabeth and Dirk's Wedding
Best Group Wedding Photo Ever. [Borrowed from my friend, Jorge.]


It was much too short of a trip, but it was nice to be able to get away for a bit. The VBF and I managed to last through two long car trips, a wedding, and being trapped in the same room together for hours at a time. I knew he was worth keeping around, especially after I came across this street sign:

Meant to be
Our initials are the exempt permits for the street we were walking on.

I’ll Make You A Pun You Can’t Refuse

The veggie boyfriend saw “The Godfather” for the first time ever this week. We had a conversation via text about it:

VBF: Almost finished “The Godfather” this morning – so good! It’s easy to get sucked in. Now I know why you like the nickname Kae.
Me: Yay! I can make references and you’ll get what I’m saying. Wait ’til you get to the end – you’ll see why I find it funny when you tell me “Don’t worry about it.” Also, do you know about the oranges?
VBF: I have about 45 minutes left of “The Godfather I”
Me: When you’re done with the movie, google “godfather” and “oranges”
VBF: K
Me: That’s my name, don’t wear it out.
VBF: I won’t dignify that with a response.
Me: You just did. :)

They All Look Alike To Me

The guy I’ve been dating was on vacation last week in the woods of Wisconsin. He looks like this:


So you can imagine my surprise when I saw this picture on my newsfeed (posted by Snoop Dogg) on Facebook:
Borrowed from Snoop Dogg's Facebook page

At a passing glance, it looked like my guy was hanging out with Snoop Dogg. Closer inspection revealed that it wasn’t him at all. The tell-tale points:
1. Snoop Dogg probably wasn’t hanging out in Wisconsin.
2. The guy in the pic parts his hair differently (and it’s a slightly darker shade of blonde).
3. The guy in the pic has rings on. My guy doesn’t wear jewelry.

In my defense, it’s only been a couple of months since we’ve started dating. While I’m pretty confident that I could pick him out in a crowd, it’d still take me a good minute before I can confirm it’s him. The old saying holds true: “All you [white] people look alike.”